So long summer, come winter's hope.
If you start summer steelheading earlier than October, does it get less bittersweet?
Five o'clock in the morning. Barista duty on the tailgate, waiting for the coffee water to boil.
Partner's already down at the run. Aggressive with the headlamp, so everyone knows: Seat's taken.
Other anglers are on the road already, choosing their places.
One group left a truck just above the run last night. Joke's on them. Whistling diesel woke us up, running their group up from basecamp. Partner made it from his bag to his waders in two minutes. They won't sneak in above us today.
The full moon's still burning, completing its transit. Too bright? Not bright enough? No time for second-guessing. They're either here or they ain't.
Why? Why take the hardest way to catch a steelhead, itself the hardest fish to catch on a fly, and make it even harder?
Because maybe.
Maybe we'll swing into the one thing better than a grab from a summer steelhead: a surface grab.
An electric arc between all the power and promise of the sea, when the years of forage and deep ranging in the Pacific meet the natal base, current leaping through the shallow water to the angler, grounded near home.
Skate or die.
