“Guys, I think we are going to have to show some respect to these steelhead,” Eric said as we came across a few of them spawning in the river. We had walked a couple of miles on the upper stretch of the river, only to find some super-skinny water.
The river was low…very low. In fact, upon our arrival in Yakutat, everyone we came across said the same thing. Whether we were at the grocery store, the liquor store, or just chatting with fellow anglers on the water, it was all the same talk: the river was lower than the norm, and everyone was very thankful for the rain this week.
I was fishing with Corbin and Eric that morning, the only two I had yet to spend much time with on the water. We sloshed our way back downstream, often getting back onto the path to make our descent a little faster.
“Thank God there are no mosquitoes right now,” Corbin said as we stepped through a sloshy part of the path.
“They are a different breed here in Alaska,” Eric said, having had plenty of mosquito encounters during adventures on his trips with Float Alaska. “This would be a completely different experience if we had those around.”
“No kidding,” Corbin and I said, finally getting to a deeper stretch of river to fish.
Eric and Corbin stuck close together while I broke away in search of cruising steelhead. The fish were spooky as ever; one bad step or wrong approach would send a steelhead racing upstream, leaving behind a wake that would quickly dissipate along with the fish itself.
“Guys, our best approach is respect,” Eric said after we had all regrouped. “We need to get into stealth mode, make long casts, and put on very small indicators if you have them.”
It was a good call; each of us had hooked into a few steelhead after that change, but nothing to the net. We eventually found our way back downstream, where I discovered a section of the river that was quite unique: a sweep leading into a larger hold that held seven or eight steelhead at a time.
I planted myself in the perfect spot, close yet undetected by the huge fish moving upstream. Opportunities were plentiful as I targeted nearby steelhead moving up and down this section, but nothing was giving me any love.
“If I only had a net,” I chuckled to myself as the steelhead swayed so close to me I could have simply netted them. Quite often, I would have a fish dart at my rig, but there were no takers. This activity was promising and captivating, so that time itself seemed to stop. I was transfixed on these fish and was finding myself in love with this moment; that was until the big one moved in.
A sense of dread blanketed over me. The monster steelhead claimed its place in the school and was clearly exerting its dominance by throwing its weight around the pocket. Two smaller steelhead bolted up and out, while others gave way to the massive fish. As this monster claimed its territory, I became acutely aware of how close I was to the fish. I was WAY too close. I froze in fear that I would spook the fish before I had the opportunity to make a cast. I brought my fly rod up, and the fish kicked away.
“Oh no!” I thought, or could have said out loud. Did I spook it with my movement?
The next second, the fish stopped moving. Its movement must have been another display of dominance in this pocket. Whatever the reason, the fish put itself in the perfect position for me to target it.
“Okay, buddy, what’s on your mind?”
I made a presentation that landed itself ever so delicately in the lane of the fish. I watched as my indicator drifted down past it, and at the moment the egg patterns would be near the fish, it made an enormous swipe at my flies. The indicator never had a chance to go under before I set the hook.
“SWACK!”
No weight was on my line as the indicator made a deafening noise when I ripped it from the water. I cringed at the sound. I was on eggshells after this fish, and to my surprise, it did not move from its spot. Again and again, I presented to the fish with no interest. In fact, that was the way all these fish were acting in this spot—sometimes a clear swipe at my rig, then nothing.
Huge steelhead were becoming more comfortable with the monster in the pocket, now shifting around and claiming more space for themselves. Then the big fish kicked upstream and out of sight. I had the urge to chase after it, but every time I previously made that choice, I ended up spooking the fish so far upstream that keeping sight of it was impossible. I remained planted and a bit disappointed that my opportunity for a huge fish had just swum away. But moments later the current swept the beast back into the pocket as casually as a dried leaf, where it went back to claiming its territory. Its pattern for taking charge was predictable this time, and after it bullied the other steelhead, it headed back to the same spot. I had anticipated its movement and presented my fly seconds before it strode back up and, just before settling onto its final spot, it swiped at my passing rig.
I ripped the line back as the indicator shot under this time, feeling the full weight of the fish. Looking at these fish as they wade underwater does not do them justice. Sure, they look big, but the refraction of water gives the illusion they are a bit more skinny and narrow from above. So when the fish felt the pressure of the line, it breached like a nuclear submarine, revealing its sheer mass mere feet from me. I knew I was fighting the biggest fish I had ever hooked into in my life.
The fish hit the water broadside, creating a tidal wave that disrupted the flow of the river, then breached again, just as powerfully as the first jump, with its tail just subsurface. Line ripped from my reel as the fish smacked down on the water again, only to breach a third time, then a fourth. Each breach had to have been a ten-foot leap gunning upstream, and though I was in a perfect location to fight the fish, it was chaos.
“Steelhead, steelhead, steelhead!” was what I meant to say, but the only thing that came out was, “Whhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!”
“Eric’s hooked up!” Case yelled to someone who was downstream, completely out of my sight. The fish was mauling the water upstream, thrashing back and forth but not running any further. I kept the pressure on as it started making its way back toward me. Reeling in fast, I glanced downstream to see James at full charge, the deep basket of his net flinging back and forth like the hair of a supermodel with every stride.
I was careful not to reel in my leader past the tip of the rod as the fish got close. It was now no more than a rod’s length away in the very back eddy I was standing in. The enormous tail was flopping lazily out of the water as it faced down in the pool. James was waist-deep in water, making his way up to me when a thought occurred to me: What if I could tail this massive steelhead?
To grab a steelhead by the base of its tail takes knowledge and skill. If you grab the fish too soon, it will bolt on you, possibly breaking your line or fly rod in the process and, of course, losing your fish. Most don’t take the chance, especially with a prized fish like I had on the line. Yet the fish had stopped fighting and the tail was flopping lazily out of the water… This fish was asking to be tailed. James was a little over halfway to me when I heaved on the fly rod, bringing up the back of the fish a little more. Once the base of the tail was out of the water, I pounced and grabbed the tail of the steelhead with a firm grip.
SLAP!
The fish exploded with rage, and the force of the kick threw me back and off balance as if I had been kicked by a horse.
“MONCADA, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!” James yelled as I whirled back around to regain control. The pressure on the fish was tight as it bolted downstream right towards James. With all the skill needed to tail a steelhead, I obviously had none, and the fact that this monster steelhead was still attached to my line was a damn miracle.
“Why would you try to tail that fish? The river is deeper right here, but I was coming as fast as I could with a NET,” James said, with the tone of an adolescent wasp, keeping his eyes focused on the fish the entire time. The fish was now right in front of James, facing downstream, and with a heave, the fish turned to face upstream. I could feel the fish was tired, and with one last lift, the cheek of the steelhead presented itself on the surface. James jabbed the net under the head of the fish and lifted the steelhead up. Although the head of the fish was at the bottom of the net, two-thirds of its body was flopping outside the rim. The full weight of the fish was visibly present as James struggled to keep the net above the water.
“No, no!” he grunted, and the fish flopped, forcing the rim of the net to dip into the water. James put everything into keeping the fish from escaping, but the weight of the fish was becoming too much. The fish started to kick, dropping the opening dangerously parallel to the water, but I was already sprinting to help. I caught the dropping rim and hoisted it up so that the steelhead slipped completely and securely into the net.
“WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” I yelled triumphantly, which was echoed by supporting cheers from James and Case. The massive fish was landed, and we all looked in amazement at its size in the net.
“How do I even hold this thing?” I said, knowing one good kick from the fish could probably knock me out, but the fish was tired. I gripped the tail and then the head to hold it up, and the fish was surprisingly tame as James took some pictures of my new favorite hero shot.
I dipped the fish back into the water and held its massive body upright until I felt it could hold itself up. I took my hands off the fish and watched it swim away, and away, and away, its massive profile slipping out of sight a good distance away.
Call it a tradition or a ritual among great anglers to praise each other in admiration for landing a great fish; typically, it involves a firm handshake or a fist bump along with further verbal recognition of their accomplishment after a successful release from fellow anglers nearby. Only, that didn’t happen for me.
Still smiling after watching my fish slip out of sight, I looked over at James.
“Moncada…” he said with hollow eyes, “…You trying to tail that steelhead was the stupidest F%#@ing thing I’ve seen you do this whole trip!”
“It would have been sick though, right?” I said, smiling even brighter. Case, who was standing right next to us, gave a chuckle.
“Yeah, but I was right there with the net,” James said, his voice rising as he pleaded. “The water was deep, but I was coming as fast as I could. You could have lost the fish.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t…” I said, still with a wide smile, but quickly added, “…but you are right.”
“That was a pretty awesome fish though,” James finished with a smile slipping onto his face as he held out a fist for a thump of a job well done.
A fist bump from Case shortly followed before I went looking around for the gear that I had lobbed into the bushes during the fight. We were all reliving the moment as I gathered my gear, and even James was able to laugh when he described the look on my face after the recoil of my failed tailing attempt.
Still smiling, the three of us went back to fishing, and it wasn’t long before I hooked into another steelhead. Case was the only one nearby to help me land the fish. Just as important as knowing how to fight a big fish is knowing how to net one. Logically, you would think you need to get at the fish and scoop it up as quickly as possible; however, even netting the fish requires patience. While the fish was hot on the line, I held tight and turned the fish back upstream towards me. At this point, Case had the net out and charged the fish, and it spooked downstream. Line tore from my reel. There was no stopping the fish as it darted into a log jam and broke my line.
“Awwwwww,” I said, reeling in the slack.
“Sorry, man,” Case said after I explained what had happened.
“No worries, man,” I said, and I meant it. After landing my huge fish, losing that steelhead was really no big deal, and it was good practice for Case.
The fight brought me downstream, where I saw Felecia fishing a run.
“Hi, bestie!” she said as I approached.
“What’s up, kid?”
“Nothing. Just trying to catch a dolly.”
“Oh, nice,” I said, then saw her make a cast. Even as her line flew in the air, I noticed she was rigged specifically for steelhead.
“Let me see your line,” I said, and she lifted her fly rod, bringing in her line for me. I re-rigged her line, explaining that the dollies like the smaller egg patterns. Felecia knew how to mend a fly line while nymphing; however, this particular spot had a lot of stagnant water in front of us that required a downstream mend for a drag-free drift. With a new rig and quick instruction on the best way to approach this spot, Felecia hooked into a dolly on her next cast.
“Since you picked my flies, this is technically your fish,” she said, smiling as she let the fish go.
“That’s your fish one hundred percent,” I encouraged as she went back to fishing.
“Yeaaaaaaa!” Felecia yelled out again, this time hooked into a much bigger dolly.
“Whoa, that’s a nice one,” I said, standing by her side. The fish came up and slapped the water with more force than expected.
“Ummmmmm…” I said, then quickly looked over at Felecia to see her fly rod working overtime.
“This dolly is huge!” she yelled.
“KEEP YOUR ROD TIP UP!” I said with calm authority, as the fish pulled hard enough for Felecia to drop the tip, pointing it straight at the fish.
“Do you need the net?” called a voice from just downstream and out of sight. I knew it was James; his blue Alaska hat was the only part of him I could see over the logjam that separated us. I couldn’t respond because I was giving quick, calm instruction to Felecia on how to fight a STEELHEAD!
Line ripped through the water with Felecia holding on tight. The last thing I needed to do was add more pressure by freaking out, so with the demeanor of asking for a fresh cup of tea, I called out, “James…could you bring the net, please?”
The sound of wading boots ripping through gravel on the far bank indicated James was on the way, followed closely by Case.
I went back to coaching Felecia, who was doing a great job of playing the steelhead. The fish itself was not ready to come in just yet, often making a run for it with tight fly line following its path.
Off-rhythmic steps came from behind as James approached with a limp. Though he was moving quickly, there was obviously something wrong.
“You okay?” I asked, seeing pain in his eyes.
“I just busted my knee on that log back there,” James said, out of breath. He didn’t have to explain any more than that; I knew exactly which log he was talking about. Many times I had stepped over the same deadfall, each time worrying I would slip and smack my knee on it. I was super careful because wet deadfall with no bark is one of the slickest surfaces in nature. Even a perfect step over that surface can be tricky, and at a run, James had fallen victim to one of nature’s landmines.
Felecia’s rod was maxed out as she brought the steelhead in close to the net. Any pain that was on James’s face turned to stone when it was time to perform. Felecia took a few steps back behind James, and her steelhead thrashed at the surface. It must not have liked the feeling of the shallow water because it bolted.
“Let it run!” I yelled, seeing her fly rod straighten as the steelhead shot away. James’s stone demeanor collapsed after the fish took off.
“Want me to take the net?” I asked.
“No, I got it,” James said.
Felecia had the fish back quickly.
“Head up!” James called out, and with her rod maxed out, Felecia heaved even harder. For a split second, the cheek of the steelhead became visible, and that was all he needed to plunge the net under the fish.
“Yeaaaaa, I’m so excited!” Felecia yelled, seeing her fish in the net.
James thrust the net handle at me. “Take that. My shin is in three pieces.”
“Are you okay?” Felecia asked James, seeing him clearly for the first time.
“He fell on that log; I saw the whole thing,” Case said, looking after James while I helped Felecia get a handle on her first-ever steelhead.
“Hold on, Moncada, I want to get in this shot,” James said, limping over to be a part of the moment.
Felecia held her fish in the water and let it slip from her grasp when it was ready to go. We all watched as her steelhead swam out of sight.
“Nice job, babe,” James said to Felecia, giving her a hug. Felecia and Case started chatting about the moment when James turned to me. “Thank you, Moncada.”
“Of course,” I said, and then James started to laugh. “What’s so funny?”
“I can’t believe how calmly you asked for the net,” he said, doing an impression that sounded like a highfalutin gentleman in a pompous club: “James… James, my good man. Would you bring the net, please?”
“Right? So calm,” Felecia added, remembering the moment.
“Well, I didn’t want to freak out and then freak you out. I had to, at least, pretend I had things under control.”
We laughed as we retold the event that had just taken place. Although it wasn’t too late, we decided it was time to get going because we wanted to try out the local restaurant for dinner.
At the restaurant, we ran into some of James’s old crew from Fish Hound. The Fish Hound guys were on a different level—over-the-top rowdy and blitzed after a day on the river. In fact, within the first five minutes, they were all laughing about the fact that they had lost the leader of their group, who had now been missing for the better part of the day. “He just disappeared, and we haven’t heard from him all day,” one of the guys laughed before breaking away from us and heading into the bar.
The food at the restaurant was fantastic and fairly priced, considering we were in Alaska. If you just ordered food, you could actually save money rather than buying food from the grocery store—that is, if you didn’t order any beer with your dinner.
“So, do you miss that crowd?” Eric asked James as we finished our dinner. The Fish Hound crew was boisterous, even from the restaurant that was separated by glass from the bar. They were clearly enjoying themselves but keeping things just under the level of obnoxious.
“You know, I had my time, and I’m happy to be with you guys,” James said.
The next day would be the first float of the trip; however, the first float would go to Eric, Corbin, and Case, while James, Felecia, and I would float the following day. With that in mind, we got back to the lodge and said goodnight to day three in Alaska.