I finished my chores early so I took myself to Bi-Mart to buy a 2012 Oregon fishing license and a Salmon-Steelhead-Sturgeon tag. To celebrate getting my license and tag, I took myself to the Sandy River to work on catching a steelhead, the most pure and athletic fish in all god’s creation. The Sandy River was named by Lewis & Clark. By the time Lewis & Clark got to the Sandy River they had travelled some 8,000 miles and were not in a mood to bounce some river names off each other. They saw the sandy mouth of the river dumping into the Columbia and called it the Sandy River and then thirstily devoured some bat nest soup or pemmican or the last tin of tinned beef before arriving in Portland where they ate some locally sourced elk before finishing their Journey of Discovery at Fort Clatsop on the coast.

The first steelheading trip I remember was when we lived in Challis, Idaho and my dad took me winter steelhead fishing on the Salmon River and it was bitterly cold. I walked around on the rock bar and it was snowing and beautiful, although I don’t know if I had developed the notions of beauty that I possess now. The beauty of snow falling on the river and being with your dad and fishing.

My dad was fishing a red-butt skunk that my mom had tied for him. I think my dad was enacting some kind of old husband’s code that had to do with fishing the flies your wife tied for you. I remember that it was that fly because I remember my dad praising my mom’s name when the strike happened.

So the strike happened and I remember that the snow stopped falling on the river when it happened. My dad worked on that fish for a long time. In kid hours it was an hour but probably he horsed on that steelhead for at least twenty minutes.

It weighed thirty five pounds, which is a prize. Honestly, steelhead don’t come any bigger. Therefore, it became my dad’s duty to show the fish all over town. We stopped all over town to show everyone the fish and everyone cried bullshit until they saw the magnificent fish and all the normal things were said. I remember I pleaded with my dad that it be taxidermied because I couldn’t bear the thought of its magnificent form disappearing from our lives after we had taken such pains to haul it to shore and show it all over town.

Here is my steelhead fly box and my steelhead fly wallet. It looks like a half time show. As you can see there are Black Gnat Bucktails, Dudie Anns, Golden Pheasants, Improved Governors, Caldwells, Brad’s Brats, Bucktail McGintys, Dr. Spratleys, Cutthroats, Jock Scotts, Purple Perils, Fall Favorites, Klickitats, Sack Flys, Rogue River Specials, Railbirds, Pink Ladys, Poodle Dogs, Stanley Streamers, Van Luvens, Wind River Witches, Badger Bivisibles, Soldier Palmers, Whiskey and Sodas, Grease Liners, Del Coopers, Whitesel’s Wines, Salmo Le Sacs, Red Foxes, Nation’s Fancys, Hot Orange Champs, Brass Hats, Polar Shrimps, Lacy Coachmans, and of course Red Butt Skunks.

I fished today with my 6 weight Sage RPL fly rod. Eight and a half feet. It’s a very dainty set up for steelheading and presented the rare circumstance wherein the fisherman worries about finding a twenty pounder. Or a spirited ten pounder.

The Sandy was running really big and muddy and not right for fishing. I fished anyways. As my grandpa Art taught me, fishing isn’t so much about fishing as it is about getting far enough away from the house you don’t get caught by your wife with a lip of chewing tobacco.