Mind Game: Finding Wild Steelhead in British Columbia

CHASING THE UNICORN SPECIES

Back in November of 2022, I had an idea brewing in my head. As an angler who’s passionate about exploring that next destination, chasing that next species, it's impossible for one fish to stop interrupting that train of thought, Steelhead. It’s a unicorn when it comes to chasing fish with a fly rod. Many could agree or disagree, but my opinion stands that Steelhead are one of the most challenging fish to chase, fool, and catch on a fly. They are unpredictable and predictable, they are not grabby but sometimes they are, and they draw us into a mind game and obsession we call “steelheading”.

My buddy Derek Litzsinger and I spent all our high school weekends running off from our parents and sports practices to go camp in the back of the truck chasing trout and steelhead anywhere that sounded appetizing. We loved to explore.

Derek was stationed in the Air Force after graduating high school, and we hadn’t been able to spend quality time together in a long while. So with the great help of a few close friends and many late nights of research on our laptops, that idea that had been brewing for years finally came to fruition. 

Derek lives in Fairbanks, Alaska and is newly married to his wife, Kayle.  I thought, “Why don’t I fly them both to Idaho to spend some time with their family, and then Derek and I can catch up on life as we make the long drive to Northern British Columbia, Canada”.  BC, as many know, has some of the most pure and wild steelhead genes left in the world.  I knew how hard we worked growing up as teens chasing that tight line grab, and we had both only had a handful of those experiences.  This genius idea to boost our odds at catching “more steelhead on the swing” by traveling to such a renowned fishery was creating a mythical story line in our minds.  We were about to be reminded that these BC fish are still steelhead, and these ones are in their most pure form. 

On Christmas morning, Derek opened an envelope with two Delta flight ticket receipts making him aware that we indeed were going on a steelhead adventure, just like back in our high school days.  It was far too long, and we couldn’t wait to swing lines where native steelhead swim.

When Derek flew into town, his father kindly lent us an Aluminum drift boat to tow up with us.  So all we had to do was pack our Saratoga Boat Box, our two OC fly reels and our 6wt Project One spey rods and we were on our way.  We took turns driving 7-12 hours a piece each day with no naps, just chuggin’ along strong.  The border cross went extremely smooth and the trip only began to feel more reel as the scenery took our breathe away the further north we ventured.  The peaks became taller and the country became a whole lot more rugged.  We began to see water everywhere, and it was tempting to stop at every pullout and fish everything we viewed from the highway.

After a long drive, we made it to our AirBnB for the week, we stopped by a local fly shop and spent an evening driving the local back roads and highways in search of some perfect walking speed, “swing water”.  We only had the afternoon to fish on day one, so we fished and got a fly wet in the big water just outside of the town we made home base.  The water had colored up quite a bit from runoff, but other anglers told us not to worry, and to stay confident. Which is the name of the steelhead game, “Stay Positive”.

Each day passed and we tried a different river, purchased a different license, floated a different section in the drift boat, and still no steelhead after 4 long days sun up to sun down swinging flies.  We were slowly losing our courage, and the steelhead were playing us like a fiddle. Everyone around us were finding fish, not in any crazy numbers, but they were catching some big ones. That news was exciting to us because that was what we came for, a large, spring-run Steelhead.

In Idaho, we are only used to chasing fish that have been in freshwater for months on months, and have swam 400-plus miles into the system.  Here, the fish were fresh as could be.  It wasn’t about being the best caster or on the best river, but discovering the ways these fish traveled based on tide, water clarity and many more factors.  It truthfully took these four days to grind, learn, and get our asses handed to us. Because on the fifth day, we had a spot in mind that we couldn’t have timed better.

In Idaho, we are only used to chasing fish that have been in freshwater for months on months, and have swam 400-plus miles into the system.  Here, the fish were fresh as could be.  It wasn’t about being the best caster or on the best river, but discovering the ways these fish traveled based on tide, water clarity and many more factors.  It truthfully took these four days to grind, learn, and get our asses handed to us. Because on the fifth day, we had a spot in mind that we couldn’t have timed better.

That morning of the fifth day, I woke up telling Derek, “First blood is today.” I just knew it the moment I opened my eyes and my head left the pillow. Steelhead fishing is a mind game, full of maintaining confidence and perseverance each day.

When we arrived at the beautiful run, another spey angler was indeed fishing the tail out at first light, they had it perfect.  Somehow, lucky for us, he did not prick a fish and eventually left.  As a result, we just continued swinging down from the top.  We took a short break, and I stepped back into the bottom of the run and into the head of the next shallow riffle.  The best part about this spot was that it had a very obvious pinch point that the fish had to run up, it was a shallow shelf below the head of the riffle we imagined a fish would temporarily hold in. I had a bright intruder tied with an endless amount of rubber legs, Derek and I nicknamed it, “The Squid.”

It was about 9:30 AM now, the tide was coming in strong, we were swinging about 2 miles from the inlet to the bay where this river met saltwater.  I was working the water slowly, just waiting for a fish to swim upstream and into my bright, aggressive fly. I hung it, pumped it, forward mended it, I wanted a wild take. In between casts, I was taking my 4 steps down and stripping in my running line, as my Skagit tip just reached the end of my rod tip, I felt my line go tight. I immediately assumed it was a rock, pulling my rod tip in the air in ankle-deep water, then saw an instant flash under the water from a bright, chrome steelhead. The headshakes were voracious, and I was on my first coastal steelhead on a fly, ever.

Covered in sea lice, a black back over a white belly, this fresh hen was around 32”- 34” and anywhere from 10-14lbs. The 6wt Project One handled it like a beast.

We swung the rest of the day with no luck, yet our morale was on a whole nother level. Another day passed with no luck.  On our last day, day seven, we had just about fished every inch of water that had been of interest to us.  So, as we typically did every night after dinner and a beer at the Air Bnb, we’d hop on Google Earth for the last time before packing up our things and beginning the long voyage back to the lower 48.  We had the mentality to go for all the marbles as we’d spent every day of the trip playing it safe fishing all the most typical steelhead zones recommended by locals.  We drove the longest we had from home base that seventh morning to a smaller system that flowed directly into the bay, not a tributary, just straight fresh to salt.  The levels were just right, a good bit of rain came in the night before to the rescue.  We hiked pretty deep into this beautiful stream and understood quickly there was not a lot of structure to target.  It was already apparent these fish were very sneaky when they traveled, they rarely would move on sunny days and wanted the overcast, cloudy, incoming tide to be on the move.  So we started higher up and worked down toward the ocean. We came across a few solid holes and swung through them, but no luck.  We both had the Squid pattern tied on.  Outside the water, it looks like a fluorescent salmon/pink color, and in the water, it only gets brighter and more orange with incredible movement between the palmered marabou and most of a pack of rubber legs. We came to the deepest hole yet and knew some sort of fish had to be holding in it, bull trout, sea run cutthroat, steelhead, something.  I worked the tail and Derek worked the head of the run.  Both were short-lived swings, as the gut or middle of the run was more stagnant and very deep to keep a swing alive.  I passed it up and kept working downstream.  Derek on the other hand sensed it had something lurking and continued to let his fly sink down and retrieve it back to him, keeping his fly in the strike zone.

I was swinging the head of the run just downstream of Derek.  In my right ear, I heard a very strange holler in the distance.  I looked upstream but I couldn’t see Derek.  I kept swinging.  Seconds later, I heard a more distinct holler, “Joseph!”

I hopped five or six boulders back upstream and saw Derek underneath a tree, his Project One Spey rod doubled over in the middle of that run. I dropped my rod and instantly began sprinting, screaming, “no way, no way, no way.”

When I finally got to him, he was trembling, shaking, he could barely speak to me properly.  We saw the fish come to the surface for the first time and our jaws dropped, we yelped like little girls and the fish responded with one of the coolest series of aerial jumps I’ve ever seen fishing in my life thus far. That was when the screams became a bit louder and even more exciting. Derek had been working for this fish for over a decade, I knew how much it meant to him and how thrilled he was. Just deep in the coastal forest a place we both were so unfamiliar with, tight to one of the biggest fish he’s ever had on the end of his fly rod.

“Dude, whatever happens from here is just a cherry on top, we’ve already done it! You fooled him dude, you hooked him dude, those jumps, it’s all we wanted.”

That small little barbless intruder hook off the back had us both scared, but it’s important to remember to never upset yourself over losing a fish.  We fish for the moments spent with friends, cheering for the ups and downs that fishing provides, and for the hookups we are grateful enough.  Thankfully, Derek played the fish perfectly and allowed us to have the chance to shake hands with this wild, 36” - 38” wild buck.  The most healthy, stunning, pure wild steelhead I have ever laid eyes on, I'm sure Derek could only agree.  It was 12 pm and we called it a day, we ran a $130 tab at the local bar to a few beers and a steak sandwich.  Nothing could top that moment when he released that fish, we rode cloud 9 for the rest of the day, and the remainder of the trip.

Thousands of dollars on gear, miles of travel, a lot of casts were made to cross paths with these fish. Steelhead are not a fish you go into knowing you’ll catch, but one that you know if you do catch, it will forever remain in your heart.