By Scott Turo, Contributor at Wild Nexus
Throughout your quest, you’ll be told they’re a fish of a thousand casts, that you need to put in your time to get one on a fly. You’ll hear a respected angler say, “Just another 868 more to go,” when the stories are told. This environment will push you to do one of two things: give up or dig in and try harder. The real lesson is what you learn from making those casts. I stopped counting once I started learning.
For the musky anglers I lured in, I apologize. We are talking steelhead, the dime-bright, fresh-from-the-ocean, born in the gravel type. Returning to rivers across the Pacific Rim to complete their life cycle, steelhead have been the object of a quest for many since we stood up on two feet. There is no lack of interest, even in the modern era of diminished runs and tight regulations. If you choose to target them with fly gear rather than conventional gear, I salute you and offer some wisdom I’ve pulled from the fog and the mist.
Over those thousand casts, you should develop a confident feel for delivering the fly from both sides of the river, with your casting shoulder upstream on one side and downstream on the other. You’re not going to catch a fish in the air, so the focus for the first thousand casts should remain on when the line is in the water. Use the next thousand to perfect your curls and casts that bomb across the river. For now, it’s important to learn your rod and line, how they work together, and how much running line to leave hanging from the rod tip to hit the sweet spot in your casting stroke, while you get a feel for things. Any mistakes in the air can be fixed with a slight pause when the line hits the water, allowing it to straighten and begin moving through the swing.
Once in the water, the real lessons can begin. Regardless of the rod-and-line combo you wield, the concept is the same. Slow the fly to a speed below the current so a steelhead can see it long enough to elicit a strike. Of course, the water you choose to fish makes a big difference. Slots, inside seams, pool tails, and the heads of riffles are good places to start. Look for water two to seven feet deep at a walking pace, with undulating contours in the riverbed or areas with coarser bed material, which create those nooks and crannies that offer a rest.
Most casts will quarter across the river and swing into place directly below you before the next cast. As the line moves down and across the current, hold the rod at your side, about mid-thigh, in a relaxed resting position. Form a strike loop with the line, pinched between your finger on the cork and the reel, to absorb the grab before the fish feels the reel’s tension. As the line swings, imagine painting the river with your fly. Don’t miss any spots in the prime holding water. To excel at this, ensure the rod tip leads slightly ahead of the line, removing drag and loosening your presentation at the other end. A step or two downstream, after the cast help you get ahead of the line as it sinks.
This is the magic, the connection between you and your fly. Keep it loose.
Those fibers, whether natural or synthetic, are meant to move and undulate in an underwater dance. It’s your job to be a good partner. As you learn, you’ll encounter currents that will require some assistance to complete the swing; a slight downstream mend or an adjustment of the angle or the dangle should be all it takes.
One lesson that connected me with a small, low-water chromer involved the guide asking me to reach across my body and touch the water with the rod tip. I did, and he said, “Now, further,” so I did. Then again, further, against all my intuition, to make the line swing fast, then hold it below me. His goal was simple: to get me to move my fly from slot to slot as we worked across the holding water created by the bedrock obstruction in the tailout of this massive coastal river.
Once he confirmed that I understood the program, he began to back away upstream. As if something were about to happen, I looked back just as he pulled out his phone to take the picture of the day, and I felt the zap of a solid strike.
In this lesson, I learned to think outside the box and treat the fly like a small lure, an ultra-light spinner of sorts. Something to place or pull it into the slot or pocket of choice, rather than only fishing water with a classic swing presentation. I spent most of the day doing this after my buddy connected just after first light on a nice hen, and ended the day at this tailout for my last chance.
The most important lesson I learned is that less is more most of the time. There’s no need to bomb casts across the river; a few short pulls from the reel may be all you’ll need. With flies, the lesson was the same. To do the underwater dance correctly, less material clearly gives more to each dance move. In the case of this fly called the Fish Fart, which consists of less than two wraps of marabou around a very short plastic tube, slid onto the line above a razor-sharp hook. The wraps can be dressed with a strand or two of contrasting flash. Red on Black or Purple on Black should help sharpen the image.
The light, airy structure of this fly makes it dance and drift through the water much as its name implies.
I could show you, but there might be an odor.