Don't read too much into it

The first steelhead trip of the season does not set the tone for the rest of the season. It can’t. That’s too much pressure and dependent on too many variables outside an angler’s control. Meaning can be assigned later, but that’s somewhat disingenuous. You didn’t know from that first cast it was going to be a good year or a bad one. You just decided to be overtly positive or negative based on the result and that reactionary attitude is what provided the shape to the year.

We all know people who are relentless in their pursuit of a bad time and those who are unflappable. The latter being the types who make the best fishing and hunting buddies.

But the first fishing trip of the year does provide the first memory of a new season. It is important and it can take on a ceremonial feel, but that’s where it ends.

Good thing.

The last time I fished this spot for steelhead was on Jan. 1 a few years ago. It was snowy and the lake was frozen with the exception of a river input. That’s where I swung my fly and where the fish took. Moments later, as my wife was preparing to swing her fly through, a man waded into where the river met the lake and began splashing his back and forward cast. He was waist deep, exactly where the fish had struck. But we don’t own the river and there is no law against fishing, so we just packed up and left.

I compartmentalize fishing and pair pursuits with species. Trolling for kings is a heavy-traffic affair with people assuming the right-of-way regardless of their direction or proximity to others. It reminds me of driving on Interstate 5 through Los Angeles where the DMV manual is a largely forgotten document of decrees that became optional.

Steelhead fishing is a solitary experience because I don’t want to see someone catch one in front of me or someone else to see me lose one and what angler doesn’t want to fish alone?

I laced my boots in four inches of snow and started off down the trail. It was way too late in the day for the spot to not have been hit, but the road was slick so maybe there was a chance. Either way, it felt reassuring to feel the soft cork grip of a fly rod rather than the no-nonsense stock of my deer rifle. It’s a ridiculous question to ask Which I prefer, hunting or fishing. Why choose? I supposed hunting provides food, but fly fishing for steelhead satiates a different hunger, but still, why ask such questions?

I kicked through the snow wondering if it was time for new wading boots, cleared the brush and there, standing where I would have swung was a kid or young adult splashing the water in an attempt to get a few more feet on his cast. He was waist deep in the nearly imperceptible current trying to get a drift with what looked like a heavy rig.

I watched for a few minutes until he waved. I smiled and returned the greeting. He backed up a few steps, realizing he might have to share or that he had pushed too far into the steelhead holding area. Either way I felt I had put him off his game at least a little bit so I turned and left.

This is precisely why trips should be measured individually and not take on the weight of good or bad luck.

I went fishing and it didn’t work out. Simple as that.