My first experience fishing for steelheads was in the spring of 2007. A steelhead is a sea-run rainbow trout. They return to fresh water to spawn and then, unlike a salmon which dies after spawning, they go back to saltwater. In North America, steelhead can be found from northern California to Alaska; they have also been introduced to the Great Lakes. In the Pacific Northwest many of the steelhead are hatchery fish, but in British Columbia there are still good runs of wild steelhead. Alaska steelhead are wild and can be found as far north and west as Kodiak Island and the Alaska Peninsula. The largest steelhead can get to be 40 pounds, although 10-20 pound fish are more common.
I chose northern British Columbia to try my luck at steelhead, specifically the area around Terrace. My route to Terrace was from Ketchikan by ferry to Prince Rupert, where I cleared customs, and then by Greyhound Bus to Terrace. Spring was late coming and the coastal mountains along the Alaska panhandle and British Columbia had about 140% of the normal snow pack. I arrived in Prince Rupert on March 30th . Had I arrived a day earlier I would have had to wait for an avalanche to be cleared from the road between Prince Rupert and Terrace, which follows the north bank of Skeena River. The Skeena river is rimmed by steep mountains, in many places almost to waters edge. It has an enormous drainage that includes some of the most famous steelhead rivers in North America, such as the Babine, Kispiox, and Bulkley.
Prince Rubert is the only connection to the Alaska Marine Highway System on Canadian soil. Historically, Prince Rupert was a commercial fishing center but now has a major port connected to the rest of Canada by the Canadian Northern Railway. It is about 150 km (90 mi.) from Prince Rupert to Terrace. In Terrace I was met by Gill McKean, my guide and owner of Westcoast Fishing Adventures. I spent the next six days fishing with Gill and staying at is lovely home in Terrace. The names of the rivers and places we fished are unimportant, but they were all within 100km of Terrace.
It seemed appropriate to start fishing on April Fool's day. It was clear and cold (-2C) when we left the house in the morning. We drove to the point where we launched the pontoon boat after lowering it down a steep bank onto a gravel bar. It was my first look at the river, which was gin-clear and about 150 feet wide at this location. The bottom of the river was carpeted with rounded cobbles. For the most part, the section of the river that we fished had a gravel or stony bottom, although there some areas where the bottom was sandy. The water depths varied from a foot or two to holes that were 10-15 feet deep. I classified the gradient of the river as moderate.
The plan was to do a combination of drifting and wading throughout the day depending on where we were in the river. I rigged my 8 wt. single-handed rod with floating line, a 12 foot leader and a 13# tippet. My plan was to dead drift egg patterns in a manner similar to nymphing. This required a couple of split shot above the egg and a strike indicator about 10 feet above that. Gill tied the egg patterns using a barbless #4 egg hook with a snell loop to hold the yarn-like material that formed the carefully trimmed egg. Over the course of the week we used a variety of colors and combinations of colors, mostly pinks, white and chartreuse.
I took the front casting platform and Bill, a friend of Gill's, took the back as we pushed out into the current. It was a gorgeous sunny morning, but cold for this time of year. Most days it never got warmer than 3C. The idea is to get your egg down near the bottom and drifting naturally in the current. This requires constantly mending line to prevent drag. We navigated along seams and drop-offs, sometimes along cut banks between long pools. The river meanders quite a bit. The heads and tail-outs of pools are particularly good holding points for steelhead. We reached a long straight run of water and pulled out to wade. The pool was less than 100 feet wide, 2-5 feet deep and over 500 feet long. Bill took the head of the pool and I moved toward the center. Bill switched from eggs to swinging a bright, pink streamer with his spey rod while I continued to drift egg patterns.
It was not long before Bill tied into a good fish. It stayed at the upper end of the pool and I was too far down stream to see what he had, but it wasn't too long before he worked a bright, 20-pound, trophy male steelhead to shore, lifted it from the water just long enough for Gill to snap a couple of photos and and then gently eased it back into the water. Not 15 minutes passed when Bill hooked a second fish almost in the same spot as the first one. This turned out to be a bright chrome female, not as large as the male but still a very nice fish; these were probably a mating pair. The following photos are Bill's two fish.
By now the upper part of the pool had been pretty stirred up and we continued to wade downstream. Finally, I had a couple of takes just below where a side stream entered the main channel from the opposite bank and hooked what turned out to be a nice cutthroat trout, not what we were after, but beautiful specimen that at least broke the ice. In the end, we caught a couple of more cutthroats and then broke for lunch. During the week we caught other cutthroats but no rainbow or dolly varden trout in this river. The following is a photo of me holding a typical cutthroat; notice the stony bottom and clear water.
In the afternoon I hooked a steelhead from the boat partway through a fast section of water. The fish immediately headed upstream as we continued downstream and then suddenly it was off. I never saw it but it felt like a good fish. I had one more take that day, which I failed to hook, and we saw another nice steelhead from the boat as we drifted downstream. At about 5:30P we reached the takeout point; the the sun was low on the horizon and I could feel the air temperature starting to drop. We had to pull the pontoon boat across a gravel bar, into a slough and then another 100 yards or so to the where the truck had been shuttled during the day. With the pontoon boat loaded on the pick-up we headed toward Terrace and that ended my first day of steelhead fishing, a great day inspite of not having landed one!
That evening Frank from Tucson arrived in Terrace. We had never met, but for the next 5 days we would fish together. Frank had fished with Gill before, but in the fall, never in the spring. There are basically two migrations of steelhead a spring run and a fall run; some rivers have both. Like Bill, Frank is a spey caster. The next morning was cold and clear and the river had obviously dropped during the night, which wasn't a good omen. Steelhead are sometimes spooked by clear water and bright sunlight with the result that they head for cover, deep holes and log piles. This isn't fatal when you're fishing with spinning rods and fresh eggs, but it makes fly fishing very difficult. Frank and Gill swung flies and I continued to dead-drift egg patterns. We had a couple of takes during the day but no steelhead were hooked.
The third day dawned even colder, it was -3C when we started our drift. Over night the river had fallen another six inches; more clear, cold weather and not a take all day. The forecast for the next day was for more cold clear weather and that evening it was decided to move to another river the next day.
On day four we hiked into a small coastal stream; it was -4C when we headed west from Terrace. We hiked into the stream from the road. It was a much smaller flow, with dark water, characteristic of British Columbia and southeastern Alaska rivers. The color comes from organics. The stream was 30-40 feet wide, had a relatively steep gradient, with steep side slopes formed by exposed bedrock. The dark water and bedrock, often slippery, can make wading treacherous. Several hours fishing resulted in one rainbow. Clearly the steelhead had not moved into the river. By the time we returned to Terrace the temperature had risen to 6C and it was cloudy; hopefully it would stay warm and create snow melt to cause the rivers to start rising.
When I woke the next morning there was a mixture of wet snow and rain and for the first time since I had arrived in Terrace the temperature was above freezing. After breakfast we headed back to the where we had started the week and clearly a melt was underway. The water at the launch point had some color, which is what we had hoped. We quickly rigged up and pushed off. A short distance downstream we pulled out to wade a straight section of relatively fast water that was about 2-4 feet in depth; we had three rods fishing. It wasn't long before I hooked a fish, it took line and put a pretty good set in my 8 wt rod; hopefully this was a steelhead. Finally, as I worked the fish into shallow water it was clearly a small male steelhead, not the trophy I had come for, but my first steelhead and hopefully a sign of better things to come. After a couple of photos I released the fish and all three of us grabbed our rods with renewed enthusiasm.
Not much time had passed when Gill hooked a really good fish. It put a good set in his heavy spey rod and was clearly a big fish. The fish stayed in the middle of the river hugging the bottom. For several minutes the fish didn't move much up or downstream. Slowly Gill gained line, and after maybe 10 minutes the fish was in knee-deep water and appeared to be large chrome female. I don't think Gill realized how large the fish really was until he looked at the photographs that evening; our guess is 18-pounds. It was taken on a pink streamer while my earlier fish was taken on an egg pattern. Things were looking up!
We fished this section of the river for a little longer before getting back into the boat to work our way down stream. We fished the hole hard where Bill had caught 2 big steelhead a few days before, but except for a couple of cutthroat trout, nothing. At about mid-afternoon, I was in the front of the boat as we approached a spot where a side-stream entered the river. There was a fallen tree at the upstream side with branches pointing downstream into the current. As we neared the tree Gill instructed me to drop my egg directly off the tip of the branches. My fly hadn't been in the water 30 seconds when the strike indicator went under; I quickly pulled up and was hooked into a heavy fish. At first, it came to the surface, which confirmed it was a good size steelhead. Then the fish decided it wanted to go upstream toward the fallen tree. I didn't want to put too much pressure on it and break it off, but I also didn't want wrapped up in the tree. Gill slipped over the side of the pontoon boat and worked it toward the middle of the river to give me more fighting room. Finally, the fish turned and started to come toward us and then headed downstream. By this time we were in shallower water, almost on the opposite side of the river, and Gill had me slide over the side so I could fight the fish from shore. Several more minutes passed and now the fish was in shallow water near my feet; it was a nice bright female. Gill tailed the fish, a 15-pounder, we took some photographs and then released it; as far as I was concerned my trip was complete.
By now it was fairly late in the day and so we continued downstream. I had one more strike before we reached the takeout but did not hook-up.
The following morning was rainy and 6C; this would be our last day and Frank still needed a steelhead. We reached the run where I had gotten my first steelhead the previous day and we spread out; I took the head of the run near the far bank. After about 15 minutes I had a strike and it felt like a good fish. I worked it for a short period and then suddenly I realized I was hooked on the bottom, but well above the point where I had felt the initial strike. Finally, I concluded that I did, in fact, have a fish on, but it had taken me upstream and in the process my line got under a rock and the fish broke off. For the first time we saw another angler ahead of us on the river.
After a while we continued our drift downstream, reaching the pool where Bill had taken the two steelhead. Gill took the head of the pool, Frank the middle and I started just above where a side-stream entered the river, and where I taken a couple of cutthroat. This time I fished further downstream, around a bend and then along a cut bank with fallen trees along the edge. The water was the color of weak tea, having darkened some over night from the snow melt and light rain. I tossed my fly just upstream of one of trees, mended the line, and watched the strike indicator pass along the edge of the log. As the strike indicator passed the point where the log disappeared into the water it suddenly went under and I set the hook in a heavy fish. I could feel it shaking its head, it came to the surface and rolled and then went under again. I was out of site and sound of both Frank and Gill, and so whatever was going to happen here was going to be all my doing. I wanted to keep the fish away from the tangle of trees on the far bank and tried working it toward the middle of the river. It started to come my way. I was hoping that either Gill or Frank would show up, for moral support. Suddenly, my line went slack; the hook pulled out. As I started upstream toward the boat I saw it coming toward me and slipped over the side and back into it when it reached me. We fished the remaining section of the pool where I had just missed the steelhead, but without any luck.
It was starting to rain harder now, and getting darker and foggy; the trip was almost over. Frank was at the tail-out of a large pool, probably the last one we were going to fish. The river made a sweeping bend at the tail-out then dropped quickly through a series a rapids into another pool blow, forming a kind of S-curve. The current was very strong at the tail-out. Frank was casting toward some brush in the water on the opposite bank and letting his fly sink and swing just above where the rapids started. He must have made 20-30 casts when suddenly I heard a yell. At first I thought it came from above me and I looked toward Gill. Then I heard Frank holler again, and this time I looked downstream and saw that he was hooked into a good fish, which was rolling and thrashing on the surface. Frank had been waist-deep in the river when the fish struck and he was trying to back toward the bank and keep the fish from going into the rapids. By now Gill was aware of the situation and yelled for Frank to let the fish run, that we would follow it to the lower hole, with the boat if necessary. It was about that point that the fish broke off, so close yet so far. We drifted a few more holes as we worked our way toward the take-out, but it was pretty dark by now and clear that the trip was over.
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