Home for me is Northern California, land of a thousand rivers and endless mountain roads to wonder. My plan going into this trip home was to spend as much time on the water fly fishing as possible... without hurting anybody's feelings. I didn't want mom to think that I was ignoring her, I simply couldn't receive another text message from my dad telling me how many fish he caught without me. Fishing started as soon as I landed and it continued the whole week without letup. 4am wake up calls to go steelhead fishing in 15 degree weather, frozen fly rods, sunset river floats, massive mule deer, fall colors and a few games of revenge ping pong were the norm.
Steelhead fishing is a trip. You wont meet very many casual steelhead fisherman, or at least you wont meet any successful ones, it takes a certain level of dedication that's borderline religious. Often times, and in my case on the river this past week, its warmer to stand in the freezing cold river than to stand in the mere 15 degree air around you. They say you only remember the fish that you lost, the one that could've been, and the one that can be any size you make it. I lost three of my last four large fish, two of them being steelheads. I left home with plenty of fish stories to last me through winter.