Sol·i·tude

/ˈsäləˌt(y)o͞od/

noun

noun: solitude

1. the state or situation of being alone.

2. a lonely or uninhabited place.

plural noun: solitudes

synonyms: wilderness, rural area, wilds, backwoods;

Solitude. Many people fear it. Others crave it. And for some of us it’s as necessary as food and shelter. 

The opportunity to find a moment’s solitude is an opportunity to decompress, a time to reflect. To let go of the constant pressures of daily life; to unplug, get re-centered and reconnect with a world most have forgotten even exists. 

It’s become harder to find solitude in 

this microworld, where virtual gladiators sling opinions at us like arrows from both front and flank, proclaiming that we can’t, we shouldn’t… or that we Must conform to the daily trend; as history’s mistakes repeat at the speed of light. And battles are won and lost at the stroke of a keypad. 

But there are still places that exist where the land is large and untamed; unreached by the cellular webbings that so encapsulate our minds. Where secret rivers teem with life as they have for thousands of generations before. Where no one can find you despite their unyielding attempts, unless you choose to be found. 

And within British Columbia… such places are abundant. 

But we didn’t pick British Columbia for the solitude. No, that was an unintended consequence. A special treasure with lasting impact far beyond our most grandiose expectations. No, 

We went for the steelhead. 

Little is known about the formidable opponent that is the Pacific steelhead. And little has been dedicated in the way of research, especially when compared to the well documented life cycle of the salmon who frequent similar destinations. 

A general internet search will quickly reveal that the steelhead is a strain of rainbow trout that for reasons unknown chooses to leave the protected confines of the high altitude freshwater streams and creeks draining North America’s Pacific Northwest and venture into the great and unyielding Pacific Ocean below. Then, having escaped, possibly even thrived in the middle of the food chain, the strongest of the lot return home to their birthplace to spawn and replicate in freshwater. But unlike the salmon who practice similar mating migration rituals once and die, the steelhead return back to the ocean again, multiple times throughout their lives. Becoming more large and cunning with each successful journey. 

These legendary trout grow enormous in size, and readily eat flies in some of the most remote and rugged landscape on earth, boasting large, silver sides as they enter the rivers and streams from the ocean, giving way to shades of pink and red as they ascend up into the interior. 

When hooked, these magnificent fish run hard into backing with and against the current, multiple times. Knuckle busting, drag screaming, speed winding action, broken up only by frequent aerial assault; 

These torpedoes launch uncontrolled chaos on even the most experienced angler. To add to the mystique, the steelhead runs tend to occur in the fall and spring when weather and water levels are transitioning. As a result, the run tends to accompany fairly miserable weather, characterizing the steelhead fisherman as demonstrably more hard core than the traditional trout angler.

While steelhead can be caught as far south as Northern California and as far North as Alaska, there is no question that today’s largest population filters in and out of the creeks and bays of British Columbia traveling up large steelhead superhighways including the Skeena and Nass watersheds, tracing the path back to their origins through small rivers and tributaries like the Copper or Buckley Rivers whose angling tales have been told for generations on end. 

Our quest to land a steelhead on a fly takes us to Terrace, British Columbia. At first glance, Terrace looks like a fairly sleepy town, with hints of a history in both lumber and mining. But Terrace is the place where the fabled Copper River joins the Skeena, the culmination 

of all our research and fly fishing experience, almost literally a natural X marking the spot. Starting at Terrace makes the haystack substantially smaller within which the search for the needle commences. We only have a week away from life after all to accomplish this dream, and choosing a different destination had previously resulted in a swing and a miss. Starting in Terrace, we hypothesized, would exponentially increase our chances of coming face to face with a true Pacific Steelhead. Or so we hoped. 

We learned quickly that steelhead are extremely transient. Because they are in one spot today does not mean they will be there tomorrow, and predicting how far they have moved is at best an educated guess with odds increasing based on a combination of time, experience and dumb luck, the ratios of which are unknown and ever changing. 

To that end, it was a good thing we chose to rely on the expertise of the Spey Lodge. Initially, when we first envisioned fulfilling our dream of landing a steelhead on fly, we looked into the idea of a do it yourself package on a tract of land that offered 4-wheelers and access to private steelhead water. We had historically camped to trout fish, and had always done so quite successfully. So the idea was enticing. We hesitated only because of our lack of experience with the double handed fly rod and the inability to have a guide to give us some basic instruction. That ended up being the least of the issues that the do-it-yourself travel package would have presented. 

The first thing that we noticed was that despite the fact that the Spey Lodge was situated directly on the famed Skeena River, we traveled every single day, sometimes two hours each way to get to the fish! In fact, we never just fished out back. Our guides were life long residents of the area and ended up taking us by car, boat and even helicopter to places not marked on any map. 

Our most enjoyable days steelhead fishing were not on the large Skeena (although that was phenomenal), but on small watersheds that literally dropped off of glaciers melting before your eyes to form streams just large enough to swing a fly to hungry and unsuspecting Steelhead at the top of their journey. 

Old, out of use 

logging roads provided just enough of a hole to slip a truck and a couple rafts though. Clearly, without the local guide, we would have missed what truly was the most incredible day or two of fishing ever, the culmination of all my travels and experience, the pinnacle. 

To say we found steelhead was an understatement. We found them on the large waters of the Skeena River. 

We found them in unnamed and secret headwaters. 

We found them early and often, and in most holes where we expected and hoped they would be. Michael grinned on our third day there, harkening back to our trip to the Deschutes River in Oregon where we first attempted to land a steelhead, unsuccessfully, and ignorant as to the monumental feat we had set out to accomplish. 

On the Deschutes, our frustrated guide proclaimed after 4 days of swinging flies without so much as a bite, 

“Well you know, they don’t call it the fish of a thousand casts for nothing.” 

As we gleefully scrolled through pictures of the days’ bountiful catches, before dinner with Wally, our host, Michael proclaimed, “fish of a thousand casts? Not here!”

We caught them swinging flies at various depths with 12 foot, 2 handed fly, or spey rods. We chose to bring 7 weight, Orvis Spey rods combos with us. 

They were moderately priced and provided a Battenkill, click and pawl reel with hydros Spey line and plenty of backing. As far as I’m concerned, these were the perfect outfit to match to the steelhead we targeted. And the click and pawl reel is both fun and a little nerve racking! Some might prefer a reel with a drag system to avoid the potential for a bird nest or a busted knuckle on a quick run. But I loved the simplicity of the sound and feel the click and pawl offered. 

The Orvis line system allows the angler to add tips at various sink rates from floating to extra super fast sink. And we ended up using every line option and locating the fish at various depths across different pools. 

We even landed a few on dry flies swung across the stream, which was both amazing and extremely educational in being able to visualize what the fly is doing as it swings through the strike zone. 

Swinging a dry fly will really help you to realize how much of the cast is actually swinging, and how much is basically waste. After watching the dry a few times, you can really begin to cast more efficiently and cover all of the area where you anticipate a steelhead would be lying. And, possibly most importantly, you, you can actually see the end of the drift instead of guessing based on where the line is.

Sometimes, it takes surprisingly long to get to the end of the drift and that last little stretch of drift tended to produce the majority of the fish! 

If you can cast a fly rod, a transition to a two handed fly or Spey rod is completely doable in short time. And if Steelhead isn’t on your to do list, it should be. The surroundings are breathtaking. And in those moments, as you work the run you can’t help but tune in, and reconnect to the sights and sounds of nature’s symphony. An opportunity to embrace solitude. To rediscover life. In the grander scheme one might ponder whether it is actually fish or fisherman who falls victim to the hypnotic action of the swinging fly. 

Now that I’ve done it, would I do it again? Actually, Ive already booked for next year! The next trip will feature Chinook Salmon on the two handed fly rod, with some off season steelhead hopefully mixed in. I look forward to doing a head to head comparison on which species is more enjoyable to target.