According to the dictionary, "chagrin" is "a keen feeling of mental unease, as of annoyance or embarrassment, caused by failure, disappointment, or a disconcerting event." I should have gotten back in the car right then.
In dire need of some decompression, and, I'll admit, jealous of the hourly texts from Jonny reporting yet another fresh steelhead cartwheeling across the river*, I decided to do a little steelheading of my own. Armed with a box of flies that had worked well in the past, I headed north on Monday evening to the home of an old friend. There, I learned that you really can tell the difference between 80 and 101 proof Wild Turkey.
Morning found me overlooking the aptly named Chagrin river. I pondered this odd river, which, at my first spot, was 70 feet wide, 4 inches deep, and much, much clearer than my head. From my vantage point, high above the river on a bridge, I could see every square inch of water for 50 yards in either direction, and not only were no fish visible, it wasn't at all clear where a fish would hide. I hiked and eventually found a likely-looking pool...already occupied by two fishermen.
Several more stops yielding mostly more keen feelings of mental unease, until finally I found a stretch of river that actually looked like it had not been built by the Army Corps of Engineers out of polished marble counter tops. I spied a likely looking pool, rounded the corner to position myself, and saw another angler working his way towards the head. I was closer, so I felt it would be appropriate that I would have first crack at the spot. So, I quickly hooked the tree behind me, leaving my entire leader on a high branch, well out of reach. Having now left a subtle but uniquely-Brayshaw-esque landmark in the tree, I was sure I'd be able to find this pool on my next trip. This gave me the confidence to re-tie my entire rig, which gave the other fisherman plenty of time to work his way into the pool. I hiked further upstream to fish the water he'd already worked over.
Six casts, and just as many leader replacements later, found me in the greatest of spirits as I eyed a deep chute across the river. A second drift through this water stopped the fly line suddenly, and I lifted the rod to find it buckling against the headshakes of a heavy steelhead. In four tenths of a second the fish was off, and I added to my keen feeling of unease some annoyance, and embarrassement, caused by failure, disappointment, and a series of disconcerting events. Chagrin River, indeed.
Shortly thereafter, I met a couple fishing and the male half asked me if I'd have any luck. "No", I replied, to which he responded "Well, how can you complain on a beautiful day like this!! It's just great to be out here!!" I thought about this as I crushed his trachea under my wading boot, his wife all the while begging me not to kill him. Was this the right thing to do? Probably. But that's not really the point. The point is that I have very limited time to go steelheading, and the drive is very long. When I get there, I want to hook and land large numbers of fast, strong fish. And this is all. I don't care if it is sunny and 72. I thought that we - the steelhead and I - had an agreement, and that this agreement went something like this: I drive a long fucking way and fish hard, and you get caught. I hardly think I am being unreasonable here. And so, needless to say, I am disappointed in steelhead. I know what's going to happen, though. The sting will subside, I'll forget this disastrous trip, and will soon be planning another. In this way, steel heading is much like childbirth, but worse.
Well, this time I am prepared. I made this little video, which I intend to watch every time I start to think that maybe a steelhead trip isn't such a bad idea. Feel free to watch it yourself, if you, too, are thinking of steelhead fishing.
Morning found me overlooking the aptly named Chagrin river. I pondered this odd river, which, at my first spot, was 70 feet wide, 4 inches deep, and much, much clearer than my head. From my vantage point, high above the river on a bridge, I could see every square inch of water for 50 yards in either direction, and not only were no fish visible, it wasn't at all clear where a fish would hide. I hiked and eventually found a likely-looking pool...already occupied by two fishermen.
Several more stops yielding mostly more keen feelings of mental unease, until finally I found a stretch of river that actually looked like it had not been built by the Army Corps of Engineers out of polished marble counter tops. I spied a likely looking pool, rounded the corner to position myself, and saw another angler working his way towards the head. I was closer, so I felt it would be appropriate that I would have first crack at the spot. So, I quickly hooked the tree behind me, leaving my entire leader on a high branch, well out of reach. Having now left a subtle but uniquely-Brayshaw-esque landmark in the tree, I was sure I'd be able to find this pool on my next trip. This gave me the confidence to re-tie my entire rig, which gave the other fisherman plenty of time to work his way into the pool. I hiked further upstream to fish the water he'd already worked over.
Six casts, and just as many leader replacements later, found me in the greatest of spirits as I eyed a deep chute across the river. A second drift through this water stopped the fly line suddenly, and I lifted the rod to find it buckling against the headshakes of a heavy steelhead. In four tenths of a second the fish was off, and I added to my keen feeling of unease some annoyance, and embarrassement, caused by failure, disappointment, and a series of disconcerting events. Chagrin River, indeed.
Shortly thereafter, I met a couple fishing and the male half asked me if I'd have any luck. "No", I replied, to which he responded "Well, how can you complain on a beautiful day like this!! It's just great to be out here!!" I thought about this as I crushed his trachea under my wading boot, his wife all the while begging me not to kill him. Was this the right thing to do? Probably. But that's not really the point. The point is that I have very limited time to go steelheading, and the drive is very long. When I get there, I want to hook and land large numbers of fast, strong fish. And this is all. I don't care if it is sunny and 72. I thought that we - the steelhead and I - had an agreement, and that this agreement went something like this: I drive a long fucking way and fish hard, and you get caught. I hardly think I am being unreasonable here. And so, needless to say, I am disappointed in steelhead. I know what's going to happen, though. The sting will subside, I'll forget this disastrous trip, and will soon be planning another. In this way, steel heading is much like childbirth, but worse.
Well, this time I am prepared. I made this little video, which I intend to watch every time I start to think that maybe a steelhead trip isn't such a bad idea. Feel free to watch it yourself, if you, too, are thinking of steelhead fishing.
[* Stay tuned...]
Thank you, Brayshaw. I will play this to myself repeatedly before I go steelheading again at Christmas time. I really don't want to go, but there you are.
ReplyDeleteEJ
TJ,
ReplyDeleteHave ya ever had a sitiation where somewhun went to land your stalehead and the damn thang went round there leg and broke off? If so, whatcha do bout it?
Jesse
Jesse,
ReplyDeleteI would probably kill myself. You probably should.
Once again, Jesse, you should probably just end it all, right now.
-Brayshaw
Brayshaw,
ReplyDeleteLemme git dis strate. You wood kill yerself and not the fella who bached up da landing? You mite need help.
Tite lines,
Jesse
Jesse,
ReplyDeleteIt's a complicated situation. Say, for example, that the person whose leg the fish was wrapped around was a living legend. And say, further, that the person who had hooked the fish was really a nobody, virtually "Anonymous", you might say. Then, yes, I think the reasonable thing would be for this so-called Anonymous to kill him or herself.
Other scenarios might require further analysis.
-Brayshaw
Advice that is pure gold.
ReplyDeleteOh God! What bitter knowledge that even well-established experts can suffer such utter defeat.
ReplyDeletelowbrow - I was as surprised as you were. I'm still trying to wrap my head around it all.
ReplyDeleteeven if you had to deal with low clear water, it was at least fishable. 6500 cfs discharge and rising on the chagrin at the moment
ReplyDelete"even if you had to deal with low clear water, it was at least fishable. 6500 cfs discharge and rising on the chagrin at the moment"
ReplyDeleteThat's why God made split shot.
TJ,
ReplyDeleteI would like to add to your conversation with Jesse. Is it possible to be a living legend and yet not land steelhead? Conversely, how can a great steelhead "hooker" and "lander" remain anonymous? I am more confused than ever.
Stabone
Stabone,
ReplyDeleteYou are right to be confused. These are the very questions philosophers have been struggling with for a thousand years. To your first question: I think it was the Greek philosopher Phragmites who said that all steelhead legends will ultimately fall, and he predicted that it would come first with a failure to land fish once hooked, not an initial failure to hook.
As to your second: He can't.
-Brayshaw
split shot, or downrigger balls, but those are hard to cast on an 8 weight
ReplyDeletehttp://wackyiraqi.com/wtf/waambulance.jpg
ReplyDeleteSnore.
ReplyDelete