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Bombing the Bantam. Holding the Wild.

 

We set out early Thanksgiving morning from Trout Creek with a solid and well-thought-out plan for the long weekend—“to fish our brains out,” as Mike would put it, until we run out of food and Total Domination.

 

Foggy dawn at Trout Creek

 

After an earlier November trip, battered down by ferocious wind, failed casts, and multiple lost fish, I’m ready for redemption. My goal for the next few days was simple—to shed the “goofy” lift and add the “hard crack under” to my cast, to bomb the bantam out there and give it a chance to swing.

 

Morejohn’s black and blue bantam

 

Casting has been my biggest source of frustration since taking up fly fishing a little over a year ago. Getting up early, enduring fatigue, working your ass off in the cold just for that one fleeting second when the fish climbs on are all part of the steelheading CliffsNotes—I get it. But to see guys reach greater distances their first time holding a spey rod, even with the top-hand push, has been a bitter pill to swallow.

 

After a few warm-up runs, the sun came out. It was a glorious Thanksgiving morning on the Deschutes. “The next spot might be a bit challenging,” warned Mike. It was deep, tight to the bank, with lots of overgrown grass (the kind that grabs on to your flies and won’t let go). I moved through the run thinking my casting wasn’t half bad today, given the setup. I deserved a pat on the back. Sure enough, the steelhead god noticed and smiled as I held my very first wild steelhead.

 

Gus was there to share to moment.

 

My first wild steelhead

 

Black Friday brought even more rewards…