Sep 23
There are a select few places in this world where all the right ingredients come together to grow truly giant lifeforms - The Redwoods of Northern California, Sequoias of the Southern Sierra, and Humans of Houston, TX, to name a few. The Kispiox River in Northern BC is another such place, and grows a super-race of steelhead unlike any other in the world.
At first glance, the Kispiox doesn’t look particularly out of the ordinary, a medium sized stream with beautiful swinging runs, somewhat similar to that of the lower Trask. But as you dig a little deeper, you quickly come to realize that the Kispiox is no ordinary river, and its fish are, simply put, extraordinary.
We began our first day on the Kispiox like every other day in BC, in the wee hours of 11:30am. Within ten minutes, we were floating by Harry Lemire and watching him release a fish that he’d just taken on a single hand rod and a dry line. The Kispiox is that kind of magical place.
We’d planned on fishing Tungsten tips, as that had been the ticket the previous days on the Bulkley, but Mr. Lemire’s feat told us otherwise. Fast forward seven hours of dry lines, Type-3s, and no fish… Ken and I are swinging through upper Potato Patch on opposite sides of the river, Ken with the bright idea to go back to T-11 and myself still stuck on my “Fish will move for the Type-3!!!” mentality.
Within minutes, Ken is into a fish. I put on a Type-6, and keep swinging. Ken loses the fish, and a few minutes later is into another. Same flies, same run, different tips, and I’m getting hosed. I stubbornly continue to swing my Type-6 until Ken hooks his THIRD fish in less than 20 minutes. I rig up 10’ of T-14, go back up to the top of the run where I’d already fished, and about 10 casts later you can guess what happens.
So it went on the Kispiox for three days. Big flies, heavy tips, and the most jawdroppingly large and beautiful sea-run rainbows I’ve ever seen.
Four days later, leaving Smithers on our way back to the US of A, Ken looks at us and says “We’re in the middle of making a huge mistake.”
“What, eating at Dairy Queen?”
“No, leaving this place!!!”
We both get a glimmer of madness in our eyes, bust out the iPhone calendar, and decide to head back up in 4 weeks. See you soon, BC.
39.5”. On a 6126. Good Times.
More pics after the jump…
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Sep 24
Day 5 - The Mainstem Skeena
Three days down, three days to go, and we decide to hit The Skeena’s Paradise for a second day. Niall and I have gotten into some nice fish, and now it’s Doug’s turn. Doug has been admirably committed to catching his first Steelhead on the swing, which isn’t for the faint of heart. As we all know, it can take a number of botched hookups before finally catching a fish on the swing, and it’s a place where all your years of Trout instincts work against you.
Cast, “Remember to drop the loop, dummy”, swing. After a week in BC, I think I finally have this behavior engrained.
We started back at the top of Paradise, Doug fishing through the nutmeat where Niall had caught his upper-teens buck the day before. I was fishing the middle, Niall, the tailout, which was so far away that we could only communicate via walking talkies.
Twenty minutes in, Doug lets out a yell and I look upstream to see his rod doubled over. I keep watching with anticipation. Did he get a good hookset? Ten seconds go by, all the answer I need, and Niall and I start running upstream to get pictures of Doug with his first ever steelhead to hand!
After a year or two of trying for a steelhead, Doug had done it. A great feeling that can only come with a dedication that borders on insanity. Nice work, buddy!
We kept fishing, no grabs for a few hours. By about noon I’d made my way down to the honey bucket, armed with some T-11 and a store bought Bunny General Practitioner to see what I could dredge out (completely unnecessary, but I figured it’d be good practice for winter steelhead season). About 20 casts into the run, I get a grab. The same, slow, “did I lose it?” grab that we’ve received on the Skeena this whole time. A few seconds go by after dropping to loop and giving the fish everything I have, and I know he’s still on.
It’s the sink tip waiting game. When fishing a floating line, the steelhead has to come up for the fly, and the grab is usually electric. On a tip, the fish barely has to move, which is even more amplified on T-11. Or so my theory goes.
Finally, the fish makes a little run, I lift the rod, and there’s something big at the end of my line. He still might not even know that he’s hooked. Putting some upwards pressure on him, I get a few good headshakes, but still no classic steelhead run. ”Might be a big dolly,” I holler out. A few seconds go by, and the fish flips shit, making a knunckle-bashing run downstream as I try to palm the Hardy and regain some semblance of control over this now ocean-bound beast!
STEELHEAD!
He turns around, runs back towards me, forcing a quick retreat to the bank accompanied by manic stripping to keep tight. Back on the reel, he jumps. Sweet christ, it’s the biggest steelhead I’ve ever hooked. A few rodeo headshakes, and…. POP.
He’s off. I reel frantically, hoping I’m somehow imagining his disappearance, but he’s gone. Something seems amiss, clearly I had a good hookset as I had him on for close to a minute, and I reel in to make sure I still have my fly. The fly is there, and the trailer hook and all the material holding it is gone.
FRIENDS DON’T LET FRIENDS BUY UMPQUA TIED STEELHEAD FLIES. I tie 95% of the flies I fish, but occasionally am in a pinch for time and buy something. Won’t be making that mistake again, as it just cost me what would’ve been the biggest fish of my life.
After this, we take a quick lunch, which turns into a 3 hour ordeal after my not-so-brilliant idea of bushwhacking back to the road via a creek. We see one black bear, and then tree a black bear cub 15 minutes later.
Cute, until mom-dukes returns to rip your head off.
Finally back on the river at 4pm, I bee-line towards the confluence of the creek where I caught a fish the day before. Sick of fishing sinking gear on a 13’6” spey rod, I go down to a wet fly on a single handed 7wt, which feels something like a Fisher Price rod on a 15,000cfs river.
But riffles are riffles and 10 minutes later I’m into a hot fish that has my reel screaming and is into my backing in 2 seconds.
It’s no 15lb buck, but it’s still an awesome fish, even more so on a single hand rod!
With fish until dark, without another grab, and scramble 2 miles back to the car over The World’s Largest Bar in the twilight.
Sep 21
Day 4 - The Mainstem Skeena
With a slow two days behind us on the Bulkley, we arose on Tuesday fired up to hit the mainstem Skeena. The hope was that by moving closer to the ocean, we’d find some fish that were willing to tango.
I’d received directions to a Skeena run called “Paradise” from an NFS steward before I headed up there. He described it as a two mile run, and by the way his eyes lit up when he talked about this so-called Paradise, I could tell it must be someplace special. On the drive in, we were delayed by some fresh roadkill, and took a few minutes to stock up on Grouse soft hackles for trout season.
After hiking a mile from the car we reached the river which was completely shrouded in fog. While smaller than what we expected (it’s been a low water year) it was still absolutely massive, probably three times the size of the Lower Deschutes. No less magnificent were the gravel bars running alongside the river, which were wider and deeper than most western rivers. Wild and untamed, the Skeena is one of the largest undammed rivers in the world, and I can only imagine what a force it must be during the spring runoff.
As we began walking down to the run, we saw a figure amidst the fog - someone at the top of Paradise. Panic nearly set in, but I put on my best face and asked if we could fish half a click below him, eh? Turned out, he was wrapping up and heading to the Kispiox, said he’d rose a fish to his waker but hadn’t had any hookups that morning. Also said he’d landed 50 fish in the past two weeks on the Bulkley, all on wakers except for one. Ouch.
Niall started stepping through the top of the run with a Purple Matuka style bunny pattern while I rigged up a sink tip on my 11 footer. I’d made no more than a couple casts when Niall’s line went tight, he dropped the loop, and was into a fish. As it goes with most big fish, not a lot happened at first, and Niall remained remarkably calm. I was almost starting to think he was into a big Dolly Varden, and then, the fish jumped. Mouths gaped, the three of us started screaming, and every bear within a mile undoubtedly backed away from the river in fear of the three madmen that’d just descended upon their home.
Niall had just hooked into the largest fish of the trip 10 minutes out of the gate, and after a long and awesome fight brought it close to shore for Doug to tail it.
I could’ve gone the rest of the trip not catching anything and been entirely content after seeing Niall catch this massive male steelhead. With the fog breaking, massive mountains towering in the background, and Niall shaking profusely holding this amazing fish, I think we had all just discovered our new favorite river. The Skeena is what dreams are made of. In 100 feet of water you have a shot at a 30lb Kispiox or Suskwa bound Buck, or one of thousands of fish that will ascend the Bulkley, Babine or Morice every fall. It’s nothing short of one of the most magical places I’ve ever seen. And all the Steelhead are natives.
Some people attend church and seek solace in the lord. Put me on the Skeena with a two handed rod and beautiful box of flies, and I’ve found my God.
For the next two hours, every cast I made was met with a surge of adrenaline, just waiting for that electric jolt at the end of my line. And when the grab came, I dropped the loop, to nothing. Another cast, nothing, and I went down to a #4. Cast, a grab, dropped the loop and again, nothing. I go down to a #8 GB Skunk, and this time the fish takes! But instantly I realize I’m not into a steelhead, the fish fights hard, but there’s not enough weight at the end of my line. I bring it in to find the first Dolly of the trip. While not a steelhead, it was still cool to keep bringing the fish back with smaller flies until I finally caught him.
With the Dolly released, I went back to a Bunny Practitioner (we were all fishing bunny flies at this point) and continued weaving down the run like a drunken sailor, wading in and out to hit different boulders. At one point, I see some nice hydraulics about 120ft from shore that must be holding a fish. I wade out thigh deep, make the cast, and get a grab! I drop the loop which ever so slowly feed out into the river. For a split second, nothing happens, then a few inches of line click off the reel. Seconds go by, nothing happens, and then a few more clicks of the reel. It’s the slowest hookup of my life, and it’s all I can do to not do anything at all. And just like that, my reel starts screaming, I start screaming back and a chrome bright wild hen starts cart-wheeling down stream like a circus act gone rogue! After a great fight and what must’ve been twenty jumps, Niall tails her, an awesome fish that had a close call with a gill-net. Fortunately, this fish will be living to see another day.
After fishing the run a bit longer, I head downstream to find Doug fishing an amazing looking bucket where he’s lost one fish. Textbook Deschutes water. I keep hiking down, “Hey Bear, Hey Bear,” until I round the bend to find a little creek dumping into the river. At the confluence is a perfect looking little riffle, and three casts later I’m into another hen on the Black and Blue Bunny GP. This one is bigger than the last, and measures about 32” (or about 12lbs) laying beside my rod.
I keep fishing down, hit some trout water where every swing or strip is a grab, and catch a couple dollies, a sea run cut, and a 11” rainbow (smolt?). I head back upstream to find Niall hooked into a big fish in the honey bucket. He’s barely even speaking English at this point, but mutters something about catching a coho, a big hen, and losing another steelhead. Niall is in the zone!
We fish for a few more hours, and turn up nothing. We head back to camp, amped to fish the Skeena again the next day. We give Doug some coaching on dropping the loop, and are confident he’ll get into his first steelhead the next day.
On the drive up to Smithers, we played the “If you could only fish one river the rest of your life, what would it be” game. Without having to think twice, my answer was the Deschutes. After a day on the Skeena, I may have to think twice next time around.
Sep 2
Nine days and counting until the Skeena (And Bulkley, Kispiox, Copper, etc.)
And not nearly enough time left to tie all the flies I’d like to have.
