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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Jan 11
Mark and I headed to the coast on Sunday in search of chrome. We were graced with morning snow, spring like conditions mid-day, and frigid rain in the late afternoon.
Fished a lot of new water, and found some amazing swinging runs. The water was fairly cold and clear, but pressure was minimal and the cutthroat were grabbing occasionally.
On the last run of the day the rain kicked in for about 15 minutes and I had three grabs in about 15 casts. Two were definitely trouty, but one was a mystery that left me wondering what was lurking in front of the boulder.
Mark hooked into a hot piece of chrome in a tailout that bolted downstream into some rapids and popped him off. His first winter hookup on the swing!
Even with no fish to hand, it was an amazing day on the water. Apart from two boats first thing in the morning we had the river entirely to ourselves, always a welcome treat.
Mark also took the time to snap some great pictures.
Dec 26
If this weekend is any indication, it’s going to be a damn good winter.
33” Native
Lower Mossy
5lb hatchery fish
Dad learning to spey cast
The Prey
This guy had the heart racing for a second
Dec 15
If you plan on fly fishing for Steelhead this winter, you owe it to yourself to read Doug Rose’s piece on Winter Steelhead Fly Fishing in the OP. Excellent.
Sep 27
Day 6 - The Kispiox River
We slept in horribly on Thursday, but it was worth it. Arrived at the Kispiox at about 10am, to find a river that has much more in common with the Wilson River in April than the Bulkley or the Skeena. When we’d arrived in Smithers 6 days prior, we heard that the Kispiox was fishing well. It dropped considerably over the next week. Boneheaded move to not check the flows before buying our classified waters license, but oh well, lesson learned.
The Kispiox is one of the most storied Steelhead rivers in the world, and has been since the 1950s when fly anglers began returning to the States with stories of 35-40lb Steelhead, among the largest in the world. It’s a common paradox with Steelhead - the biggest fish often come from the smallest streams.
At about noon we stopped at a bridge, where we could see four good sized steelhead lurking in the gin-clear water below. Spent a few minutes casting to them, but it was futile. The first fish I swung to spooked at his first glimpse of my fly.
Finding access on the Kispiox is tough, and would be even tougher when the river is at a higher, more ideal flow. In the future, I won’t mess with this river without a boat of some sorts.
We fished until about 4pm, at which point we decided to bail, go pack up camp, and head to the Morice River which was about two hours away.
As we were walking back to the car, Doug spied a nice submerged tree - perfect Dolly habitat. First cast, a grab, and a nice 12” cut-bow to hand. Second cast, and an even nicer sea-run cut took his fly!
No steelhead, but at least we didn’t get entirely skunked on the Kispiox.
Day 7 - The Morice River
The Morice River is the largest tributary of the Bulkley, supplying 90% of it’s water. The name is really a misnomer and the Morice is essentially the Upper Bulkley, similar in size and character.
After a quick pit-stop in Smithers for Beer and Maynards, we were on the Morice by dusk and found what was my favorite campsite of the trip. Free, with some amazing camp water, and equally amazing population of Bears. There would be no sleeping in the next day - our last in BC - and we were up and on the water by first light.
Doug started off below camp, and Niall and I hiked above. Both runs were fairly short, but primo, Doug landed two fish and I landed one.
And that was it for the trip. We each missed a few grabs that afternoon and evening, Niall caught a nice dolly, we found a bumper crop of Shaggy Mane mushrooms and had a feast, and Doug had a stare-down with a monstrous Grizzly.
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 20
Day 1 and 2 - The Drive and The Bulkley
Looking on Google Maps every week for 3 months makes Smithers seem pretty close to Vancouver. But then you start driving, and driving, and driving, and take a wrong turn for an hour, and then the realization kicks in that BC is absolutely enormous. You could drive from Portland to Utah’s Flaming Gorge in about the same amount of time as Vancouver to Smithers. After about 14 hours we finally hit the Bulkley at Smithers, where we based ourselves at the Riverside Campground for the next two days. While the Bulkley is not famed like the Kispiox for putting up 30lb+ fish, it’s certainly famous for it’s quantities of fish. About half of the fish that end up in the Skeena are Bulkley bound, giving this river the distinction of having the largest run of wild Steelhead in the world. With that in mind, we figured that the Bulkley would be an excellent place to start our adventure and each pick up a few fish.
It rained all night and we were up bright and early the next morning, finding a nice little run above Smithers on Tatlow road. The water looked perfect, with good structure and a nice speed. I had a few grabs, including one that felt like a steelhead, but none of us connected with fish.
That afternoon and evening, we fished the hell out of a run just above town, which we’d heard from a couple of sources to be a good run. Hours went by, with no hookups. At one point, fishing over a series of big boulders, I let out a “Here fishy, fishy fishy,” and just like clockwork, a grab came moments later. But it wasn’t a steelhead, just a couple pound Pink which made a decent meal.
With about an hour until dark and still no steelhead hookups, I put on one of my favorite wets I’d tied, something no fish in their right mind could refuse (or so I hoped). Making a few false casts to get my Scandi head out of the guides, I began picking the line off the water for another cast only to feel something at the end of my line. For a split second I thought I was somehow attached to a rock, which made no sense as my fly was hanging in 3 feet deep water for less than a second. And then, the surface explodes with a chrome bright fish that starts going absolutely nuts! It may not be a conventional way to catch a steelhead, but I won’t complain! I fight the fish for about a minute, he does a great run and I bring him back in, but on his second run he makes a series of jumps and manages to throw the hook. We go on fishing for another 30 minutes or so, and call it a night.
Day 3 - The Bulkley
Every day’s a new day with steelheading, and we hoped that our second day on the Bulkley would go better than the first. We fished the run across from Riverside, an amazing kilometer long run which Niall accurately described as “A work of Art.” We covered all parts of the run with wakers, wets, and sink tips, and didn’t move a single fish. The runs on the Bulkley are nothing like the Oregon Coast or the Deschutes, and the closest parallel I could draw are some of the runs on the Sandy or Clack. Long, wide, and very shallow, with few of the classic hydraulic features I typically look for when steelheading. In some spots you could probably almost walk across the run, even at 3,000CFS. With no real hydraulic features to look for, the fish could literally be anywhere, and for whatever reason we couldn’t find them.
After the morning session, I was beginning to believe that we were the worst Steelheaders in BC. The fish of 1,000 casts was becoming the fish of 5,000 casts on the best steelhead river in the world. Doug and Niall decided to tie some flies, while I decided to invoke the Nuclear Option: A Girdle Bug below an indicator.
The sun was blazing down on the river at this point, and I figured I’d at least have a good shot at a nice Dolly by nymphing deep. Leaving Doug and Niall with a walkie talkie, I headed down to the river to a little bucket I’d spied from the opposite bank that morning. Literally three casts in, my indicator drops and I set into something substantial, a big Dolly I assume. I calmly radio to Niall that I think I’ve got a Dolly and that they should come down for a picture, when all of a sudden the fish starts jumping like crazy and I start screaming like a lunatic. Holy Creole, it’s a steelhead, and Girdle Bug or not, I’ll take it! It did feel a bit cheap on the girdle, and fishing an indicator was the last thing I expected to do on the Bulkley, but it proved to be just the shot in the arm that we needed. A few hours later we packed up camp and headed downstream towards the Skeena, where things would really get interesting.
