Here I am again.
My beloved and tolerated South Santiam.
Just an hour from home. A chance to be on the water with a friend and swing flies for hatchery summer steelhead. A tradition for over thirty years.
I have seen days when it seemed I was the only one on the river.
The weather was perfect, and I didn’t mind making my way slowly downriver, swinging flies through water just-fished with spoons, bait, plugs, and jigs.
I am chained, I suppose , to the closeness of the place, and the chance to be on the water, away from a computer.
Even now, I find new anchor points, places that, out of habit, I have not tried, or have forgotten over the years.
My wade footing is better than before my heart surgery, but I still must be cautions, and after ruining 3 separate cameras while swimming, I only carry a waterproof Pentax.
Rick got grabbed. The fish rushed towards the boat, and then, as is often the case, was gone. We saw an occasional boat with a steelhead hanging on a rope over the side of the boat.
Interesting local custom.
There was one place where I wade fished, a place where the cast, and the swing, and the hang-down were so perfect; surely I’m gonna get grabbed here, I thought.
Not this day.