Canadian Steelhead

During the spring of 1974, I was invited by my brother-in-law Malcolm to fish for Steelhead in Canada. Malcolm and his lovely wife Pam emigrated to Vancouver in the mid’ sixties and it soon became evident that this was now to be their permanent home. Vancouver, as a city is an absolute joy, there are many designs of individual houses including the old colonial style and they all blend together nicely. There is also a fascinating fusion of cultures on show in the public markets, restaurants, marinas and around the houseboat village. Gastown is an area well worth a visit with it’s steam clock and old fashioned lamp standards, some of the city’s old tram cars have been converted into dining areas and the sea food served in these is world renown. Vancouver is a seaport with nice green open areas and it has none of the sleaze or grime usually associated with this type of city.

To anglers it is famous for its great runs of Pacific salmon of which there are several types, there are Chum, Pinks and Sockeyes but most anglers prefer the Coho or the Chinook. Incidentally all Pacific salmon die after spawning. There are literally millions of salmon in the area and a lot of these head for Vancouver Island to run the Fraser, Nitinat and the Campbell rivers. It is amazing to see how the salmon change their shape and how their condition deteriorates when they enter fresh water and this is why most anglers hunt them in the sea. Here they are well conditioned and take spinners and flies eagerly.

My mission was to try for steelhead; this is a sea going rainbow trout, and is the hardest fighter of them all. Everything I’d read or heard about the steelhead reminded me of our own sewin. We could have opted to spend some time at one of the numerous fishing camps in Kamloops or Okanogan where there is excellent fishing for brown and cutthroat trout (so named because it has a red flash underneath it’s chin) steelhead are also taken but I’d been told that if we travelled into the mountains there was the chance of connecting with a real specimen.

Two days after arriving from Heathrow and fully recovered from jet lag we set out. Our trip saw us taking the train from north Vancouver, the British Columbian Railway Co’ took us in about three hours into the high ground towards Whistler Mountain where the scenery is mesmerising.

We were to fly fish the Cheakamas River and let me tell you, you need to be fairly fit and a dam good swimmer to go anywhere near this river, it is awesome! It is typical of snow fed rivers with fast rapids and white foaming runs, fortunately the steelhead lie in deep fast glides and it was in one of these, on Malcolm’s recommendation, that we decided to try.

I want you now to have in your mind a clear picture of the scene; this will enable you to follow the subsequent event. Imagine a roughly circular basin about half a mile across and surrounded by steep wooded hills. On the northern side, the west branch of the river comes tumbling out of a gorge over a spectacular waterfall where a deep pool has formed. About 100 meters below the falls the river is split by a pebbly island. We, being on the mainland with the falls upstream and to our right, decided to fish the main run between us and the island.

The tackle I intended using was my double-handed 15ft salmon rod with a D.T.10 slow sinking line. The rod caused a great deal of amusement to the few other anglers who were about. Even on large rivers the locals use nothing longer than 10 ½ ft single-handed rods. My home made tapered leader was about 12ft long ending in 15lb Maxima. I tied on a size 8 thunder & lightning that I’d dressed myself on a Wilson up-eye with the barb pressed flat.

After about only four casts, I felt a pull on the line followed, after a moments pause, by a solid take. The line went taut and immovable giving the impression of a heavy fish. To begin with it didn’t do very much and having no real indication of its size I decided to give it ‘a bit of stick’. At this the fish took off on a tremendously powerful run downstream and making three huge jumps as it did so. The speed of it, which made my old Shakespeare reel smoke, and the sight of it as it jumped, almost gave me heart failure, especially when you consider that my largest fish up to then (and still is) a 6lb sewin, looked small in comparison. I applied as much pressure as I dared and was relieved when after about 100 meters; it turned and began to swim steadily upstream towards me and the falls. I was now reeling frantically and hoped he’d slow down when he was opposite or just upstream of me, no such luck, it had other ideas. As it was now fighting the strong current and me I began to feel my confidence rise but it kept going until it got to the tail of the waterfall pool. At this stage it was now over 100meters away from me but I could still see my line as it cut through the water in a series of zigzags. Suddenly it jumped again and turning, it charged back downstream, even faster than it’s first run. But then it slowed down and came quietly close to my bank. My lack of experience with large fish showed up when at this stage I foolishly put the net in the water in its path. Catching sight of it or me woke it up again and in a flash it was out in mid-water and again took off down-stream.

This time I had absolutely no chance of holding it and began to fear for the hook hold. It ploughed on until it was now well below the downstream tip of the island again about 100meters away from me. My pressure must have had some effect because once again he turned and, as before began to swim steadily upstream. However, this time horror of horrors, it went up the far side of the island and I could do absolutely nothing about it. As I could not cross over to the island, the water being at least 15 ft deep, I ran as fast downstream as my wadered legs would allow until I came to a grass bank opposite the bottom tip of the island. I managed to recover some line and for the moment he appeared to be holding, facing upstream in the fast current. At this stage I had about 30 yards of backing out and was content to hold the fish in this position until I got my breath back.

During this brief lull I had been holding the rod high causing the line to hang in a bow from the tip when suddenly the bow became more pronounced and I knew that the fish was dropping back downstream. This continued and I felt that it was tiring, I was even more relieved to have it now opposite me and thinking that I was getting to terms with it began to gently pump it across the current towards me. But again it got a new lease of life and took off again downstream. Suddenly I was horrified to see 50 meters or so below, a set of powerful rapids. Knowing that if the fish got into these I would almost certainly lose it and my line, I became desperate. I applied more brake on the reel, at the same time saying my prayers. Gradually I managed to slowly pump it towards me. Twice it made a run for the rapids but finally I managed to get it into shallow water where Malcolm got the big net under it and got it out. I needn’t have worried about the hook hold for in spite of the prolonged fight, the big hook even without a barb, was firmly in the scissors.

It turned out to be a beautiful cock fish and weighed 12 ½ lbs, the fight had lasted twenty-eight minutes. Approximately two minutes for the pound, which Malcolm tells me, is about right. I was absolutely elated at the sight of this magnificent fish; its colour, proportions and broad tail bore no resemblance to the rainbows we see in the U.K. Also the one’s at home lack the fierce power of these river fish. The fish was carefully released and after being held with its head upstream for about 5 seconds, went off like a rocket.

My legs were shaking so to help me calm down I had a large gulp of Bourbon from Malcolm’s hip flask. Unusually for me I had no wish to carry on fishing for the moment so took a little walk up towards the falls. I was thrilled to see thousands of large fish in the pool at the foot of the falls. They were splashing and rolling their big backs out of the water.

By now Malcolm had landed three steelheads of around the 7-10 lb mark, all were returned except one, which was bleeding so bad that he’d knocked it on the head. At this point we had some coffee before starting to fish again. Every cast produced a swirl and after about half a dozen, I hooked another steelhead. This also put up a tremendous fight, but when I got it into shallow water the hook hold came away and I watched as the fish slowly sank below the surface. At a guess I would say that he weighed 7-8 lbs, I had it on for about 15 minutes.

Steelhead act and fight like sewin but as most sewin are caught in the dark we hardly ever see the full beauty of the fish as it jumps. A steelhead, having that almost magenta flash down its flanks gives that iridescent rainbow effect when it clears the water.

Before making our way back to the train for the long journey back to Malcolm’s home we sat on the grass and reflected on what will always remain for me one of the most memorable and exiting days fishing I’ve ever had, and by the way, we finished off the Bourbon.

Peter Ross.