Speying it Forward

Set the mend, sweep the run… and wait for the anticipated tug. It had been a few years since I’d stood in a river, swinging for wild steelhead. Bad weather and blowouts had quashed my last two years of Skeena trip plans. And the days of quick runs out to the Thompson River were over, its legendary steelhead and Stanley Cup playoff-level wading now relegated to not-so-distant memories and a few frozen-in-time photos.

The Thompson is a gut-punching example of how quickly a vibrant steelhead fishery can crumble into near extinction, even with so many champions shouting for change. That river meant a lot to me. It tossed me straight into the deep end, helping hone my skills and teaching me the importance of investing in good gear that would last for many seasons to come. It also remains an important reminder that steelheading is fleeting. Here one day, gone the next. So when a Suskeena Lodge spot found its way into my inbox this past fall, I pounced – even though it meant packing a duffle and hopping on the very next flight after my season closer on the Bow.

The week was beanies and puffy-coat crisp, exactly what you’d expect at the wintry end of the summer-run steelhead season in northern B.C. But the Sustut River stayed in great shape. Each day our guide moved us through different stretches, and every run was as fishy as it felt. Even one fish for the week would’ve been special. But we were luckier than that, finding at least one apiece on most days. Between the comfortable lodging and the rugged surroundings, the Sustut is the kind of place where every session had the potential to hand you a personal best. A place where you might find both quality and quantity.

Between casts I traded stories with the guides, talking about the fish we’d landed and the ones we hadn’t… but wished we’d had. Every guide brings something different to the week, from the all-knowing veteran to the hard-charging newcomer. One of our dudes was a 21-year-old named Zach. A true Vancouver Island prodigy who’d been putting fish in anglers’ hands since he was barely old enough to hold a driver’s license. His experience as a professional was years beyond his age, and his love for every part of getting clients into fish showed. Each landed fish felt like one of his own. And with every steelhead caught that week, I could see a certain kind of relatable suspense building. The fishing was firing, and soon it would be Zach’s turn to step in and get a taste.

The funny thing about guides is that they spend the most time on the water yet often have the roughest gear: beat up lines, weathered reels, patched waders and equipment pushed to the brink. Zach was no exception. His rod was battered and his fly line showed more wear than an old anchor rope. Seeing how these remote-stationed guides manage with what little they have access to reminded me how far a little help can go. And when you get the chance to give back, why not pass on the stories carried in your own gear?

By week’s end, my fly line ended up in Zach’s pocket, knowing his rod and reels had sat idle through the busy season. It felt right that the line would keep fishing and maybe even hold a bit of the same luck it had for me, from the Thompson to the Sustut and everywhere in between. It’s exciting to think that even though my line’s story ended with my last cast on the Sustut, it’s starting a new one with Zach on many more rivers to come.