The river and its steelhead are only described in superlatives: best, greatest, strongest, fastest, brightest, toughest. It’s hard to help the uninitiated—friends, family and acquaintances unfamiliar with steelhead—understand just what it means to fish there. If steelhead were built for the swung fly, these fish broke the mold. Phrases like “trip of a lifetime” are thrown around unironically. You explain, you describe, you implore them to understand what it means to fish a place like this—all to no avail. They nod and say good luck. They turn their lips up in noncommittal grins. They don’t get it.