When the Steelhead Come
From the Pendergrass Library
Each year, when the roof begins leaking in the family room of my house, I know steelhead season is close at hand. Don’t laugh, it’s true.
One would think the first order of business would be to fix the roof, but it never it is. No, now is the time to put away the ice auger and tip-ups, slide the boots into the hallway closet, and look forward to chasing lake-run rainbows up and down the rivers of our beloved Northwest Wisconsin. Very soon I’ll be heading to the Brule River in Douglas County, and closer to home to the Sioux River in Bayfield County.
The mornings will be clear and cool, the rivers and rushing waters welcoming, and the songs of the white-throated sparrows will champion in the spring migration of the big trout. It is truly a special time of the year.
Instead of standing around on frozen lakes, wet to the bone, fingers numbed and chilled, with nothing to show for my angling effort, I’ll now get to stand around alongside frozen rivers of ice, fingers numbed and chilled, with nothing to show for my angling effort - AND I get to wear waders. If I’m lucky my waders won’t have any leaks, but most times they do. I should check them prior to going, but I won’t.
Dangerous Dan Bloomquist, with whom I typically angle with at this time of the year, will be phoning soon. Our 20-year friendship takes the winter off so we can get some real work done, Dan’s job as a large-animal veterinarian usually requires his attention. There aren’t emergencies in my career as a librarian, but it is still work.
I should get mine and my son’s fly-rods out; find the collection of gaudy steelhead flies we like to toss around, and tend to the chores of steelheading preparation. It may or may not happen. My son announced the other day that this year’s goal is to actually catch a steelhead, something that eludes us for the most part. But yes, sure, the goal of going fishing is to catch fish.
I haven’t caught an actual steelhead in many, many years. In fact, I believe the only one I’ve ever caught was 20 years ago. Seriously. It was on the first day I ever went, on Fish Creek near Moquah, and it was a dandy 29-incher. Of course I didn’t have a camera, nor did anyone see it, but I slid that chrome beauty back into the stream and smiled the smile of angling success. I have yet to smile again since.
I haven’t fallen in the river in quite some time though. Most of my slips and stumbles have been just that, minor mishaps in crossing the surging waters of our area streams. It’s always a fear, however. I don’t ever want to go completely underwater, where my waders begin filling up and my life begins flashing in front of my eyes. It’s been tough enough living my life the first time, I don’t need any reruns.
Once, when I was still working fulltime in the newspaper business, I was covering a trout shocking survey with the Wisconsin DNR on the Namakagon River down near Hayward. It’s where they go along the river and shock big trout to the surface for measuring. As I knew the best photographs would be taken in the water I brought along my waders. When I arrived streamside there was another reporter from a rival newspaper on hand, a good guy, for sure. Of course, he wanted to wade along with the survey crew, but he didn’t have his own waders, so he borrowed a set.
Anyone who has ever worn waders for any length of time knows there’s a certain amount of experience needed to go along with managing a pair. You can’t just jump into waders and begin walking around and not think you’re not going to take a plunge. You’ve got to know what you’re doing.
As I recall some good-sized German browns were measured on that day. It wasn’t long before the ‘other’ reporter came floating by, the river taking him to where it wanted to take him, completely submerged, with only this bottom of his boots above the surface of the water. It was good for a laugh.
As I said earlier, the roof is leaking and I’m ready for steelhead season. Without the laughs.
Darrell Pendergrass lives in Grand View.