Study a map of northwest British Columbia;

what strikes you is the practically uncountable

number of short streams cleaving the rugged

mountains of the coast. Some named, some not, they

spill into the fjords of Chatham Sound, Portland Inlet,

Work Channel, Douglas Channel, Devastation Channel,

Gardner Canal and Grenville Channel, to name just a few in the labyrinthine system of

waterways that define the region. The fly fisher tuned to chasing steelhead sees a vast

area of opportunity and inexhaustible exploration. To be allotted only one lifetime

hardly seems fair.

One Lifetime Hardly Seems FairEXPLORING STEELHEAD FLYFISHING’S LAST FRONTIERphotos & text by Jeff Bright

The majority of these streams are unreachable except by helicopteror motorized boat. A smattering of logging roads aid in access, but fewconnect with major roadways. For steelhead fishing, this is the last fron-tier: a tract located on the jagged edge of Canada’s renowned SkeenaCountry, too remote to have been developed, too harsh to sustain humanpopulation centers. In these hidden valleys, primal life exists as it has formillennia — and, where geography and climate are favorable, steelheadreturn to spawn each spring.

For most, the effort, logistics and expense required to fish these wa-ters are prohibitive. If those aren’t deterrent enough, add unpredictabil-ity of run timing, inhospitable coastal weather, volatile stream flows andwild, toothy critters. Now the pursuit begins to look completely irra-tional. But, it’ll never be said with any conviction that flyfishing for steel-head has anything to do with rational behavior.

Consequently, for the fit and adventurous angler of modest meansvulnerable to the call of the wild — and, perhaps, with a few screwsloose — here is a most alluring siren song. As the sweet voices call, vi-sions of wilderness solitude, untouched waters and hidden pools teem-ing with large, aggressive steelhead materialize. El Dorado lies beyondthe next ridge, through the mist, teasing your thoughts, leading youheadlong into ecstatic daydreams of leaping silver, luring you deep intothe hushed rainforest…

• • •

A low ceiling of leaden clouds obscures the mountaintops and coldrain lashes our faces. Once on the water, the sound appears wider thanexpected and the small, open boat seems not quite adequate. We’rehunched against the stinging drops, drawn into the hoods of our rainjackets like turtles. Neil, our Nisga’a boatman stares ahead, unflinching,fit for the task by years of plying the local waters for crab, salmon andeulachon.

With me are brothers Martin and Tom Walker and Dustin Kovacvich.Dustin is manager and head guide at Nicholas Dean Outdoors in Terraceand this “adventure steelhead” program is his baby. A background inforestry, a love of wilderness and years of putting clients on steelheadmake Dustin supremely qualified to lead our expedition. As fishing pres-sure builds on the Skeena tributaries, he has turned his sights on moredifficult to reach venues and is continuously on the lookout for clients ofthe right profile — those willing and eager to put a little sweat equity in theventure. If presence in the boat can be construed as evidence of possess-ing the mettle, Martin, Tom and I have been accurately profiled and aremore than ready to work up a lather for a shot at the wildest of steelhead!

Tom resides in London, works in the film industry and, aside fromspending some quality time with his brother, is looking to abandon therush and pressure of urban life for a cobweb-clearing week of hikingand fishing — an antidote one part wanderlust and, hopefully, one partbig-fish-on adrenaline.

Equally worldly, but decidedly rustic, Martin is an enigmatic mover

One Lifetime Hardly Seems Fair

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A creek mouth on the lower Nass River channel.

EXPLORING STEELHEAD FLYFISHING’S LAST FRONTIER

in the San Francisco Bay Area technology scene. His concentrated pas-sions include Chesapeake retrievers, rod building, and like the writer,all the seductive trappings of flyfishing for large, wild, sea-run fish.

Also occupying a sizeable spot in the boat is Ruger, Dustin’s 130-pound Rottweiler-Akita mix and formidable bear-alarm. The lushcoastal valleys of Northern British Columbia comprise what is the lastgreat and contiguous ursine habitat, not surprisingly known as “TheGreat Bear Rainforest.” Ruger could very well earn his kibble today.

• • •

Neil cuts the motor and the boat glides into the shallow water of asmall bay. Ahead of us, a river mouth opens and tannic flow merges withthe clear saltwater, a vision rendered silver and grey in the flat morninglight. The river valley is tight, a dark cleft in the mountain flanks, its con-tours revealed by steep forested walls receding into a bank of swirlingclouds snagged on the spired tops of spruce, cedar and hemlock. Whatlies beneath is cloaked in natural secrecy, long protected by the simplevirtue of being unknown. The valley looks mysterious, inviting and a bitforbidding. Actually, it looks as if it could swallow us.

We grab our gear and exit the boat. I sense our collective anticipationbuilding. In his forestry days, Dustin surveyed this valley. He’s familiarwith the layout and has it on trusted account from regional biologiststhis small watershed rears big fish. Steelhead here are thought to aver-age 14–15 pounds. Considering Skeena system steelhead average 8–15pounds and Nass watershed steelhead generally run smaller, for thegreater region, this would be a very special race of fish.

My mind starts racing with thoughts of angling glories…but I’mquickly snapped back to present tense as Neil guns the motor.

“Call me on the radio at noon. Be careful for bears,” he shouts curtlyand powers off, disappearing into the grey blanket covering the sound.

Standing waist-deep in the estuary water, I scan the tide grassbeaches right and left of the river mouth. I’m relieved — and disap-pointed. No brown, furry Volkswagons lumbering about. Yes, I do wantto see one of those massive coastal grizzlies. Really, I do. But, not rightnow. Some other time, maybe…when I’m in the boat…at a safe dis-tance…They don’t want anything to do with us, right?

Right…With backpacks, rods and Ruger, the four of us head upstream and

into the forest. Large raindrops splat on our heads as we pick our way

4

In a stream off Portland Inlet,Tom and Martin Walker fish atrench of dark water under thetrees.

through the foliage and blow down. For a short time we follow a faint trail. Not far into thecanopy it disappears and, aside from a piece or two of a timber cruiser’s survey tape, sodo any signs of human presence. I’m filled with an eerie but enthralling energy. There isa slight element of danger in the air, but damp from rain and hiking perspiration, I’meager to string a rod and cast a fly into the waters rushing within earshot. Mentally, andnow physically, I’m fully engaged. I wonder, could I feel more alive?

• • •

Over the course of the day, between hiking over, under and around deadfall and dodg-ing devil’s club, we fish a half-dozen or so attractive pools, runs, riffles and slots. In thissetting, steelhead are where you find them. Unlike in larger rivers, where steelhead maytake up residence in the confines of a well-defined reach, here, with less water overheadand smaller primary lies, steelhead may be scattered, oriented to structure and maymove frequently. Though angling pressure here is non-existent, large steelhead are stillwild, wary creatures, loath to give away their presence to anyone or anything observingfrom above. Consequently, it can be fruitful to drop a cast into any likely looking niche,corner or pocket.

Fly choice for these smaller streams is very much affected by water-type. In deeperslots against high banks, under logs or around large rocks, small but heavily-weightedrabbit-strip leeches or marabou comets work well to dive deep and properly searchthrough the holding areas — some of which are no bigger than an infant’s bath. In thesesituations, a short quick-sinking tip with a short leader will get your offering where itneeds to be. Or, if flows are clear, a floating line and 9-12 foot leader is preferable.

With the latter configuration, you’ll cast upstream of your target, stack a couple ofline mends to slow your drift, get the fly deep and free-drifting through the dark water.Keep a careful eye on the line. If it twitches, stops or jumps, strike quickly. If not, allowthe line to tighten and the fly to swim cross-current and away from the lie. Takes oftenoccur as the fly lifts and begins to swing — yes, just like nymphing for trout. But, thistrout fishing is trout fishing for the biggest trout! A sharp focus on detecting subtle grabsin the early part of the presentation can mean the difference between a fishless day andhooking the fish of a lifetime.

But most enjoyable for me, when exploring these small streams, is rounding a bendand, like Magellan to his Strait, finding a classic flat water pool or choppy run with a fewlarger rocks breaking flow in the gut and tail. Here I can fish through in classic PacificNorthwest steelheading style with a larger swimming fly on a moderately-fast sinking

tip, methodically covering the run inbroad, concentric tight-line swings,each with a chance to conjure thebig, silver dream…

The fly drops in against the farbank, skirts the remains of a fallencedar and disappears into the tan-nin-stained water. Mend a sharpbelly in the line; a wedge forms tostart the presentation. The fly fol-lows the wedge, initially swimmingheadfirst downstream, alive with

One Lifetime Hardly Seems Fair

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A collection of fast-diving flies (top) tied for small stream fishing and a12-pound buck steelhead (right) that found one of them irresistible.

fluttering feathers and flashing mylar. Then, as thewedge opens up, the fly orients broadside to thecurrent, revealing its full silhouette to the holdingfish…Lower the rod tip and lead the line toward thenear bank…The fly reaches depth and simultane-ously begins to flee cross-current from the deeperwater, as if it had foolishly wandered into a lair ofdanger, has suddenly realized its mistake and isnow stroking feverishly for safety…

Just such a scenario presented itself mid-after-noon, and provided one of the more memorablemoments in our exploration.

After several testy river crossings and detoursthrough the brush along the forest’s edge, we cameto a cobble bar about 50 yards long with a high bankopposite. The bar gave us optimum access to a juicy run featuring all the right in-gredients: a strong choppy flow at the head, a steady stream at a walking pacethrough the middle and tail, and a strong drop and cascade at the bottom.

Along the high bank lay two fallen logs and an upright remnant base. Belowthe upright snag, the fallen trunks canted into the water, creating a current

EXPLORING STEELHEAD FLYFISHING’S LAST FRONTIER

6

Top: Nicholas Dean opera-tions manager Chad Blackswings through a classic runon a coastal river. Left: Ourobject of desire — a freshspring steelhead.

break. Abreast and below the logs, the river’s sur-face smoothed, indicating a deeper trough with asofter current than the adjacent flow. Just abovethe logs, the stream color transitioned from a lu-minous bronze hue, wherein each rock seemed topulse in the low, diffuse light, to a black, opaquesink. If steelhead were in the run, they would behere, safely obscured from overhead predators andresting comfortably in the easy flow.

Tom fished through with a floating line and asmall, but heavily-weighted orange fly, a relativelystealthy approach for our first pass. Martin fol-lowed with a sinking tip and a bright pink ostrichand marabou streamer tied in-the-round on aWaddington shank — an intrusive “fight-or-flight”special and tamer of many steelhead. None, how-

ever, would succumb this time. Neither fly found a fish.We might have moved on, but Dustin had gone ahead to scout the next bend

upriver and we agreed to await his return before leaving the run. Plus, we hadhiked long and hard enough; Tom and Martin were happy to take a breath andallow the host a pass through the bucket.

One Lifetime Hardly Seems Fair

Left: Approaching the sweet spot, near the fallen logs. Above: The remarkablebeauty of a steelhead seen close up. This one from a Douglas Channel stream.

Before I unfold the predictable sequence, know that it unfolded notat all predictably and is in no way an effort to boast on my own fishingprowess — which is certainly adequate, but by no means extraordinary.Both Tom and Martin fished through the run with finesse and, owing onlyto the vagaries of steelhead behavior, did not connect with a fish.

Knowing I’d have to do something different if I was going to entice asteelhead from this too-probable spot, I postulated the key would be toquickly sink a large dark fly into the slot against the logs — then swimit away in a flight of terror. In place of the 15-foot type VI sinking tip Ihad been using, I looped on a 10-foot LC13 tip, built a short 3-foot leaderfrom 25, 20 and 15-pound nylon,and with a Perfection Loop, knot-ted on a 4-inch black, purple andblue shank fly. For what it’s worth,I’ve christened the fly a “King-fisher,” designated so for its collarof kingfisher blue hackle, and tohonor one of my favorite denizensof the river.

A couple of swings in, at exactlythe suspected spot, the fish tookwith a solid pull as the fly began to move out of the dark water. I set thehook with a sharp sweep toward my bank and the fight was on. Thedrama had played out precisely as scripted, and I’d be lying if I said, inthat instant, I didn’t feel a healthy amount of satisfaction. But from here,the production took an unexpected turn and, truthfully, became muchmore interesting.

After a series of frantic head-shakes and twisting maneuvers, thefish turned and bolted for the bottom of the run. Line left my reel in aloud metallic whir, the click-and-pawl check in my Hardy salmon reeldoing little more than preventing an overrun. Fifty yards or so down-stream, the river boiled and a translucent tail broke the surface andswirled, throwing a fan of spray. Then, as steelhead often do, in the farcorner of the pool, as if debating the pros and cons of making haste fora safe haven somewhere downriver, the fish paused — and offered mea chance to regain line.

I cranked. The fish followed. But something was wrong. I lifted therod tip and the line’s point of entry in the water stayed fixed. Damn! Thefish’s run had threaded the line under a rock, branch, log — or whoknows what — on the river’s bottom.

As I pondered my predicament, the fish rested, but only momentarily.Soon it was bucking and twisting again, straining the line under the snagand testing the integrity of the nylon and the strength of my knots. Ifeared the connection would be short-lived.

I began wading slowly toward the source of the problem but couldsee it would be near chest-high if I were to make it into the center of therun and not lose my footing. Not fancying a swim (with a camera on myshoulder), I put the idea of freeing the line aside.

7

How quickly grandeur had flipped. Under my breath, I muttered a stringof the choicest blue phrases I could improvise, none of which, under suchduress, were very imaginative, nor certainly worth repeating here.

The line continued to be pinned, but the rod top occasionally bounced. Agood sign. The fish was apparently still on and obligingly not in a full-onpanic.

Just as I started to think the affair would end in disappointment, I hearda shout. “Hold on, Jeff.” I looked over my shoulder to see Martin advancingwith a 5-foot branch I had been using as an impromptu wading staff and hadleft on the bank behind us. “Before you do anything you’ll regret, let’s givethis a try.”

After realizing he wasn’t going to club me for hooking a fish behind him,I recognized Martin’s intent. He quickly waded past me into the deeperwater. I backed up and swung the rod around, allowing him to grab the line.With the bright yellow fly line in his left hand, he plunged the staff point intothe river along the line with his right, feeling for the culprit. The flow wascurling around his chest near the tops of his waders when he stretched hisarm out and down. The current pushed and he shifted a bit. I thought, at anymoment, he would start bobbing downstream. Or, at least, start taking onwater. But he remained sturdy — and dry. He held his position and proddedwith the branch…

Then, to my amazement, the line came up in Martin’s left hand. He heldit high above his head and I saw it dart toward the far bank. “There’s a fishon this line,” he stated, matter-of-factly. We all burst out in a mixed chorusof laughter and cheers.

The rest of the encounter was anti-climactic. Martin held the line mo-mentarily tight until I reeled sufficiently to get the fish back on the rod andunder tension. Moments later, I slid a sleek hen, maybe eight pounds, intothe shallows and Martin grabbed her by the tail wrist. Her coloration echoedthe conifer tannins in the river and her proximity to the sea was evident inthe tones of blue, purple and magenta on her cheek. Despite living in suchraw quarters, she was elegant and refined, an artful and elemental repre-sentation of land and water. I couldn’t help but feel like we had just foundhidden treasure.

After a few photos and a gentle release, the steelhead swam away, glid-ing toward center river, and seemed to vanish among the stones. Though we

would not hook another fish the re-mainder of the day, our spirits werelight and the hike back, several milesdownriver, seemed less of a chorethan it otherwise might have.

We rode in Neil’s boat back acrossthe sound and, as the day darkened,our conversation fell silent. We hadbarely scratched the surface of possi-bility in a practically unexplored

world. We were wet, hungry and more than a little tired. Each was lookingout across the water to far shores, each in a different direction. I know ex-actly what they were thinking, because I was thinking it too. �

EXPLORING STEELHEAD FLYFISHING’S LAST FRONTIER

8

OUTFITTER & ACCOMMODATIONS

Terrace, British Columbia, is the hub of the lowerSkeena Valley and a perfect launching point for expedi-tions on the nearby coastal waters. Based in Terrace,Nicholas Dean Outdoors is ideally situated, equippedand staffed to operate a dedicated “adventure steel-head” program on the region’s remote rivers andstreams. Depending on targeted water and guests’ de-sire (or tolerance) for immersion in the elements,overnight accommodations on this program may varyfrom rough wilderness shelters to bed & breakfastquarters in small native villages. However, the majorityof evenings are spent in contemporary but rustic com-fort at NDO’s partner facility, Yellow Cedar Lodge. Thisfetching cedar beam construction is located in a se-cluded stand of timber overlooking the Skeena just min-utes downstream of Terrace, and features the deliciouscooking of chef Alf Leslie. Many consider Alf’s fare, fea-turing fresh regional ingredients, and YCL’s appoint-ments, the best package in the greater region.

For more information, visit:www.nicholasdean.comwww.yellowcedarlodge.ca

SEASON

Timing an exploration to any of the region’s remotesteelhead waters is highly dependent on weather.Though the region practically swims in well over 100inches of annual rainfall, most of the small coastalstreams are seasonal in flow. Without lakes or signifi-cant swampland in their upper reaches, these watersdon’t typically support summer steelhead in fishablenumbers. But small runs of winter steelhead and largernumbers of pre-spawn spring steelhead can be found.

As winters on the coast can be harsh, access and mo-bility in the forests and valley bottoms is often limited bysnowpack. By the middle of April, some valleys may beclear enough for hiking. And, on the other side of thewindow, by the middle of May, streams may be too high

Top: “…her proximity to the sea was evident in the tones of blue. purple and magentaon her cheek. Right: Guide Dustin Kovacvich flashes a Cheshire smile.

SEASON continued

and turbid from snowmelt and steelhead may be mov-ing to spawn as air and water temperatures warm to afavorable level. All factors combine to make the last twoweeks of April and the first two weeks of May the periodin which conditions most often align for prime fishing.

FLIES & TACKLE

8–10 foot single-hand rods for 7–9 weight lines and11–13 foot double-hand and switch rods for 6–8 weightlines will serve the angler well for the majority of theregion’s remote coastal streams. As with all steelheadfishing, well-maintained reels with a high backing ca-pacity are preferred. And those with a stout drag or apalm-able rim can be handy in controlling fish in tightquarters around boulders, wood piles and above white-water chutes.

Approach and presentation can vary greatly, dependingon water type. Consequently, line systems which allowquick and easy switching from floating to intermediateto sinking tips in a variety of densities and lengths arehighly recommended.

Fly choice is also dictated by water conditions and watertype. In clean water, smaller bright flies on size 6–2hooks weighted with beads, eyes or cone heads areoften most productive. Fished across or quartered up-stream on a floating line with a 9–12 foot leader taperedto 12–15 pound tippet, small, quick-sinking flies areperfect for searching pockets and trenches.

For water with less than 2–3 feet of visibility and onbroader runs and tailouts, larger swimming flies suchas articulated leeches tied with marabou and/or rabbitstrips fished on sinking tips with short 3–4 foot leaders(straight or tapered to 15 pound tippet) can be the wayto go. Even the smaller streams on the coast host bigsteelhead — and big steelhead love big flies — if condi-tions are right.

CONSERVATION ISSUES

In this age, no avid angler, hunter or outdoor enthusiastcan call themselves a sportsman without being a con-servationist, as well. Even in the most remote cornersof the world, man’s industrial influence is being felt bywilderness inhabitants. In the greater Skeena region,including the outer coast, steelhead and salmon arevulnerable to impacts from developing resource extrac-tion plans. The list of concerns is considerable: Aqua-culture interests are keen to set up open-penoperations in the region; commercial fish harvest con-tinues, indiscriminate of sensitive or weak stocks; RoyalDutch Shell is pushing for development of a coal bedmethane field in a vital tract that contains the headwa-ters of the Skeena, Nass and Stikine rivers; Enbridge isproposing a pipeline to deliver tar sands from northernAlberta to Douglas Channel — tanker traffic and in-evitable spills would be disastrous to marine life; andprivate, for-profit hydro and water exportation interestsare siting run-of-the-river dams and capture projectsthroughout northern British Columbia.

Make no mistake, the bigger Skeena and Nass systems,as well as the small streams on this rugged, but not im-penetrable, coast are the last, best places for thelargest steelhead on Earth. Advancement of, or re-straint from, large-scale industrial exploitation in theregion over the next half-century may well determinetheir fate.

For more information, visit:www.ncsteelheadalliance.cawww.friendsofwildsalmon.cawww.skeenawild.org

One Lifetime Hardly Seems Fair

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Top: The author and the fish from behind the log. Left: A Kingfisher Deluxe. Center: Dustin Kovacvichreleasing a remote coast steelhead. Right: Guest Ron Mallory fishes a snowbound creek.

EXPLORING STEELHEAD FLYFISHING’S LAST FRONTIER

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Top left: High-sticking pocket water.Top right: Guide Dustin Kovacvich and essential tools of his trade.Bottom left: Sea lice near the anal fin of a fresh coastal steelhead.Bottom center: A stunning resident coastal rainbow.Above: Guest Julian Smith and bear-woofer Ruger, ready for adventure.Small left: Bright ocean colors on a steelhead’s tail.