My first real exposure to the outdoors was through fishing. Since before I could walk, I was in my dad’s backpack while he waded through streams in pursuit of his next catch. Growing up, fishing was my method of outdoor recreation. I remember seeing people hiking by the lake I was fishing at, but they didn’t have fishing rods with them. The concept of trail running or summiting peaks still had never crossed my mind at this point. I thought, “what an absolute waste to be out in these mountains walking right by this lake without any intention of fishing.”
This is being filtered through about two decades of memory, but it seems like just about every weekend from age 5 to 15 was spent fishing with my dad. Our white whale, the ultimate dream of any Pacific Northwest flyfisher, was to hook into a steelhead. These powerful fish grew much larger than your average rainbow trout, thanks to a unique journey out to the ocean to feed, much like salmon. We were so obsessed that one weekend we even attended a steelhead fishing convention of some sort. I vaguely remember a wooden lodge full of fishing nerds swapping stories about their most impressive catches. Each season when the steelhead run was on, we’d head out to the Snoqualmie or Tolt rivers and try our luck.
One day, we struck gold. I say we, but my dad was way better than me at fly fishing. He was certainly more patient. He spotted a lone steelhead lurking in a deep pool under some overhanging branches near the shore of the river. He floated a Muddler Minnow right past its mouth over and over until finally, probably out of annoyance more than hunger, he got a strike. The steelhead ripped up the river and stripped out line so fast I thought for sure it was bound to snap. Somehow it didn’t. He fought that fish for what felt like hours. In reality it was probably closer to 45 minutes. I sprinted up and down the river, chasing after it. At one point I tried to jump onto the fish in the water, my little kid mind imagining the glory of wrestling the beast into submission, filling up my waders and soaking myself. I actually got my arms mostly around the slippery thing. If we’d had a net with us, it would have been game over. But fearing that the fish, far from exhausted, would flail around and I’d end up with a hook in my hand (which likely would have happened), my dad called me off and I let go. After a few more minutes, the line tangled around a log, snapped, and the white whale swam free.
Nearly 20 years later, that fight with the steelhead remains etched in my brain. I’ve let work, running, family, friends, etc. take over the time that I used to dedicate to fishing. I don’t regret that, but today was a reminder that there’s a place for keeping old passions alive. I set a 5:30am alarm, met my bud Mike in Little Cottonwood Canyon, and we ran up to Red Pine Lake. I whipped out my collapsible fly rod, caught two rainbows and a cutthroat in the span of about 15 minutes, then continued on to summit Pfiefferhorn, a classic local 11,000ft peak. We were back out to the car just in time for my first meeting of the morning. An efficient, action-packed, perfect little morning adventure. Mike even managed to snag some banger pics.
The goal of fly fishing is to imitate nature so realistically that the fish think they’re eating an easy meal. It forces you to observe feeding patterns, the types of insects in the area, the most active time of day, the deepest pools of water. You’re rewarded with the satisfying splash of a fish on the line. You can draw it up to the surface, admire its unique colors, free it from your trap fairly quickly and non-invasively, and allow the fish to continue on its way.
So often while running I’m focused on the trail. I’m head down, locked in. I’m covering the distance from Point A to Point B. I’m training for a larger goal. But taking the time to stop at a lake or stream and tune in with nature before continuing my journey reminds me why I’m out here in the first place. I imagine that (in an alternate reality where I’m artistic) doing a watercolor painting on a summit would have the same effect. Very little of the time we spend running is racing, so enjoying a solid portion of the training in whatever way resonates with you keeps the process pure and sustainable.
Fastest Known Fish (FKF) it’s a real thing! Not too many routes but it can be done.
Whoa, I thought I was the only one! I've just recently started running my long runs with a tenkara and an ultralight pouch filled with a few flies, tippet, floatant, etc. Barely noticeable to run with. Such a fun way to explore country that I wouldn't normally explore on a day trip. Is this a thing?!