After a series of feverish trips to the coast chasing dropping water, there comes a point in the quest that fishing industry friends might recognize. The room (that you sleep in when not on the river) is littered with half-watched Netflix DVDs and the detritus of multiple late-night tying sessions. The hamper is full. There are a couple mugs and a little pile of dishes on your desk. You lack the motivation to do anything about these things, and even if you were motivated, you sure wouldn’t be doing it before you tend to your fishing gear first.

It’s time to take a break.

The coast has no rain, which means super tough days where the window of opportunity is realistically limited to first and last light. Besides, hammering on fish that have seen every bead, jig and fly Seattle wants to throw at them isn’t exactly the reason I’m searching for wild steelhead. I found a couple fish in February. It wasn't stellar, but it was okay. And it’s fine to let it rest.

North Cascades from a flight home, December 2014

The original title of this blog was: A Season for Steelhead, Powder, Waves and Bonefish. As the Pacific Northwest rolls into one of the driest winters on record, I can safely eliminate one fifth of that title. Before I left REI, I bought three new pairs of skis. One skinny pair of tele skis for icy days and moguls, one for general purpose and AT, and one pair of big, fat pow skis for telemarking when it’s deep. Suffice it to say, those skis haven’t even been mounted. I hope they get some use next season, especially my Carbon Megawatts!

But there is a bright side to no snow and little moisture. For one, I know what I’m doing when I’m not in the fly shop: fishing. For another, steelhead aren’t the only game in town. There’s this blessed little bug on the west slope called the Skwala stonefly, and this year might just be a great year for the Skwala.

I love to fish Skwalas because they are the first big source of food trout see in the spring. You often get incredible, energetic takes from way down in the water column. One year while fishing Skwalas in Montana, I saw a brown trout clobber Ben's designer purple skwala, the "Fur Burger", so hard he temporarily beached himself on a big rock before sliding back into the water.

Purple Skwala Courtesy @migratoryangler

The Yakima is not in the same biomass class as Montana rivers, but some of the takes are the same. So instead of taking an eight-hour round trip to fish for steelhead in incredibly low water, I took care of some chores like a real adult and drove to Ellensburg for some dry fly fishing.

The first fish came confidently, ignoring my dropper and taking down my hand-tied Skwala with easy confidence. Three more fish followed in the hours before dark. The next day, I hiked into some water that I always wanted to fish but never had the time to do so (a common theme this year). I found a pool that was filled with fish eager to eat dries, and it was unusually good fishing.

The particular pattern I was fishing has a history of its own. Back when I was a new to the Yakima, I spend some time cruising over to Cle Elum to hang out and learn from the guides who lived there. One night in March, I brought over my tying stuff and doctored up a few foam-bodied, fairly traditional patterns that served me very well for a number of seasons.

This one is the last of that batch. He's only got three legs, but the fish don't seem to mind. The head had come undone at some point, so I repaired it with some 3/0 red thread and some epoxy. It kinda reminds me of a cross between a giant ant and a stimulator, but I still love to fish this one fly whenever conditions warrant. Hopefully it will slay a few more fish before it gets lost in a snag.

I am a disciple for steelhead. But I just love trout on dry flies!