Gone steelheadin': Anglers brave cold weather for elusive fish

Standing on the banks of the Skykomish River near the Reiter Ponds hatchery outside Gold Bar last week, nearly a dozen people were casting their lines, waiting for that single moment when solitude turns into sport-fishing ecstasy.

It's more than enthusiasm for a fish that grills well that draws them to the Skykomish for the winter steelhead run. For the uninitiated, the Skykomish, along with most of the Snohomish River system, is considered one of the best waters in the Northwest to catch the often-elusive fish.

Fishing any Washington river now through January can be a challenging endeavor. Wintry weather is not for the meek, as fishing requires standing — or boating, for the lucky — for hours, often in a cold wind and rain. One can sometimes wonder why one does it.

"Bringing in that fish is enough of a draw," says Buzz Bauman, who describes the action on the end of the line as a "thrill." Think of it: The only thing between you and a fish weighing 5 to 10 pounds is a thin line and a hook. Add to that the rushing current of the white-capped river, and it's enough to make anyone's adrenalin flow.

With fishing rod tip bent nearly double, you snap to attention, beginning to slowly reel in that line, and that's when the game begins. No fish is ever ready to give in.

Those fishing lift, they pull, they contort, they draw the fish around rock after rock, fighting the fish, fighting the water, fighting their own doubt that they'll ever land their quarry.

And then, only minutes after it began, it's over. Either you have the proof — a solid catch — or the story, a broken line and a tale worth telling. Both can be addictive.

On this day, Bauman already has snagged one silver-gray winter steelhead, while another man laments the one that got away. Still others have pulled in late summer-run fish, a deeper, ruddy gray with a red line down the middle from gill to back fin. Summer steelhead are considered a bit juicier, when cooked, than the winter-run steelhead, which are full of vim and vigor.

State limits allow two fish a day during a season that begins for winter steelhead around Thanksgiving weekend and shuts down the end of February.

Bauman says he retired early to have more time for fishing, and others standing along the shoreline would give up work in a heartbeat for the chance to cast a line.

"In a couple of weeks, you'll see dozens of men out here vying for a spot to fish," said Nate Bisson. "They'll stand out by the hatchery gate in the dark and wait until they can get in, running to any rock they can. It's time to find another spot when that happens."

With decent habitat along the free-flowing river, steelhead hatcheries help annual numbers in the Snohomish River system, of which the Skykomish is a part. According to the state Department of Fish and Wildlife, more than 442,000 winter steelhead smolts, raised from eggs, were planted in the Snohomish River system in 2006. About 195,000 of those 7- to 10-inch smolts were planted in the Skykomish, with almost 38,000 more planted in its tributaries.

"As a result of those plants, you get a pretty good return of hatchery fish," said river guide Rob Endsley of Steelhead University, which offers fishing classes. "It may only be a 1 to 3 percent return for north Puget Sound rivers, but you can do the math."

At 3 percent, almost 7,000 fish would return to the Skykomish and its tributaries to spawn after the two to three years the steelhead will spend at sea.

This year, the Department of Fish and Wildlife says, the predicted return in the Snohomish River system is 6,300 hatchery-run winter steelhead, similar to last year, and about 5,300 wild winter steelhead, an improvement.

But there are still those who mourn long-term declines in the winter run.

"Steelhead numbers are down from the 1980s and '90s," said Jim Strege, who runs Triangle Beverage, a bait and supply shop in Snohomish. "Winter business is one-third what it used to be during the winter, and we now rely on the humpy run to see us through."

The humpy, or pink salmon, run occurs every odd year on the Skykomish, but the numbers are in the tens of thousands, drawing seasoned anglers and novices alike. It's here, Strege acknowledges, that the lure of a tougher catch, such as a coho salmon or winter steelhead, begins to grow.

Regardless of how it used to be, Strege says one thing has always been the same.

"My sister came in here one day, and I'll bet there were about 20 guys in here buying fishing supplies, all with smiles on their faces," Strege said. "My sister works for a doctor, and she looks at me and says, 'You try finding the same any day in my office.' "

Christopher Schwarzen: 425-745-7813 or cschwarzen@seattletimes.com