The river gave us what I now call perfect conditions. Not because the water was flawless or the flow was just right, but because it wasn’t raining or snowing, which meant my baby would be content riding on my chest. These days, if I want to fish, my baby comes with me. It’s not easy, but it’s the only way it happens, so I make it work.

Griz was working a line tight to the far bank when his bobber dropped. He set the hook, but nothing was there. We assumed the usual... bottom, snag or branch. When he reeled in, the roe bag was empty. A fish had definitely been there.

I drifted the same line. My bobber disappeared almost instantly. I set the hook, and suddenly I was fighting a steelhead with my baby sleeping soundly against me. The fish was aggressive and full of life, tearing off on a wild run and darting right to my feet. In one smooth, almost magical move, Griz slid the net under it even though the fish was nowhere near tired yet.

The steelhead was pure chrome, bright and powerful, like it had come straight from the ocean. Likely one of the first winter fish to enter the river. I kept it in the water as much as possible, soaking in the moment. I tried to snap a quick photo, but the fish had other plans and slipped free back into the river.

I wasn’t upset. Not even a little. Landing a steelhead on January 5th is my earliest ever, and touching such a rare, wild creature is always an honour. Some moments don’t need proof to be real.

And the best part? My baby slept through the entire thing.

-Scotti Griffin

@Scog7