The Times - Serving Waitsburg, Dayton and the Touchet Valley

A column by Rob Holtzinger

The pair of August days Billy and I had waded the Touchet River in old tennis shoes, starting by the baseball-softball fields of Dayton High School and exiting the stream just before the Main Street bridge, seems more like a couple months passed, than the half year of days gone by.

Fond of walking down the gravel bar in the middle of the river, ankle deep, Billy, my twelve-year-old son and I, cast to the deeper water, ironically right off the bank, holes swirl two to three feet deep, shaded by trees and shrubbery that provide cooling for the rainbow trout holding and feeding in these pools.

Every few minutes, catching and releasing 6 to 9-inch rainbows. I enjoyed and appreciated the scene as my son was challenged with his youth and inexperience yet managed to hook and land a couple. Not too easy; not impossible!

The shallow water running over the bar covered our ankles providing a cool contrast to the sun beating on us with its seventy-eight-degree strength. An almost euphoric blend of temperature sensations gave way to sweat just about the time we pulled our feet out of the water just before reaching the Dayton Main Street Bridge.

Catching and releasing those rainbows, while obeying regulation and rules listed in the Washington Fish and Wildlife pamphlet has been fun and dependable. We typically finish the stretch in anywhere from one-and-a-half to three hours, depending on how much time we choose to spend. Sometimes, we work the stretch twice, fishing it harder, with more information, the second time through.

Braving the Touchet River banks and stream are quite different in February than the Norman Rockwellian days Billy and I are accustomed to in July and August.

I knew I had set a lofty goal to catch at least one steelhead before the day was over. I would fish inside the city limits of Waitsburg, having only previously fished that stretch in the summer. Twenty-eight degrees replaced seventy-eight of summer, and the warm breeze complementing the cool water was now a frosty seven- to eight-mile-an-hour gust that occasionally skiffed off a layer of powder snow from deep drifts, slapping my rashed cheeks.

Instead of working through small puddles on river's edge, my hip boots were cracking and breaking ice. Weeds were frosted and downtrodden where they had been tall, green and sneeze-causing six months prior.

I was excited. Some good holes were accessible, and I was alone on the river. I would not ask Billy on this trip as only the experience of an older fisherman could muster the motivation and skill needed in such conditions. Or so, I foolishly thought.

As I hit the first tailwater that I thought I could cast and make a decent presentation, I noticed the eyelets on my fishing rod had already iced up. Ah, one of the realities of wintertime angling, I thought to myself.

Once breaking free, I sent the initial cast right into some tree limbs overhanging the stream. Drat! I was fishing with a single barbless hook spinner that was now being strangled to death by multiple branches and limbs.

Another announcement by the river and its season. In the summer, I would have cooled down a little and gone thigh-high to reach up and free my five-dollar lure. But on that February day, the risk was higher, and so was the water.

I once fell into the Tucannon on a cold day. Water rushing over my hip waders, soaked, and a mile from my car, in seventeen degrees, I began my brisk walk. Needless to say, never again! No, I would eat the cost of that brand-new spinner and quickly tie on another.

I prefer chasing these ocean returning rainbows with a spinner. The reasons are short and simple. I like to fish on the move and stay moving. Even more so during the winter steelhead run.

I find one can easily over-fish a hole. I've been guilty of the offense many times, I'm sure. Steelhead tend to strike quickly, protecting more than feeding, and thus, with empty hands with a couple extra spinners in vest, many holes can be reached.

Cast after cast, no bites or signs of steelies. The water was swift and a bit muddy, perhaps the conditions were the reason. The extended time it took to break off and re-tie spinners did not help. Nor did the iced-up fishing rod eyelets.

In the end, I realized this goal would having to be achieved on a different day. Perhaps a little warmer, better casting, more fishing with Billy nearby.