Sue's Fish!

For the last five years, a group of my closest fishing buddies and I have gathered each fall to chase steelhead on the fly. This season, we chose the Deschutes as our destination. With a decent run of fish returning to the Columbia and its tributaries, spirits were high. Since most of us were new to fishing the lower river, we booked a three-day float with Rob and Todd from Water Time Outfitters. I’d fished with Rob before on the coast for winter steelhead, so I knew we were in good hands.

As the trip approached, excitement buzzed between the five of us. I’m pretty sure each of us made more than one trip to the fly shop—restocking leaders, picking through steelhead patterns, and swapping stories of past trips. A couple of days before launch, Rob called to say we’d have a sixth angler joining us. I figured it was another steelhead junkie ready to swing flies from dawn to dusk.

When we arrived at the boat ramp, Rob and Todd were already waiting with their jet boats. We unloaded gear, looked around, and then our sixth angler appeared—Sue. Over the next three days, I came to learn what a remarkable person she is: a retired teacher of more than twenty-six years, a former REI employee, and a dedicated caretaker of her family. She showed up with a bag of homegrown tomatoes, fresh zucchini bread, and a quick wit that fit seamlessly into our crew.

Sue was on a mission: to catch her first steelhead on a swung fly. It was a journey that had started a couple of years earlier, when Todd first introduced her to Spey casting. Since then, she’d been training both her cast and her body, working with a trainer to build the strength needed for long hours on the river. Her commitment was inspiring.

Over the course of three long days, we fished hard and found fish. Yet Sue was still waiting for that first grab. On the final morning, I joined her in camp water. I could tell the disappointment was creeping in, so I offered a few words of encouragement: Keep casting—it’s going to happen.

Rob walked her up to the head of a classic riffle, a run built to funnel steelhead into the swing. Fifteen minutes later, I heard the shout: Fish on!

“Who’s hooked up?” I yelled.

“Sue!” came the reply.

From my spot downstream, I couldn’t see the fight, but I could hear the excitement echoing across the river—the hoots, the hollers, the sound of triumph. After what felt like an eternity, the cheering told the story: Sue had done it.

When she walked back into camp, she was radiant—like a weight had been lifted. Over breakfast, she told us it was the culmination of years of practice, patience, and persistence. The rest of the day was all smiles, and as I drove home that afternoon, I couldn’t stop thinking about her fish.

For me, it was the best moment of the trip—not my own fish, but Sue’s. Her journey was proof of what I love most about fly fishing: it’s never too late to take on something new, and if you’re willing to put in the work, great things can happen.