As the shoreline became more forgiving, I was finally able to reach the overhanging brush on the far bank. Early spring on most western freestone streams brings on the golden stones. For years the golden stone has been one of my favorite wet flies. With the onset of bead heads and epoxy, my favorite tie is still the old fashioned burlap golden stone (minus the beads and epoxy). People who know me, realize that I'd rather throw my flies without an indicator. There is something very special about maintaining contact with your offering as it drifts along its easy glide.

This opposite shoreline, at one point, had caught my attention. The overhanging brush and irregular shoreline created one of those perfect lies. My mind imagined a good fish resting just off the bottom. I placed myself directly across from that spot. As I cast the golden stone I could tell that it was going to fall on the water far enough upstream to allow my fly to drift on the bottom, right by the fish's nose. Maintaining that all- important contact with the fly, the line drifted until it was slightly downstream from me. At this point in the drift, a take would normally be a slight hesitation in the speed of the line. To my surprise and pleasure, the rod lunged downward and the line started racing downstream. It had been a long time since I had experinced a strike that forceful directly in front of me. All I had to do was raise my rod tip and I instantly knew I was into a mature Trinity River steelhead. If I let this fish have her way, within seconds she would have found refuge in the tangles of a downed tree. I leaned on my rod at a downstream angle with as much pressure as the tippet would allow. Luck was on my side; I was able to turn her head. With a boil on the surface this bullet turned toward the center of the stream. As experienced steelheaders know many fish are lost in this initial run. I was spared that fate.

Over the next several minutes I was able to match every trick that she had to offer, but I wasn't out of the woods yet. Each time she came near me danger lurked. Her head was still well below the surface, and until I was able to change that situation she was in control. My nine foot, six weight Scott rod handled each run and surface antics with the finesse that I have grown accustomed to over the years. Finally, I was able to slide my hand under the belly of this wonderful creature. Moments later Brett was snapping a couple of photos of this beauty. With her head in the water I grasped her tail with my left hand and reached down for the golden stone with my right. A slight backward motion of my hand allowed the fish to come free. Still firmly holding her tail, I moved her back and forth until she gave me the usual signal to let her go.