Words don’t do this steelhead thing justice. Those who don’t understand probably never will; those who do just do.
It starts as something casual, but quickly becomes much more. Somewhere, somehow this steelhead thing becomes an obsession. It brings with it a thirst for knowledge; a need to know the fish completely. When we’re sure we know everything the fish leaves us heartbroken. Sure of ourselves and left empty handed. It’s these moments that result in respect. We bow to the creature that has out smarted us. We want more. We always want more.
Others wonder if we are of sound mind. We wonder the same thing ourselves. Driving rain; sleet; snow; what we endure knows no bounds. It bears no significance when we hold the beauty of cold chrome in our hands. All is forgotten. This steelhead thing trumps all.
Every fish caught leaves us with the same satisfaction as the first; every fish fought resulting in the same heart pounding adrenaline rush. The release as satisfying as the catch. We are compelled to protect.
It has a way of taking over our thoughts, waking or otherwise. It has a way of taking over our lives. At time’s we get nothing from it, yet it only leaves us wanting more. It’s enraging and blissful. It can claim one’s sanity. It’s dangerous, this steelhead thing.