Greedy Angler, Perfect Day: Two Casts, Two Fish, and a Lesson in Contentment

It’s been a while since I last wrote a blog. Life has been busy, and I’ve struggled to find the right words to share my experiences. You could say I’ve been in a writing slump. It’s not that I haven’t had things to share—if you know me, you know I always have plenty to say. The challenge has been figuring out how to say it. But this past week, I had an experience that feels worth writing about, and I hope you enjoy it.

I’ll admit it: I’m a greedy angler. I’ve always been focused on the next cast, the next fish. It’s a mindset that drives me. It’s also one that leads to moments of frustration when I lose a fish or feel like I didn’t perform my best. This weekend, I went steelhead fishing—a pursuit I don’t often share about publicly or until the season is over.

Why not? Because the online fishing community has become a minefield of criticism and negativity, where gatekeepers are quick to judge rather than support. There’s no shortage of people ready to criticize in the name of their version of “what’s good”—even as they fish for steelhead 365 days a year. So, quietly and without fanfare, I target these incredible fish in Southwest Washington and keep those moments mostly to myself. My pursuit of fish isn’t about boasting or promoting a specific fishery. It’s about inspiring others to put down their phones and experience the outdoors for themselves.

Maybe that’s a blog for another day—about how the fishing industry has, in some ways, shamed itself into decline. But for now, let’s get back to the water.

On Sunday afternoon, I texted Pete with a bit of excitement, letting him know I had a few free hours to spend on the water if he was down to fish. Time is a precious commodity for me these days—balancing three jobs doesn’t leave much room for fishing. But with this rare window of opportunity, we decided to make the most of it. Conditions weren’t promising. It hadn’t rained in a few days, and we knew the fishing would be tough. Still, we headed out with high hopes.

For hours, we fished hard. We spooked a few steelhead, which kept our excitement alive, but overall, the fishing was poor. The conditions were stacked against us, and it seemed like the stars just weren’t aligning. By the end of the day, my greedy side started to show. I wanted to catch a fish—any fish. My pursuit of steelhead was over for the day, but I thought to myself, “I’ll settle for a cutthroat.”

I told Pete, who stood content on the bank, satisfied with a day spent on the water even if it hadn’t yielded fish. I pulled out my box of cutthroat flies and tied on a Pink Dropper. If you’re familiar with this pattern, you know it’s a killer—cutthroat simply can’t resist it. I stripped out some line, bombed a cast into the back of the pool near the snags where cutthroat like to hide, and let the fly sink. Strip, strip…boom. Cutthroat on.

The fish came to hand easily, thanks to my 9ft 8wt rod and a 12lb Maxima leader. Smiling, laughing, and content, we quickly released the fish. For a moment, I was ready to call it a day. But then my greedy side kicked in again. I had caught a fish in one cast—why not try for another?

Time was running out, and I had obligations waiting. Instead of another full-throttle cast, I half-heartedly rolled one out into the mix. Expecting nothing, I let the fly sink again, gave it a strip, and…“Oh, shit,” I muttered. This was a bigger fish. My line peeled out, my rod bent deeply, and the battle was on. This was the moment we’d been hoping for all day—an incredible Winter Run Steelhead, hooked on a whim.

The fight was intense, the fish was magnificent, and my nerves were shot. After what felt like an eternity, I brought the steelhead to hand. It was everything you hope for in a winter steelhead: powerful, pristine, and unforgettable.

Two casts, two fish—and then something surprising happened. I chose to walk away, satisfied and fulfilled. Yes, I had places to be, but if you’re an angler, you know that’s rarely enough to make you leave the water. I’ve been late plenty of times, chasing the “next” fish. But this time, something in me felt content. Maybe I’m getting older. Maybe my priorities are shifting. Or maybe I was simply able to appreciate the magic of what had just happened. Two casts, two fish, and the mystery of the third left untouched.

Sometimes, it’s not about how many fish you catch or how perfect the conditions are. It’s about those rare, fleeting moments when everything aligns, and you’re reminded why you love this pursuit so much. This was one of those days.