The two Oregon Chapter members of the H7HT went seeking Steelhead Salmon. The five day adventure started off in a small town of Maupin Or. at a put in just below Shearas Falls. Sherars Falls was the site of a crossing point for local tribe as well as a sacred fishing grounds for local tribes. Seriously happy we didn't have to raft through them. We started off early Sunday morning after camping at the put in to ensure an early morning start. The float started off with a small detour as Cliffy forgot his reel for his spey rod, so after a short walk back to the truck we were on our way. The initial float was a 12 mile, 3 hour float down to our camp site. We arrive at our site, a beautiful spot with about a quarter mile of our own water, sandy beach, and views that rival any Ansel Adams photos. We set up camp and hit the water with our flies. The wind was ripping down river making it very hard to get our flies out into the middle of the river, even with our hefty 13 foot Echo Rods. We turn to our trout rods and hit our own personal riffles, I catch the first fish of the trip, a small 6 inch trout that could have been bait for the big steelheads we were hoping for. With the wind making the afternoon fishing most difficult only one thing to do, crack some brews and have a few margaritas and wait for the wind to break and hope for some evening fishing. We tried to throw some flies later in the evening, but with happy hour and the wind we find it impossible to stand on the slick rock. We decided to call it and make our first of three awesome dinners, grilled rib-eyes with tomato onion salad and grilled romaine. Evening came early for some and some stayed up searching the hills for the elusive big horned sheep and the skies for Orion and Hercules. 
After a sleepless night filled with howling winds and howling freight trains we awake with calmness. Cliffy is up, coffee is made and the steelhead await our offerings. We swing flies for a couple of hours with no luck, what are they hungry for? Well we're hungry for steak and egg sandwiches with bloody marys. Who else is eating like this on the river now? Nobody. The afternoon is warm and breezy. I build a hot tub by arranging some rocks in the water to form a pool, meanwhile Cliffy tried to decipher the steelhead code. A tasty dinner of grilled albacore tuna and summer squash risotto with finocchiona is devoured, again no room for jiffy pop. We're relaxing by the water enjoying a midge hatch and watching guides drop off clients in their jet boats, placing them in almost impossible spots to fish in. We talk how we could offer these guys a way better experience, just in food alone. Margaritas, rib eye steaks, grilled tuna, rose wine and cold beer. Way better than the hot dogs and beans or maybe deli sandwiches they are being fed.
I go to sleep every night and awake every morning with beautiful visions in the hills reminding me of what beauty is. It makes the night more restful even with the cargo trains passing every three hours. The night skies brought the milky way and the big dipper as I wait for the morning to come. Afraid to pee or get water to quench my thirst due to the beast crossing through our camp.
Day four I awake sleeping better due to the lack of water spilled in my tent. Calmness has overcome our camp, no winds, warmth, fresh coffee. Today the salmon are ours. We set out with fish sticks in hand, this is it, today we will get what we came for. We have been watching the salmon hold behind rocks for two days now, we have changed out our flies over and over, today they will want our offerings. We wade to our spots, we cast, mend, drift and strip over and over. We do this over and over for eight hours, we are dedicated to our art. Nothing. Breakfast, morning bloodies, lunch, all that is left is another great meal to end our trip. Grilled pork loin rubbed with herbs and plum with ghost peppers, fresh cranberry beans with smoked bacon. Dinner is served, delish. As we eat the last nights meal we are still focused on the hills around us in search of the elusive rams. There they are! Five of them feasting on the hills bounty, walking on the steep hills covered with rock as if they were walking through a field of flowers. Darkness envelopes our camp for the last night, the night sky more luminous than nights before due to the moons lack of candle power. Big Dipper, Orion, Hercules, Vega all saying goodbye. 
We awake to a chill in the air, watch the rams butt heads and pack up the boat for a 28 mile wet ride home. The captain led us through the rapids flawlessly, a little wet for the wear but safe. We reach the take out and pack up and head home. We didn't get what we came for, but didn't we?
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