A little over a year ago, whispers of British Columbia steelhead came between swings for monster Alaska rainbows and medium-cold Pabst Blue Ribbon. The Babine? The Dean? The Iskut? Several 3 am Google Earth obsessions later, the seed for a fall mission to Smithers found good soil.
Casual messages to friends became lengthy photo threads, and soon the truck pointed north, loaded with a 16-foot raft, Alpacka Pack Rafts, an arsenal of Sage two-handed rigs, and a couple crates full of hopes and dreams. After eight days and 60 river miles, we present this little gem to you, fueled by pre-noon beer and nightcaps of peaty 10-year old scotch. Eat, sleep, climb back into frozen waders, keep fishing. Anytime you can wrangle four lost souls to arrive in the same location at the same time, to drop their busy-ass lives for a second, you should thank your lucky stars, and we’re grateful for the journey and all the hogs encountered between there and here.
