Swing the Fly Issue 3.1 Summer 2015 | Page 8

Glowing in the moonlight, the Pacific Ocean whips by my window as I speed down Route 101 on Washington’s Olympic Peninsula. I glance at glowing green light on the dash. 1:00am. Six hours earlier I was nursing a beer at a corny Irish pub in the Las Vegas airport, waiting for my return flight home when I got a call from my good buddy and college roommate Jim. “Hey man, you back from Vegas? You should join us on the Hoh tomorrow morning. I have space for one more in the boat.” Without hesitation, I agreed. I didn’t know anything about steelheading but remembered the stoke Jim would bring home after a successful trip when we were roomies, and that was enough to entice me.

Route 101 is legendary, winding down the coast from the Olympic Peninsula to Southern California. Without a car in sight for over an hour, I feel lucky to have a beautiful stretch of highway to myself. I turn off the highway and bounce down a road covered in potholes. At the end, I find the camp and coast in, turning off the ignition so I don’t wake my sleeping friends. I step out into the frigid night and the brisk air catches me off guard. I take shallow breaths trying to avoid the pain in my throat that develops with each pull of cool air. As I grab my thin flannel Coleman sleeping bag out from the back seat, I realize that I have forgotten my tent and curse myself for packing so hastily. In a rain forest, the open bed of a truck doesn’t offer much protection. I roll out my sleeping bag and slip on every piece of warm clothing I can find. Sliding clumsily into my bag, I roll onto my back to discover piercingly bright stars overhead.

Lying there I wonder, “What the hell am I doing out here? It’s December, it’s ridiculously cold, and I don’t even know how to fly-fish.” This fleeting thought makes me feel weak, so I push it from my head. I remind myself that discomfort is the starting block, the base ingredient for adventure. No great story starts with the hero wrapped up in a Snuggy on a comfy couch sipping hot chocolate. I fall asleep attempting to revel in the moment.