I was a hot shot, know-it-all guide, 20 something and cocky in the world of ‘bows, bears, and sockeye salmon. The slaughter was on and I was the reaper. The salmon were taking the easy road up the river. Nose to tail, side channel after side channel was chock full of them. For a week, I watched 1.3 million run the channels and the sports picked them off easily. I was drunk with bloodlust; the unlucky ones were bonked by the business end of my Leatherman.

Then you stepped out of the early morning Alaskan mist and my world changed. It didn’t happen right away. It took years; and for a long time, I didn’t give you another thought. Now, I think of you often and wish that things had been different.

You had one goal, one wish that I denied. You came to my boat clutching the longest rod I had ever seen. The details are a bit fuzzy, now that 11 summers have passed, my memory jumps. Was it your father’s or your grandfather’s rod? All you wanted to do was use it. I’m sorry I didn’t know how, or even why; I just kept thinking, “The salmon are right here, how can a spey rod help you catch fish?” Together, we lost out on possibly the best day of the summer to the ego of a kid who didn’t understand that it wasn’t always about the catching.

I don’t really remember your face, or how we did that day. But what I do vividly remember is that ghostly question you asked that now haunts me each September. More of a statement than a question really, “I want to use this spey rod.” “No, a thousand times No.” I abruptly answered. It makes me sad now, who I was before. I’m sure if we had left the sure fish in the channels, I would remember the first fish I ever saw hooked on a spey rod. I can certainly remember the one that grabbed a four inch white bunny leech attached to my first spey rod. I think of you every fall when the double-handers come out of the closet for battle. I think of what that day could have been. I imagine swinging large rabbit wigglers through the choice runs on the lower river. I imagine the pink spots of the arctic char that would have hammered your fly as it ripped through the current. The rainbows we would have hooked…they give me pause.

These days, I love spey fishing. It’s all I think about. It’s my penance, I think, for robbing you of your joy. I think of you with every steelhead I hold. What a glorious day it could have been.

I am truly sorry.

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Two years ago, Geoff Schaake founded Spey Nation, a grassroots organization dedicated to furthering the culture and techniques of spey fishing on Great Lakes tributaries.  In only two years, Spey Nation has raised thousands of dollars which have all gone to the conservation of andromous Great Lakes fish.  To learn more about Spey Nation, visit www.speynation.com.