The decending weights of the shot arrangement presents the offering in a “j” curve below the float, ensuring the first thing the fish sees will be something with a hook in it. 2) In a river the fastest current is mid-level. The bottom water is the slowest. The goal is to make the egg imitation move with the current in a perfectly natural manner. With the lightest shot anchoring the system in the slowest water, it prevents either too slow or too fast a presentation. Very well thought through and fairly technical.
Watching a float meander downstream can be a hypnotic experience. You focus contently on the orange tip, angle it into the seams you want it to be in, tend the perfect attitude, and remind yourself that someone is recording you. Suck that fat face in, kid, cameras is watching. I ramble, wax poetic about fish behavior, why we are out here, and try to muster something profound through the haze of a mild hangover. Nick is crawling around adjacent to me, pulling focus, prompting me for certain facial angles and expressions. I try to extract delicious science from my soft spoken friend serving as our guide. I stress about the shoot, miss a fish, and stress about the shoot some more.
I take the work that Stellwagen does seriously. I place a lot of pressure on myself and the team to generate best in class content. I think anyone reading this can appreciate taking pride in and deriving self worth through your work. It’s got your name on it. It is deeply personal. The hardest part of it is that ultimately what happens is out of your control. You plan the shoot with the best guides you know. You try to identify the best windows for fishing. You fish as hard as you can, but ultimately the fish are going to do what the fish are going to do. You’re essentially trying to put a spine in a jellyfish and it is constantly in the back of your mind.
My thoughts are interrupted with the crisp whip of a violent hookset. Mark is tight. The line dumps off the reel and Nick swivels the camera from Mark to the fish. The steelhead explodes downstream in a series of leaps. The fish crosses current and digs deeply into a soft water seam. Mark’s rod is completely folded in half. It’s a tanker. A slow snowfall punctuates the grey early winter sky. I exhale. It’s a stunning shot. We’ve got the big fish we need for the film. The light is perfect. The best Steelhead fisherman I know is on the rod. I grab the net. Mark brings her boatside. She takes a short run then wallows on top. She’s in range. Take the shot. Then net plunges under the fish and I lift quickly to the feel of her weight. Caught fish. Praise Odin.
This bite kicks off a spectacular five hour window where the fish chewed with reckless abandon. Multiple fish from each spot. Big fish, pretty fish, fish that fought hard, laughter, and great dialogue between old friends. We’ve got what we need. I am elated. My hands are numb, Nick set himself on fire on the propane heater, Mark is exhausted from the 360 day grind he’s been on, but wide smiles are on all three faces. The boat is hauled, we return to the car, and thaw out. I take the boys out to a dinner filled with fatty steaks, whiskey, laughter, and good natured ribbing. The shoot is in the can. I have two days off before we’re back in the edit room to carve the footage into a sculpture. We are cold, we are tired, but we are elated.
Pulaski from Stellwagen Media on Vimeo.
