From the time my boys were still in diapers, I took them fishing. Not just fishing — but fly fishing.
I started them with a Batman spin rod rigged with a fly reel and fly line, and a fly they had tied themselves, minus the hook. They would stand beside me, convinced they were fishing, and when I hooked a fish, I’d hand them the rod and let them reel it in.
Even then, I dreamed of a day when we would fish as buddies — not a dad taking his kids fishing, but three anglers sharing the water. We spent countless days together on rivers across Maine and even traveled to Florida, where they caught several different species.
But life happens. Priorities change, schedules fill up, and before you know it, years slip by. It had been more than 10 years since the three of us had taken a fishing trip together — until this year.
In January in Maine, there aren’t many places where you can catch fish in open water, let alone fish of impressive size. One exception is traveling to New York. The Salmon River is famous for its fall runs of king salmon, but we made the 10-hour drive for steelhead — sea-run rainbow trout that can grow over 30 inches.
My wife and I usually fish there in the fall, but last year my son Tait mentioned wanting to try winter fishing. I started planning and he convinced his brother Jax to come along. The plan was simple: Drive through the night and fish as soon as we arrived.
As we drove, Jax tied flies in the back seat. At one point he asked, “What are the rules to the contest?”
“So we’re having a competition?” I asked.
“We always do,” he replied.
We agreed the person who caught the most fish would win.
We arrived around 8 a.m., grabbed our licenses and headed straight to the river. Snow covered everything. The high temperature was 25 degrees and the river was flowing at 1,000 cubic feet per second — high, but fishable.
This time of year, steelhead hold in slower water, so we headed upriver to a bend where soft current created a resting spot for fish moving upstream. We fished until noon, then headed to a bar for lunch and to warm up.
While there, I overheard a conversation about an incoming storm.
“Did I hear that right — 48 inches of snow?” I asked.
“Maybe more,” the guy said. “Could be six feet.”
I’d avoided lake-effect snow for more than 20 years, and here we were on day one with plenty on the way.
That afternoon, we fished a new spot where fast water dropped into a deep, slow pool before picking up speed again — perfect holding water. By day’s end, Jax had landed a nice male steelhead and a smaller rainbow. I landed one, but Tait came up empty. Exhausted from traveling all night and with snow starting to fall, we called it early.
Our Airbnb had electric heat, so we stopped for food and water just in case the power went out. I’d only brought Crocs, and the snow came down so hard I had to shovel every time I walked to the 4Runner.
The next morning, snow was piled to the bumper and stacked on top of the truck. I shoveled, started the 4Runner and let it run while the boys slept. I assumed fishing would be off the table for the day.
A guy staying nearby was already in his waders, clearing snow from his truck. He said he’d been shoveling since 2 a.m. so they could get out. That was all the motivation we needed.
We started where we’d ended the day before. Jax landed another fish before lunch. Afterward, we finally slid into the prime spot we’d wanted all trip. I landed three fish, Jax added one, and by the end of day two the score was tied — Jax and myself with 4 fish, and Tait still searching.
On the final day, we arrived early. Fishing didn’t start until first light, about 7:15 a.m., so we got there at 5 and waited in the dark. Overnight, another foot of snow had fallen on top of the four feet already on the ground, and it was still snowing.
I set up a tarp, fired up a small stove, cooked breakfast and made coffee. We shared stories from old trips and talked about plans for the spring. It felt like time had folded in on itself.
At first light, we waded into position. Morning can be magical — fish move shallow and hold in soft water. On my first cast, I hooked a solid fish and slid it into the net. Not long after, I was up three fish on Jax and well ahead of Tait. I figured the tournament was over.
Cold and dealing with leaking waders, I walked back to the 4Runner to warm up. When I returned, everything had changed. Jax had already landed one, then another. He caught up quickly and kept going, finishing two fish ahead of me. Tait caught fire as well, landing six fish on the final day and nearly matching my three-day total.
The final count: Jax 9, me 7, Tait 6.
That last day ranks among my top 10 fishing days of all time. The fishing was incredible, but more than that, it was the morning with my boys — the snow falling, the stories shared and the feeling of standing beside them not as a guide or a dad, but as one of the guys.
It’s the kind of day you spend a lifetime chasing — one I’ll carry with me long after the tracks in the snow are gone.
