by Dale C. Spartas
A photographic journal.
From the November/December 2007 issue.

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There’s something seductive about those long rods, those long casts, those long bright steelhead holding quietly in the late-autumn Rogue. The foliage at its peak, eagles overhead, ducks and geese and otters and the rhythmic flow of those long, long lines. You could almost doze off.

But all autumnal reveries must come to an end, and with that first soft take and that explosive unleashing of pent-up energy you’re as wired as a bird dog—upriver, downriver, the long rod taut as a bowstring. Then it’s time for a civilized lunch, the river at your feet filled with seagoing rainbows.