Spring 2026 has an alarming resemblance to the spring of 2014 and 2015. California’s snowpack sits below 40 percent of average as of mid-March. February brought a welcome pulse of storms and some of the best steelhead fishing in recent memory, but March followed with record heat, stripping away what little snow we had built. It is hard not to enjoy steelhead fishing in near wet-wade conditions, but it is harder to ignore what that means for the months ahead. And this is not just a California story. Below-average snowpack stretches across the Rockies as well, compressing timelines everywhere water matters.
The highlight of my steelhead season came just days before I was meant to leave for a nearly two-week trip in the Amazon. My fishing partner, my now elderly Labrador, refused his breakfast. He had never done that. Looking back, it felt deliberate. So much of my fishing life has been built around terra incognita, around filling in the blank spaces on my map of California. Diesel has always been my trusty companion on nearly every adventure. Lately, though, as he has entered his teens, I have started leaving him behind and bringing him only on boat missions, using the excuse that he would be happier at home. I was beginning to act like an overprotective parent, not his friend. Admittedly, the unknown is not a great place to take a 14-year-old dog. It requires long days, sure footing, and back legs that still work. I couldn’t believe I was about to let a year of his life slip by without trying to show him a steelhead. It was time I adjusted what I was doing to accommodate him.
I changed my plans and built a trip around him. We spent six days on the Lower Eel, choosing it for its short walks, soft gravel, and easy banks. I carried him and his bed down to the river each morning. He mostly ignored the bed, preferring to stand and watch, or to make one of his own riverside beds in a soft spot. He seemed more spry than he had in months, returning to places where he had seen so many steelhead landed over the years.
We didn’t have to wait long. In the tailout of the second run of the morning, a large hen took my fly with such violence that it felt like a gift, something sent from the dogs of the past, giving Diesel one more to see. His tail stood at attention, bird-dogging the hooked fish just as he had since he was a pup. He stepped in close for a better look at the magnificent creature and wagged his tail as it splashed back into the river. I could tell it made him happy, because I had seen it many times before. I have always loved seeing the experience through his eyes and this was the most profound of all. We sat on the bank in the warm sun for the rest of the afternoon, his big, smooshy head resting beside me.
Rivers are easy to follow. Life is much harder.
Stay Fishy, California.
