The most exciting and memorable fish remains a Thompson River steelhead that took my fly near the head of a pool on a cold morning that must have been in the low to mid 20s. I'd forgotten my wading staff, and this was before I had stream cleats. The fish was off like a rocket bound for the next pool, a long ways downriver. I jumped, ran, slipped, and darn near cartwheeled my way after that fish over Thompson River rocks that are slicker than deer guts on a doorknob. I nearly regained 180 yards of backing and flyline before I lost that fish over a quarter mile downriver. My lungs were aching from the cold, cold air. Never felt that bad running the 440 in track. That sprint, that steelhead, left me dripping in sweat. No steelhead before or since, no matter how large, has worked me over like that fish. That was exciting.