I feel for you, Bruce. That sounds like one of my days steelheading. I remember hiking in neoprene waders for 90 minutes double time up a deep woods path in Alaska one frosty April morning, not knowing exactly where we were going to hit the river but deciding to beat a path as far upstream as possible. Buddy Slick and I really did ourselves proud, double-timing it at 5 mph (jogging part of the way, no less). I must have sweated a quart into each boot by the time we turned right and hit the river. The sun was just up when we realized we had stumbled on one of the best holes on the river -- a hole so good we call it the 'Steelhead Hole'. And who should be there but two guys, one of whom had a fish on? (They'd strapped a 10 horse outboard onto the back of a dingy and motored upstream at o'dark thirty. Cheaters!)

Those two guys pounded that hole while we worked upstream and down, waiting for them to leave. Fat chance. When they finally left they claimed they'd had 15 hook-ups (we saw 4-5). The weather got progressively colder, and as we cooled off from our marathon hike we started shivering due to all the sweat trapped underneath our waterproofs. Being the idiots we are, we persisted in fishing 12 of the worst hours I've ever had on a steelhead stream. A cold rain began to fall, then became sleet followed by rain followed by blowing hail (our favorite).

You name it, we did it all in the name of trying to hook up: wade over the top of our waders, climb vertical banks to get to inaccessible holes, and take shortcuts through Devíl's club plantations. Every drift rig known to man was slung up, across and quartering downstream. Man were we tired.

By the end of the day we had worked our way downstream to the 'Hanging Hole' (aptly named, the way we felt) where we were about the 50th people to fish it judging by all the boats that had passed us by that point.

In terms of fish landed, I was the leader in the clubhouse with a 20" foul-hooked sea run dolly. Slick had had a hook-up and lost it about 8 hours ago (which felt like two lifetimes). Just about the last cast before breaking down our rods and trudging back to the car, Slick hooksa nice 7-8lb bright fish. He fights it like a pro with lots of Lefty Kreh side pressure and maximum toque. (I'm so discouraged that I'm actually rooting for him to land this one, too!). Slick has this puppy whipped and is down to 10 feet of line off his rod and getting ready for the release when the hook pulls. Just one of those days. Sounds like you had one as well.

On another topic, it also sounds like you made a couple of avoidable mistakes on your outing: using old line, having weak hooks on your jig, and, most importantly, running out of powdered sugar do-nuts. I spend a lot of time in preparing for trips so as to not mess up on the water. Yet everyone gets lazy. This morning I was fishing in the local saltwater pond, using a popping cork (a saltwater popper that I've taken the hooks off), and a live prawn hanging 12" off the back split eye. I pulled this rig pre-tied out of my fishing vest from the last trip 2-3 weekends back.

The barra were busting mullet on top. First cast WHAM! Fish on! Fish off! Huh? A curly cue at the end of the dropper line told me that the old knot I'd tied had come untied (this happens in heavy fluorocarbon a lot: it's real springy and slick). I tie on a new Gammi and make another cast. Fish on!! A big one, too! Fish off!! [Bleeeeep!], g*dd*amn!! (and much worse). Reel in to find the entire dropper is gone: the SECOND three-week old knot has untied itself from the other end of the fluorocarbon (where it attaches to the screw eye on the popper). Tie up a new dropper, calling myself some uncomplimentary names all the while. All deserved, too.

After 30+ years fishing I can't believe I still do stuff that dumb. (Three casts later, BLAM! A big barra hits the hookless popper and knocks it out of the water. I had to laugh. I later got 12 and 14lb'ers on a dink float and a livey, so the morning wasn't a total write-off. I wish steelhead were so forgiving.)