When Raindrops Became My Lucky Charm
The truck's clock blinked 4:47 AM as I pulled into the Deschutes River parking lot, my waders crunching frost-covered gravel. That familiar mix of damp moss and cold steelhead scent hung in the air - nature's fishing lure no manufacturer could replicate. I patted the duck decoy carved by my daughter riding shotgun, its chipped paint glowing under headlights.
Morning fog clung to the river like cotton candy. Three casts with my trusty spinnerbait yielded nothing but lazy swirls. 'Maybe the rain's got them spooked,' I muttered, watching dark clouds swallow Orion's belt. Then it happened - that electric tug followed by zinging drag. The rod bent double as chrome lightning streaked upstream.
For twenty breathless minutes, the steelhead danced between rain curtains. When I finally slipped the net under its emerald-flanked glory, thunder applauded overhead. My wedding band clinked against the scale - 14 pounds even. As I released it into the storm-swollen current, a raindrop slid down my neck like liquid luck.
