Who among us hasn't lost a spectacular fish they wish they could have back? I can recall every vivid detail of every brief encounter, from the final leap of the steelhead that spat my fly from across the river to the largemouth that suspended in air, then hocked the diving frog like a loogie. As a young man exploring one of Central Oregon's notoriously challenging streams, the unexpected took me on a downstream sprint only to leave me defeated, out of breathe and pining for another crack at the fish of a lifetime. Will this be a story of redemption or another melancholy chapter in the ageless tale of the one that got away?

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