We checked the weather at breakfast Monday morning: Cloudy, with showers to begin about 5 p.m. Perfect. But as the sun came up, we saw darker clouds. By the time we’d arrived at the launch, the first squall was upon us.

Gary Lewis is the owner of Gary’s Guide Service, based in the southwest Oregon town of Roseburg. The Umpqua is his home river. We share the same name and try to do a little fishing together each year. On Monday, Dan Cardot and I fished with Gary on the North Umpqua.

New to the Northwest, Dan would be experiencing his first time on the water for steelhead. ”I’d heard it was the ultimate freshwater fish,” Dan told me. ”I want to see for myself.”

It took me two years to land my first steelhead. Two years learning to read the water, missing strikes and losing fish that broke both my line and my teenage heart. It was a long education. I hoped a trip with two guys named Gary might help Dan through the long learning curve.

We launched the drift boat at the small town of Glide for the six-mile drift to Whistler’s Bend. It’s a rough stretch of river – not for big whitewater, but for the long rock gardens and ledges.

Those same boulders that eat boats every year also harbor steelhead. And there is no better way to target a winter sea-run than to side-drift with cured roe or yarn.

We rigged with a snap swivel and 24 inches of 10-pound leader, terminated at an egg loop on a No. 6 bait hook. To the snap we attached a slinky weight, built of parachute cord and lead shot.

”There are three kinds of bites you get when you’re side-drifting,” Gary explained. ”First, there’s the trout bite. You get a tap-tap-tap-tap in the rod. The fish is pecking at it. It feels really good, but it’s a trout.

”The second is a rock bite. You feel the bait bouncing along and then the rod goes down. When you get a rock bite, just lift the rod tip and pull the hook away.

”The third kind of bite,” he said, ”is the steelhead bite. You feel a bump that’s not like the other bumps. Don’t set the hook. Wait for the fish to eat it. You’ll feel another bump and then another as the fish chews the bait. Let the rod bounce two or three times, then give it to him.”

We drifted through a couple of rapids and set up on a long, straight stretch of river. Relatively flat on its surface, the river gave up a few clues through surface swirls and seams. Here there was structure that might hold fish.

Gary lined us up, our bow pointed down a hundred-yard run and we cast river right. Our weights touched bottom every two to three seconds, transmitting a subtle tap to the rod tip.

At the grab, a fish, its head pointed up-current, is most likely stationary, or easing backward. It opens its mouth to stop the bait. The weight continues to drift by and as the line comes taut, the weight stops tapping and the angler feels something, that first bump. As the fish mouths the bait, it may shake its head and turn away from the resistance that is pulling its head sideways. Set the hook now!

I felt the weight stop tapping and the rod go spongy – bump-bump-ba-BUMP – and swept the tip up.

Stung, the fish spun and headed downstream, peeling line off the reel. We followed it, and then Gary dropped anchor. There. A flash of silver as the fish showed itself for the first time. Then it was above the water in a spray of foam, and it twisted sideways as it splashed back down. In a few minutes, I guided the wild hen alongside the boat and Gary stabbed for it with the net. After a picture, we put her back in the river.

Downstream, we saw a nearly new boat that had been abandoned mid-river with lifejackets, a cooler and strung rods.

Water flowed in and out. By the look of it, all hands had jumped overboard – a testament to the treachery of the river.

A few turns above Whistler’s Bend, Dan’s rod stopped tapping and thumped with a big fish. But the encounter was short-lived, and the steelhead was gone after a few seconds. Dan re-baited and had his line back in the water fast.

By the end of the float, the rain was going sideways. Dan broke off a rig and tied another for the last run. His fingers flew as he knotted leader to swivel, snapped on the weight and re-baited. Seven hours on the river with a guide at his shoulder had taught the new steelheader a lot. Somewhere upstream, Dan’s steelhead, the ultimate freshwater fish, was a little wiser too.