I went into this trip with a vague idea of how it was going to go. By the end, we all sat in the truck laughing, yet stupefied by the same thing. I sat in the front seat listening to my brother explain how rare and bizarre it was that we caught anything at all, much less a Steelhead. We didn't even take a net with us. Nothing was going to happen. But, I picked a fly with not only immense luck, but a bizarre and fantastic name: Mike's Meal Ticket. And, that, it was.