Steve Pels - Skates, Streamers, and Smallmouth

I first met Steven Pels in the fall of 2007. I walked into the locker room for Hope College’s hockey team and saw the scrappy senior goalie who I knew I’d be defending. As a freshman, I understood I had big shoes to fill and Steve made it known how he liked his crease, clean and without any forwards screening him. Steve wasn’t the biggest goalie I’ve ever played with, but he had one of the biggest personalities. He was not afraid to voice his opinion or give the opposing team a stick check in the back of the legs when he wasn’t happy.

Steve Pels is the goalie in the bottom row on the left hand side.

In one particular instance, during practice, one of our players took a shot that sailed high and hit Pels in the face mask, rocking him back. He was not happy about this and understandably so. In practice this shouldn’t happen, and he proceeded to toss his blocker, catcher, and helmet to settle the score. Pels was a competitor, passionate, and fiercely on your side. I was always happy that he was on my team. In the locker room you could always hear his loud, bellowing laugh, and he was always cracking up. Steve was the only person to call me Cam, one of few nicknames that ever stuck.

Here we are celebrating our bid to the National Tournament. Pels in the goalie in the bottom row on the right hand side.

After college, we kept in touch. When I first started fly fishing, Steve had transitioned into guiding full time after leaving his job in Chicago. I admired that he changed his profession in such a bold way and pursued his passion. Pels took me under his wing and was a mentor to me whether he knew it or not. On one snowy early winter day, Steve agreed to meet me at a small pub in Holland, Michigan where he entertained all my questions and was gracious with his knowledge.

The Circus Peanut (not this actual one) was the first streamer Pels showed me how to tie.

With a big chew in his lip, his gold Regal vise, and a ten pound plate as its base, he walked me through tying my first streamer, an olive Circus Peanut. I’ll never forget that day as I listened to him talk about his transition into guiding and why he wanted to change careers. I was bartending at the time with no direction of where I wanted to go in life, but he gave me hope. Pursuing your passion was ok and doing a 180 on careers was feasible.

While living in North Carolina, I would come back to Michigan once or twice a year to visit family and fish. Steve and I stayed in touch and he was able to carve out some time from his busy guiding schedule to take me on my first smallmouth trip. It just so happened that Jon Ray joined us and we had, what is still, one of my favorite and best fishing trips to date. Spending time in the boat with Steve was priceless. He was passionate and gregarious with every hookup, and we had many. We laughed so hard my stomach was aching and my face was sore from all the smiles.

Pels’ electric smile alway lit up the boat. His passion fueled mine for smallmouth bass.

On our shuttle, we talked about alcohol addiction, mental health, and our upbringing. I had started my journey with sobriety a year prior and was surprised to hear that Pels was sober, going on five years, by that point. He was one of the first people, whom I looked up to, who had made the same decision. It was encouraging to see a mentor who was beating addiction. Yet again, Pels was the example. His strength helped me continue on my journey.

Unforgettable moments fishing with Steve Pels.

A year later, we met in Charleston, South Carolina to go chase red fish. Steve was doing some recon on places to establish a winter program when the deep winter engulfed Michigan. Man, we got skunked and our guide was trash, but we had a great time. Needless to say, South Carolina wasn’t the place he chose. We made the best of it, however, and we laughed every chance we had making the best of the wind, clouds, and lack of fish. Pels taught me how to prepare the line while on the casting deck and what a partner should do while waiting for their turn. He was the ever present instructor and teacher, even when he wasn’t guiding.

A beautiful day in Charleston the day after Pels and I got skunked.

A week ago, I received a phone call that Steve had passed. My heart instantly broke. Steve and I had been talking and texting a lot since February. He gave me glimpses into his struggle with depression and I spoke with him about mine. Pels fought till the very end. His absence leaves a gaping hole in the community where he lived and in the lives of all the people who knew him. His tenacity and grit on the ice will be missed. His laugh, passion, and heart on the water will never be replaced. I know I’ll never forget all the lessons he taught me, both spoken and unspoken.

Thank you, Pels.