Accessed via private land, our February Room guest, Jon Hazlett, handed me a rod affectionately known as the “Death Star” as we walked to the river. Southern Oregon was parched, in the throes of an extended drought, and fish were few and far between. Successful steelhead fishing is largely based on timing, and the timing of my business trip to Medford didn’t exactly align with favorable fishing conditions. But we were here to fish and Jon was kind enough to take me to an exclusive stretch on a clandestine tributary. I struggled to regain my aged skills with the spey rod, the muscle-memory diminished in the time between my former existence as a steelhead angler from Oregon and my current…