Saturday, February 26, 2011

A breath of fresh air

Winter has not been kind this season.. Granted, there were a few days around the holiday week that were pretty nice.. but with my only sister [from Spokane] and only niece [Seattle] back on the home farm for a few days I passed on the fishing. Normally we recieve some sort of thaw in January but New Years day was the end of anything even resembling one. I should have, and even could have, went early on new January 1 but it was real easy to convince myself staying home might be a better option. It was a mistake.. Peeking at the flow charts later glared in my face just how much.. conditions appeared to be perfect. This little trib has fished best in December by far over the many years I've been on it. Oh well.. opportunities missed.

The next fishable day was Feb 05 and off I went with high expectations. There were no tracks in evidence on the old road.. a good sign.




I access the river from a remote county road service pull out and snowshoe in. I'd actually gotten over 3 miles from home and remembered I hadn't put in the shoes. Almost went on without them.. that would have been a BIG mistake. Most efficient few minutes I spent all day was returning to get them. The water was quite low with big wind blown drifts and plenty of shelf ice along the banks. Fishing went fairly well until the banks began caving in and icebergs started flowing thickly. The first few times a crack or crash rang out I jumped pretty good, they come out of nowhere amidst otherwise total silence. Fished hard over about 5 hours, took a nice 19+" resident Brown not to far in then nothing for a long time.




Last run, and one of the best, I had a good grab in the gut and some light little nips /nibbles down in the tail.. just the sort that reverberated rainbow up the line, through the blank, and into your hand. No go though.. I changed flies and went back to the head of the gut where the good grab came with no further interest. On the long walk out in the dusk I reflected on how lucky I was to encounter the Brown.

Feb 23 is the next good chance for fishing. While it's still cold outside I tie a grey skulpin streamer. I'm somewhat superstitious and fresh tied flies seem to possess good charm. Go over some tackle and I'm off. What a grand day, it's got a totally different feel to it than a couple weeks ago had. Second pool I fish reveals a startling phenonema I've never witnessed to this degree before. The banks / shelf ice had all settled and with bright sunlight thawed snow creating perfect rows of miniture ice sickles, each one an exact replication of it's left and right hand neighbor.. A lense couldn't possibly capture the wonder and awe they presented.. row after row.. all the banks within eyesight up and down, hundreds of feet. They reminded me of piano keys or possibly some sort of ornate brick a brack lace. Anyway, it was quite stunning. Had I been there in the early a.m. the suns position would have offered a much better shot.








Unlike the last outing there was life evidenced both visual and audio. A solitary Eagle soared through not that far off and the Crows were brash and brassy.. early signs of spring. One of the coolest things was a small flock of Bufflehead ducks that came upstream like rockets, in tight formation just inches off the surface. I stood immobile and when they reached me, timed to a micro second, the flight split each side blistering by @ Mach III.. their wing primarys making a tearing sound as they carved air with maneuvers.. I felt the breeze on my face.

Casting is going well, the slight wind is over my right shoulder and quartering downstream.. the fresh grey skulpin is swimming well.. Perfect. Just reaching the prime of the pool I fire one of those casts that for some reason you just know is the one.. sure enough just as it starts the turn I feel the pickup. Dropping the rod tip with it for what seems an unbearably long time I then give a good lift into.. solid shaking weight. About the time I decide it doesn't feel that heavy it comes up and never slows, shooting airborne, a bright silver missle of approximate 4.5 lbs. Back down in, a couple headshakes then running at me hard.. the line never tightened up again. Resting the pool for 10 - 15 minutes was easy, looking around at the piano keys and shooting a few more pics.. heard the spring song of an unrecognised bird but could never get an eye on him. I re-started just above where the fish took. On about the fourth swing below that marked spot the pickup replays itself, once again I lift into solid life.. only this time the connection remains. This fish never jumped, he might have at one time but I didn't encourage him. A nice Bulldog built Buck still cocky and full of attitude.





I finish my day out with one more good grab that came up empty. The fish would not comeback.. I was fine with that. The sun was dropping below the tree line as I fished the last pool. My guides really started freezing up then. They had been slowly closing all day, even with the direct sunlight, but only needed cleared occasionally. The problem was solved when I struck wood and broke off my fly. There was still good amount of daylight left but rather than push it I reeled up and went out.. it was more than enough to put the soul at ease.

Fall finally gives one up

It was a tough fall this year. Normally even I manage to stumble onto a fish but so far zeroed out. Even the day Charles and I spent with Pete on 11/13 never made the boards.. I could tell he was a little skeptical when we arrived at his cabin before daybreak. The water was low.. real low. The good folks up at Croton Dam hadn't let down any water for a couple days on an already skinny river. State contracts and free flow laws be damned I guess.. We at least had cloud cover. We gave it a hell of a go and managed to briefly hook one and one other good pull for the day. For some reason I wasn't surprised, I just had that feeling going in. Still a grand day with great company. Time well spent.

Two days later Charles is on board with Kevin F and has an absolutley BANNER day, four great fish with two of them well in excess of normal weights. It's also day one of our firearms Deer season so they have the river mostly to themselves. Word was that the same section we hit up with Pete two days prior was fishing very well too.. Again, I'm not surprised.




Earlier in the fall friend Forrest let it be known that he was going to have a few days leisure time around Thanksgiving and wanted to hit up the river. Charles is still on cloud nine from his last big day on the water and hungry for more, so he's in 100%. I'm a little more cautious knowing this state and the weather that can, and does, occasionally, completely and ruthlessly stomp out the best laid plans of mice and morons. I join in.. but with the weather clause held in reserve.

The date is set for 11/24 and wonder or wonders, by the forcast it shapes up to be decent enough to make me nervous. Meeting them at the boat storage early a.m. of the 24'th we pick up Forrest's drifter and get underway. Spirits were high, the day held promise.

Three in the boat is an ideal number.. it just works. Pitching big streamers for trout, around home or travel, it allows two guys to totally concentrate on covering the water while the third devotes his efforts navigating. Trading off periodically in a very informal rotation everyone gets a shot up on the bow, on the oars or from the stern. Swinging flies for Steelhead isn't much different. It's a full time job running the boat. Get it spotted and anchor where it needs be, and within only a couple swings from each caster, it's time to drop it a boat length. Anyone thats ever done this knows how much more complicated this is then the couple simple sentences imply! They can be a bitch to handle in fast water, get the anchor to bite, stay on the correct track.. the list goes on. The guy on the oars and anchors earns his keep.

Casting spey rods from any boat is a art in it's self and requires everyone to be familier with it. If so, things go without a hitch. It's nice to have attained that level. Forrest and I had agreed prior to share his LeCie 13'7" 9/10 rather than have a third and unnecessary all rigged taking up valuable space, under peril of someone losing their balance going down driving a knee into it. A spare was brought but left in the tube.

Forrest and Charles both tie excellent flies, I was set for the day so left my junk in the vehicle. Forrest has been honing his skills on Petes version of the Temple Dog Tube. He's about got it nailed.. it is a fish catching S.O.B.

Not long into the day we anchor on a great looking piece of water. This drift is one I'm not overly familier with but am fast becoming interested! Some very top shelf looking runs / pools. Charles is fishing the stern and gives out a shout, he's hooked up. Seconds later I see it flash gold, when it hits the net sure enough it's a nice resident Brown, a little malnourished, but still a good fish.. were on our way.




We leisurely fish our way downstream.. arriving on some broken gravel bar pockety type water. A few drops into it I get lightly picked off.. lowering the tip to it for a bit of slack and then sweep into throbbing weight. It's on.. finally. A fairly heavy spirited fish ripping off line, several times. Forrest puts the boat on the opposite bank so I can get out and land it. What a gorgeous fish! approximate 8 lbs of super fresh hen.. I'm so elated to finally see one up close again it's surreal.







The day is great by calender standards.. it is still quite cool with some breeze picking up. We drop downstream fishing, now I'm on the oars with Forrest up front. His casting is nice.. it's interesting being on board with two of the people you've started out with from scratch spey casting. We've each came a long way, working hard for any gains. Forrest is hooked up.. his nice cast paid off. I began moving the boat back towards the north bank, get the net out and at the ready. I get apprehensive netting fish, always afraid of some mismanaged or botched job.. not that there have been any but.. there were some tense words spoken many years prior on a remote Brooktrout lake in Ontario. A good friend had a dandy hooked and brought it by a bit deep but still within range.. the fish was green yet, I let it go through and recieved a silent glare.. just as it's coming back around getting in range the knot pops off and it turns down dropping from sight.. a confident sweep and lift the fish is netted, we are all glowing with the second score of the morning, a nice fresh 6+ pound Buck.




Continuing on, Charles is now front and center. We are all on cloud nine, the day is huge success and were basking in the sensation of no pressure just enjoying things to the fullest. Charles hooks up.. We are really excited now, these fish just don't come that often, and now a third is hooked. Gorgeous henfish.. shades of lavender on her lateral line. These fall run hens are so pretty they can burn your eyes.




The wind keeps gaining.. our casts still go out though not quite as pretty. It's getting to be a struggle but were unconcerned.. We fish out the day with no more takers, but again.. unconcerned. The day is a gift to each of us.

By the time we reach the launch it was really rocking, back to the latter November I know so well. As Forrest winched the boat up on the trailer we hear a big jet coming, it's already close but the wind had masked it. It's Pete, at first we thought he was alone but there was someone hunched down on the floor below the deckline out of most of the breeze.. we had a good chuckle over that, glad to see that it wasn't just us.