Fish Among Fire
Posted by: Brenden on 08.24.06 @ 11:35 AM PST
Im listening to "Trimmed and Burning" - Built To Spill
Feeling looking for a cabin on the river
I Climbed into the Toyota Pickup around 4pm on Friday August 18th and immediately knew it was going to be a good trip. My friend Phil and I hadn't seen each other in probably a year, but it was as if it had only been a couple weeks. We share the same outdoor passion, and its always nice to be hanging out with someone who understands what goes on inside your mind and soul when your watching a big fat dry fly float across a seam, and get slurped up by football sized trout.
The reports were good. Hoppers was the order of the day, and the plan was to drive to the Methow river that night, and spend the next two days floating from the town of Winthrop to Twisp. We knew there were forest fires in the area, and werent shocked at the wisps of smoke high in the atmosphere.
That night, as we got closer to the cabin, the skies grew darker, and it masked the thick clouds of smoke that hung low in the valleys and enveloped the cabin. It was the roadblock about 200 yards from the cabin that gave me an indication that the fire was big. Phil had mentioned the roadblock had been there the week before but there were structure crews located here this time. A little ominous.
It really wasnt until we got out of the car did the thick smoke make an impression on me. It was short-lived, as we set about getting our gear ready. I strung up a new reel, and we went through the pleasurable experience of organizing the fly-boxes. Our enthusiasm adding to the number of large drys in the box. Phil would fish all weekend on self-tied flies, while I stuck to the sweatshop variety and we both would land nice fish.
Saturday morning came quickly, and during the coffee brewing I assembled my pontoon raft. Phil built me a rod holder and we were off to town for breakfast and to pick up lunch. In town we stopped by the shuttle place, but they werent open yet. He was expecting us, and told us to just call him when we were done with the float. (You see where this is going right?)
Just before we launched, a few deer crossed just down stream of us. The smoke gave the morning a cold bleak feel. The deer seemed to cheer up the river a little, and I marveled at the bright orange-red sun trying to get through the thick curtain which formed overnight with little success. We rowed through town, and settled in our first hole. I hooked a fish on my 5th cast, but lost him. I was definitely rusty. A few seconds after I lost my fish Phil had one in the net. We were scarcely on the river 15 minutes, and already the skunk was off. It was all gravy from here on out.
We continued to paddle down river, and get out to fish the holes and runs. When we hooked fish, it was always within the first few casts, and always after a solid 5-10second drift. We caught numerous 10-11 inchers, and managed a few solid 15-16inch fish which always put a smile on our faces. My fish of the trip was a fat, dark-green, westslope cutt that went about 17 inches. I can still picture the hopper bouncing on the water in the middle of a run. He was right where he should have been. The fly crossed the top of a boulder, and with little fanfare, I watched the dark-green mouth break the water, followed by the black back and dorsal fin of a large trout. The next half-a-second is the greatest moment in fly-fishing... "Did I hook him?"
The rod bends and my thoughts of a large fish are confirmed. Suddenly Im too aware of all the slack line I have out, and that barbless hook, no-doubt hanging daintily from the lip of the fish. I finally get the fish on the reel, and start to play with the drag. Its a new reel, so I dont have a lot of experience with dialing it in. First its too loose, then too tight. "Is it net worthy?", Phil calls out. But I cant really respond at this point becuase my head is swimming trying to keep everything in check so as not to lose the biggest fish I have hooked all-day.As I look down to futz with the drag knob I feel something odd on the rod. I looked in horror as the fish had dragged the line under a submerged log. I shift my stance and gingerly step downstream to slide the fish out, and luckily am successful.
By this time Phil had made his way across and helped me land him. It was my first real fish in a long time, and it felt good. We landed several more fish in the waning hours. As is tradition on these floats, we fall way behind on time. It was 3pm, and we hadnt hit the half-way mark on the float. It was painful to row through some very nice water. We made our way to the takeout, and you guessed it, no ride. We hiked out the street, and lucked into someone who was going "almost all the way" to Withrop, so Phil hitched a ride. I went back to the takeout, and coaxed 5 more fish to the hopper. Turns out, they dropped Phil off almost 4 miles from the car, and he finished the night with a hike in wading sandals. (not fun)
Sunday was pretty leisurly. We woke late, ate one of the best breakfasts I may have ever had, and wade fished a couple holes. I dont actually remember if we caught anything, but we didnt really take the fishing too seriously. We had a great day the day before, and it didnt seem to matter how Sunday went. A few more hours of wading, and we were off to Seattle. Needless to say, the follow-on trip has already been planned.
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