Sharphooks
Well-Known Member
A few weeks ago I stared at my hands---all crippled up from repetitive stress syndrome (5 hours a day hammering away on my guitar without taking breaks---the story of my life---NOTHING in moderation)--But they were so bad I was wondering if I could even hold a fishing rod or row a boat down a river.
Then I had the thought that the reason I felt so tweaked and out of shape was precisely because I hadn't done enough river time this winter---too much work and stress and not enough time in the flow.
So I decided to bust a move --- yet another boreal excursion to the Promised Land. I usually do these trips alone but this year I thought I'd pair up with someone--- not only for the company (I've moved to a remote location with boat, dog and belongings and spend way too much time staring at my belly button so getting re-socialized is good) but also to have a buddy and watchful eye on my skinny arse in case I wrapped my totally over-loaded rubber duck around a log jam.
So on the plane ride up I stared at my hands--I knew it would be interesting just setting up a tent night after night, much less tying on flies and gear to my rods. But i was pumped---these fish fight like nobody's business. I didn't need too much of that to be made whole
And then, first morning on the river, up at O'dark thirty---I knew I'd made the right move :
Avon inflatables sure are classy looking crafts. So what's classier then one Avon?
A pair of them side by side:
There were about 10 steelhead nosing their way upstream through the gravel when those pictures were snapped------nice to see what was waiting for us once the sun went down:
These are spring run fish and usually are silver sided with jet black backs, fresh in on a tide from the chuck, hung with sea lice like a Christmas tree. But due to the completely whacky weather this winter (warm, zero snow, low river flows ) the fish matured early --- this one almost looked like one of her winter-run sisters though she was definitely a spring fish
Speaking of warm, we had six straight days of bluebird skies ---- hot hot hot. Nothing like wearing 5 mm neoprene waders in those conditions (if I'd brought my ulta-light waders maybe there would have been 6 days of sideways blowing snow---ha ha )
When the sun was out, you could just about forget catching fish---maybe the odd one in a shady place or in a white water chute, but it was TOUGH. Low water, you could see them, they could see you. Steelhead are usually easy to catch under the right conditions but with hot sun and low flows, not so much other then crack of dawn or just before dark
I got lucky here: a deep hole with logs ---she thought she was safe even though it was high noon
My partner will get pissed if I don't include a pic of him and his fancy new tent so here goes:
That Eureka tent in the foreground I purchased in 1985 when I lived in Anchorage. Boy that makes me feel old, but us geezers love seeing our camping equipment holding up and doing what they're supposed to year after year after year....that tent has done this same trip since the mid 80's ---scary thought!
Steelheading is all about timing: the last day of the trip we finally got rain---- the bite instantly came alive. After flogging the river to a froth with my fly rod for the first 5 days (with ZERO results other then a few Dolly Varden which as the cool guys already know, don't count), the morning it rained I hooked 3 fish on a fly rod in 20 minutes.
That's the way these trips go-- some times you're hot, some time's you're not. I have a huge aversion to the sun even when I'm not fishing (though I'll admit, it made for comfy camping, no doubt) but give me rain and good fishing any day!
Always a bit of sadness on this trip when I hear the crashing rollers coming in off the Pacific at the river's mouth. It's the signal that the trip is over
And then breaking down all the gear, no doubt knowing it's over, you know for certain it"s one more chapter in our fishing career that's come and gone
But what a bonus to have been able to pull it off for yet another year, crippled hands notwithstanding!
The weather cycles are starting to wear on me, though: I'm a skier (not too much of that game this winter) and of course for us fishing guys---it doesn't bode well for us or our children if this truly is going to be a long-term trend--zero snow, what's going to happen to the rivers this summer????
I'm hoping it's just an aberration (first year in 30 years doing this trip there was ZERO snow (which left our vegetables in a sad state by the 4th day...) )
The moral of the weather patterns: get it while you can, and while you're getting it, keep a tidy sliver of hope hanging from heaven by a slender thread, hanging just past the tip of your nose--that sliver of hope will give you the juice to keep on keeping on, keep trying to create or recreate that ideal fishing vision from our past lives.
That for me is the fun of it all
Then I had the thought that the reason I felt so tweaked and out of shape was precisely because I hadn't done enough river time this winter---too much work and stress and not enough time in the flow.
So I decided to bust a move --- yet another boreal excursion to the Promised Land. I usually do these trips alone but this year I thought I'd pair up with someone--- not only for the company (I've moved to a remote location with boat, dog and belongings and spend way too much time staring at my belly button so getting re-socialized is good) but also to have a buddy and watchful eye on my skinny arse in case I wrapped my totally over-loaded rubber duck around a log jam.
So on the plane ride up I stared at my hands--I knew it would be interesting just setting up a tent night after night, much less tying on flies and gear to my rods. But i was pumped---these fish fight like nobody's business. I didn't need too much of that to be made whole
And then, first morning on the river, up at O'dark thirty---I knew I'd made the right move :
Avon inflatables sure are classy looking crafts. So what's classier then one Avon?
A pair of them side by side:
There were about 10 steelhead nosing their way upstream through the gravel when those pictures were snapped------nice to see what was waiting for us once the sun went down:
These are spring run fish and usually are silver sided with jet black backs, fresh in on a tide from the chuck, hung with sea lice like a Christmas tree. But due to the completely whacky weather this winter (warm, zero snow, low river flows ) the fish matured early --- this one almost looked like one of her winter-run sisters though she was definitely a spring fish
Speaking of warm, we had six straight days of bluebird skies ---- hot hot hot. Nothing like wearing 5 mm neoprene waders in those conditions (if I'd brought my ulta-light waders maybe there would have been 6 days of sideways blowing snow---ha ha )
When the sun was out, you could just about forget catching fish---maybe the odd one in a shady place or in a white water chute, but it was TOUGH. Low water, you could see them, they could see you. Steelhead are usually easy to catch under the right conditions but with hot sun and low flows, not so much other then crack of dawn or just before dark
I got lucky here: a deep hole with logs ---she thought she was safe even though it was high noon
My partner will get pissed if I don't include a pic of him and his fancy new tent so here goes:
That Eureka tent in the foreground I purchased in 1985 when I lived in Anchorage. Boy that makes me feel old, but us geezers love seeing our camping equipment holding up and doing what they're supposed to year after year after year....that tent has done this same trip since the mid 80's ---scary thought!
Steelheading is all about timing: the last day of the trip we finally got rain---- the bite instantly came alive. After flogging the river to a froth with my fly rod for the first 5 days (with ZERO results other then a few Dolly Varden which as the cool guys already know, don't count), the morning it rained I hooked 3 fish on a fly rod in 20 minutes.
That's the way these trips go-- some times you're hot, some time's you're not. I have a huge aversion to the sun even when I'm not fishing (though I'll admit, it made for comfy camping, no doubt) but give me rain and good fishing any day!
Always a bit of sadness on this trip when I hear the crashing rollers coming in off the Pacific at the river's mouth. It's the signal that the trip is over
And then breaking down all the gear, no doubt knowing it's over, you know for certain it"s one more chapter in our fishing career that's come and gone
But what a bonus to have been able to pull it off for yet another year, crippled hands notwithstanding!
The weather cycles are starting to wear on me, though: I'm a skier (not too much of that game this winter) and of course for us fishing guys---it doesn't bode well for us or our children if this truly is going to be a long-term trend--zero snow, what's going to happen to the rivers this summer????
I'm hoping it's just an aberration (first year in 30 years doing this trip there was ZERO snow (which left our vegetables in a sad state by the 4th day...) )
The moral of the weather patterns: get it while you can, and while you're getting it, keep a tidy sliver of hope hanging from heaven by a slender thread, hanging just past the tip of your nose--that sliver of hope will give you the juice to keep on keeping on, keep trying to create or recreate that ideal fishing vision from our past lives.
That for me is the fun of it all
Last edited by a moderator:
