Did someone dump a bucket of water on my car? The beautiful clear morning driving to meet Rogue Angel Whit, gave way to dark clouds and water kept coming. Rain building. So this is what they meant by 'big storm' coming our way. Lucky for us we were exploring new water on foot and we're both stupid stoked. I coerced some info from a generous soul on areas to focus and we were feeling high....just on excitement. Hit a high traffic spot first, no takers. Just a lonely big guy talking at me about dangerous mosquitos.
Headed up river to a gnarly steep bank. We slide down. Once down, you will literally die if you misstep...no way you could pull yourself back out of that deep fifteen foot drop off. We speculate wildly back and forth about the fight. Concluded we'd be screwed. We found ourselves eyeing the lower run below a boulder garden of rapids, the other run is always greener. Next thing we know we're scrambling banks to fish it.
Standing on the short ledge, if you raise your rod higher than ten feet you're tangling in vicious trees. We challenge each other with side spey casts and tight d-loops. My head soaring from a longer cast, I step down to feel nothing solid and begin to sink. Scrambling against a rock face cliff I grabbed a root with one hand, working my rod hand up to another holding on with a mighty grip. My suspended feet clumsily search for anywhere to shove the toes. My arms hurt as my feet desperately scrape the rock. Extending my leg a little further I find a tiny rock to perch my foot and slither my body weight closer, grasping roots and little rock ledges. They call this bouldering in other sports. Making it to a small ledge I sigh a bit of relief and consider warning Whit. Then I turn and cast underneath the overhanging trees, fly swings in and gets slammed. Line goes limp. I cast like I'm target shooting. Repeated swinging....looking for rocks or something to dissuade me from realizing the inevitable. That WAS a steelhead. After her brief swimming expose, Whit follows in and confirms.
Next area we find boasts of beautiful steelhead green swinging runs. Perching on a rock, Whit starts at the top of the run and swings through while we chatter about fishing. She's deep into a funny story when we both see her line come taught and then limp. Yelling ensues. We forget what we were talking about.
Whit then shows off her swimming skills again. Wet, cold, and beat up we head for the dive pizza bar. The Sicilian was delicious, the tables inspirational, and they didn't even mind the water pooling around us.
-k8
That was great! Some more writing like that, and you should do a book. I'd buy it.
ReplyDeleteBest compliment ever buttehead! Thanks.
ReplyDeleteGreat story K8. I had a great time. Special thanks to your "unknown" river source, pizza tip was much appreciated.
ReplyDeleteWhitney
Well written! Must say, I would be a zen buddhist if I could always practise the 4 agreements and just live in the moment, and not let insignificant thing get me down.
ReplyDeleteThanks angels! I agree Mia, that is why I like the four agreements though-'cause if I do start to stress I can usually think of them and be reminded to let it go! I put them on my fridge to remind me!!
ReplyDelete"Line goes limp"
ReplyDeleteI hate it when that happens.
K8, Wow! A fine report that left me contemplating that little piece of my fishing self that I have left less than fully cultivated recently....
ReplyDeleteI wanna slide down a dangerous bank to a more dangerous ledge that will lead me to a still more dangerous perch that will lead me to a bite...just a bite.
thank you.
steve
If I hold my pinkie out like that will I cast like Whitney?
ReplyDeleteYes the fly fishing is dangerous!! The different language leaves however intact the feelings. They are identical whatever is the culture: It is a pity I don't have talented translator...
ReplyDeleteLe frenchie!
Alex, do you have experience with that too? ;)
ReplyDeleteYo Grandpa-now you can.
lostinfog, maybe. But you'll probably have to work hard too.