Wednesday, June 14, 2017

A Fly Fishing Short: Old Man River

A light creamy white covers the azure of the sky, while we launch the McKenzie drift boat onto a swift flowing and mesmerizing gin. GMan settles into the boat's bow with all excitement and announces "man this looks good!" Floating calmly, tall ever-so-green fir and cedar lean from a heavily wooded bank while an osprey is seen diving for a not so elusive fish. Musical sounds of birds surround us amid the rivers soft whisper. Mainly, the river speaks to us as we study its wonderous surroundings; and we listen like astute sons to a great father.

A McKenzie River Dory or Drift Boat
We ground the boat on a gravel shoal, near a large, wide riffle and cannot help but notice a small river - dancing parade of yellow dun mayflies.  Still gazing, reflections of light bounce off the glassy pockets of water that are mingled in between boulders. I blurt out "there's gotta be some fish in here!"  As cold and pristine white water crashes into naturally painted river stones, we pick our way from bottom to top, pelting the surface with flies. After our brief separation we rejoin, thus conjure and conclude that we ought to move on to a fishier run.

Double D Casting
After little to no success, we approach lunch time, picking at fancy prepared sandwiches and sipping on the finest of Microbrews. Life is good! Not surprisingly, our conversation turns intimate as perhaps our minds are tired from the overall guesswork of landing a fish. We talk about our families, friends and even pets. We catch up on to what's currently happening in our lives. Interestingly enough, at that moment in time, the river seems to take the back seat.

We press on our river journey and remain optimistic regardless an unproductive morning. A vibrant sun temporarily peaking through the clouds is a welcomed sight, candy greening the surrounding mountains and warming my slightly chilled bones. A lingering alcoholic buzz from our lunch time brew encourages some playful talk and senseless jokes. Regardless our tom-foolery, GMan manages to pick up a few average size trout on dry flies off the bow of the boat as we approach the near-end of our day long float.

Cheers!

Approaching the final rapids, I wonder what may have been the facet of our misfortune. And please don't suggest that old adage "a bad day fishing is better than a good day at work!" Broken in thought, I advise we ground the boat off the far tip of a nearby island where another channel adjoins the main flow. Glancing over at GMan, I make a look that exemplifies "one more chance?" or a chance to redeem ourselves perhaps?

Flies strung, our initial casts were followed up by heavy takes. A large Redside screams into the fast water, dragging my line and forcing me in pursuit. Looking up for help, I could see that GMan was busy and in the midst of his own trout fight. Fortunately, I was able to steer the broad shouldered fish into calmer water and bring her majesty to the net. Finally, after we both bring more than several nice fish to the net, I exclaim "this is what we have been waiting for!" And I think to myself, "Old Man River's lesson today is about patience".

Native Oregon Redside

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