Snow ain’t good enough. Rain is better. The kind of rain that starts about 8:00 in the morning and melts the snow and upwells the river. It’s going to be hard to catch a fish, but I only need to catch one.
Two other vehicles in the parking lot. Two other fishermen. Singles, I guessed, reading the tracks in the snow. I sat on the tailgate of the F-150, tightened my bootlaces, and decided to start downstream like a proper fisherman and work my way up. It was Super Bowl Sunday, one of my favorite days of the year.
As I walked down to the river, one of the anglers picked up his net and began the walk back toward the parking area. This was better.
Using a large pine tree as cover, I looked in the water with the glare glasses and saw trout. Noses in the current, but not active. No bugs on the surface either. And as I watched upstream, nothing rose.
At first, I tumbled nymphs to them, high-sticking, watching for the white of a mouth or a rainbow flash in the braided current. I suspected the fluoro leader was not working for me in the clear water. But I hesitate to fish 6X or (shudder) 7X because these bigger fish are likely to break off on the second jump. And besides, the tracks in the snow indicated there had been at least half a dozen anglers here before me.
Upstream there were tails visible beneath a downed tree and I flirted with disaster, drifting nymphs to the otherwise hidden trout in the branches.
Working up, casting bead-head wets, and tumbling them back through the regular slots did not pay off with a take. Now as the sun began to go off the water, it was harder to see into the regular slots and now the snow crunched under my boots as the temperature began to drop.
Where there once were willows to hide behind, I scouted the shallows and ran through channeled lava flows. A few trout here, but their body language reads the same way. If I could see them, they could see me.
Time to change tactics. The beadheads went back in the box and I trimmed the nine-foot leader down to seven feet, trimming the 5X tippet back to 4X.
This next run was best fished by wading in, but this time I would cast a streamer. I knotted on a root beer brown mohair leech.
Here, the water splits around a few boulders and drops fast down a couple of short waterfalls. Trout feed in the shallows if there is a hatch, but hold along a ledge in the absence of surface activity. It’s deeper water than most flyfishermen are comfortable fishing, and faster too. But this is where the biggest fish can exist unseen and untouched.
The first cast quartered up, midway across the run with an upstream mend. After a couple of seconds to let the current grab the fly and pull it down, I short-stripped twice and a fish slammed the fly.
It turned and streaked toward the log jam at the bottom of the run, and then turned back upstream to try to see the line on the lava edge. Extending my arm, I kept the line off the rocks and after a couple of minutes where the fish streaked up and down the run, I made the first stab with the net. For a second, the fish was in the net and then it was out again. Praying the 4X would hold it, I waited till its head was up and skated it with my right hand, netting it with my left, turning so the bag would close.
In hand, the fish was beat up. A hatchery survivor, its nose and tail frayed in the jungle of the hatchery raceway. Nineteen honest inches. Shaped like a football. And there and then in that moment, I noticed something else about it. If its head was off, it would fill my Camp Chef cast iron frying pan. So I kept it and cooked it for dinner that night with mayonnaise and angler’s seasoning. And fried a half dozen prawns to go with it and proclaimed it a feast.
What I like best about football is it keeps people off the water. Same with a good rainstorm. In fact, where I live, the best scenario is the Seahawks are playing and there’s a 70 percent chance of rain. Snow is not good enough. Lots of people around here fish in the snow, but fewer of them will fish in the rain. The only better thing would be if the Super Bowl coincided with Valentine’s Day and a deluge. That would be the perfect storm.
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