APR/MAY 2018
31
FISHING|
THE GIFT
BY EDMUND WADESON
A chance to get onto the water
for half a day opened up one
recent weekend, coinciding with a
sudden temperature drop as winter
made an unexpected appearance.
Sunday dawned with overcast skies,
wind gusts stirring the backyard trees and a dip
in my feelings towards the day. I had hoped for a sunny, blue bird day
like the day before bu, no joy. A look at the Pacific weather satellite image revealed an
expansive green blob with yellow edges sitting squarely over our part of the state – no
blue skies today.
Snow whipped intermittently across the hood of the truck and the western peaks were
obscured by gray clouds as I drove to a favorite river. I parked at a place I usually pass by
as being too close to the road and frequented by anglers. I prefer the more secluded, less
traveled places to find trout, believing my chances to find fish are better if I seek solitude
and less touched sections of river. Seeing no vehicles parked, and because I hadn’t been
along that stretch of water for many years, I decided to try it.
Taking the narrow riverside trail I walked among looming pines with the north wind roar-
ing and sighing overhead. I came to a place where basalt shelves reached out forming a
series of steps, each one progressively deeper towards the center of the river. The deep-
est run was a narrow slot perhaps eight feet deep and maybe four feet wide before more
basalt shelves stepped up to the far bank. A large downed tree lay upstream with about
40 feet of its length across the river and submerged branches reaching dangerously to-
wards me. The river’s surface was a moving, continually contorting mirror that revealed an
obscure and shifting view of the stony bottom. A pause for some minutes to slowly scan
the depths revealed several 14 to 16 inch trout holding in the current, so I decided to start
the day there.
I rigged up with a 10 foot leader with an additional 16” of 3 1/2 lb tippet and decided to
tie on a size 22 Biot Emerger pattern in black from Kingfisher Flies. The first few casts
and drifts through the current gave me a feel for the flow and at about the fifth cast I saw
a trout dart sideways and grab something. A dip of the rod tip telegraphed the take to my
hand and with a gentle upward pull of the rod I had the trout on. After a moment or two
of tussle at the surface I slipped the net under a mint bright 14” rainbow. The barbless
hook came easily free and I held the trout gently under the surface, admiring its rainbow
coloration for a moment before it gave a quick wriggle, slid out of my hand and darted
downstream out of sight.
Snow intermittently slid diagonally through the trees and across my cheeks while the wind
continued to shush through the Ponderosas around me. The trout below me were still
holding in place so I cast again and started another drift of the Emerger. I aimed for the
deep slot in the middle of the river even though the fishing would be more difficult there
due to the increased distance between my rod tip and the bottom. I would need to fish
a longer line which means a less immediate feel of the bite, a better chance to miss the
grab and more time for a trout to spit the fly. With a deep nymphing technique the angler
has to discern the position of the fly they cannot see. They can know something about its
location by watching the reactions of fish they can see, but it is a highly intuitive, gut feel
way to fish.
The cast drifted the Emerger behind the deepest basalt ledge in front me and the line
stopped. Figuring I was snagged on the ledge I lifted the rod which immediately bucked
down again as something pulled the line with strong pulses. Out from behind the shelf at
the bottom of the deep slot came a dark submarine I never saw, slowly shaking its head
from side to side. The fish caught before seemed a mere minnow compared to what I was
connected to right there. In certain moments, cognizance and reaction combine and the
bottom falls out of your stomach like a rapidly descending elevator while adrenaline soars,
at the same time your heartbeat and respiration immediately increase. This was such a
moment.
This was one of those fish I see only infrequently. The leviathans that hold in the river in
places impossible to fish to, or that swim slowly away when they first detect the presence
of something unnatural (like me), or that just hold to the bottom and refuse to budge for
any fly I might offer in their direction. This was one of those fish, a “grand” fish. It bulled its
way forward, heading towards the line grabbing branches reaching downstream towards
me. I applied back pressure to the rod, pulling vainly against the weight heading purpose-
fully up-current, and muttered an oath. The fish turned back downstream while I waded
out to my waist on the basalt steps in front of me. The trout swam deliberately past me
showing a broad side and large tail and turned again as I applied the rod against its down-
stream run. It headed for the far side of the river and, again I countered this run with ro