Anxiously, the guys jump out of the boat and head to their runs, while I hold back and get some shots of them casting in the morning light as the canyon walls begin to glow. After a few minutes, I feel that I’ve pretty much exhausted this vantage point, it’s time to fish. I make my way up the the last remaining untouched water on the run and begin to get some line out. After several casts and swings, I’m finally in the meat of the tail out. bump bump. Was that a rock?? Let’s try that again. After taking a little step upstream, I recast. Bump. Bump. Bump. wwwwzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. My Galvan is screaming like a banshee and doing what it was put on this Earth to do!
So, what happens when the camera guy catches the fish? From the top of the run a hundred yards upstream, Cameron comes hauling ass my way to take over the camera duties. Luckily, I have a roll-top drybag style backpack and the camera just happens to be sitting on the top once opened, not under the 2 jackets and numerous fly boxes. Success, Cameron is now wielding the camera and ready to shoot. Then, there comes that moment where you know how to use an object, but it’s not your object and has settings and button locations that you’re not familiar with. Cameron has photo skills and after a few verbal cues from me on what setting does what he’s locked and loaded. In the meantime, during my impromptu mid-stream photography lesson, I’ve been to my backing twice and I’m pretty sure this fish will never come to hand as now it’s somehow found something to wrap itself around on the river bottom. A slight change in my angle frees the line from the bottom and the gorgeous wild hen is in my hands moments later. We had found her so far upstream this early in the season. Lines were swung for more with a tug and a bump here and there, but nothing else the rest of the trip. The exploratory mission was a success. It was good to be on the other side of the lens for once.