This morning, she hooked the trailer to the hitch, picked up the willing anglers and headed to the boat ramp. They grew up in Oklahoma, five boys under one roof, grappling wrestlers and pitching hay. They were also diehard trout freshman that fished in Montana as early and late as a trout is willing to bite, they love to fish and could handle any conditions given to them.
Driving down the access road they were the only car in sight. The river they were about to fish was normally packed with people during the summer months. Today they had the canyon to themselves, not one other soul insight.
At the boat ramp she prepped the boat, attached the anchor to the rope and scrapped out the drain holes so the drain plugs would hold. Carefully she backed the boat down a boat ramp covered in snow with not a single sign of a track before.
Confident the boat won’t sink, she slides it off the trailer with a splash. Water freezes to the bow and beam shortly after.
Rowing to the first run, the wind blows and snow crystals swirl like a mirage. She feels like she’s in Narnia. The sports climb out of the boat and instantly the water freezes to their gortex. Shortly after the first cast, the guides start to ice over and a thin layer of frost builds on the graphite. Not too long after, he grabs hold of the running line and pulls; to find out the reel and line are frozen solid. He dunks the reel in water and that allows for a couple strips of line. After every cast the reel needs to be dipped and then it freezes again. She chips ice out of the guides. Shortly after the morning session ends, his rod tip breaks.
"Ah, I have a spare", he mumbles ambitiously. They rig up his spare rod and without giving up, he’s back at it.
They row to the next run, determined to find a willing steelhead, she picks a spot where the water is deep and nervous, a slow walking pace at best.
Under these conditions they will have to work hard and the two
Southern boys aren’t giving up. She places him at the top of the run, eyeing the water where a steelhead will lie.
Five casts in the fish grabs and the running line bounces back, frozen to the reel. He grabs the running line, pulls and it breaks. I walk out to help and as I fiddle with the running line, the head slips out the guides.