Hogmaster
11-24-2002, 06:28 PM
My apologies up front to those that hate the long stories. But for those of you that can persist through, sit down and enjoy yet another chapter of “As The Impeller Turns”…
This is not the most miserable trip I have been on. That would be one involving freezing rain and sleet. But it is certainly the COLDEST trip.
A few years back my buds “Dick I” and “Reel Dick” agreed to take Dick I’s “Fast Bob” (a wood drift boat aka a “Rapid Robert” – beautiful boats, but I digress) on a float trip from Oxbow Park to Dabney Park on the Sandy.
The date was December 18th. It had been clear and the notorious east wind had come with a vengeance a couple days beforehand. We, being weekend warriors with few opportunities to fish, were not about to let a little weather keep us at bay.
As we met in Troutdale that morning over breakfast, Reel Dick was quite comfortable. He is from Minnesota, transplanted first to Alaska before Oregon so needless to say he knows all about cold. He was looking positively toasty in his down snowmobile suit as we sucked down some hot coffee and eggs before we made the foray into the elements.
Dick I and I too were well, dressed. Heavily layered if not owners of down suits. Lots of wool items were in order, though little did we realize how important they were going to be. We looked like three Michelin men as we left the eatery.
We dropped a rig off at Dabney, loaded up in Dick I’s mini-van and off to the Oxbow launch we set. It seemed unusually chilly and as we got to Oxbow we realized why. The friendly weatherman on the radio let us know that it was a whopping 7 degrees out! After a quick sanity check we decided that it was no problem. We knew it was going to be cold, had dressed for it and what the heck, we did have a heater and all.
So we carefully backed down the ramp and launched the “Bob”, loaded in and started the trip. We did notice no one else had launched or was waiting to launch as we put in. More fish for us we thought!
It was then we realized our first miscalculation. You see, there was a 35MPH east wind that fine crisp clear morning. It had an effect I am certain that more experienced Sandy River drifters know about than we realized until then, but that east wind has a nasty habit of making a left turn and blowing at about the same velocity UP the Sandy River. 7 Degrees and a 35 MPH wind makes the chill factor somewhere below the point of bothering to measure. Or maybe even scalable. While we were dressed for non- skin exposure as much as possible, it was still a very rude shock to realize that even in the fast moving upper stretches of Oxbow, the boat was kiting so badly we hardly moved downstream!
We decided that drift fishing was going to be non-productive since our gear wouldn’t have a chance to hit water with the force III gale. Instead we pushed below the power lines, the demarcation point for being allowed to fish from the boat. Once we got below there we set three diver and shrimp rigs out and Dick I started the slow row downstream. Sure enough, SLAM! And fish on! It was Dick I’s rod that went down so he immediately dropped the anchor and Reel Dick and I got our gear up then watched as he brought a big buck to the boat. It had to weigh in the mid teens but it didn’t fight real hard. We figured it, like us, must have been slowed by the cold. He elected not to retain it even though it was clipped and we suddenly weren’t quiet so cold…
Well, this is the real start of the adventure. When Dick I went to pick up the anchor rope, we quickly learned an important factor about water, 7 degrees and a 35MPH wind. See, it was so damn cold that as soon as he lifted the wet rope out of the river the rope INSTANTLY froze! And it froze in a manner that was not conducive to slipping through the pulley system on the boat’s anchor mount! Each foot and ½ of rope would come through and freeze solid, then would not coil but rather look like a frozen pretzel portion in the bottom of the boat. We had to hand over hand and force the rope in. All three of us. It was simply amazing how fast it froze!
Once the anchor was lifted we started downstream again and sure enough we got another hookup. Dick I had the hot rod and what to do? While he fought the fish I tried to force the now hopelessly frozen kinked rope out the pulley system. It was pretty comical as Reel Dick reeled rods, I monkey’d myself to the back of the Bob, Dick I was on the fish and we could all barely hear each other over the howl! Slowly but surely I got the anchor to the bottom and Reel Dick netted a smaller but mint bright buck just as the boat stopped.
Up again came the rope in small increments. So this exercise occurred a couple more times on the drift and all in all we did pretty well in the catching department. Memory is a bit fuzzy now, but I think we all had fish that day.
But after about the third drop and raise of the anchor, I noticed Dick I seemed to be laboring extra hard. Why became apparent as I looked at his 8 ½ foot ash oars and saw that there was literally an inch or so of ice from the top half of the paddle to almost the oarlock. A check of the other oar showed same. Man, no wonder he was struggling! The sticks were no longer well balanced and they weighed about twice as much as normal.
We decided to drop anchor, get out the heater cooker and boil up the polish dogs we brought. This would give his arms a rest and we could warm ourselves a bit while still fishing a slot. It wasn’t like we were hoarding any holes since no one else was idiotic enough to be out there that day.
Anyway, the hot polish plan was soon put to rest by the fact there was simply no way to keep the heater lit. When we would get it started, even when covering the area with Reel Dick’s sizable body, the wind pushing though the gaps would cause two things to happen.
First it would cause the heater to howl like a whistling peete firework. Amazingly loud, and something about leaning over a flaming 5 gallon propane canister that has enough blast potential to send parts of us to various counties while it sounds just like a bomb about to go off was, shall we say, a little “disconcerting”?
Secondly, as soon as we moved back (or flinched), the wind would blow out the flame. In retrospect this may have been a good thing. But at the time getting something warm in the body seemed like it would have been nice.
Anyway, after pondering our lot we decided to take the “eye upper” (fish knocker) and tried to pound the oars to break the ice free. This worked to a small degree and once again we lifted anchor a foot and ½ at a time and started downstream again.
Except now Dick I was laboring more than ever. At first I figured he was just worn from the extra weight of ice on the oars when I happened to look over the side of the Bob. Oh, Crap!!!
Well the same inch of ice that had formed on the oars it turns out had also been forming on the sides of the boat! Each time we went through white water the splash would hit the sides of the boat, ice up and instantly freeze. Over the course of a few hours and the boat must have weighed double what it did when we started!
We took it to shore and tried beating the sides with the eyes upper but it did little good. The ice would not break free and we were a little sensitive to destroying an otherwise immaculate wood drift boat. After a rest period Dick I insisted he could safely get us the rest of the way to Dabney. We were all pretty done by now, but had a few more miles to go. The layers and layers had done their job, but removing gloves to bait and such, as well as exposed skin on the face meant that certain body parts were getting to the critical stage. Also we were all pretty tired. Certainly Dick I from the rowing (he had even stripped down some!), but I was tired too from hopping and jumping and forcing rope and pounding ice and just trying to EXIST in the conditions.
Well, for those not in the know, the last stretch before the takeout is really pretty much frog water. That sounds good except when your boat wants to fly back upriver from the howling frozen wind all while it weighs double what it should. Mr. Itcher pushed us through it as fast as he could muster but at all not too soon.
When we finally got to the launch we decided that Reel Dick should stay with the boat while Dick I (His real name is Steve by the way) and I went to get the rigs. Reel Dick had the snowmobile suit on after all. When I got in my rig and fired it up (took some effort – even it was slow that day) the radioman mentioned that it had “warmed” to a toasty 13 degrees.
I wrote this one because we are going to have another day like this in our future. If any of you think about the drifting on the Sandy with single digit temps and strong east winds, make sure you have a stickman who has arms that look like Popeye’s. And you might want to bring a blowtorch. Not sure how you’ll keep it lit though. It really wasn’t all that great a time even though we stayed relatively warm. On the other hand the fishing might actually be OK.
Hogmaster
:cheers:
This is not the most miserable trip I have been on. That would be one involving freezing rain and sleet. But it is certainly the COLDEST trip.
A few years back my buds “Dick I” and “Reel Dick” agreed to take Dick I’s “Fast Bob” (a wood drift boat aka a “Rapid Robert” – beautiful boats, but I digress) on a float trip from Oxbow Park to Dabney Park on the Sandy.
The date was December 18th. It had been clear and the notorious east wind had come with a vengeance a couple days beforehand. We, being weekend warriors with few opportunities to fish, were not about to let a little weather keep us at bay.
As we met in Troutdale that morning over breakfast, Reel Dick was quite comfortable. He is from Minnesota, transplanted first to Alaska before Oregon so needless to say he knows all about cold. He was looking positively toasty in his down snowmobile suit as we sucked down some hot coffee and eggs before we made the foray into the elements.
Dick I and I too were well, dressed. Heavily layered if not owners of down suits. Lots of wool items were in order, though little did we realize how important they were going to be. We looked like three Michelin men as we left the eatery.
We dropped a rig off at Dabney, loaded up in Dick I’s mini-van and off to the Oxbow launch we set. It seemed unusually chilly and as we got to Oxbow we realized why. The friendly weatherman on the radio let us know that it was a whopping 7 degrees out! After a quick sanity check we decided that it was no problem. We knew it was going to be cold, had dressed for it and what the heck, we did have a heater and all.
So we carefully backed down the ramp and launched the “Bob”, loaded in and started the trip. We did notice no one else had launched or was waiting to launch as we put in. More fish for us we thought!
It was then we realized our first miscalculation. You see, there was a 35MPH east wind that fine crisp clear morning. It had an effect I am certain that more experienced Sandy River drifters know about than we realized until then, but that east wind has a nasty habit of making a left turn and blowing at about the same velocity UP the Sandy River. 7 Degrees and a 35 MPH wind makes the chill factor somewhere below the point of bothering to measure. Or maybe even scalable. While we were dressed for non- skin exposure as much as possible, it was still a very rude shock to realize that even in the fast moving upper stretches of Oxbow, the boat was kiting so badly we hardly moved downstream!
We decided that drift fishing was going to be non-productive since our gear wouldn’t have a chance to hit water with the force III gale. Instead we pushed below the power lines, the demarcation point for being allowed to fish from the boat. Once we got below there we set three diver and shrimp rigs out and Dick I started the slow row downstream. Sure enough, SLAM! And fish on! It was Dick I’s rod that went down so he immediately dropped the anchor and Reel Dick and I got our gear up then watched as he brought a big buck to the boat. It had to weigh in the mid teens but it didn’t fight real hard. We figured it, like us, must have been slowed by the cold. He elected not to retain it even though it was clipped and we suddenly weren’t quiet so cold…
Well, this is the real start of the adventure. When Dick I went to pick up the anchor rope, we quickly learned an important factor about water, 7 degrees and a 35MPH wind. See, it was so damn cold that as soon as he lifted the wet rope out of the river the rope INSTANTLY froze! And it froze in a manner that was not conducive to slipping through the pulley system on the boat’s anchor mount! Each foot and ½ of rope would come through and freeze solid, then would not coil but rather look like a frozen pretzel portion in the bottom of the boat. We had to hand over hand and force the rope in. All three of us. It was simply amazing how fast it froze!
Once the anchor was lifted we started downstream again and sure enough we got another hookup. Dick I had the hot rod and what to do? While he fought the fish I tried to force the now hopelessly frozen kinked rope out the pulley system. It was pretty comical as Reel Dick reeled rods, I monkey’d myself to the back of the Bob, Dick I was on the fish and we could all barely hear each other over the howl! Slowly but surely I got the anchor to the bottom and Reel Dick netted a smaller but mint bright buck just as the boat stopped.
Up again came the rope in small increments. So this exercise occurred a couple more times on the drift and all in all we did pretty well in the catching department. Memory is a bit fuzzy now, but I think we all had fish that day.
But after about the third drop and raise of the anchor, I noticed Dick I seemed to be laboring extra hard. Why became apparent as I looked at his 8 ½ foot ash oars and saw that there was literally an inch or so of ice from the top half of the paddle to almost the oarlock. A check of the other oar showed same. Man, no wonder he was struggling! The sticks were no longer well balanced and they weighed about twice as much as normal.
We decided to drop anchor, get out the heater cooker and boil up the polish dogs we brought. This would give his arms a rest and we could warm ourselves a bit while still fishing a slot. It wasn’t like we were hoarding any holes since no one else was idiotic enough to be out there that day.
Anyway, the hot polish plan was soon put to rest by the fact there was simply no way to keep the heater lit. When we would get it started, even when covering the area with Reel Dick’s sizable body, the wind pushing though the gaps would cause two things to happen.
First it would cause the heater to howl like a whistling peete firework. Amazingly loud, and something about leaning over a flaming 5 gallon propane canister that has enough blast potential to send parts of us to various counties while it sounds just like a bomb about to go off was, shall we say, a little “disconcerting”?
Secondly, as soon as we moved back (or flinched), the wind would blow out the flame. In retrospect this may have been a good thing. But at the time getting something warm in the body seemed like it would have been nice.
Anyway, after pondering our lot we decided to take the “eye upper” (fish knocker) and tried to pound the oars to break the ice free. This worked to a small degree and once again we lifted anchor a foot and ½ at a time and started downstream again.
Except now Dick I was laboring more than ever. At first I figured he was just worn from the extra weight of ice on the oars when I happened to look over the side of the Bob. Oh, Crap!!!
Well the same inch of ice that had formed on the oars it turns out had also been forming on the sides of the boat! Each time we went through white water the splash would hit the sides of the boat, ice up and instantly freeze. Over the course of a few hours and the boat must have weighed double what it did when we started!
We took it to shore and tried beating the sides with the eyes upper but it did little good. The ice would not break free and we were a little sensitive to destroying an otherwise immaculate wood drift boat. After a rest period Dick I insisted he could safely get us the rest of the way to Dabney. We were all pretty done by now, but had a few more miles to go. The layers and layers had done their job, but removing gloves to bait and such, as well as exposed skin on the face meant that certain body parts were getting to the critical stage. Also we were all pretty tired. Certainly Dick I from the rowing (he had even stripped down some!), but I was tired too from hopping and jumping and forcing rope and pounding ice and just trying to EXIST in the conditions.
Well, for those not in the know, the last stretch before the takeout is really pretty much frog water. That sounds good except when your boat wants to fly back upriver from the howling frozen wind all while it weighs double what it should. Mr. Itcher pushed us through it as fast as he could muster but at all not too soon.
When we finally got to the launch we decided that Reel Dick should stay with the boat while Dick I (His real name is Steve by the way) and I went to get the rigs. Reel Dick had the snowmobile suit on after all. When I got in my rig and fired it up (took some effort – even it was slow that day) the radioman mentioned that it had “warmed” to a toasty 13 degrees.
I wrote this one because we are going to have another day like this in our future. If any of you think about the drifting on the Sandy with single digit temps and strong east winds, make sure you have a stickman who has arms that look like Popeye’s. And you might want to bring a blowtorch. Not sure how you’ll keep it lit though. It really wasn’t all that great a time even though we stayed relatively warm. On the other hand the fishing might actually be OK.
Hogmaster
:cheers: