MattyFlavor
07-29-2005, 12:06 PM
So let me start by proposing a question:
Q. When does a "friend from work," become "one of my buddies"?
A. When he shows me a great place to wet my line (and catch fish t’boot)!
You see, my buddy Mark and I have been trying to get together for over a year. We managed one rainy afternoon float in his drifter a few months back but we missed the good hatch by about an hour and both came up empty. Now I like boat rides as much as the next guy, but the trip left me wanting more, as any day stinking like a skunk will. So we continue to bounce dates and times around and keep coming up empty - funny how family, jobs and other assorted commitments will interfere with a perfectly good fishing schedule.
This week, I finished umpiring baseball for the season. I say to the Queen of the Castle that with all of the extra work I have taken on since the end of March, I have earned a night out, and she actually agreed - Sweet! (She is quite reasonable and I love her for that, but I think we all know an occasion or two when the significant other shoots down ideas like these, right?)
Now, at work there's four or five guys that I talk fishing with. On Monday I zip out an email with the good news, "I am cut loose for a night on the river, who's in? and what night?" For a minute it looked like Tuesday, but then that idea came apart faster than a trophy fish spitting a barbless hook.
I bump into Mark in the hall on Wednesday and he says, “Matt, I am going tomorrow, if you can make it, you are more than welcome. I am going to Popcorn City!” Well, the family is heading out later today (Friday) for a weekend in the woods and I am pretty much supposed to pack the car Thursday night… “uhhhh, I’ll need to check with the boss and let you know man, but boy would I love to get out,” I say.
We all know, as parents and/or children ourselves, that one of the most effective ways to get our way is to pull out an idea at the last minute. It just seems like the word “no” is harder to come by when you don’t see it coming, for whatever reason. I employed this tactic when I got home from the office yesterday – with the promise that I would pack the van when I got home. Success!
So we get to the river just after 7:00, and Mark finds that he left his waders at home. He roughs it in his jeans and wading boots – not a terrible plight on these hot summer days by any stretch of the imagination. We cross a side channel of the McKenzie where we’ll be fishing and walk up stream just below a riffle to the area we would be working. The water flattens out nicely and slows down to about walking speed… perfect! We see caddis hatching as we’re walking upstream and the heat of the day dissipates as the sun goes behind the trees. This is good medicine and is just what I have needed for far too long.
We decide that Mark will work nymphs to start, as there aren’t fish rising just yet. I put on a new leader and tie on a green McKenzie Caddis. If they hit the dries Mark will adjust, if they hit the nymph I will adjust – a pretty simple plan really.
I work the downstream side for about 10-15 minutes, when “ploop!” down goes my fly at the end of my drift. “Wait for it,” I tell myself. I gently raise my rod, and sure enough, Fish ON! I got a good tussle out of the fish and for a split second wondered if I would need to adjust my drag. I knew this was no 7-inch cookie cutter planter. The fish made one great little run right before I could reach down for it. Sure enough, I bring in a beautiful native in the 11”-12” range with a textbook lower lip hook set, I get my needle nose pliers and the fish squirted back in the water before I had a chance to get a good measurement. “Bye bye, thanks for visiting,” I say as it swims off. I let out a huge sigh of relief. It’s just been too long since I’ve had a really good night fishing and this was a fine start.
Mark had the next hit a little while later. I love seeing the rod bow, whether it’s my rod or not. Mark’s fish spit the hook about 15 feet before he had it in, but no matter, he was in the game too.
Now the thing that made this night different than so many other times I have fished, is that while Mark fussed and fiddled with different flies, I just kept fishing this one size 12 green caddis. Even when I got it caught on my back cast, I just reeled in and reached back to free it from the dreaded Grass Fish and Bush Fish that is my usual take for a night.
As the darkness started to creep in, Mark points out that we should head back downstream so as not to get ourselves caught with too little light to safely get back. I hem and haw for a minute, but know he’s right. There’s nothing good about the feeling of trying to cross a river when you can’t see. We all know that there are people every year that get too careless or don’t show enough respect for the awesome power of the river and end up paying with their life, so I slowly start working the water down towards our entry point.
Popcorn City lights up suddenly. Fish are rising everywhere it seems, just beyond the reach of our casts. That feeling of knowing that your casting into the fish is just one of those things that I think brings us all back, even when we’re not catching fish. I watch Mark cast and drift his fly over a spot that pocked just seconds earlier. BAM! His line stretches out for an instant, then slacks. We both let out an audible groan and he casts again. This time the fish takes, but once again he loses it before getting it all the way in.
We switch spots and he heads downstream while I continue to work above him. I cast at the classic 45-degrees upstream and get another hit, straight out, 90-degrees from the bank. The fish makes a bit of a run downstream as I set the hook and begin bringing it in. This was a pleasant surprise. I knew it was smaller than my first, and guessed it would be my old friend Cookie-Cutter planter. Instead, it was my first fish’s little brother, just a bit smaller and with a little less fight in it. When I lifted the line to get the hook out, the little guy shook and shook with all his might. Before I could get a hold of him, he was gone. “Bye bye, thanks for visiting,” I say again with a smile.
A few minutes later, another fish absolutely slammed my fly with a splash and a quick turn upstream to the middle of the river. Try as I might, I just had too much slack in my line. I was just about the mend the line when the fish hit, and awkwardly tried to raise my arm to make it taught – to no avail.
Just as fast as it turned on, suddenly the risers were gone. You know it’s time to go when the bats start to be your best prey and darkness descends. There’s always the urge to stay and keep working the water, but we had already left the best stretch of river behind us.
Two fish… nothing for the trophy case, but at this point I am happy any time I am catching and not just practicing casting; a nice story to share with you all… and a new place for me to return to in the after work hours that will disappear earlier and earlier into the evening as the summer moves into August and beyond.
That’s my scorecard for the night. I will take it.
Q. When does a "friend from work," become "one of my buddies"?
A. When he shows me a great place to wet my line (and catch fish t’boot)!
You see, my buddy Mark and I have been trying to get together for over a year. We managed one rainy afternoon float in his drifter a few months back but we missed the good hatch by about an hour and both came up empty. Now I like boat rides as much as the next guy, but the trip left me wanting more, as any day stinking like a skunk will. So we continue to bounce dates and times around and keep coming up empty - funny how family, jobs and other assorted commitments will interfere with a perfectly good fishing schedule.
This week, I finished umpiring baseball for the season. I say to the Queen of the Castle that with all of the extra work I have taken on since the end of March, I have earned a night out, and she actually agreed - Sweet! (She is quite reasonable and I love her for that, but I think we all know an occasion or two when the significant other shoots down ideas like these, right?)
Now, at work there's four or five guys that I talk fishing with. On Monday I zip out an email with the good news, "I am cut loose for a night on the river, who's in? and what night?" For a minute it looked like Tuesday, but then that idea came apart faster than a trophy fish spitting a barbless hook.
I bump into Mark in the hall on Wednesday and he says, “Matt, I am going tomorrow, if you can make it, you are more than welcome. I am going to Popcorn City!” Well, the family is heading out later today (Friday) for a weekend in the woods and I am pretty much supposed to pack the car Thursday night… “uhhhh, I’ll need to check with the boss and let you know man, but boy would I love to get out,” I say.
We all know, as parents and/or children ourselves, that one of the most effective ways to get our way is to pull out an idea at the last minute. It just seems like the word “no” is harder to come by when you don’t see it coming, for whatever reason. I employed this tactic when I got home from the office yesterday – with the promise that I would pack the van when I got home. Success!
So we get to the river just after 7:00, and Mark finds that he left his waders at home. He roughs it in his jeans and wading boots – not a terrible plight on these hot summer days by any stretch of the imagination. We cross a side channel of the McKenzie where we’ll be fishing and walk up stream just below a riffle to the area we would be working. The water flattens out nicely and slows down to about walking speed… perfect! We see caddis hatching as we’re walking upstream and the heat of the day dissipates as the sun goes behind the trees. This is good medicine and is just what I have needed for far too long.
We decide that Mark will work nymphs to start, as there aren’t fish rising just yet. I put on a new leader and tie on a green McKenzie Caddis. If they hit the dries Mark will adjust, if they hit the nymph I will adjust – a pretty simple plan really.
I work the downstream side for about 10-15 minutes, when “ploop!” down goes my fly at the end of my drift. “Wait for it,” I tell myself. I gently raise my rod, and sure enough, Fish ON! I got a good tussle out of the fish and for a split second wondered if I would need to adjust my drag. I knew this was no 7-inch cookie cutter planter. The fish made one great little run right before I could reach down for it. Sure enough, I bring in a beautiful native in the 11”-12” range with a textbook lower lip hook set, I get my needle nose pliers and the fish squirted back in the water before I had a chance to get a good measurement. “Bye bye, thanks for visiting,” I say as it swims off. I let out a huge sigh of relief. It’s just been too long since I’ve had a really good night fishing and this was a fine start.
Mark had the next hit a little while later. I love seeing the rod bow, whether it’s my rod or not. Mark’s fish spit the hook about 15 feet before he had it in, but no matter, he was in the game too.
Now the thing that made this night different than so many other times I have fished, is that while Mark fussed and fiddled with different flies, I just kept fishing this one size 12 green caddis. Even when I got it caught on my back cast, I just reeled in and reached back to free it from the dreaded Grass Fish and Bush Fish that is my usual take for a night.
As the darkness started to creep in, Mark points out that we should head back downstream so as not to get ourselves caught with too little light to safely get back. I hem and haw for a minute, but know he’s right. There’s nothing good about the feeling of trying to cross a river when you can’t see. We all know that there are people every year that get too careless or don’t show enough respect for the awesome power of the river and end up paying with their life, so I slowly start working the water down towards our entry point.
Popcorn City lights up suddenly. Fish are rising everywhere it seems, just beyond the reach of our casts. That feeling of knowing that your casting into the fish is just one of those things that I think brings us all back, even when we’re not catching fish. I watch Mark cast and drift his fly over a spot that pocked just seconds earlier. BAM! His line stretches out for an instant, then slacks. We both let out an audible groan and he casts again. This time the fish takes, but once again he loses it before getting it all the way in.
We switch spots and he heads downstream while I continue to work above him. I cast at the classic 45-degrees upstream and get another hit, straight out, 90-degrees from the bank. The fish makes a bit of a run downstream as I set the hook and begin bringing it in. This was a pleasant surprise. I knew it was smaller than my first, and guessed it would be my old friend Cookie-Cutter planter. Instead, it was my first fish’s little brother, just a bit smaller and with a little less fight in it. When I lifted the line to get the hook out, the little guy shook and shook with all his might. Before I could get a hold of him, he was gone. “Bye bye, thanks for visiting,” I say again with a smile.
A few minutes later, another fish absolutely slammed my fly with a splash and a quick turn upstream to the middle of the river. Try as I might, I just had too much slack in my line. I was just about the mend the line when the fish hit, and awkwardly tried to raise my arm to make it taught – to no avail.
Just as fast as it turned on, suddenly the risers were gone. You know it’s time to go when the bats start to be your best prey and darkness descends. There’s always the urge to stay and keep working the water, but we had already left the best stretch of river behind us.
Two fish… nothing for the trophy case, but at this point I am happy any time I am catching and not just practicing casting; a nice story to share with you all… and a new place for me to return to in the after work hours that will disappear earlier and earlier into the evening as the summer moves into August and beyond.
That’s my scorecard for the night. I will take it.