A River Never Sleeps

I, on the other hand get six weeks vacation, so what's a guy to do?

Get religion, or go fishing?

Les, not Les ('the Old Bag'), but (But, we won't think less of you) Les, my fishing buddy and I took off for ten days of bliss. Fishing and Jack Daniels, fishing and beer, fishing and wine (I think that was BBQ ribs and wine).

Day one was a short drive to the Skagit River and a couple hours in the river before plunging on. I managed a fat 14-inch rainbow on an Adams and a few hits while he dredged the river with his nymph to no avail.

And then we drove and drove and drove and drove.

We arrived at the Elk River after a 14-hour drive from Vancouver, allowing stops for lattes, gas and Eatmores.

Les from the Tent trailer

After a day of slow to unreasonable fishing, and small to unreasonable fish, things started to pick up. The sun came out and Les went down.

Proclaiming his new religion, Les became fully baptized into the Church of the Upstream Nymph. I swear he was mesmerized by an image of Jesus on his strike indicator (there was a glow in his eyes) and his faith was redeemed.

Fourteen, sixteen, eighteen inch cutthroat flocked to his parish. He was out-fishing me four-to-one, and catching bigger fish too.

I had my faith somewhat restored when a 16-inch cut hit my grasshopper, but I was beginning to covet my brother's nymph.

I sought instruction from the high priest and did my best to practice what he preached, but I lacked faith and so returned to my old ways, a floating line and a dry fly.

And so it came to Crowsnest Pass, in the Canadian Rockies.

More fishing, a campsite on the Crowsnest River and fighting rainbows. Father Lester continued to add to his flock, now having fished the same damn fly for six days (same pattern, second actual fly) and was still bringing fish after fish to the altar.

I, of little faith, changed leaders and flies every ten minutes and then sat on the riverbank to contemplate my life so far and whether there should be a future.

And God spoke.

Lightening flashed and thunder thundered (where's a thesaurus when you need one?And what's another word for thesaurus?) and fish began to rise in the pool as the storm approached.

Nineteen inches, I swear. Nineteen inches of fine rainbow was attached to my 5x tippet and #18 PMD when he ran. Last I saw of him or the fly.

My faith restored, and the lightening strikes getting closer, we bailed out and headed for home, getting a couple more days fishing in on the way.

I stayed home long enough to drop off four days of dirty dishes (I'll do 'em in the dishwasher when I get home, I promised ) load up the float tube and catch the ferry to Vancouver Island.

Spent four hours on Spider Lake, hooking a couple small bass and a couple of small trout. Used the largest Irresistible I had, so I don't know how those trout got on there.

So, I'm home tonight, leaving tomorrow for three days.

I'm not sure I can take another three days of fishing. Or steaks, chicken or ribs, slow-and-low cooked on the barby. Vegies in a bag so you don't have to wash the pot. Canned potatoes, disguised with green and red pepper or onion. Unlimited beer. Good wines. Jack.

I need some time off, to plan my next fishing trip.