A River Never Sleeps

The next day, Erik, the non-stop narrator, set the day's itinerary over a breakfast of bacon and eggs and hash browns and toast and coffee and orange juice (not orange crystals) at Sunny and Lily's Chinese and Canadian Cuisine Restaurant Cafe and Diner, while Keath was introduced to all of Lily's friends and family through her collection of photo albums.

Arriving at Leighton Lake, Erik - "the narrator" - read us his thesis, Chironomid Fishing at Leighton Lake from Float Tube and Canoe with an addendum on Anchoring and we launched.

I'd like to say that our conclave created quite a crowd, but there were only seven of us.

The rest of the lake, however, was covered by members of the Kamloops Fly Fishers club, and you could cross the lake, walking from tube to tube.

Chironomid fishing.

OK. Enough said about that.

Except, I did catch my first trout on the "C" word. And, it was the first of our group.

And that's about all I have to say about the first day, except that next time I fish near Erik, I'm bringing my walkman.

As the weather turned ugly, Keath and I left the others to visit the Fly Shop in Logan Lake and buy stuff. Not much stuff, cause they didn't have that much stuff that we didn't already have.

Clouds would become our legacy. If Keath and I left, the cloud would break and the rain would cease. The fishing wouldn't improve, but at least the weather was tolerable.

Dinner, on the package deal, was in the pub. The special was an 8 oz. sirloin steak, baked potato and salad for $5.95 Can. ($4.00 US?). And for $6 it wasn't bad. Hell, for $8, it wasn't bad.

Sunday, we joined Erik "the narrator" and the others at breakfast to discuss how Tunkwa Lake was formed and why the clouds over the lake are either gray or white or black and how to correctly anchor and fish chironomids and what color and size, and if the sky could be blue.

I offered my "Shut Up and Fish" hat to Bryan, who spends much of his time voluntarily trapped in a canoe with Erik, but he declined. He'd brought his straw hat and was determined to wear it, to the extent of protecting it from the monsoons with a 7-11 plastic grocery bag. He's marketing it on the Web and has offers from Orvis. . . . for the plastic bag.

Retiring from Tunkwa for lunch, with a few fish to report, mostly by Tom who was fishing a leach pattern, in the midst of a chironomid hatch, we watched the clouds gather.

Keath and I being serious fair-weather fishermen looked at the sky and, under peer pressure entered the water. At about that point the low-pressure front arrived and the lake was suddenly vacant, except for our small group.

Seeing the sheets of rain approaching and feeling the rising wind, I was the first to head for shore. After less that 50 feet progress, I was wondering if I'd make it to the lee side of the island and kick home or if I'd be overnighting in Kamloops, a good hour and several large hills up the road.

All made it to shore, amid white caps, hearty gusts and sheeting rain. Again, I held the prize, first to shore and the only one to do a long distance release on a swallow that took my fly as it danced in the wind, at the end of a leader I had no hope of retrieving.

Again, Keath and I left to improve the weather for the other guys. We paused briefly at the pub where Keath ordered a Spanish coffee. The waitress looked at him dumb-founded so he added "or something like that".

Giving meaning to the word vacant, she replied, finally, "Yeah, I can make you a Spanish coffee". But, it wasn't to be. She had no "whip cream," she informed us, and Keath settled for a beer, from the bottle, no glass provided.

Drinks done we headed to Walloper Lake, for fair weather, calm seas and numerous fish on dries, none larger than 13 inches, but every one a fiesty little bugger.

Arriving back at the lodge at 8:10 pm we were informed that the kitchen was open from Wednesday to Saturday and this was Sunday - prompting us to make a quick calculation of where the six meals in the package were to come from.

A local recommended the gas station for a pre-formed sub as the only alternative to an hour's drive to the nearest restaurant.

Well, the locals don't know everything, and we found a cafe in the town of 2,500 that was still open. They didn't have the french onion soup, "cause it went bad - only people from the city order that" and they didn't have any beer, only California cooler, and they didn't have whip cream either, so they could't make Keath's Spanish coffee. Oh, and did I mention the food was bad? I'm not sure the local was wrong when he said there was nowhere to eat.

Keath retired to his room and I went back to the pub so I could smoke and read an American Angler.

The feature column at the back of the book was all about fishing for hogs or actually catching fish and the benefits of each pursuit. It seemed a fitting end to a wonderful weekend.