Keath got eight nice rainbows in about twenty minutes.
Did I tell you he got eight nice rainbows? In twenty minutes?
Did I mention that they were in the 12 to 14 inch range, and that there were eight of them?
It was a family vacation, but the 'Old Bag' elected to go to a country music festival with her cronies instead, and I ended up with two sixteen-year-old girls for a week.
Worked pretty well. They didn't want to be with me, for the most part, and, I didn't have to put up with them. Fishing buddy, Keath, and his two girls (and wife, Pam) got to the Kettle River Provincial Park a week before me and staked a nice site for us, right on the river.
The Kettle is a tame river at this time of year. Kids tube and swim the river with no fear and parents let them do it alone with no fear. There are a couple log-jams to watch for, but most of the time, you can just stand up if you don't like what's happening.
And there are trout. Some are reported to be as large as seven pounds - Bull Trout, and Rainbows to five pounds. These tend to settle in the deep trenches, picking their food off the bottom, but they are there, and they can’t be caught.
The rest of the river is full of Rainbow in the ten-inch range, and you can catch them.
Keath caught eight in twenty minutes.
Eight 12 to 14 inch fish.
Our first outing was a float - Keath and I and his brother Glen (with one 'n'). They took my canoe and I rode my pontoon boat (no rowing frame) with a paddle, leaving the fins in the truck.
Picked up ten-inch rainbows all the way down, including three in one stretch of water that Keath and Glen paddled through.
But, did I mention that Keath got eight fish in twenty minutes?
The day wore on and the dinner hour passed and went and the take-out failed to arrive. I found my pontoon boat impossible to paddle, except to ferry across the stream. Any attempt to propel it forward only rotated the boat.
Did I mention Keath got eight fish in twenty minutes?
The Family Band Radios came in handy as we neared the road. I radio'd ahead to tell them that I was pulling out and would make my way to the road. They could make speed and pick me up on the way up to the put-in. Negotiating what appeared to be an electric fence and strolling through a well kept yard, I met up with them a few minutes later.
Well, dinner was late, but it was only tacos anyway.
I guess that would be my most successful day.
Every cast with a fresh fly in the following days would raise a fish, which would instantly spit it out, or turn at the last second. Tried humpys, tried hoppers, tried caddis, tried Adams, tried Royal Wulff, tried every, and anything, in my box. First cast, a hit. Subsequent casts, nothing.
Of course, Keath picked up some, also having to change flys repeatedly. Did I mention he got eight fish in twenty minutes?
Last night at camp we headed down river. Keath had fished the spot before and wore his wading boots and carried a 5-wt. rod. I thought we were gonna dink along the river, and had no plans to get wet - carrying my 3-wt.
Well, having spent the afternoon consuming beer to stay cool and then leaving my glasses back at camp, I couldn't see my fly and later couldn't see to tie on a new one, even if I had retained some coordination. I wasn't prepared to wade and Keath was already in the honey-hole so I worked my way back up river, laying down on a park bench to contemplate my life and my inability to catch fish.
I waited an hour, until well after dark, and then made my way back to camp.
Keath showed up half an hour later.
"Caddis hatch", he said.
"Lasted twenty minutes".
"I got eight fish, twelve to fourteen inches"
"Did I mention I got eight fish?"
Packed up this morning to head for home.
"Eight fish, in twenty minutes", said Keath.
"Go ahead, hit him", said Pam.
