With the flow report saying 700 cfs through Friday, it was sure to be a
challenging trip on the Salmon River; but reservations were made and plans
were in place; so we headed north up I-81 to make the best of whatever we
found. What we found was 1000 cfs, rising to over 1700 cfs by the end of
Friday. As the lodge owner put it, the river was out of control.

With the water up to and sometimes over the tops of the banks, just entering
the river was very dicey. It was usually dry land into fast, waist-deep
water in one step. With the water so high, the river was up into the
shoreline brush, and finding a place with enough clearance to wave a fly rod
was difficult. Toss in that the salmon now had the entire river to spread
out into, finding fish and an unoccupied, safe place to cast was almost
futile.

Friday morning, we tried first upstream of the trestle pool in an area of
slack water, from which we could cast out to a seam along the torrent.
Craig got a brief hookup, but it wasn't long before the cold rain and cold
river succeeded in sending us to shore for a hike upstream to work up some
warmth in our legs. A few side tributaries and meanders were worth a few
casts, and son got his first hookup in a small but deep run in what may have
been Orwell Creek. Finding not much more water worth fishing, we tried
downstream of the trestle with similar non-success. Okay, I did get a 9"
rainbow to get the skunk smell off, but that was it.

Toward the end of the day, we headed up to Altmar, and I found a very good
spot about a hundred yards downstream of the bridge. I hooked up to a
medium sized fish who used the current to quickly take me into the backing
as I tried to chase him downstream. Not being able to get safely out into
the river, I hugged the bank and ducked under and around trees and bushes as
fast as possible. I could gain some line back, only to have the reel sing
as the fish headed down again. I made it downstream a couple hundred yards
before losing the fight.

#1 Son in the meantime was getting the hang of the drift thing, and managed
a few decent but brief hookups of his own. His inexperience in handling,
stripping, & reeling the fly line showed, however, as his fish quickly broke
off or LDRed. Just the same, he now knew what it felt like to have a hold
of one of these big guys, and he was loving it. Just before dark, I hooked
a big one; but as he jumped and headed downstream, I knew I wasn't going to
follow in the fading light, & I just broke him off. Too dark to tie on
again; I'm done for the day.

Saturday, it was time for alternatives, and we headed up to Sandy Creek.
Very fishable depth-wise, but not many fish, and we left without a hookup
after a few hours. Over to South Sandy. A nice pool right below the
bridge was unoccupied, so we all took up positions and went deep. #1 Son
yells "Fish on!" and we turn to look as about 12 pounds of silver rockets
out of the water beside him. In unison, we excitedly shout "Steelhead!" as
the chrome beauty arcs downstream. A too-brief sing of the reel, and the
fish is gone. #1 Son is standing there in shock. He has never seen
anything move that fast. He never had a chance. I settle for a consolation
12" steelhead before heading downstream, but he stays to try and catch that
fish again. We try and explain that he's wasting his time, but he stays
until I go back to get him. He has steelie fever.

Later we return to that pool, & #1 son hooks up with another reel singing
salmon for a last taste of big fish; but the day is spent, and so are we.
It's back to the lodge for some food, single malt, and baseball (in son's
case, that's beef jerky, soda, and boredom g). Sunday morning dawns with
temps in the 30's and steady rain, so we load up and head home early. Not
the best of trips for fishing; but an overall enjoyable time.

Joe F.