Another TR

Seems like a mixed message with the last one. So I'll try again.
This one does not involve my cousin just a solo trip.


The river fishes great in the fall, spring, and winter, during the
summer the river is full of people float tubing and kids splashing
makes fishing difficult and there are other places to fish. When I hit
the river I was slogging through six inches of snow. The felt on my
waders quickly clogged with ice making it more of a ski trip to the
river. This is a tailwater that stays open all year. Right below the
dam is a long deep stretch before it starts its run down the canyon.

The whitefish stack up here in winter eager to take any nymph floating
past. They make strong runs and fight hard. Most people here throw
them on the bank thinking they are trash fish, when in fact they are
the only natives left in the river. The cutthroats where pushed out by
the planted rainbows and browns.

I make it down to the river without any damage to me or my equipment
and start fishing. The indicator moves and I set the hook. Water
flies off the lifted line like a shower of diamonds and the rod bends
deep. I can tell from the long surging runs and head shaking this is a
whitefish. After a 10 minute battle, it comes to net and is released
to be caught another day.

Behind me is the spill way. This dam was created to hold irrigation
water and so the spillway only flows in spring. Other times, a deep
pool sits at the base. There are HUGH trout here, nosing the moss for
sow bugs and they tease me by flashing their chrome sides in the sun.
I cast out a nymph and let it sink. To my surprise the indicator dips.
Again I set the hook and fight a nice 14 inch splake (a cross between
a brookie and a lake trout). Not pretty, just plain gray with some
white spots, and I let him go.

I mess with the whitefish for a little longer then head down the river.
I put on a peach glo-bug and tail a creation of mine that does well
and cast up stream. A small form darts from under a bush and smashed
the glo-bug. The little rainbow leaps like a tarpon and fights like
trout 10 times its size before it comes in. The red stripe runs deep
red down its side. It looks like a small steelhead. I let him go and
he darts right back under the bush. I cast again and the form darts to
the fly but stops short. I smile and move down.

Fishing is good that day. I pulled splake, browns and rainbows out of
the normal runs. The sun has crept down the canyon and feels good on
my back. I constantly fight iced guides turning my rod into a cane
pole, but I don't care. The air is around 38 degrees and the snow
sparkles giving the campground I am going through a fresh clean look.
Through the summer these campgrounds get hammered and most of the
people who use them have not mastered the concept of a garbage can.
Their idea or recyling is throw it on the bank and let "nature take its
course." Disgusting and unforgivable! The campgrounds yield up
planter rainbows from the year, all cloned 10 inch plain fish that
really don't fight.

I hit the last bend before the car, saving the honey hole for last. I
pulled out a nice 18 inch brown from this hole in the spring and with
the spawn just finishing I suspect he is still around and hungary. I
sneak up to peak, loose my footing and splash right into the river,
thankful I didn't get wet. I look up in time to see the large dark
brown form swimming up stream. Well next time. I move down a small
riffle by the car and cast. I am thinking of the warm elk stew I have
cooking at home and the homemade rolls that will sop up the rich gravy.


Somehow, the fish know when I am day dreaming and my rod bends deep
snapping me back to the task at hand. Fortunately the fish hooked
itself and from the bend in the 5 wt it is big. I fight it carefully
for 20 minutes before I get a look at it and my heart leaps. It is a
nice 20 inch cutthroat. Deep brown with red gill plates. I fight for
a few minutes more and barely slip it into the net. I remove the hook
and take a look and to my dismay the whole left side lower jaw of the
fish is mangled. The right side is perfect. The scars of a treble
hook battle. I admire the fish and release him back. I had my slam
for the day.

I got out of the river, changed into my shoes and went home to eat. I
love fishing in the winter, a whole river to myself and the fish
willing to cooperate. I can't wait to get back.

katghoti

On 10 Oct 2006 10:11:22 -0700, "katghoti"
wrote:

Seems like a mixed message with the last one. So I'll try again.
This one does not involve my cousin just a solo trip.


I read and enjoyed both. I just didn't say anything about the cousin
one.
--

r.bc: vixen
Speaker to squirrels, willow watcher, etc..
Often taunted by trout. Almost entirely harmless. Really.

http://www.visi.com/~cyli