Snake River Trip Report
Well I stand before you as a humbled man. I left last Wednesday after work from Seattle and after driving most of the night, arrived at the river around 3:00 AM. After a couple of hours of sleep, I was soon swinging a purple spey fly through a favorite run. A friend from Spokane met me about 8:00 and we fished the entire day with only one brief grab without hookup to show for it. This included a mid-day run up to the mouth of the Ronde where I was quickly reminded how rude some flyfishers can be. After being low holed already by one person, I reeled in and left once his buddy low holed me so close that my swing came dangerously close to his legs. To top it off, both these kind gentlemen were casting and stepping UPRIVER.
Friday brought a nice drizzle and met another friend at daylight and we went off to fish a great looking run closer to Asotin. I was rewarded here with a nice rise to the fly but no take and I couldn't convince the fish to return. After neither of us could bring a fish up, I left to drive the 60 miles to my mom's place to help get her house ready for the coming winter.
I was back on the river Saturday afternoon fishing with my good friend Bunnyleech's father Clark. Saturday afternoon and evening once again yielded no fish. At camp that night we met up with my friend Steve (October Caddis here on the board) and were treated to his tales of fish conquest from the last couple of days. Just in case we doubted his success, he treated us to a dinner of fire grilled steelhead steaks. Coupled with the venison that Clark cooked up, we were in heaven.
Sunday morning dawned with Clark and I fishing a nice riffle above camp while Steve headed upriver to one of his favorites. Two hours later Steve was back with a reports of four more fish to hand and a couple in the cooler. I had a brief hookup that I failed to sustain after the fish ran right at me and my high speed stripping proved unsatisfactory. Once the wind came up, we decided it was done for the morning and we broke camp and headed home.
I of course drove over with high hopes and drove home with some disapointment. My feelings were due more to my hubris for expecting multi-fish days than to any lack of success. The fish gods can be fickle and sometimes the smell of skunk can be rewarding in its own way. After all, I had spent parts of four days on a great river, chasing its many fish, learning some new water and getting to spend time and cast lines with many a good friend. Only 360 days until next year.
There is no substitute for time on the water.