Stories from the wilderness

The annual fishing trip
The river at High Bridge campground was running fast and high. We unpacked the truck and set up camp, eager to go fishing. However, stream fishing season does not start till Saturday, so now it is all talk and getting to know one another again. A’s three sons, Thomas 8, John 20, Chris 25; Gary(Chris’s friend 25). Later that night, Chris and John’s cousin Sean arrived, with his girlfriend Jenny, and Chris and John’s two half-brothers, Artie and Kevin.

It was fun for Al and I to listen to the younger guys talking trash about how many fish they would catch. Well, Chris (the lip) was the biggest talker. Ignore that Al and I each out fished him the last two years. But that is part of the game. Later, some of the young guys got in to a discussion about which of their two football teams was the best, would be the best. But all this talk kept the camp warm.

Saturday dawned warm and full of promise. We all worked the creek, scrambling over rocks and steep banks. Few nice pools and eddies to fish. The river is so full and fast, that the known spots are not there.

Al gets a nice twelve inch trout in a pool above the ‘swimming hole’. A nice fish for the creek. We have fun that day, some bites, some nibbles, a few little ones that get away, but no one else brings home a fish.
The fish becomes part of our dinner.

We fish a little more after dinner and Thomas says he saw a really big fish near the ‘swimming hole’.

The second day, we try another stream. The fish are not cooperating and rain forces us to move on. We drive to the other side of the lake, beyond the rain, and try another stream.
We spread out along the steep banks.. Some jump from boulder to boulder, into the middle of the river. John misses a jump and gets wet up to his waist, and a nice scrape on the chin.

I get three little fish, throw two back. The third had swallowed the hook, so I keep the little nine inch fish. But my little hole gets me nibbles and bites and I am having fun.
Al and Thomas come by, they want to head back. They are getting nothing. John and Artie join us.

On our way back, we try another stream and get nothing, so back to camp.

After a late lunch and a cold beer, we relax. Not a great day, but not bad for me.

Thomas still wants to go back to the ‘swimming hole’ and try for the big fish he saw. So Al and I agree to try once more.

It’s a short walk to the spot. Al takes the top of the boulder and fishes the pool on that side, Thomas and I take the safer spot on the shore and fish the small pool on this side of the boulder.

Suddenly Al calls out that he has a fish. I look up at him, twenty feet above me and his pole is just moving a little.
“It’s a big one. Someone get the net” Al’s a pretty calm fisherman and I detect an edge to his voice. I set my pole to the side and go get the net. It didn’t feel like a time for Thomas to be the net man.

By now Al has guided the fish to our side of the boulder, but he cannot climb down the steep face of the huge boulder and land the fish.
As Al coaxes the fish towards me, I try to get under him, but the rock is too steep. So throwing caution to the wind, I put one foot in the water and then step onto a small boulder directly under him.
The fish is huge!
Kneeling, I stretch out over the water and try to dip the net in front of the fish as it swims past. Unfortunately, between the cloudy water, the glare of the sun on the ripples and the trout’s coloration; I cannot see the fish when he is directly in front of me.
Al has the drag set really light and the fish can almost swim where ever it wants. He guides it, coaxes it in front of me three more times before I can see it, dip the net and catch the monster.

Thomas is jumping up and down on the bank all excited. I carefully make my way to the shore and Al works his way down the boulder, grinning like a son-of-a-bitch.

The fish is big, looks like 24 inches long.

“Thanks for the assist.” Al says.
“No problem. I was just afraid I’d screw it up and lose your fish.”
“Sorry you had to get your shoe wet.”
“It was worth it.”

Thomas gets the stringer and I hand Al my pliers. The little hook is just barely in the lip. In a second, the hook is out and stringer hooks the fish through his gills. Al places the fish in the water, now kept from escaping by the stringer.

“Well, I’m done fishing.” Al says, the big grin still stuck on his face.

Thomas and I try a little longer then call it a day.

Al lets Thomas carry the trout back to camp. Everyone at the other camps were impressed.

But the best was when Chris(the lip) gets back to camp and sees the huge fish his dad caught. The best way to shut up cheap talk is to quietly prove it wrong.

Nose to tail, the trout was 21 inches long. The scale showed three pounds, but are not sure how accurate it was. It was the biggest fish anyone in the group had ever pulled out of that creek.

All in all, a nice weekend and I at least got some credit for an assist.