Sunday, September 18, 2011

A valiant attempt.

The day began full of promise. Even the 5:30am check of the USGS flow charts showing 2050cfs at Riverton didn't discourage me. I met my neighbor, Greg, at the car and we were off by 6:00. Perhaps the robin that chose suicide by Volvo should have been the first sign however, we drove on. The ride along East River Road should have been the second sign however, we drove on.

As Greg had not been up to the dam, we drove to the top of Hogback Rd, parked and walked across to take a peak at what was creating the mist and "steam" that was rising up over the trees. Alas, it was the third sign, another that I chose to ignore as I was still in withdrawl. The water was flowing off the high water release area with a fury that made be realize that fly fishing was not in the cards today.

Fortunately, I had thrown 2 spin rods into the car as a fall-back plan. Even spin fishing proved difficult as the high water pushed us back to spots on shore that were further into the tree line than usual. After relocating to a more conducive location for chucking rooster tails, cast # 2 produced a nice little brown with what felt like a full belly. This fish solidified two things for me...#1- I despise treble hooks and #2 - spin fishing is better left to people other than myself. Now, this might seem snobby, elitist or otherwise biased but I don't understand the satisfaction one derives from mindlessly and repetitively tossing a lure halfway across the river and reeling it back in only to do the same thing again and again.

Luckily, there isn't a lot of traffic to this blog at the moment so I don't think I am offending many spin fishers with my comments. For me, the allure of fly fishing comes from the presentation of a fly or nymph that you are trying to present as naturally occurring. There is a strategy, a game of cat and mouse between predator and prey, that is very appealing to me. Still, action or no action, I firmly believe there is such a thing as a poor time spent on the river.

As a footnote, the strangeness continued on the ride home when a kamikaze squirrel attempted to make it across the road in front on my car...let's just say the score is XC70 - 1, squirrel's - 0.

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