Decompressing

Sleeping in until 9:30. A shower and hair wash felt heavenly. Oatmeal for two, hoping the milk was still fresh. Watching Haven while catching up on cache logs and reading my journal notes, and looking for fly fishing gear on the Internet. Emptying packs and sorting camping gear from fly fishing gear, and getting started on laundry. Leaving to cache about 4:30, and checking out a local pub for a sandwich and beer after finding three very evil geocaches.

Home after dinner to relax, I finally got my first look at the 160+ photos from the long weekend, fingers crossed they turned out the way I hoped. The weekend wasn't just about fly fishing. I set myself some goals about practicing with Manual mode. I've used it rarely with my Nikon, but this weekend I finally had the time to experiment when the photos didn't matter, and it suddenly clicked. I'm remembering what was second nature back in my early days with a Pentax SLR camera. Now I just need to keep practicing.

Torn...

I was torn between fly rod and camera today.

Water is a constant presence here... a deep emerald green pool that wraps around a point, gently growing more shallow until it spills over a shelf of stones and into a rocky corridor of rocks and splashing water, on its way downstream. Where it passes through yet more pools, a beautiful link of huge rocks joined by green water.

It's peaceful, and addicting, and I want to come back again.

In camp...

The water went on for an early morning cup of tea, and breakfast. It's nice that DW is doing the cooking this weekend. We love our antique white gas stove, especially when paired with modern hard anodized cookware.





We posed for a family photo, in our L.O.S.T. | 2016 t-shirts.






And then a few of our group packed up their gear and hiked out. One is starting a new job, and one has a homework assignment due on Monday. We were glad they made the trek with us, even if they could only stay one night.

A day hike in 90 degree temperatures? Bruce, Emily, and I opted out, deciding to stay beside the cold river. We fished, and I took a nap, and read, and fished, and soaked my ankle. The family of ducks (12 of them) floated past, and snoozed on the riverbank.

Tonight we cooked dinner, then walked down the river to fish. In the white water rushing out of a deep pool, I got my first strike of the weekend. But as much as he hit my dry fly, I couldn't hook him. But it was still fun.

Then we rigged up a table for cards, finished off the red wine that Mary brought, played Bull-shit and looked at the stars.

Family time...

I've waited for this weekend for a year: the second annual Mayer kids backpacking trip. We're hiking up above Staircase, up the Skokomish River.

I've waited eagerly. Even though I badly sprained my ankle just two weeks ago. And even though my pack weighs 28 pounds (not counting my Nikon dSLR, water bottle, bear spray, or Gorp... I didn't weigh those. Didn't want to know). And even though it's supposed to be in the 90's this weekend.



The chance to spend time with my sisters and brothers from DWs family is priceless. And so is the chance to fly fish without having to pack up and drive somewhere. To have the river just steps from camp, to grab my gear any time I want and wade out into the river and cast my line in.

I had to take it easy this weekend, to walk with a hiking pole, and not go too far. With the most beautiful deep green pool just off the beach where we camped, that wasn't a hardship. I sat in the sun and soaked my foot in the cold water, and fished, and took photographs of DW and his siblings.



There were two casualties today: DW broke the tip of his fly rod, and just an hour later, his brother broke his fly rod off at the handle. Luckily, two of the girls decided not to fish, so there were fly rods to share.

Nine pounds...

Is it possible to have a nine-pound backpack for a weekend trip into the mountains? There's actually such a packing list, but I have to say I'm skeptical. Sleeping bag, half of a tent, pack, stove, freeze-dried food, ultralight cook pot and bowl, a change of clothes, a rain jacket (you never go into the mountains in the PNW without rain gear), a fly rod and reel, and a dSLR camera. That should about do it. I know that nine pounds is impossible. But I know my recently sprained ankle will thank me for having the lightest pack possible.

I'll try for fifteen pounds.

Twenty?

A year of no fishing...

I really thought this would be the year for fly fishing. We had plans, we really did. We got out for a guided float on the Yakima River the end of April, and talked about going back to the South Fork Lodge, and floating the canyon of the south fork of the Snake River again. Plans to drop a line into more creeks and rivers in SE Idaho. Plans to fish again in western Colorado, when we visited family in September.

And near home, we planned to fish the middle fork of the Snoqualmie River. Unfortunately for me, this is the year the forest service decided to replace bridges and reroute the road, and it was closed to all access most of the year.

This fall, we traveled through the West again, on a four-week road trip. And took our fly fishing gear. At each stop we hauled our rods and fishing packs into our motel room, and packed them back in the truck each morning. Each day, I'd make notes of the streams and rivers we saw that would be fun to fish. We drove up dirt roads and looked for good river access points. All that beautiful water in Idaho, Colorado, Nevada, Oregon... we never saw a single person fly fishing. We chalked it up to the opening of hunting season.

And in 5,600 miles... we never wet a line.

Jeff, on the water...

Sometimes all you need are pictures.

The art of fishing...

Last fall we stayed at the South Fork Lodge on the Snake River. It's a beautiful place, where you can walk down to the riverbank and drop in a line, or float the river and fish from the boat. The South Fork is a braided river for much of its length, so you can hop out and fish from gravel bars, too.

The lodge reminded me of the classic lodges of the western national parks, with natural wood and soaring windows overlooking the river. The walls were hung with fishing art, prints by famous Yellowstone artists like Thomas Moran and Albert Bierstadt, watercolors of different types of trout, and drawings of classic fishing flies.

Over a glass of cabernet in the bar one night, I got to thinking about all the beautiful imagery that comes with fly fishing. Not just the natural scenery all around when I'm on the river, but also the rod in my hand, the fly that lights on the water to attract the fish, and the gorgeous trout that rise to the fly.

Also beautiful... the shared passion for a time-honored sport. And laughter, and time spent with family.

Thinking in black and white

I've been working a lot in my photo archive lately, having fun converting some of my images to black and white. It's been great fun, and a good learning exercise.

Lake fishing in the mountains of Western Colorado with my two best guys, my husband and his uncle. Private cascading ponds connected by a small stream, loaded with Brook trout. That night, we shared our catch with the family at a trout barbecue. It was great fun, and some lifelong memories were made.

Yakima River "Farmlands"

The last week of April, we spent a day doing a guided fly fishing trip on the Yakima River. We fished the stretch they call the Farmlands, from the west side of Ellensburg to the Ringer Loop boat launch. We caught fish, hooked fish, lost fish, and had an absolute blast.

We learned so much from Stefan Woodruff, our guide from Ellensburg Angler, who was patient and always explained exactly where to cast and why, told us when we'd thrown the line correctly (the positive feedback was great), and taught us how to read the river. He knew the river intimately, and by the end of the day, it felt as though we were on our way to knowing the river, too.

This time I was brave enough to take my big camera out on the boat, and was glad I did. It was a beautiful sunny day, with perfect temperatures. At noon we beached the boat and Stefan grilled up steaks for lunch.

Highlights of my day were the five-pound whitefish I caught (it's in a previous photo), and this 17-inch rainbow that fought every step of the way before I landed it in the net. And then there was the even bigger rainbow that I played for nearly ten minutes before he flipped himself off the hook... just as much a thrill for me as the fish I actually caught that day.

I was always skeptical of guided river trips until we did our first trip last fall, on the south fork of the Snake River. Now I'm a convert. It's the perfect way to learn a new river, mainly because of the knowledge your guide has to share. Plus it's a great way to improve fly fishing skills. The guide teaches you new skills to apply to their particular river, and you practice the stuff you already know, fine-tuned with feedback from your guide. What could be better?

Sage and a diner...

On the road today with some new fly fishing friends from the local Senior Activities Center, heading for Bainbridge Island. The Center has the best fly fishing program, lots of day trips and weekend trips, plus other cool stuff. And once a week a group gets together for a morning of fly tying.

Today we're heading to Sage Manufacturing, one of the premier fly rod manufacturers in the country, maybe the world. Years ago I learned how to cast a fly rod from one of the Sage reps, using Sage gear, and never forgot what a great introduction that was to the sport.

But first, lunch. We suggested the Streamliner Diner. We used to love this place but haven't been there in years. They fit half at the counter with a perfect view of the cooks, half at a corner table with a perfect view of downtown Bainbridge. Half the group ordered breakfast, half had lunch. Great food, fun place to eat (especially at the counter).

The Sage tour was fun, and we saw every step of the process, from cutting the graphite sheets to form the rod pieces, to the final coat of epoxy to protect the silkscreened logo.

I think we all wanted the R&D engineer's job: besides designing all the rods, he spends half the year fly fishing, to make sure everything works the way he designed them.

Fall fishing?

We'd hoped to do more fly fishing this year, especially after our amazing time spent in Idaho, fishing the South Fork and Henry's Fork. But once back home there was a flurry of family time, helping Natalie and Anton get ready to head back to Australia after nine months in America. And pruning. And mowing pastures. And dinner with friends, the wine crush, and wine release parties. And repairing the wood stove before winter comes.

And then there was the rain. Buckets of it, falling day after day after day. Grey skies washed with water that looked never-ending. It did... finally. And then came the cold winter winds and days that never made it out of the twenties. Brrrr...

One day I may be a rainy-day fisherman. But for now, I prefer that the water stay in the river with the fish.

Long day on the road...

On the Road Again Day 15 | A very long day

We put miles on the car today... it's time to start heading for home.

Darby told us about this spot on the Warm River, where a roadhouse kitchen once dumped leftover food, where the fish got accustomed to it, and where they still hang out today, years after the roadhouse burned to the ground. He said we wouldn't regret the detour, and he was right. We came armed with a bag of Cheetos and my big camera, tossed in a bright orange bit, and it disappeared. We tossed another, then we spotted the trout. Huge trout, hundreds of trout, lurking in the ripples. Dave took over food tossing duties, and I took pictures... seventy of them in ten minutes. It was a blast!

Mesa Falls, upper and lower, are a short drive off the back road we chose today. The visitor's center was still occupied; the chimney was smoking. But it's closed to visitors now, which saved us an entrance fee. It's cold this morning, so we shrugged on winter coats and headed down the walkway and stairs to the upper falls. Wish we could have seen inside the Big Falls Inn; it was built around 1916 and is on the National Historic Register. I never miss a chance to see historic architecture.

The falls, both upper and lower, are spectacular.

Back door to Yellowstone.  Another detour led us through a high valley into open range, with isolated ranches and a long dirt road, and finally, into Yellowstone National Park. We wanted to see Cave Falls, which was inside the park boundaries, a series of shallow drops in the river. Very pretty but not compared to Mesa Falls. Still, it was fun to come in long enough to take pictures. I smiled when I saw the entrance fee sign. I wonder how many people come into the park on horseback?

The rest of our day was a blur of miles and roads and scenery. Rexville (where we took a break at an antique shop, and I found an antique quilt for $64). Idaho Falls. Finished up our county caches in Dubois, where we restocked our snacks and bought caffeine drinks for the long road to Salmon.

Hwy 28  to Salmon was an unexpected surprise: A long mountain valley, threaded with streams and rivers. Add another fishing destination to our list... tiny Birch Creek, which has public access and campgrounds, and is stocked with trout. And the Lemhi River, which criss-crosses the valley north toward Salmon, where we spent the night.

Henry's Fork

On the Road Again Day 14 | Up close

We pulled into Island Park yesterday afternoon with our stay all set: two nights in town, and a day of float fishing scheduled for today. We checked in at the fly shop, walked into the sports bar and grabbed a table for a bit to eat. The wall of windows looked out on the river and the mountains to the west; a couple were out in the middle of the river, fly fishing. The water didn't even come up to their knees. Our food was excellent, and we tried a local brown ale. This place was hopping. Every table was full, and the bar was standing room only.

We had breakfast in the bar this morning, then met with our guide and headed for the river. When we asked Darby if we needed to wear waders or our life vests, he said that if we go in the water and have the presence of mind to just stand up, we'll be fine.

The section of Henry's we fished was a simple wide river full of boulders, fast and slow water, completely different from the South Fork, which has lots of braided sections and deep pools along the cliffs. Today we drifted the whole time, with a few stretches at anchor. I was sure there were no fish in this river, but I was wrong. Whitefish, rainbow, cutthroat, and brown... we caught them all.

Dave caught the big fish today: a 4 lb. brown that was over 20 inches. Darby netted it, and I was about to take a picture when it flipped right out and back in the water. It snagged on another hook and Dave brought it in again, but it flipped itself off and disappeared. I don't know who was more disappointed, Dave (understandably) or Darby (who said this was the biggest fish caught on any of his trips the past couple of weeks).

South Fork of the Snake

On the Road Again Day 12 | Floating the canyon

I was so nervous about today. Not just about casting a fly rod in front of an expert. Or keeping my balance standing in a drift boat. Or that I wouldn't catch anything. What worried me the most was that I might actually catch a big trout, and I didn't have a clue how to do it. What if I can't strip in the line fast enough? What if I break my fly rod? But, I worried for nothing. 

Ed loaned us Hardy Zenith fly rods for the day, and as we each did some test casts, I suddenly relaxed. Whatever the day brought, I'd have fun and learn a lot, and that was all that mattered. 

This was our first guided fly fishing trip, and I'm so glad that it's here, on one of the most highly regarded fly fishing rivers in the West. Our guide took us through the upper half of the canyon, through gorgeous scenery, and into all sorts of nooks and crannies of the river, wherever he knew the fish would be. If we had lots of strikes, Ed would row us back into position so we could fish it again. He was an amazing guide. 

And we did catch fish. So many fish, I lost track. Me, who counts everything, lost track of how many fish I landed, and how many I failed to hook, how many I lost. It didn't matter. I had so much fun, it didn't matter.

Today was one of the best days I've ever had. Please excuse the pun, but I'm hooked, and can't wait to come back.

Colorado brook trout

On the Road Again Day 6 | Colorado Brook trout

We're heading south into the mountains this morning, to spend the day fly fishing in a private fishery for brook trout. I'm not sure when the owners dammed a stream and formed a series of five ponds, one below the other, with the stream linking them. The wild brookies love it there, and spawn reliably each fall. To keep the ponds from getting overcrowded, the owner invites friends to fish there with one stipulation: you keep what you catch.

It's a beautiful spot, isolated and wild, and we were pretty excited to be invited there. Dee tossed in worms on a hook, and tossed back the small fish he caught. Dave and I tossed flies, moving from pond to pond when the fish got shy. One of the ranch dogs, a young male McNab, kept us company all day long.

We shared our fish with Dee's neighbors, and tomorrow we'll have a fish feed with the family.