BONEDALE FISHING REPORT #28

BONEDALE FISHING REPORT #28

THE SALMON LIMP AWAY THEIR DORSAL FINS LIKE GRAVESTONES IN THE AIR

The crew–Iron Mike, The Bear Cub and myself–went and hassled giant spawning Browns between Spinney and Elevenmile last week. It was bitter cold, even with all the high-tech clothing, and a classic South Park morning–buffalo and antelope in the mist and a fresh skiff of snow on the meadows, backlit by the rising sun. We had big, vulnerable fish on our minds, so we hunkered through the dawn to the river’s edge. Fishing spawners is a bit like trying to lure a big girl to your car with a bottle of Boones Farm and a bag of Cheetos–too easy to be boasted about, but tempting nonetheless. The fish were not easy money and God, in his infinite wisdom, gave me a frostbitten finger as punishment for my slimy behavior. It’s my picking hand, not my stripping hand, but I still may lose another body part, which is only fair. I did find three monster Browns in a triad of log and stone who, wisely, were sitting in lies where it was impossible to drop a fly on their cagey asses. I had a Soft Hackle trailing my Egg, so I could still call it a fly and feel superior to my buddies who were fishing Alaska-style Beads. There were passels of big Kokanees around, and I discovered that by herding the Kokanees into the zone of the Browns I could piss them off. I wouldn’t want anything looking like a late-stage Kokanee in my house–red, rotting, zombies of October. Once the salmon were in the territory of the Browns the trout would fire out and herd them out of the zone, then loiter for a bit, giving me an opportunity to drop my rig of death. I got all three to eat, but they blazed right by and broke off. My technique for catching big fish on the Frying Pan River was similar–putting flies into their faces over and over until they gave up and ate the damn things. The second the fish were hooked I would charge into the water and chase them into the shallows, usually ending the battle quickly, with either the fish wrapped around my legs and busted off, or beached on the rocks in mortal terror. The whole method is highly unethical, but effective. The same could be said for Boones Farm and Cheetos. Spinney is a petting zoo and these were lake-run fish, at least that was our justification. I have a little less finger and a dirty feeling lingering in my soul to remind me not to scrap style for results, or to be too desperate for the big ones. Big girls and big fish can cloud a man’s judgment. P.S. Is that how you spell Kokanees?

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Kea C. Hause esq.

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Photo: Kea prepping the Otter for another Roaring Fork run, Catherine Store, CO.