Brotha Sam and Brotha Rufus looked at me suspiciously as my gear piled up on the floor. They were wondering why I always barge into their home, bringing clutter and chaos, and then disappear a few days later never to be seen for months. Sometimes I wonder if they even know who I am or understand that I lived in their house for close to 18 years before they were even alive. They probably wonder why I don’t want to stay a while and spend my days sleeping and licking each other.
Dad and I loaded the car on Memorial Day and drove like “Bats outa Hell” to Colorful Colorado. The next day we were flying past flooded rivers in Colorado and Wyoming that are usually my “raison d’être” during a road trip like this. Not this time. We’re on a fishing mission. Its like the inverse of a kayaking trip. You still have lots of gear and drive like crazy people through the night in search of flowing water, however, there are some distinct differences. We are searching for rivers within their banks with clear water so the fish can see our bug imitations; and maybe even some crappy weather to disguise our presence on the top of their watery world. I bit my tongue a reminded myself constantly that I really DO like fishing even thought Its not something I usually pursue in during the months of summer runoff out west.
If I am a Kayak Jedi who is just starting the his training, then my Dad is the Yoda of Fly fishing. Much patience, understanding, and determination has he. His rod and tackle he uses with grace and honor and with much reverence, respect, and endless curiosity he holds his fishy foes. One Day I had taken a break for a nap and a Beer when I saw my dad stumbling up the path towards me. When he arrived his eyes were wide and he was still shaking. He told me that tale of the most epic Bug hatch of his life followed by the largest trout feeding frenzy he could remember. During which he came into battle with a righteous Rainbow Trout that was 18 inches and growing, and a noble Brown trout who was two feet long, maybe longer. When I looked at him, he reminded me of myself after doing battle with a great rapid on a river somewhere wild and free.
This is the a fish I found in the waters of Silver Creek. A magical spring fed piece of water in South Central Idaho. My Dad’s fish must have made this one look like a sprat.
We found ourselves in Stanley were I would satisfy my craving for flooded rivers. Where the fish hug the bottom and hide from Boulders rolling along the bottom like bowling balls. We learned that it really is the wild west out here, encountering a Bear, Eagles, an Osprey, this Fox, and wild local Forest Service employees.
I got to do some laps on the Yankee fork and finally felt like I was in Idaho in the month of June. The water was fast and brown and I could finally connect with the fish the way I prefer; By pretending to be one myself.
We soaked in secluded hot springs and drank blue ribbon beer. It really doesn’t get any better than this.
After on more day of fishing I dropped pops off at the airport to take a flight back to the south land. I nervously made my way up to the Payettes. Where I would find flooding rivers, old friends, and endless Skies.
