Fish Tales

Fall is always busy at work. I’d rather be busy than bored, but sometimes it gets too crazy. So, when the opportunity presents itself, I try to maintain a small grasp on my sanity by fishing. There is something about the flow of big water and the promise that a trout might strike that calms me. Catching fish is nice too.

A few weeks ago I had to drop off a trailer full of canoes at Camp Little Lemhi, and since the camp is right on the South Fork of the Snake River, I just had to stop and wet a line. I fished in the camp lake for awhile but the trout were not interested. So I went down to the River to give that a try. I had asked around and found that an emergent stone fly pattern was doing well so I bought a few. I tied one on and after only a few casts I had a fish on the line.

After a nice fight I landed this pretty little cutthroat. I took a quick photo and let it go back to grow some more. I fished until it was too dark to see. I got lots of strikes but couldn’t hook any more. When I reeled my line in and went to clip the fly off I found out why. Sometime after I caught the first fish the end of the hook had broken off. That’s taking the barbless hook thing a little too far.
This time of the year we visit each of the council camps for post-camp inspections. I usually don’t have much time to fish on these visits. I got a little fishing in at Island Park but my favorite spot on the lake wasn’t producing. It had been that way all summer. I walked up to the Warm River which flows through the camp and caught one little brookie. It wasn’t even worthy of a photo.

Two weeks later we drove Salmon River High Adventure Base. Early fall is steelhead season on the Snake River and there were lots of fisherman on the river. Just as we arrived I rigged up my rod and line to see if I could catch a trout. I used the same fly that produced on the Snake—but I made sure this one had a tip. I decided I would allow myself only five casts and then get back to business. On my second cast as I was watching the drift of my fly and I saw a flash of silver and, Wham!, the fish hit my fly—and the fight was on. I pulled in a nice cutthroat, took a photo for bragging rights, and just after I snapped the photo the fish flipped off the hook and made its escape.

After we had completed the camp inspection I slipped down to the river to try my luck before we had to head home. On my second cast I felt a strong strike on my line and as soon as I set the hook I could tell I had a big fish on my line. It had been a LONG time since I had hooked a big fish (since leaving Alaska) and this one really gave me a battle. For tippit I was using a length of heavy line that belonged to my Grandfather Frank Farrer. It was much heavier than I normally would have used but I was feeling nostalgic and I probably would have lost the trout if I had been using a lighter tippit. I finally landed the fish and it was another beautiful cutthroat. A quick photo and the fish went back into the river.

Winter is coming on fast and I’m afraid my fishing is over for the year. I’m glad I’ll have the memory of that nice cutthroat to last me until next spring. I have found time to fish twice since then—but that’s not worth discussing.