This was the day.  Looking back in my logbook this was the day, more than any other day I could count on a steelhead in my favorite piece of water.  Over the years, by my count, I had been rewarded here 16 out of 18 years on this very day.  One of those years the river had been high and un-fishable this date. Using my version of simple math, that makes it 17 out of 18 years, even better.  The other year my partner had been with me and looking back he was always somewhat of a jinx for me but I will include that year just so that nobody gets the idea I am perfect. He must have been a wonderful fellow though; I fished alongside him for several years. A toast! I say, to a gentleman and friend named Tim.

I am really looking forward to this day as I drive east out Highway 2 from Everett, Washington with a 24Ounce nonfat triple Mocha warming my insides and charging my batteries.  Not that I needed any charging, mind you, because on this day I would be rewarded.  ”Things have sure changed” I thought as daylight began appearing in the eastern sky.  Fishing mornings used to be a harsh and barely warm styrofoam cup of gas station coffee grabbed free while I  fueled up for ten bucks, but on this day it’s a four dollar 170 degree espresso purchased after the thirty five dollar tank-full of fuel injection, piston cleaning, super-tech gasoline.  But it’s worth it on this day, more than any other day.

As I get to the eastern edge of the town that marks the beginning of this rivers beautiful valley “no parking, any time” signs start appearing on the shoulder where I had parked for years. ”Hmmm! things are really changing”, I mutter under my breath. I turn around after waiting 10 minutes for the morning commute traffic to open up and drive back and find a parking place fairly close to my destination on a side street. I am going to have to hoof it some and with my bad hips I will pay for it tomorrow, I think to myself, but on this day nothing can possibly spoil my spirits, because this is the day, more than any other day.

As I walk down the railroad tracks I can see several eagles in the trees towering over the run I am going to fish. With the salmon carcasses all but gone it’s a good sign, so I have heard from others anyway, but not surprising. On this day, I am sure to find chrome in this wonderful piece of steelhead water. There is not any doubt. Not on this day anyway, more than any other day.

As I get to the waters edge I can see the old wooden trestle downriver from me in the early morning mist.  It’s about 40 degrees with no wind, warmer than usual. On the television news they have been talking about the lack of snow in the ski areas here. Happy that I skipped that investment this year, I notice the river level cannot be more accommodating to a fly angler. I piece my rod together and loop on a floating head to my running line, the run at this level does not require a sinking fly-line. Just as I pass my line up thru the tip-top an eagle soars by thru my vision as I am looking up. The sun is just coming up over the eastern mountains and the birds bald head could not be a more brilliant white. What a sight! The beauty of this majestic bird causes me to choose a newly dressed spey fly. ”Lavender Lady” she was named by others that witnessed the dressing in production. In years past I would have chosen a marabou pattern or one of my bunny hair Panda dressings but not on this day. Today I will use a beautiful fly, more than any other day.

As I step into the head of the run at the edge of the small island I begin working some line out. The brand new 7wt. that I have never used before seems to feel right at home in my hand. Somewhat faster it seems than the broken rod the factory replaced for me, but that other rod was late 80’s technology I think to myself. But this is today and more than any other day I will get used to casting a new fly-rod. As the fly settles down into the faster water I make a downstream mend to help the fly remain broadside in the riffled current. As the fly swims and swings down thru that first cast the eagles in the trees seem to be saying” don’t worry, you know your spot is downstream a bit and you have all morning to get there. “No worries” I say aloud.

After several more casts and steps downstream I feel the tug of the water on my waist and know I am about to be into the best part of the run. I am patient, supremely confident that there are fish holding here this day. I pick up my line and step back onto the island and light up this morning’s first cigar. I take in the surroundings, enjoying the smoke flavor on my lips, amazed at this little aquatic slice of heaven barely out of the metropolis. It’s fully light now, the sun peeking thru the winter haze, is glittering on the water like golden diamonds. A little impatient perhaps, I stub out my cigar halfway, placing the unused half in my vest pocket lined with foil for just such things. The glittering gold on the water inspires me to remove the “Lady” and attach another spey dressing. ”Pot O’ Gold” she is named and I know she will be the Queen on this day, more than any other day.

As I wade out to where I had last made a cast, I realize only one eagle remains to keep me company. ”He knows”, I think out loud, this is the day. He and I will share the run as partners. I work the line out 45 or so feet and gently set the Pot O’ Gold down onto the water. As the line swings down I make a small mend, slowing the fly and dropping it a little deeper into its swing and just as it reaches the corner the line comes tight and I drop my loop and raise the rod. The fish tails the water in a swirl and turns toward the southern riverbank. As my old Crown sings her song and the line slices thru the glittering gold blanket I notice the eagle launch from it’s perch, perhaps gloating that it had been he, not the others, that had told me not to worry,  that there were fish down here. As I turn the fish back toward me and begin wading up some toward the bank of the island, I notice my bald headed friend soaring down past the trestle, saying goodbye. I realize that it wasn’t gloating, that it had merely been here alongside me as Tim used to, wanting to witness my reward this day. Because it knew, just as I had known, that this was the day, more than any other day.

Just as I am leading this beautiful silver creation into the knee deep water to be safely released, I hear noises. Strange noises to be sure, for such a quiet run I thought I had only shared with my feathered friend. The noise, getting louder, turns into voices as I am gently reaching down to remove the fly from it’s captivity in the corner of the small bucks mouth. As the fish swims back out into the cold winter water I start to discern the voices. ”This is Wolf Blitzer, reporting live for CNN “I hear. What? I come to understand I am lying on my couch and it is 3:00 in the afternoon, only twenty minutes later than the last time I had looked at a clock. This whole dream had happened in one twenty minute nap? I reach for the glass of water on the table and somehow begin to comprehend that it had been all a dream today. Ah! , but not a bad dream for a pre-Christmas, holiday rush, in-laws and family coming to town, party planning ,go here-go there ,no time to fish day like today, more than any other day.
            
© David A. Earl /2004

 

Article	087
Created	12-21-2004
Author	Davy Earl
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