surf12foot:
Been fishing a lot this year without my fishing buddy but still reporting all the action back to him. This day was the first day that didn't happen it was strange like the universe was like all out of sorts. It was dark when it should have been getting light it was foggy but not foggy, but I pressed onward. Dawn was finally coming around and so was the salmon- rolling and jumping around or just swimming under the surface making that big wake coming at you. First cast and "BAM" Not a fish but a true piling (it must have been at least 8 foot long) with all the cool moss and wet bark. It was a tussle; thought I was getting the upper hand but at the last minute it made a charging run and broke me off. Next 8 pilings did the same (never had I this much love before) except for number 5 in which it beached itself into a low hung tree. Hours are going by and so are the salmon, fog drifts in and one can hear the splashing of them almost like they were mocking me. Shoot a cast straight out and "WHAM" fish on and it was running back to the ocean, or I thought that anyway, (couldn't really tell with all the fog around) but something seemed wrong. The fish was running but at the same time it was doing the bulldog fighting thing - fog lifts, and my fish has run through the tide gate and running up the inlet creek on the other side. Break him off and let him have his freedom. While tying another fly on I hear this noise between a lawnmower and a chainsaw coming up the slough and around the corner comes a jet ski (need to remember this is the upper part of the slough - with broken off pilings, logs and down trees in the water that may be anywhere 3 - 5 feet deep) zips by turns and disappears back into the fog that is now rushing to ingulf me. Caught 2 tide gates in the next hour. A chill was in the air, so I decided to head back (this is the weird part not that the day had not been weird already) come around a corner and there is this farmer dude burning (you know tree limbs old fencepost and the likes) when he sees me, he says that some of the stuff got away burning on the water up ahead but his boys was keeping an eye on it and should be OK. Came around the finally bend, sun starting to set and sure enough there was the fire but no ordinary fire but a small broken pram with some brush and tree limbs burning. The fog was completely gone the chill had left and there was this calmness that seem to grip everything. For some reason I made a cast up past the burning boat, the fly hit the water and it was meet with an explosion of force. This was a "Fish" a fish of size! We duked it out, like two heavy weight prize fighters on the last round -exchanging punch for punch. The fish finally turned over on his belly an easy- peasy into the waiting net. A 27 some odd lb. chrome bright with sea-lice hatchery chinook. As the nightness takes over the last of the most magnificent sunset one could have ever imagine, a fish shows himself and without thinking my fly rod lurches forward and the fly hits it mark. One pull, two pulls, and that all sudden stop that we are all too familiar with that gets our blood boiling and make one goes weak in the knees. This one came easy no jumps not much of a run no tail walking just a plain old bulldog of a fight and into the net- a max size jack chinook that was fat as all get out. There I was paddling back (yes, that's right "I paddle and proud of it"- A inside Tinker joke) in the darkness I found a soothing calmness and warmness that one can't explain but felt so good and that life was going to be OK. Then I knew that an Irishman Had gone to Valhalla...
hdpwipmonkey:
Great job Scott. I know Tinker was watching from above, probably snickering the whole time.
Spot:
Best read I've had in a very long time. Thank You!
-Mark-
[WR]:
Scott, I think he shared his casting skills with you that day.
Not gonna lie, that was humorous, but tempered by just finding out we'd lost him... bittersweet sounds appropriate