Birthday Wishes

[nightfish]

As some of you know, for the last several years I've spent my birthday fishing, and have run a streak of 8 years of catching a trout on a dry on this day. Today made year 9 of the attempt. It might not seem like such a feat to catch a fish on top, but in May it is a bit trickier than most times of teh year. Runoff is always a possibility, and the spring weather can lend to a good hatch or make it a tough day.

To start the birthday, Stef decided to roll out a couple presents just past the stroke of midnight...she has a hard time with secrets, & couldn't stand the anticipation any longer. She gave me a book on the history of candy, which to me is a cool gift. I like obscure histories, and I'm a foodie & I have a pretty hefty sweet tooth, so this fits me pretty well. She also gave me a new shirt & a pair of jeans, which didn't fit me quite so well. From the time I turned twenty I've had the same measurement around the middle. Somewhere between years 35 and 36 an extra inch snuck up on me...that year wrapped her loving handles around my waist. I guess my high metabolism finally stopped for a breather. At least I hope it's a temporary thing. Maybe it's just the sweet tooth. Anyway, I'll have to go trade in the jeans for another pair, which isn't such a hard thing, but it's also a rather blunt reminder that youth is fading. Next door to the jeans store is a sporting goods store. I wonder if they have a cheap ab machine?

This morning started out early, but not too early. I lounged in bed for a half-hour or so, working plans for the day, imagining the heroic catch from high flows that I was bound to pull off. After eight years I had the knack, not to mention the full belief that I'd extend the streak. I had done a little scouting the previous evening, & I had a couple of places I planned to hit before lunch. After slipping on some dirty, slightly snug jeans and a sweatshirt, I pulled in for a little drive-thru breakfast and paid the pretty college girl (maybe high school...they're all so young these days it's hard to tell anymore really). I drove out of town munching a hashbrown patty.

This morning was absolutely beautiful. Blue sky, bright sun, no wind, and the air hung between crisp and balmy. Neighborhoods faded to farmhouses, lawns spread into fields more green and perfect than any suburb could contain. The huge rains of the past few days had left a shimmering undercoat, puddling reflections of the morning sun between rows of fenceposts. As I got closer to the first stretch of stream, the puddles grew bigger and every house looked like it had been police-chalk outlined. Rows of stacked, white sandbags guarded each home. I had heard the rain was serious, and I saw the news footage, but I really didn't think it was so widespread. It looked like the locals were ready for the worst case once the temperature picks up and the real runoff starts.

I made the turn up the canyon, and when the road ran alongside the stream I could see that I wouldn't be fishing here. Thick and brown and outside the banks. Maybe up by the dam would be better. Nope. I could see the mudline from the highest flows on the bankside grasses, and the bridge still had some debris on it where it had been crested. The water was as brown as it was downstream, and moving faster than I knew I could wade safely. I turned around, and headed back out of the canyon. As I deove past teh sandbagged homes, I noticed driveways with mattresses airing, furniture up on blocks, carpets rolled up next to plastic bags stuffed with soggy padding. This was much worse than I had heard, and the stacks of furnishings took me back to when my parents house flooded some 18 years ago, stranding me on the couch for a year. I hoped these folks wouldn't have to worry through another night of rain again, or worse.

The next stream was dirtier than the last, but I already knew that after scouting it out yesterday evening. I was heading higher up the drainage, hoping a small feeder would be running clear enough to fish, or rather, clear enough that a fish could see my dry. The drive up was beautiful, and I was still feeling confident that the streak would be extended. It was early enough that I could get in a good hour's worth of fishing after the half-hour hike I was planning on. The half-hour back out would put me back in the valley just in time to meet Stef, her brother Doogie and his girlfriend Annie for lunch.

At the trailhead, the normal streamlet was running with a force it hadn't seen in years, and it carried a good deal of brown with it. This was definitely not good for my plans. I doubted that the trail was even accessible in spots, and in all likelihood, the suspended soil was probably the trail itself coming to me. So much for finding clean water up high. The rains must have been even heavier up here. I'd have to head to another drainage, hoping to find something slightly murky at best.

I had just enough time to run a quick scouting trip to the next spot. This small feeder looked good. A little high and off color, but I could still see bottom in the shallower runs, and I knew there were some reliable pools and beaver ponds further up. I headed to lunch. Thanks to Doogie & Annie for a great bite at Hamilton's. If you haven't been there, it's a nice steakhouse in Logan.

[nightfish]

If you haven't been there, Hamilton's is a nice steakhouse in Logan. They have the classic menu items, as well as some nicely inventive and very consistent dishes, and their breads are unique, flavorful and perfectly crispy-chewey. Anyway, I'm gassed up and ready for the second half of the day. Stef had to get back to work, but said she'd try to meet me on the stream later.

The gate was closed for the season, so I walked in to the ponds...a couple of miles at most. I tried my luck at a few spots along the way. I turned a few fish & spooked a few more. Things were looking good. As I crested the trail and looked down on the twisted stretch below the ponds, it was high, but still very fishable. Some of the normal pools were blown into riffles, but they'll return as the season progresses. I was counting on the ponds. I threw my dry at the more likely spots, but only briefly.

The beaver dams were blown out. A few deep spots were left, but the places that last year held dozens of fish now only had one or two at best. I spotted and stalked one fish. On the third cast I hung up in some deadwood and spooked that fish out of the run. Upstream, the remnants of another dam still held decent water, and four fish worked side to side, actively feeding. I took my time getting into position, never losing track of the pod. As I slowly stepped across the current, I just about stepped on a fish I hadn't spotted earlier. He bolted upstream, his panicked darting putting down the other four. That pool was done for a while.

I hiked further up than I ever had. THe water looked beautiful...for normal flow. Right now it was just too quick to hold these small fish. A couple of little pockets held fish, but I couldn't manage a clean drift, and I couldn't sneak close enough to dap or shoot a bow-and-arrow cast without spooking the skittish cutts. It was getting close to the time I promised I'd be back, so I dejectedly turned down trail.

I spotted Stef between the two blown dams. Since she had made it in, I had a time reprieve. Instead of hiking out quickly to get home to her, I could spend another half-hour fishing with her. I spotted some of the previously spooked fish, and got into position. She tracked the fish and helped me adjust my placement for the drift. Together, we turned some fish, but we couldn't get anything to take. It was one of those days when you couldn't get a fish to eat on top. They'd look, but they wouldn't break the surface. A dry-dropper would've done very well today, but I had restricted myself to a single dry for the sake of tradition, and frankly, for pride. I may have succeeded had I not agreed to meeting for lunch, or if I had stayed closer to Salt Lake instead of driving to Logan. Instead, I got time with Stef, Doogie & Annie, and a great lunch. Later, Stef took me to dinner at one of our favorite places in Logan...Cafe Sabor, an excellent Latin Bistro. I'd highly suggest trying the Sweet Pork taco's, but I have yet to be sorry for any selection on their fine menu.

So...the streak, catching a trout on a dry on the second day of May, is over. I managed to pull it off for eight years, and I got a lot of great memories out of it. I was really hoping to get through this year with success. The unusually difficult conditions would have made for a particularly satisfying point of the tradition for me. But, as I worked this story out, I realized that although one streak came to an end, two others were running through the main current of my ambition. For the last nine years, counting today, I have been able to get out fishing on my birthday, and for the last three, I have spent at least part of that fishing time with Stef. Both of those are streaks I'd like to run a long, long way. Through the coming years, I may have to deal with heavy runoff, drought, or even more inches on my waistline, but I'll be able to enjoy more of that time without the stress of getting a trout on top. I'll still try the dry first, because there's nothing better than that visual take, especially early in the season and in troubled water, but I won't let it limit me. I may even tie on a nymph or run a dry-dropper through a run or two. And I'll always be grateful to Stef for letting me lead her on the wild goose chase of my birthday fishing. I couldn't think of a better way to get older.

[Trout4x]

You drove right by the house and didn't even stop...........