11-12-24 REELLIFE digital - Flipbook - Page 9
boots as the temperature
began to drop.
Where there once were
willows to hide behind, I
scouted the shallows and
ran through channeled lava
flows. A few trout here, but
their body language reads
the same way. If I could see
them, they could see me.
Time to change tactics. The
beadheads went back in
the box and I trimmed the
nine-foot leader down to
seven feet, trimming the 5X
tippet back to 4X.
This next run was best
fished by wading in, but
this time I would cast a
streamer. I knotted on a
root beer brown mohair
leech.
Here, the water splits
around a few boulders
and drops fast down a
couple of short waterfalls.
Trout feed in the shallows
if there is a hatch, but
hold along a ledge in the
absence of surface activity.
It's deeper water than
most flyfishermen are
comfortable fishing, and
faster too. But this is where
the biggest fish can exist
unseen and untouched.
The first cast quartered up,
midway across the run with
an upstream mend. After a
couple of seconds to let the
current grab the fly and pull
it down, I short-stripped
twice and a fish slammed
the fly.
It turned and streaked
toward the log jam at the
bottom of the run, and then
turned back upstream to
try to see the line on the
lava edge. Extending my
arm, I kept the line off the
rocks and after a couple
of minutes where the fish
streaked up and down the
run, I made the first stab
with the net. For a second,
the fish was in the net
and then it was out again.
Praying the 4X would hold
it, I waited till its head was
up and skated it with my
right hand, netting it with
my left, turning so the bag
would close.
In hand, the fish was beat
up. A hatchery survivor,
its nose and tail frayed in
the jungle of the hatchery
raceway. Nineteen honest
inches. Shaped like a
football. And there and then
in that moment, I noticed
something else about it. If
its head was off, it would
fill my Camp Chef cast iron
frying pan. So I kept it and
cooked it for dinner that
night with mayonnaise and
angler's seasoning. And
fried a half dozen prawns to
go with it and proclaimed it
a feast.
What I like best about
football is it keeps people
off the water. Same with
a good rainstorm. In fact,
where I live, the best
scenario is the Seahawks
are playing and there's a
70 percent chance of rain.
Snow is not good enough.
Lots of people around here
fish in the snow, but fewer
of them will fish in the
rain. The only better thing
would be if the Super Bowl
coincided with Valentine's
Day and a deluge. That
would be the perfect storm.
GARY LEWIS BIO
Gary Lewis is an award-winning author, TV host, speaker and photographer. Recent books
include Fishing Central Oregon, 6th Edition, Fishing Mount Hood Country and Bob Nosler Born
Ballistic. Gary has hunted and fished in eight countries on three continents and in the islands
of the South Pacific. Born and raised in the Northwest, he has been walking forest trails and
running rivers for as long as he can remember. Lewis is twice past president of the Northwest
Outdoor Writers Association and a recipient of NOWA’s Enos Bradner Award.
FOR A SIGNED COPY OF FISHING
MOUNT HOOD COUNTRY, SEND
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