Micro Speying around the place

Christmas holidays aren't exactly the best time to find solitude on popular waters, but I figured if I got my bum out of bed early enough I could cover some water before the late risers got out and about. In the end it was lucky I did. 3 hours of driving saw Layla and I hit the river that Jase and I had fished a couple weeks ago, but this time I planned to put what I'd learned last time into action. First stop was a good run headed by a rapid that spilled out into a wider tail of roughly 100m with a distinctly deeper section down the true right. Last trip I'd attempted to wade the deep side but knew I was wasting my time. This time without having to draw for a side of the river to fish I could start on true right at the head and angle my way down until on the true left, leaving me to reach out into the deeper water and swing into the shallower water. I figured I'd have at least a couple of hours before the 2 guys in the raft who'd gone past with their craft on a trailer as I rigged up before setting up came down and passed me. Layla prodded a dead fish around in the shallows as I got underway, well at least we'd seen one! I'd put the heaviest tip I had on the scandi head and was able to get good distance with the cast and a reasonable mend. Still, we were half way down before I got the first hit and it was a goodie with the line ripped from my fingers as the fish felt the hook and tore downstream cart-wheeling at the tailout. With almost 50 m of line out I didn't really have control so when the fish leaped again, the hook pulled. Nothing, bar NOTHING I've done in fly fishing is as completely absorbing as swinging a fly double handed. Its the complete package - technical casting, technical swimming of the fly and the takes are mind blowing. The second fish came right in the tail and kept deep as I worked him upstream. I thought for a minute that perhaps the fish was foul hooked, but no the hook was set in the corner of the mouth and took a bit of winkling to extract.

The next hour or so was notable for the scenery and heat but I could't turn a fish for love or money. By the time I hit a rapid area that I knew had a good holding spot in a depression I was ready for a fish... here fishy fishy... and the take I got sent a deep thump thump through the rod. The line had swung downstream of where the fish lay so on tightening an arc of spray flew across the water and then it lit the afterburners heading down the rapid and into the next run, where it threw the hook. Damn. The 2 best fish had got off. I got the fly back and inspected it and the only theory I could come up with was that the hook loop was too long and perhaps the loop was acting as leverage? I pulled a baby fish out next and then was down into the run I'd been looking forward to. Such an attractive piece of water but the best part is that it looks better to fish from the opposite side to where I was tackling it, but is actually best fished (IMHO) from the true right which requires a decent wade to reach. As Layla and I got to the run, 2 anglers appeared upriver of me. They saw me and began to fish the pool above me. I knew they'd head upstream so wasn't that bothered. What DID bother me was that I wasn't getting any hits. I sat down for a snack and dribble and theorised to the dog that I wasn't getting deep enough to attract the attention of the fish that just had to be there. A change of fly to a heavier number, back into it and boom, straight away a rainbow hit the fly and took off down stream. I got him under control and was working the fish back across the current when the hook pulled. "Gosh" I said aloud. What I saw next made me say a bit more... a bright orange hat was bobbing around in the near bank shrubs far downstream before its wearer appeared. I'm guessing he saw me at about the same time and probably said a few choice words. Popular river this one.  I continued to work downstream where the water slackened on my side and where my fly swung in against a decent rock I saw a shape emerge, a white mouth open and close and struck as I felt it through the line. The hook missed as the good sized brownie rolled and swam for the depth. Jeeeeeeeeezzzzzz. The guy downstream was soon joined by a mate (who'd fallen over and gone under crossing waste deep water, but it was a warm day so he'd be right). They each took a fish before I finished my run and waded across to go down and see them. I'd really, really, REALLY wanted to swing the patch they'd just fished so as we exchanged greetings I gave them the lay of the land as far as the other guys upstream where concerned and let them know I'd not fished the true left of the pool above. They described the pools they'd fished below, water that was new to me. I headed down, fishing each good looking spot but was fishing second hand water. I got one further hookup before pulling the pin and heading back upstream with the intention of going home. What I'd hoped to be good swinging downstream water really wasn't ideal for that style of fishing so I wasn't upset with my day at all as I'd really only missed one good pool. On the way back up the raft appeared and I had to say that (after Layla had given the interlopers a serve) that it looked a brilliant way to fish. The dude had maximum control and was able to pass between me and the bank as we exchanged pleasantries. He had an american accent and explained that it made for easy access, with the bonus of a chillybin of cold beers at hand....

The drive home gave me plenty of time to think about why I'd dropped all those fish and soon I was back at the vise redesigning the fly to be shorter and hopefully more efficient on hookup.

I was a good boy around the house for the next few days, over-run garden cleared - check! Fence painted - check! Family stuff done dutifully - check! Can I go fishing? Pleaaaseee?

Yehhaa. This time I'd head to Turangi. I got into town early enough to call Pete and see what he was up to - he was shop bound so I said I'd stop by later. I was pretty surprised to be the only vehicle in the top car park. I got into the river and began to work my way downstream... But my swing was too fast and I knew the fly wasn't getting where it needed to be. Quite simply, the volume of water coming down was greater than that on the other river despite it being of similar width in some places. A bit of a head scratcher for me, as I didn't have a skagit head for the small rod. I dug around and found a 132gr tip, which was never going to cast well but there was no wind and I hoped that it would drag the fly down. Layla chased ducks while I worked down the pool, paying extra attention to the gutter on the far side into which I could "huck" the fly, dump some line and get a good swim through. BUMP BUMP - hookup! The rainbow took to the air and shot downstream at full noise. I played it back across to me and Layla tried to land it before I slid the fish ashore, a well recovered spawner returning to good condition.

10 minutes later I had another bump followed by a savage take and a small bow came to hand. By this time a small group had appeared downstream and were beginning to fish the tail of the pool I was in. Given that they appeared to be 2 junior anglers learning to fish with a guide and that I'd landed fish I decided to go easy and not give them a serve. I fished down and pulled out leaving them some water to cover. I moved downstream to the next pool and began to work it. The water looked great, with a beautiful tail out studded with nice fish sheltering rocks. I got a grab about halfway down that missed the hook and another near the tail.

This style of fishing is absorbing and I find it can take a good hour or more to work a pool (in my estimation, every fish in a pool should at least catch a glimpse of my fly) like this so by the time I was ready to head back up to the car the guys above me were well upstream. Layla by now was mouthing off at the car traffic going past behind the trees - the river was getting busy. I had planned to move downriver to new water but that gutter looked way too inviting so back in I went. Second or third drift through and ba-bump I was hooked up. This fish was different, holding deep and rubbing against each rock. Each time I side strained it out from the gutter, it moved back in. I didn't want to pull the hook so as it surged back into the current I let it have its head. Finally it submitted and as I brought in the last 10 m of line I saw a brown smudge in the water, yup I was looking at a brownie and a nice fat hen at that. A few photos later and old yellowguts swam away.

A stop in town revealed that Pete was swamped by customers so I left and went to his place to see Sherrie and give Layla a run with Kaiser the GWP. Good day all around. Next up - grab a skagit head and see what the little rod can do.

Just the other day

Layla was in the truck. She'd assumed "her" pozzie in the front seat, so when Coch loomed in the headlights and I pulled over to pick him up, she wasn't exactly impressed. She got her defensive posture on, barked and then (pretend) grumped her way into the back seat. With gear and angler aboard, we set off. Jase had got in from a business trip including India (I-N-D-I-A "I'm never doing it again!") Cambodia and Vietnam. He needed fresh air after lung burning smog and debilitating heat had damn near done him in. He was probably more shagged than he let on.  We talked tackle, trips (both small and "adventures") and he gave me a run down on his recent back country escapade. The trip seemed brief and smooth and included a coffee stop and doggy toilet break.

Today we'd be trout spey casting, both with #4 Sage One 11'6" rods and scandi heads. I think I speak for both of us in saying that we're engrossed in all aspects of fishing double hand rods - for me certainly it has opened whole new horizons. The ability to fish the entire river, run, bucket or lie by reaching out and swinging a fly through where a single handed cast cant reach with big flies is just so tantalising that I can't ignore it. The hits are direct and sudden and even not hooking up if a fish misses the hook puts your heart firmly in your mouth. The other thing about swinging flies is that I tend to fish the water more carefully and it can take an (engrossing!) hour to fish a single pool.

Layla was along to chase quail, track roosters, guard us against cattle and make sure that the pools were safe for us by swimming through them.... Almost at our destination we devised a new plan that would see us covering new water which appealed to us both. Fog had greeted us earlier, a sure sign that a cracking day would emerge. Our trip took us to an outlook above the water we planned to fish and it looked really good. As we geared up, the hound pushed a pair of quail out of a small patch of brush. Above us a few more tick-ticked at us while a male gave his "mcquirter"call. We followed a track down to the water and after a couple of rounds of rock/paper/scissors (I lost again) I was despatched to the far side, the true right. We walked up our sides of the river respectively and entered at spots that allowed us to. I didn't fish my first run with the confidence that comes after a bite has been achieved (is my tip heavy enough? Is the fly the right size? Am I swimming it slow/fast enough?). Anyway I guess that my lack of confidence relayed to the fish and they kept their jaws clamped shut. At this point I should point out that this was the maiden trip for the rod. I was swinging a little olive number that to me felt right. At first I'd teamed it with a wee wet but my casting made that a problematic combo so I soon removed the smaller fly.

Moving down to where Jase was fishing his side of a heavy run that went down the middle of the pool I called out to him; he'd had 2 takes but not got a hook up. I had reasonably heavy cover on my side so was trying to get a reasonable poke going ... it looked and felt a bit soggy but I could at least get the fly out. I'd thrown a lot of slack upstream and the fly was working into a heavy seam when the whack came... that fish hooked itself and took my head and full running line (combined about 55m) on its first charge down the current, where it jumped, revealing a good fish. I was happy to play and land that one. Realising that the bank was steep and being on my own I couldn't safely photograph the fish without harming it, so back it went, a sweet shapely fish in the 4-5lb range.

We moved on down, combing the water. On my side I ran out of options so moved downstream while Jase had a coupe hundred metres of fishable stuff on his side. I found a Rapala lure with nasty treble tethered to a snag by a largish sinker. The lure went into my bag. Shortly after that I carelessly spooked a nice brownie.

Every turn and bend revealed new water, some great for swinging, some less so and after a while it came to me that packing the spey rod for the downstream journey and a nymphing outfit for heading back up would provide hours of fishing.

We left the river in the late afternoon. I felt the weight of the beating down sun as we wandered along. Summer is here.

A brilliant sabbatical

January - November. Since I turned the first sod of blogging, I've never taken such a leave of absence from writing. Fact is, I felt stale and a bit jaded, and it was showing. I can only take my hat off to guys and girls who not only find new material to write about, but who make it fresh and exciting to read. I felt sort of in a blogging rut and so, hadn't even looked at my pages for a while - months in fact.

So, I took a peep, rolled back the covers and feel refreshed enough to start to put pen to paper again. So much new and exiting stuff has happened. Layla has progressed from 18 kg pup to 26 kg grown-up-pup with a full season of birding under her collar; god I'm so happy that she's had the opportunity to unleash her natural talent on ducks and pheasants. So much to say there.

Then there's the spey rod stuff; triggered by the need to beat the windy conditions in Argentina next year I've ended up stepping over the edge of a new discipline (with more to come) - urged on almost subconsciously by the irrepressible fly fishing machine that is Jason, with his bottomless fly boxes full of steelhead grabbing loveliness... I can promise you that while I haven't even cast 'scandi' stuff yet, swing flies Skagit style has added a huge new dimension of awesomeness to my fly fishing; prior to which I had no real idea existed. By day III of swinging flies I was catching fish regularly enough and even putting in 2 good casts per 5 fired, that's what I tell myself anyway.

So in the time between posts, flies have explored seams, buckets and coral outcrops. Trips for birds and fish have come and gone. The short days are becoming long days as we stretch towards summer and the decay of autumn and winter is replaced with freshness and new growth.

The  first catch

I didn't shoot Layla's first or even her second pheasant retrieve. The first, an overhead that Andrew took a microsecond before I pulled the trigger, landed in a heap 25 m away. Layla went out, pulled up abruptly and began to circle the bird barking at it. I realised that until that moment her experience of pheasants had been a dead bird stuffed in a sock and which lived in the freezer. Having figured out that the big orange yummy smelling bird on the ground was prey to be delivered to dad, that was it - all on. The first catch though - Mitch and I skirted a hillside of gorse patches while Craig worked above us. The cock bird that burst from in below Craig was angling away behind us all and it dropped at his shot. I pushed Layla in to the scrub where the bird fell and she disappeared. This was a bit tense for me as the pup was out of sight... I couldn't hear her... so when she came in a minute later with the bird in her jaws and handed it over it was cause for a moment of shared jubilation. Mitch had been there, seen it unfold and knew what it meant and I reckon he looked as pleased as I felt. For a first catch, it was a pretty good one.

Hucking for steelhead

It started in a suburban lake, surrounded by kayaks, yachties and with Jase calmly giving me feedback. 10' of T-11 off a 23' floating Skagit head dragging 50m (sorry for switching my metrics for emperials but that's what the line boxes say) of shooting line... attached to several hundred metres of GSP backing. Loaded on a 12'6" double handed fly rod. And at the pointy end a leader and fly. Jase made that outfit sing, his casts zinging out with line tugging against the reel as the cast terminated. I made floppy top hand heavy blundering overpowered/under-controlled hoofs. But I loved it. Soon we were off fishing the Tongariro, me with borrowed gear and flies, Jase firing cannon-like shots wiith his #6 Sage Method. The whole of that first day I may have got a short take, or not, but I cast, swung, hung up, lost or retrieved in a dreamlike state. As the fly swung it bumped, knocked and rumbled along the bottom, at any moment at the mercy of a fish ready to taake a swipe. Jase hooked and caught 2 fish that day and declared the fishing to be 'hard'. Day 2 and everything (not much!) I'd learned about casting Skagit style on day 1 was gone - I couldn't do it. Sure I could get line in the water but that was about it. Ironically I hit a fish that stayed on long enough for me to scream and dance, right before it spat the hook. If it was trying to say "give up, this stuff isn't for you" then it was already too late, I'm addicted to swinging.

The trigger lark

Last year I worked pretty hard to land sod all Trigger Fish on CXI. The fish I did catch impressed me with their muscular performance and bloody single-mindedness as they turned and switched on the afterburn.... err, Triggers are more akin to charging boars than graceful cheetahs but you get the point, they haul ass when disturbed. On my worst day I struggled with cross tide flow, poor overhead conditions and a strong wind. Every presentation seemed doomed by the most dreaded combination a flats angler could face. That day at least 20 fish spooked away when either the fly landed too heavily/too close/not close enough/behind/in front of/all round the target fish. Even the one in five cast that seemed to not create a ripple of panic was doomed by the strong current which inevitably lifted and swung the fly. Every angler has these days; I just sort of wished mine wasn't happening in the middle of the Pacific on the world's largest atoll. Late in the day a largish model turned, followed and ate the fly. It all came tight and then loose again real quick... the fish buggered off while I inspected the fly. The hook was crushed so that the point was bent back past the shank like a half pretzel......

Hit out

Summer has started a bit slowly; or at least I've normally had my first kingfish trips underway in November at the latest. But, the tail end of the year got jammed up with all sorts of stuff - including of course some epic trout trips - so I've no real reason to complain.

We're 3 days back from almost a month in California, so that explains the lack of trips over the Xmas break.

Jase and I decided to hit the harbour mainly to look for snapper on the reefs, but should a kingi opportunity turn up we'd packed the big guns. A northerly played against the outgoing tide to make the water a bit lumpy but it was warm, sunny and pleasant. We chugged here and there checking out spots that had produced in the past, but bait was scarce although signs of kahawai or kings (I'm picking small kings) moving mid water showed on the sounder. We rounded the reef and mooched up into the shallows and began to cast into water ranging between 0.8 - 2m. The rip and breeze moved as at a pace that allowed us to cover the holes. I had a sink tip on and hooked a few dinks that pulled surprisingly well for their size. We fished in a most relaxed manner for a couple of hours until the tide flow stopped.

We decided to burn a bit of gas and look for kings. As we got into a channel I said to Coch "mate, I've never seen a king there but have a shot". A few casts later and he had a hit and got a good hook set. The fish charged off and so began 20 minutes of toing and froing. At first I called it for a kahawai as it ran high in the water column, but as it didn't do the trademark leap I changed my mind.

The fish began to circle to boat as we drifted into deeper water and at about the 10 minute mark came up to look at us.

We were looking at a well legal fish, no wonder the #7 was doing it tough. Again and again Jase raised the fish with as much pressure as the rod could exert, and again the fish would run down deep and circle. We began to drift into quite a busy channel so I was busy taking shots, watching for traffic and staying at the ready with the net. Finally the leader came into view and I was able to net the fish.

Boom! High fives all round! That'd been a tough bit of angling and a worthy fish lay in the net.

After that we decided to run out of the harbour to a reef that almost always holds fish. Nothing home there. Next we looked at some channel markers and both achieved hook ups but were each dealt to in short order. Really for that style of fishing I should've broken out the #11... but who cares. The run back into Auckland harbour against the setting sun never fails to relax me. I love that sight as much as any I've ever witnessed.

Summer fishing is here.

The hydro hike

Where we were going, everything needed was to be carried in. Food, shelter, warmth… given the utter lack of anything close by or anyone to pull our bums out of trouble I had a look at my gear and began an upgrade. We’d wet wade so decided that dryness and warmth would be afforded best by waders. My wading boots however had seen much better days, so the first upgrade was a pair of Simms G3 guide boots. They’d provide way more ankle support than my old boots (more akin to a heavy shoe). I also bought some ‘Alumbite’ cleats which screw in to attachment points on the boot. More about those later.  I resisted the urge to pack any more than 1 pair of extra clothes, which were merino garments to clamber into once in the tent and which were packed in a dry bag. Cooking gear, plate spoon & mug, camera, sleeping bag, sleeping mat. Emergency blanket, GPS, spare batteries, head lamp. Knife, fire lighters, lighter. Check. Quick run through and all gear packed down nicely. I made a decision to take only one rod, but did put in a spare reel with a sink tip line for working wet flies through deeper pools. Little did I know that I’d need both a spare rod and reel before the trip was done….

The weather forecast wasn’t great; but with clear flying windows forecast for both drop off and pickup days, we made the call at the last possible minute that it was GO TIME! I hit the road after work and arrived at 10pm to find Coch, assorted gear and odds and sods scattered through the motel unit. We got our gear sorted, packed and ready. I knew that I wasn’t going to get too much sleep but hit the hay before midnight. I did sleep though and awoke before the alarm was due to go at 05:00. We had a quick cuppa then packed my truck and hit the road looking for a nice breakfast which we found in one of Coch’s favourites. With coffee and toasted sammies on board we were off for our date with the chopper. We met our pilot, got a rundown and coordinates for our pickup which were locked in to the GPS, and then we were away. It was a stunning day for flying and as we hopped over ridges we were given a run down on the various watersheds. We came in low over our destination river and straight away were amazed by the size and number of fish that made their way away from the chopper’s shadow.

The craft departed and that was it, we were on our own. Gear assembled, waders (we’d spend the whole time immersed) and packs on, we set off. It’s been awhile since I’d lugged a pack around so I was a bit wobbly at first. This would be the dry day of our trip – with rain forecast to arrive in the evening we certainly appreciated the clear blue skies overhead. Then we began to spot fish. The clarity and depth of the water was astonishing and we were surrounded by beech forest interspersed with the occasional hardwood.  Jase hit the first fish and that set the tone; a beautiful rainbow of over 6lb was landed after a great scrap. My first fish hit deep down in a run – I caught the glint of the fish’s flank and hit – and if a shade under 4.5kg, she was only a shade. Simply the largest rainbow I’d caught in quite a few years lay at my feet after an absorbing fight. Round and deep, what a magnificent creature! We looked at each other, grabbed some shots, got her on her way and fist bumped. The fishing was epic in such awesome surroundings and by our lunch break we estimated the average weight of fish landed at over 2.8kg. A good mix of browns and rainbows were landed and we were going well.

The sun beat down on us – I could only imagine this scenario in cicada season would produce epic dry fishing. By mid-afternoon the GPS indicated that we’d made good progress. The body was tired but felt good; multiple crossings take their toll eventually but the strata was reasonably good as far as footing was concerned so we weren’t burning too much energy on odd sized boulders or needing to climb large rocks.

At 17.00 we left the river bed to look for a camping spot, and after a bit of searching found an old camp site where we got our tents sorted. I headed down to the river to look for dry driftwood (beech forest yields little in the way of good firewood normally) and arrived at the camp pool. It was truly magnificent – the sun poking between 2 ridges illuminating a pool headed by a huge rock buttress against which the main flow thundered before deepening and then tailing out over a shingle flat.  

In the tail, trout moved around intercepting the mayflies; a hatch was on and fantails were darting around taking their share. I grabbed an armful of dry wood then nipped back up to camp telling Jase to drop everything and get down there. If I could camp above any pool anywhere then I’d happily choose this one.

camp pool

We got our meal underway and I lit a fire to dry our gear near – my waders had sprung a leak – which didn’t surprise me so I was wet from crotch down. Not so bad when the sun is out, but our world was about to change…. Having got dry and warm and waders dry we retreated to our tents as the first raindrops fell. I slept like a baby, awakening only to answer the call of nature at around midnight – it was still raining.

Dawn came and the rain had temporarily stopped, giving us the opportunity to break down our gear and get packed. We ate, drank got going, not fishing the home pool as a sign of respect to it and its inhabitants. A nagging cold southerly had set in and the first crossing had water leaking in. Today I’d get way colder than I like being.  The heavy overhead conditions allowed good visibility into the pools and again the fishing was superb. We worked our way upstream spotting fish and calling strikes for each other. The water began to change – it was rising but still clear which normally prompts the fish to feed actively. We also stopped using indicators as the fishing was done by sight. It rained on and off and the GPS showed that our progress was slow; however we had a waypoint in mind to reach by midday and were only 30 minutes off the mark; the equivalent of messing around trying to catch one good fish. The timing angst really went back to a conversation that Jason had had with an old timer, who’d suggested that to get through the zone we were travelling would take 5 days, well we only had 3 and a half… we reviewed how far we’d come and realised that we were well on schedule.

We came to a deep pool which held several brownies and it was Jase’s time to shine… he unpacked his big gear and began to dredge the pool with an articulated flaming mick, hooks, legs and appendages wiggling all over and he stripped and wagged the rod tip. For a while a big ol brown eyed the fly up before leaping on it resulting in a solid hookup and Mr Brownie boring around the pool time and again. Finally I was able to grip his tail, what a stunner of a fish, great shape and colour… and with 15cm of musk rat crossed with frog hanging out of his gob he made a great photo subject.

I was getting colder and colder and began to lose my focus a bit; first I dropped my rod with the hub of the Z Reel landing on the rocks. This caused the drag to lock and stay locked on a fairly tight setting. The next fish I hooked ran down the pool with the line throwing spray before using all the available free line then hitting the reel - *ping*. So I sat down, dragged out my old Velocity II and changed the flylines over and got back in the game. With the river now much smaller in size, our shots became fewer and we weren’t seeing any brownies now. I had gone from a double nymph rig to single green stonefly for the deeper pools, or a pheasant tail for fish holding shallower. Mayflies came off now and again so the small brown nymph was quite effective; having said that we caught some crackers on the stoneflies. The team effort was the best way to go; with one guy up on the bank in the bush, fish were much easier to spot and the takes which weren’t always obvious to the angler were called almost unerringly. Our second camp site was found after some searching, and after getting bogged just over knee deep in heavy swamp. Carrying an additional 20kg of gear while being bogged is no fun and on one occasion it took me 5 minutes of effort to extricate myself. I was fairly tired by the time I got out. The site was not very salubrious, just a damp clearing but it looked like a hotel to me. We got tents sorted, food cooked and hit the hay early. It took a while to drive the cold out, but a combination of merino garments, warm socks and the down sleeping bag eventually did the job.

Day III dawned overcast and again I was cold, not having a fire to dry gear with, meant I climbed straight into wet gear. We'd also run out of coffee so were drinking boiling water for our hot drink... surprisingly warming. We bypassed the camp pool and began to head upstream. again we found fish straight away and began to catch them. Often there were several to a pool and on occasion we were able to pick up a 1-2 instead of singles. It rained on and off and by mid afternoon when we checked the GPS realised that our pickup point was not far off. We'd fair burned through our section. The price paid was that the river had risen a foot and we'd burned extra energy fighting the current ...Then, disaster struck. My Radian got hung up in some scrub and in the process of flicking the line I somehow point loaded and snapped the tip section. It was a dumb action of a tired person. Jase immediately broke out his VXP and gave it to me to use - thanks bud.  The river by now was much narrower and not every pool held fish. We were now walking past barren although lovely looking water; our best guess was that angler pressure played a role. We lost very few fish the whole trip but both of us got the dropsies in the afternoon... losing a fish or 2 each. We reached the pick up point late in the afternoon and set about finding a camping spot. I was asleep before the sun went down but not before I found an old candle and used some melted wax in the split seam on my old G3 waders.

Our final day dawned clear. We ditched our packs and after eating headed upstream. The fish were thin on the ground but still of reasonable size. My mental notes tell me that we caught a couple apiece only before our pull out time. We made good pace back to the pickup zone and with a couple of hours up our sleeves spent them getting our tents, waders and other gear dry. At this point I'll note that of 20 Alumbite cleats that started out on the soles of my boots, only 8 remained. A bit of a have, Mr. Simms.

The Hughes 500 zoomed in over the ridge and circled once before coming in. With gear aboard we set out on our return flight. An unbelievable trip had ended. A bucket list trip even...