On the Clock
2:34 am: I wake and open my eyes. Looking at the window, it’s black outside, so I know that it’s before my alarm and before I need to get up. I roll over and crane my neck to check the time. It’s definitely too early to get up so I roll back over. Will I be able to fall back asleep? That’s always unfortunate when I wake up too early and then lie in bed trying to fall back asleep and then eventually start thinking about getting up and then start thinking about how I’m not sleeping and…
4:50 am: My alarm goes off and I immediately turn it off. I fell back asleep, so that’s good. Now I just need to get out of bed and I’ll be on my way. Which of the several tasks will I do first? Boil water for coffee. I get out of bed and head into the kitchen.
5:20 am: Cup of hot coffee in hand, all my supplies and tackle for the day already in the truck, the boat hitched, I walk out the door. I start the truck and select a Guy Clark album for the drive. I’ve only been to this boat launch once so I plug it into Google Maps. A message pops up: “Your destination opens at 7:00 am.” I don’t remember seeing a gate the last time that I was there, so I’m just going to assume that that information is irrelevant. I proceed through a final mental checklist, can’t remember anything that I’ve forgotten, so I put it in Drive and ease out of the driveway. The trailer creaks gently. It’s still dark enough for headlights - a good thing, I think - so I flip them on and I’m off.
5:26 am: It’s lighter than I thought. I probably don’t need the headlights. I could be fishing right now. I press on the gas.
5:36 am: I get my first look at the river. It’s still there. At 57 miles an hour, it looks… good?
5:45 am: I arrive at the boat launch. There isn’t a gate and I’m the only rig there! Preparing to launch, my paces are efficient, cycling around and back and forth between the truck and the boat, as I’ve gone through this process for years now and a lot lately. When everything’s in the boat, I stash my spare key and cash for the shuttle, then hop back in the truck to back the boat down the launch.
5:58 am: The boat’s in, the truck is parked, and I walk from the parking lot to the boat with cup of coffee in hand - the final item not to be forgotten. I step in, climb to the rower’s seat and drop the oars in. Looking downstream, I think for a second that the giant tree across half the river that was here last time is gone but then I realize that the water’s up enough so that most of it is underwater now. I eyeball the must-make ferry and opt to row upstream in the launch’s eddy as far as possible to give myself more room to make the move. I pull hard to clear the tree and when it’s clear that I’ll make it, I straighten the boat out and just float. One last look at my parked truck and I see another truck with boat on trailer pulling in. I feel a sense of accomplishment at this but realize that the truck is pulling a jet boat so they could beat me downstream, if they head that way. I push on the oars.
6:08 am: Pulling into a run that we fished last time, I slow the boat down on the inside of the river. It looks different than before, with all the extra water. Do I want to fish this? Is it too fast? I keep floating, standing in the boat, and then I’m at the bottom of it. I turn around and look at it from downstream… and keep floating. Floating through the tailout, and looking at a small run that I hadn’t noticed before, I inhale the distinct scent of fish. Instantly, two memories wash over me - one in Colorado and one in British Columbia - in which I had this same scent on my nose and then shortly thereafter, caught a fish. I pull hard into and eddy on river right and decide that I’m going to fish the run that I just floated through. I quickly rig up, walk upstream, and start fishing. It’s a little quick for my liking so I three-step it and in less than 30 minutes, I’m back at the boat. Again, the fishy smell. I eyeball the small riffle that dumps into a giant root ball and the bucket that’s formed there, then start to pull of some line to cast. As soon as I have my entire shooting head out of the rod tip, I feel a pluck on my fly. I cast again and hook a cutthroat. Stripping it in, I chuckle, thinking about something a friend said to me once while fishing the Rogue. We were in a known steelhead lie and I caught a trout in the middle of the bucket. “Well, you went fishing and caught a fish, so nice job!” my friend had said. Two casts later and I catch another cutthroat. Two more casts and I’m at the end of it. I reel in and climb back in the boat.
6:50 am: I’m standing waist-deep in a run and realize that for the first time in a long time, I’m chilly. I’m wearing a puffy vest but I wouldn’t turn down a puffy jacket right now, had I one with me.
7:03 am: Floating downriver, I look at my boots and realize that they’re Stacey’s. No wonder they felt tight on my feet.
7:55 am: The river has split and I took the right channel. It’s more narrow than the left side, but it appears that there’s more water on this side. I’m on anchor, standing up, and eyeballing the run when an osprey screeches from a limb above me. I take this to mean that I should fish here, so hop out of the boat. It’s deeper than I thought and I cringe as I make more noise landing than I would’ve liked.
8:18 am: The osprey appears to be watching me as I’m fishing, like a guide from a high bank. I swear that its head is angled to the water and watching my fly. I watch the bird after every cast, hoping for a chirp or screech or something. When I’m directly across-river from the osprey, it takes off. I reel in and trudge back upstream to the boat.
9:33 am: I’m now on river left, having just fished river right of the same run. I like it better from this side. I’m thinking about some fishing friends - some that I just fished with, some that I’m going to fish with soon, and some back home who I haven’t fished with in a while. All those friends don’t know each other - yet - so I think about having them in the boat with me and watching them fish together and get to know each other. I wonder how I can make that happen? A trout rises directly downstream of me so I let my fly swing right over it and let it hang. Nothing happens.
10:00 am: My phone rings, as expected. It’s an old friend and we haven’t spoke for a long time, so made plans to chat. I figured that by 10:00 am, I wouldn’t be rushing to beat the sun so I could chat while I floated downriver, and that’s what we do. It turns out that a friend of his has pulled a Rogue River Wild & Scenic permit, so I’m telling him about the float, some camps to shoot for, and what the fishing will be like in late-September. He asks about steelhead, trout, and then king salmon. I encourage him to target the former wholeheartedly, be prepared to fish for the second if there’s a hatch, and to forget about the latter - they’re nearly impossible to catch on a fly in Oregon. Or so I’m told; I’ve never actually tried. We say our goodbyes and I keep pushing downstream.
10:35 am: I pull into a run on river left again and the sun is right in my face. I’m overheating now, so pull off the puffy vest. I put on some sunscreen, eat some salami, look at the water, then pull the anchor and continue downstream. Pushing on the oars, I start to sweat and think that I need to get back in the water to cool off.
10:45 am: I see another boat for the first time today. It’s a jet boat come from downstream and they’re fishing a run that I have never. I give them plenty of room and wave as I go by. When I’m out of earshot, I think that I should’ve asked if they fished the next run downstream. I pull in on river right. This run was referred to me once as “Pump Hole” as there’s a giant irrigation pump on the other side. It runs constantly, or at least every time I’ve passed it, and I don’t particularly like the noise but the run is looking really nice today. The sun is high so I decide to change my fly from a black Cosmic Leech to something brighter, something hotter. I know just what I want, a Fly du Jour. I learned about it through Mark Bachmann’s old website and in the how-to-tie video, he extols the virtues of its primary material, Edge Brite, when fished in the sun. I make one cast and catch a trout. I land it, cast again, and catch another trout. Again, I went fishing and caught a fish, though these are not the fish I’m after. Right fly, wrong fish, another guide friend likes to say. I keep fishing.
11:15 am: I’m a ways down the run now and the inside is getting pretty slow. I’m thinking about reeling in and maybe even heading for the boat launch when I get a distinct grab. I can instantly tell that this isn’t a trout - there’s weight and it’s pulling line steadily. I wait, it pulls line, I wait more, it pulls more line, and then I set the hook. It’s hooked. I see it roll downstream of me and I can see its silver side in the sun. No way! Yes sir! I wait for it to make its run but, curiously, it doesn’t. Maybe it’s smaller than I thought? Maybe it’s not a steelhead? I did catch a giant sucker here last winter… I can’t move the fish much but I’m gaining line slowly. Finally, it’s level with me and I get a good look at it. It’s a king! Didn’t I just say that they were impossible to catch? I tail the fish, fumble with my phone camera, and as I do, I see the Fly du Jour has simply fallen out of the king’s mouth. The fish kicks a bucket of water in my face and is gone.
11:27 am: I’m back in the run, thinking about that king and also that I should probably start heading for home. I decide to make one more cast - one more, good, left-handed cast. The cast is shit, so I make the last cast again. And again. And again. And then reel in.
12:01 pm: I pull into the boat launch, drop the anchor, grab the truck, take the boat out, and then reverse the steps of launching the boat. I start the truck, blast the AC, pick another Guy Clark album, then look at the picture of the king. I text it to three different people - the same friends I thought about earlier in an attempt to manifest them fishing together - then put the truck in Drive, and head for home.
