Jim got a little Rainbow some time later, then provided the comic relief for
the day when he took a plunge into the water in dramatic fashion. I always appreciate this
act of kindness; it means I don't have to do it. Bill took a little longer to get used to
the dynamics of this style of fishing, but he was finally able to connect with a couple of
nice fish.
We stayed at this riffle for several hours, then had
to say goodbye to Jim, who had to get back to work in Branson. It was a short reunion, but
a memorable one. I got a half dozen fish in this session, and upheld one of the oldest
adages in fishing by losing the largest, a Brown of 16 or 17 inches. We stayed with a
Rubber Legged Stone and Prince combination, with most of the strikes coming on the Stone
Fly. This is an interesting pattern, the name of which I can't recall, with a braided
black Larva Lace abdomen and a large brown thorax - dubbed and flattened - with a pulled
over turkey quill wing case. It looks dangerous, and is very effective.
After a break from the afternoon heat and the aluminum hatch, Myron walked up with us and
left us to fish Rainbow Alley. We waded down to the main chute and, between intrusions by
canoes, started fishing about 6:30. It was overcast, but still fairly bright, and the
sheer number of canoes coming down the river left us dumbfounded. The fish are quite used
to this unnatural phenomenon, and Bill caught a nice Brown in a spot where a canoe, with
it's somewhat inebriated occupants, had overturned only moments before. Toward dusk, the
flotilla disappeared and left us in one of the nicest fishing spots one could ask for.
Bill ended the day with a half dozen fish, and I got a dozen or so. We hiked back to our
camper in the gathering dusk and enjoyed a quiet evening, with only the sounds of frogs,
crickets and cicadas to add substance to the dark.
After a great night's sleep, we awoke to another unusually cool mid-July morning and
started in again at Hilburn's riffle. We succeeded in hooking a few fish, then spent the
morning fishing from the Falls to the Cave Riffle. I got only one Rainbow in the cave
riffle, but we plan to be there someday just before dusk to see if we can get one of the
bruisers that must undeniably be there, hidden from the eyes of daytime fishermen by the
heavy current. By this time we were tired enough for the traditional mid-afternoon nap,
and made our retreat to the camper after a nice chat with a local resident near the Cave
Riffle.
Rainbow Run had treated us kindly the night before, so we returned there as the sun began
to sink behind the trees to the west. We had to share the run with a particularly
territorial beaver, which managed to scare us silly several times by blowing up at close
range! I had no desire to tangle with this fellow and gave him plenty of room. The Sunday
hatch of canoes was very light, and it wasn't long before we had the water to ourselves.
We began to hook up fairly regularly, and even had doubles on twice. The Browns were all
between 14 and 16 inches, with the Rainbows generally a little smaller. All of these fish
were fat and healthy, with beautiful markings and no hook gouges or line scars. Bill
hooked the nicest Rainbow of the trip and got to hear his reel scream in earnest before I
could slip the net under the fish. I acted as photographer and recorded the moment for
him. For the record, some of the fish Bill hooked came to a green caddis pupa.
I left Bill to the main chute and started easing down the east bank, roll casting with the
trees at my back. I had gotten a few more hook ups, then saw my indicator move and felt
the solid, unyielding pull of a larger fish. As it moved to the middle of the river and
started shaking it's head, I knew I was into a big Brown. After a long, cautious battle, I
maneuvered the fish into a quiet eddy and saw it for the first time. This was a fish I
would have been excited about on any of the premier western rivers. The Brown decided to
increase my pulse rate with a clean jump, then bull-dogged around the eddy for a while
until I was able to slip the net under him with a whoop of relief and excitement!
I have caught bigger Browns, but never in my life have I held a prettier one. This was an
18 or 19 inch hook-jawed male, thick and heavy, with perfect markings. He could have swum
straight from the paper of a Tomelleri illustration. This is the kind of fish which makes
a trip stand out in one's memory, with the mind's eye providing the picture. It is now six
days later, and I am still excited about this moment in my angling life. Sharing it with
my brother made it even better. I hope the pictures do justice to this tremendous fish. I
watched it swim away in the gathering dusk, adding another chapter to my fishing life and
reminding me that our avocation is one of the greatest in the world. Hooking a few rising
trout in the tail-out, above the Rainbow Run, only iced the cake.
We started hiking the mile and a half back to camp when, in a moment of serendipity, Myron
came along in his pick-up and offered us a ride. We ate late, then fell into bed like
logs.
The river was running clear, with flows between 470 and 430 cfs. Conditions were nearly
perfect, and the river gave up a wonderful experience for both an old hand and a beginner.
Bill is back in Iowa, Jim is in Branson, and I am back in the comfort of my home. Trips
such as this one are a great gift. They need to be savored, appreciated, then stored in
one's memory for the future. We are already talking about getting together again in
February, when Jim can get away for a few days. I think fly fishing may be the common
thread in our lives which, finally, will enable us to stay in touch and enjoy the company
of brothers. And the North Fork will be the place which allowed us to start.
Sam T.
Prairie Village, Kansas
17 July, 1999 |
