You didn’t think we’d really skip did you? Sleeping in is for nancy boys.
Despite splitting headaches and a dog that had received about fifteen minutes of walk time in the past two days, we checked the weather and packed up the truck. But this venture took extra precautions – we pre-rigged several rods so we wouldn’t have to waste precious minutes when we arrived. The sky was devoid of clouds, which actually worried me from the start – visibility into 7+ foot deep holes was ‘unlimited’ and remained as such. But, rather than hang around for 28 days before switching methods, we moved to riffle water and fatter flies (buggers, hotheads, and chunky strips of rabbit fur) within hours. It’s a good thing we have management skills to brag about too, because there were certainly no fish available to back up our efforts. Yea, we got skunked.
The bright side of the story was Chris hooking up several times, thanks in no small part to my fly selection (and the ridiculous midge hatch that cranked up around 2:30). But after swapping him into my Scott G2 to make up for his lack of rod loading skills, he couldn’t get a decent hookset (yes, noodle is noodle, whether it’s made of graphite or panda food). As far as I’m concerned, this is one of the reason fast action rods exist – you can actual get the hook firmly buried in the fish’s mouth like you should, and unless you have a penchant for constantly holding a latte-mocha-caramel-something-or-other in your line hand, pool cues are still capable of delicately dropping #16 EHCs on a bank at distances of more than three feet. We might have attempted looking like ‘seasoned veterans’ (i.e. carrying – and wearing – natural fibers), but where I fish that can get you truck jacked by someone holding a Browning Citori Grade VII Lightning if you’re not careful.
Today (Sunday) is bon voyage. My takeaway – the only guy willing to put up with my shit throughout college, persevere through our first tastes at professional life in the same big city, forgive my mooning guests while standing up (barely) in his wedding, and still take the opportunity to taste life in the Mountain West, can say he took the road less traveled with me as his guide.
Ok, so this road goes straight to Breckenridge too. Whose fault is that?