Since getting my new Escape
17-foot trailer, Keath and I have done a lot more fishing. Or not. Depending on how you view it.
We've made more trips than usual in the past six weeks. It's just so much easier to hook up the Toad than the old faithful tent-trailer 'Sabu'. There is a place for everything in the Toad and it doesn't require removing seat lids or stacking one thing on top of another. Most of it is already in its place in the trailer.
I have been shopping and now have a duplicate of quality kitchen tools and spices, one set for the house and one for the trailer. I don't have to dig through bins, laboriously checking off items to make sure I've left nothing at home. Of course, there are still a few things to add, but I do have a birthday coming, and so is Christmas.
But, this was supposed to be about flyfishing.
Just returned from two nights in Spences Bridge, the steelhead capitol of Canada, a leisurely four-hour drive or a nail-biter along a winding canyon highway in three hours.
Keath and I chose to do it in four or maybe it was five hours. We had to stop in Chilliwack for corn and munchies, and coffee. Another stop at Escape
Trailers so Keath could ask questions about the new 19' Escape
. And then there was the burger at Boston Bar, a stop at Skihist to dump grey and black water ( which was mostly fresh water to clean the tanks and sensors ). And, oh yah, a stop for beer and more munchies.
We had our choice of sites at Acacia Grove, overlooking the Thompson river, and lest we forget, the main CN and CP rail lines about 100 feet away. I guess you get used to the trains, if you stay long enough. It was about three in the afternoon, but cloudy, with a stiff, cold wind blowing. We set up our chairs, using the Toad as a wind break and proceeded to observe the river. I've read that you should never rush into the river, but study the currents and rise-forms. And that's what we did until it was time for supper.
Keath had prepared braised baby back ribs that only needed a short visit to the BBQ and the application of his secret sauce, which turned out to be a readily available sauce, mixed with a chipotle pepper sauce he'd found at a local market. It was excellent of course, and we watched the sun set while sipping coffee and Kahlua and observing the river.
At dawn, or maybe closer to 8:30am, we observed rising trout and porpoising salmon as we prepared bacon and eggs. And, while I make a decent cup of coffee, we did have to stop at the local historic attraction for a latte. After all, four large rafts had arrived and were putting in where we had planned to fish. A local steered us to a couple good prospects for trout, one of which is Martel, a sign at a railroad crossing that actually showed up on my new GPS unit.
We actually did fish and actually each caught a small rainbow. But, of course, by now it was time for lunch and maybe a change of location. We drove along the Nicola River and found a nice secluded spot with a rock garden above and a pool below. Keath chose the pool, and about three minutes later was breathlessly shouting into the FRS radio that he'd encountered a bear cub of about 60 lbs. and momma had to be somewhere close by.
Nothing to do, really but head back to camp, where I nursed a beer and observed the river and Keath wet a line in front of our site. After a couple more beers, Keath persuaded me to join him with a fly rod in what appeared to be a fruitless objective, catching a fish. Tried a half dozen different fly patterns and then tied on my one and only stone-fly nymph, which was promptly hit by a sizable fish which snapped the tippet. Spent another half hour trying similar patterns with little success and retired to camp to observe the river and prepare dinner, watch the sun set, the full moon rise, count the trains and discuss our retirements. Of course we'd do a lot more fishing when we retire.
As we sat with our drinks and observed the river, we were suddenly joined by a bear cub, about two years old. I wasn't worried about him, but I was worried about his momma or the kids he was hanging out with so I drew my gun and fired. Ok, the 'gun' looks like a pen and fires "bear bangers", which make a tremendous noise, but apparently the bear hadn't read about this personal protective device and chose only to look slightly startled and freeze long enough for Keath to take a couple pictures. I would have grabbed my camera, but I had the 'gun' in one hand and my bear spray in the other.
Next morning we slept in, which of course, left little time for fishing. After all, we had to stop at the coffee shop for a latte and in Hope for a burger, and don't forget the sani-dump.