Stand in rain or clean house?
Category: climate
rain, sun, rain
Started out early in the rain, then things briefly cleared to warm sun in the early afternoon, then a walloping downpour came through late afternoon. It came slowly over the western edge of the valley looking like a giant wave. Only one small steelhead to hand, but a slow and steady stream of mystery grabs to keep it interesting. I was “asleep at the reel” for the best grab of the day. Some late salmon showing in the runs. Water was the color of very light tea and all of the traditional runs were very fishable at 1,900cfs. No wind ever really appeared until the very end as the downpour commenced; making for a simple, quiet outing along the river now completely bathed in fall. If nothing else, everything just seems quiet now and it’s easy to loose track of time altogether while working through the water. I fished the new (to me) spey rod that Jonas from Norway sent me and it took me awhile to get in the groove, but once I did, I settled into an easy rhythm with it. The pace of the day was easy, and the schedule was just right, getting me home in time for an early dinner. Despite the lack of fish, it’s days like these that make me want to go back again and again.
Downpour Priorities
Sudden rain moves across our conversation
Out the café window.
My eyes turn round,
Following the watery sheets,
Or dreaming again.
.
I feel your eyes on my face
Yet I don’t turn to see,
Held, instead, by wet passersby.
Except from the corner I can feel
How deeply you can look.
.
And I can’t turn now, fearful
Break your gaze, then what?
But I should, easy enough
Forgetting fears vanish simply
when faced
So why not now?
.
Now?
Before I realize I missed it all.
.
What did you see?
See me missing it all?
Ha!
.
Watched rain rolls away
Down across the field,
Quiet again.
River notes – November comes in on a storm
A certain tension, maybe, seems to develop as Fall progresses. Teased on with a few light rains, the hills start to play the role with colorful trees and a few choice mushrooms showing. But down below, the river still speaks summer with low, clear water. I think that might have changed this weekend. Maybe:
Follow him down the dirt road past the apple orchard, fruit still hanging fast, leaves half gone from the wind the night before the rain. Along the trail are the first shaggy manes pushing through the damp earth – good eating if they can be brought back home and cooked soon enough. Follow him to where the old road fades into a trail and winds through the blackberries. If you’re not careful to stick to the paths that the bears trampled down during the height of it all, you’ll find all that’s left are the leaves and arching canes full of thorns that have a knack for reaching out and grabbing passersby. Along the way you might see the tiny shriveled berries still there, like you could reach out and grab summer back again.
Past the berries, the silt on the high river bank is cool and damp; settled by the rain. The dust is all gone now. The old dried weeds through here are turning from golden yellow to light brown and slowly collapse under their own weight, aided on by a day’s worth of wind and rain, working their way closer to, and back into, the soil. Along the gravel bar, the cobbles and boulders are shiny new again.
The water’s edge has reclaimed some of this. The river rises slowly, over the course of a day. The last green grass stands knee deep in the water now, gently washed by the waves lapping up. And like the berries behind, the algae still clings to the rocks out further, but the currents slowly wear it away and carry it suspended through the run. The water is now the color of strong tea. In the pool below, waves of leaves and algae well up in the backwater and leaves collect here and there along the bottom, occasionally scooting along at their own pace. You can’t miss the bright maple leaves whisking by in the faster water. A small willow branch floats by, probably blown in on the wind.
It won’t get muddy until the next storms really let loose on wetter ground. The emerald green water of winter is still a ways off. Everything balances here now. Down here, summer passes by in the currents. Up there, summer works its way back into the soil. Out there, another storm is pushing winter in a tad bit closer.
Winter Cometh Soon and a Pause
The latest weather forecast paints a lengthy period of rain starting later this week suggesting rising rivers and a big step towards winter. Granted, winter is still a ways off by the calendar. We are likely on the cusp of the more classic fall – damp ground, the river valleys shrouded with smoke from woodstoves, a new round of fall colors, and a burst of mushrooms from the forest floor – rather than this faux summer we’ve been living through lately.
So far, looking back, the season started with a bang in August and then progressively got more difficult in terms of hooking fish – though, I must admit, some of the most satisfying days have been those with one or two good fish hooked. And difficult is not the right word – intense, maybe? If I had to talk about catching fish, it’s less of a number game and more of the cerebral quest of finding a piece of water, methodically working through it and being rewarded with one good fish. That seems to make the whole crazy thing worth it. I won’t argue with the fast and furious early season evenings – those are special times. But there is something to be said for the focused pace through a piece of water, getting the swing just right and, finally, on the 23rd cast, connecting with seven pounds of electrified wild steelhead and then finishing with nothing more than that. Of course, a single seven pound steelhead probably qualifies as a good day in most people’s ledgers around here. If it was all easy catching, that would soon get tiresome (I think), and if nothing were ever caught, then, well, that speaks for itself. It’s about landing somewhere in the middle which is, in practice, rarely enough.
I think the satisfying thing about it all so far is that I’ve managed to fish the water I just needed to fish, covered the water I wanted to fish and found a few new spots along the way. Best of all, the old water was revisited and fished in a new way this year. I think if the rain happens just right and the rivers come up about a foot or so, it will all start over again. Pause…
Lessons on Humility whilst Standing in a Steelhead Stream
It just had to work again. Nature likes persistence. I was wrong…
Modeled predictions – Yesterday provided satisfactory results all around. The plan was to improve upon everything this morning – just make it a little better. Found a new lie to fish through, contemplated a schedule (early), tailored some flies for the situation, prepared some food, and went to sleep trying not to think about how the morning was going to be one of those memorable days when I had hooked enough and decide to head home early to have a leisurely day off at home.
Actual observations – Arrive on time, confidently and patiently rig up, get the waders on while chatting with a fellow showing up for work on the nearby road project. Same pre-dawn scene at the bank. Steaming water, and brilliant glow behind the mountain. It’s a fair bit warmer this morning, too. Ohh, this is even better than I was expecting! I walk straight down to the crossing for East-West run. On the wade across a pod of about eight or so fish pushes over the riffle, see me, then turn back down. Getting better all the time. I arrive and start high up on the run so I can fish down into the far side lie methodically and, of course, patiently.
As the sun first peeks through the trees on the ridgeline a focused intensity permeates the air. Water vapor oozes everywhere in wispy tendrils that catch the first rays. The river slides purposefully over the cobbles beneath. Everything seems at work. Fish roll up and down the run, some of them splashy affairs that might suggest steelhead. Along the far bank are various slicks and seams that call out for a fly to swing through them. The casts, mends and swings are perfect throughout. Along the way a half pounder is hooked and jumped as the fly swings around on the dangle.
At one point , I catch myself absent of all thought. The usual upstairs chatter is missing for a few moments. Those moments. Fish show here and there, the run is fished through. I start at the top again, changing to a lighter pattern. Halfway down a half pounder is hooked and released. Nothing else doing. The sun is well up now and morning is kicking in. I head back upstream to fish the very bottom of North-South and only one grab to show.
A sure thing comes up short of expectations. But it provides the perfect lesson. And finding emptiness is rarely bad…
Swingin’ in the Rain
The cast unfurls on target: a submerged rock shelf across the river. Barely visible as a dark patch between downpours. Flies are changed and swung deep and slow or shallow and fast. Nothing seems to work. One missed grab at the top of the chimney run. The river is up a scant few inches. Everything is working as the flies swing perfectly through the runs, again and again. Everything except the fish. One half pounder to hand, one jumped and one grab. Other than the fantastic wet weather, a curiously slow afternoon and evening. Even the salmon were barely showing.
I knew full well that fishing the first rains with a barely rising river has never been a producer for me. Despite this, I have never been able to resist the temptation of standing knee deep in a mild October rain. Maybe others have found good fishing in these conditions, but when I see the river creeping up a tenth of a foot and rain in the air, I know I go for the sweet smell in the air and the soft hiss of rain on the river’s surface.
Now, having said all that, there is one formula that HAS worked for me. Two days after the rain has consistently provided a productive outing. This is a schedule to adhere to. Sunday afternoon might be worth looking into.
Welcome October Rain
This afternoon’s Eureka forecast discussion settles the matter:
"RAIN FROM A SECOND...MUCH STRONGER SYSTEM WILL MOVE THROUGH FROM FRIDAY THROUGH SATURDAY NIGHT. THIS SYSTEM IS MUCH MORE POTENT WITH ITS MOISTURE AND UPPER LEVEL SUPPORT. MUCH OF NORTHWEST CALIFORNIA WILL RECEIVE ONE TO TWO INCHES OF RAIN..." "...RAINFALL WILL INCREASE IN COVERAGE AND INTENSITY LATE FRIDAY AFTERNOON AND OVERNIGHT AS A STRONG COLD FRONT WITH ABUNDANT MOISTURE PUSHES ACROSS THE REGION."
Equinox
It all felt big and empty today. A lonely wind tried to blow late in the afternoon but it got all hung up in the trees. It seemed like it was trying to find itself and couldn’t quite get going. Along the way it would pick up a few leaves from the trees and scatter them along as if was looking for something to grab onto. It had come all this way looking for something – but whatever was here was gone now. The whole place seemed like it was mourning something irretrievably lost. I think it was the sad love songs I listened to on the drive over. I shoulda picked something a bit more uplifting.
The fish were few and far between, consisting of half-pounders taken on a sinking tip. I banged up my elbow a good bit climbing down a poison-oak ridden hillside downstream of Ice Cream. One of those impacts where you hit hard and don’t feel anything right away. Then the pain comes over like a wave. It’ll probably hurt more tomorrow than it does now. Felt soles and steep, loose slopes do not mix well, unless you’re into skiing, which happened unexpectedly. Ironically, it was nearby and across the river where I banged up my shin last week. That one’s nearly healed now.
Once on the water, I promptly hooked a fish in the shade of the cliff and then spent a long time just trying to figure out the wind. After climbing out and getting out of my waders, which sprung a significant leak at some point in the day, I scoped out another reach to climb down into. The road gives a peek at some potentially good water, but most of it is not visible from up high. Looks like there is a weak trail that barrels down at least part ways through a jumble of oak, bedrock and fir trees. Just in time for my healed elbow…On the way home, the late afternoon sun bathed everything in a soft light, bringing everything to a standstill. I don’t think there’s much more summer left here.
And it’s probably time to ferret out some new music.
Speculations on the Movements of Steelhead
My last two outings have produced less than memorable numbers of fish – unlike my first few trips of the season. Last night I walked the trail into a couple of decent runs. The place has never been quantity water for me, although it definitely has the potential. Instead, I’ve taken some of my best fish here, so I always walk in there with tempered expectations. The weather was in transition as a weak cold front pushed cooler air through and left the coast covered in deep, drippy overcast all day. Farther up the river, at the trail, the wind had died down and, although it was still a warm evening, it wasn’t on the heels of a “bloody hot” afternoon. Still, though, I worked up a bit of a sweat walking in at a brisk pace to give myself ample time to cover the water.
I just got my new spey reel from the Spey Company – a true beauty and I had to try it out on the 5/6 wt even though I got it just for the 7wt (photos coming soon). Regardless, it balanced wonderfully and I found myself in the groove with a cack-handed snap-T. I also think I was casting too far. I say this not to gloat, but because I missed a few grabs at the end of 80+ feet of line. With all that line on the water, there’s just too much distance to come fast to a lightly grabbing fish in any meaningfully efficient manner. Still, though, it was a joy to fish the far side of the river – right down in the slot. But those missed grabs hurt and I need to temper my casting enthusiasm with the realities of hooking and landing steelhead on the two-handed rod. I could have easily covered the needed water with shorter casts – but, well, I digress.
I see the numbers of steelhead passing through the weir have declined slowly and steadily over the few weeks of data collection. The big push of fish in late August seems to have waned and surely another big push, THE big push is probably building. Oh sure there are the fish magnet places – those dependable places where numerous fish seem to be expected, and I should probably fish those places more if I want the quantity. But there is something to be said for walking a half mile down into a stretch of river where you are alone. On the walk out, nearly dark in the woods, I found myself looking over my back often and up into the bushes. That feeling of being watched that doesn’t come often. Many times on that dark walk I looked back and waited to see that cat slowly creeping up behind me. Walk faster, but don’t run! And carry a flimsy 13 foot long stick just in case.
I heard it mentioned once that steelhead, when they were more abundant and widespread, may have moved up the larger rivers in “tribes.” I like this idea. With this idea, the Fall Run can be decomposed into several “pushes” of fish upriver, maybe barely distinguishable as older fish linger in runs and new fish arrive to add to the numbers present. At some point winter rolls around and transitions into spring and on into summer – no real distinctions in the runs, just ever-present tribes of fish moving upriver to linger for varying lengths of time here and there – hopefully right where my fly is swinging.
Tonite, the waning, but still nearly full moon rises through a web of clouds marching onshore and promising a chance of sprinkles later tonite into tomorrow. This could well be the steelhead moon that signals the next “tribe” to begin their upstream ascent. I need to get out on the river…
When I heard the storm I made haste to join it,
for in the storms ~ nature always has something for us ~
John Muir
Shaken Rain 