I found a pull off and rigged up my favorite combo from last time. I scrobbled through the willows and ice shelves and finally plopped into the river. I spotted a good looking pocket behind a boulder and quickly scored a decent brown.
He put up a spirited little fight. I quickly spotted a good fish in a quiet little pocket up against the bank. He slowly sucked down my dry, I waited until he took it all the way under, I set the hook, and then nothing. Soon after I had another fish swipe at the dry. They were really looking up. It was about this time that I realized that I had actually started at the exact same spot as last time, I just parked at a different spot and entered just downstream of that nice little pocket instead of just upstream of it. I reached some runs that had looked awesome but not produce last time. This time I managed to pull the dropper out of the mouths of two large trout. This new rod is much faster than my old rod and I had to remind myself to be very gentle on the hook set. I realized I only had a short while before I needed to head into work. I fished in fast forward, moving upstream, flicking casts into pockets as I went. I managed several smaller browns and one tiny cutthroat.
Finally I arrived at my favorite cutthroat and whitefish hole from last trip. No one was home toward the tail of the run, but a cast alongside a large boulder brought a good sized snout out of the water to swipe at my dry. He didn't connect, but a couple of casts later, the fish took the dropper. He looked very dark and had a lot of red on him, so I was thinking cutthroat until he leaped two feet straight out of the water and then tail-walked across the pool. Finally I netted the little acrobat and discovered a very darkly colored brown.
I worked up to the whitefish pocket, but I found another brown instead.
He kept with the tradition of fighting harder than he should have. I was nearly out of time. I spotted a good fish sipping insects, but just as I was making my cast to him, another fish darted out from a rock and into the pool, spooking the riser. I hooked another good brown from behind a boulder, but he darted into the rapids and bent my hook before I could follow. Darn light wire hooks. After that it was time to go. As I was climbing up the bank, I saw a true sign of spring, the first empty case of Busch beer lying in the brush. I'm not sure what it is about people who enjoy this particular brand of swill, but they love to litter. When I got to the road I discovered a wide array of empties littering the pull off. People never cease to amaze me with their brilliance. I'm not sure what it is that makes people decide to drive to the curviest, most treacherous part of a canyon to get wasted, but it seems to be a common urge around here.
Kind of strange that last time I got into a ton of cutts, but this time it was almost all browns. How strange.
Total for trip: 7 browns, 2 cutthroat
Total for year: 109 fish
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