The mirage they call steelhead
I just had a fantastic weekend!
I left CDA at 8:00 a.m. and traveled through fog so thick you couldn't see 50 yards in front of you for about 50 miles. Then it broke into a gorgeous landscape of woodland, fields, rolling hills, and the perfect country for getting away from it all. I got all the way to a place where the road dropped into a ravine...found a sign that said the name of the town, Viola! Now, I have learned, the correct pronounciation of the town is Vy-o-law...but the way you come over the hill, it really should be the French pronounciation of viola! All of a sudden, it is there! Viola!
I drove to the edge of the river, on a high plateau...fog again blanketed me. The stripes on the road came up quickly, but I knew, from experience, that there was a dropoff of thousands of feet below me. No trees. Nothing but grass...all the way to the bottom. If I missed a turn, I was done for! No stress there.
Obviously, I made it to the river. There was no fog down there.
In four hours, I made it to Kooskia. I stopped at Dale's Cashway (stop if you ever have a chance, they have everything and they're friendly to boot.) I hobbled to the store and left in a hunch. Four hours is a long time with no stopping.
I drove up the South Fork of the Clearwater (where I wanted to fish) and found the upper end frozen over. I drove back downriver amongst throngs of people, back to the main Clearwater. I fished there awhile and got so many snags in my old line to convince me I needed to replace it. Back to Dale's Cashway! They replaced the line, I bought bobbers, shrimp, and jigs and set off. The kid at the counter asked if I had done any good so far that day. I told him, "well, I'll show you how good I did." ...and pulled out about 100 yards of line from my pocket...snaggled, tangled, and in a state that it didn't require any more explanation. He just nodded. "Are you going to do any more fishing tonight?" No. I need to find a camp.
So I went to my camping place near Lowell. I call it my camp, because no one goes there in winter. It is in an old cedar grove...one of the last on your way down the Lochsa and through on down the Clearwater. It is mine and I hold it dearly. I arrived for the first time in a year and f0und someone, in the past 12 months, had trashed it. They drank cheap beer, wine, and expensive whiskey (go figure) and dumped it all in a root hole nearby. It took me awhile to take care of that crap.
I took some old, wet, wood and tried to split it enough to start a fire. I left the fire momentarily, thinking it would go. Nothing doing. I started it again using a strip of bark from a cedar. That died very quickly. For an hour I babied this fire until it caught and got going. Then it went out. By this time it is starting to get dark...so I did what anyone would do. I went out and found dry, standing wood in the form of a large, dead alder. I chopped this thing down and when it finally hit the ice, it broke and I carried the 10 foot top to camp. I sawed portions of the alder off and split it to get the fire going. I then dried all my other wood using the flames, and had a good camp. By this time, it is pretty much dark.
I set up the tent, and got the sleeping bag ready for bed. The rest of the night was spent tending the fire and cooking German sausage and chili for dinner. Not so shabby if you ask me.
That night it began raining. So in the morning, I made a quick breakfast of Raman and broke down camp. I am a MASTER when it comes to setting up or taking down camp in bad weather...I think I can stow a tent, ground cloth, fly, sleeping bag and pad, in 10 minutes flat. I dare you to challenge me to THAT in a rainstorm! So, I went immediately to fishing.
I cast and cast and cast, thankful for the new line. However, I increased the water level like you wouldn't believe! There was one log at the bottom of this hole that, if you didn't pull up soon enough, you would snag and lose your whole outfit on. I lost one bobber this way. Soon enough, Fish and Game showed up. It was amazing! This guy wasn't rude or anything, he simply asked how the fishing was and what I was using. I showed him (from 20 yards away) and asked if anyone else was catching fish. He said, "no, not really. But I know the guys who are catching them are doing it on pink and yellow jigs. I went out this past week and didn't catch anything until switching to those colors...give it a try!" THANKS! He left without checking a license or hook. My best encounter with them yet. And to think, I thought he was another fisherman trying to shoulder his/her way into my hole!
I left after hooking that log too much. Went to another hole down the river....hooked bottom the first cast and had to break my leader. Done with THAT hole in ONE cast.
Went and checked out the Northfork...it was combat fishing. People shoulder to shoulder. Jetboats pissing the shore-anglers off. People irritated and trying too hard in the pouring rain. (Did I mention it was simply POUNDING rain at the time, not pouring, POUNDING?) I walked around, looking over the edge of the road, for a place to fish. No dice. Too many people. So I left and found another hole further down river. No fish, but a good looking stretch all to myself.
I left at 12:30 that Sunday. I took highway 3 up to CDA...a road I haven't been on before. There was absolutely no traffic and I could just poke along doing whatever speed I wanted in the fog and rain and had a simply GREAT time. Gorgeous country and a place I wouldn't mind living in at all! Imagine rain and fog, small rolling hills, pockets of "outpost" towns, 4-wheel drives, cabins,...backwood folks who waved and smiled when you passed, snow, wind, woodsmoke, dogs, kids sledding, people having a campfire by the side of a random stretch of road, and the absolute ABSENCE of traffic! That broke into more people next to the lake near St. Maries, but nothing like CDA. There, on the way north, were geese, ducks, ice, passes, lakes, streams, and trees. Nothing but solitude out there. My kind of place for sure.
I got home at about 3:30 and dried my gear out in my small apartment. Tent hanging in the living room, tarp hanging from a door, miscellaneous crap spread out on the floor, and pine needles and dirt EVERYWHERE. (I cleaned it up yesterday.)
It was a fantastic weekend. I desperately needed to see the campfire sparks rising into the sky, feel the absense of commotion, smell the cedars, and get OUT OF TOWN. It worked. I came back a new person. It was fantastic...
I may, will, go down again this coming weekend.
I left CDA at 8:00 a.m. and traveled through fog so thick you couldn't see 50 yards in front of you for about 50 miles. Then it broke into a gorgeous landscape of woodland, fields, rolling hills, and the perfect country for getting away from it all. I got all the way to a place where the road dropped into a ravine...found a sign that said the name of the town, Viola! Now, I have learned, the correct pronounciation of the town is Vy-o-law...but the way you come over the hill, it really should be the French pronounciation of viola! All of a sudden, it is there! Viola!
I drove to the edge of the river, on a high plateau...fog again blanketed me. The stripes on the road came up quickly, but I knew, from experience, that there was a dropoff of thousands of feet below me. No trees. Nothing but grass...all the way to the bottom. If I missed a turn, I was done for! No stress there.
Obviously, I made it to the river. There was no fog down there.
In four hours, I made it to Kooskia. I stopped at Dale's Cashway (stop if you ever have a chance, they have everything and they're friendly to boot.) I hobbled to the store and left in a hunch. Four hours is a long time with no stopping.
I drove up the South Fork of the Clearwater (where I wanted to fish) and found the upper end frozen over. I drove back downriver amongst throngs of people, back to the main Clearwater. I fished there awhile and got so many snags in my old line to convince me I needed to replace it. Back to Dale's Cashway! They replaced the line, I bought bobbers, shrimp, and jigs and set off. The kid at the counter asked if I had done any good so far that day. I told him, "well, I'll show you how good I did." ...and pulled out about 100 yards of line from my pocket...snaggled, tangled, and in a state that it didn't require any more explanation. He just nodded. "Are you going to do any more fishing tonight?" No. I need to find a camp.
So I went to my camping place near Lowell. I call it my camp, because no one goes there in winter. It is in an old cedar grove...one of the last on your way down the Lochsa and through on down the Clearwater. It is mine and I hold it dearly. I arrived for the first time in a year and f0und someone, in the past 12 months, had trashed it. They drank cheap beer, wine, and expensive whiskey (go figure) and dumped it all in a root hole nearby. It took me awhile to take care of that crap.
I took some old, wet, wood and tried to split it enough to start a fire. I left the fire momentarily, thinking it would go. Nothing doing. I started it again using a strip of bark from a cedar. That died very quickly. For an hour I babied this fire until it caught and got going. Then it went out. By this time it is starting to get dark...so I did what anyone would do. I went out and found dry, standing wood in the form of a large, dead alder. I chopped this thing down and when it finally hit the ice, it broke and I carried the 10 foot top to camp. I sawed portions of the alder off and split it to get the fire going. I then dried all my other wood using the flames, and had a good camp. By this time, it is pretty much dark.
I set up the tent, and got the sleeping bag ready for bed. The rest of the night was spent tending the fire and cooking German sausage and chili for dinner. Not so shabby if you ask me.
That night it began raining. So in the morning, I made a quick breakfast of Raman and broke down camp. I am a MASTER when it comes to setting up or taking down camp in bad weather...I think I can stow a tent, ground cloth, fly, sleeping bag and pad, in 10 minutes flat. I dare you to challenge me to THAT in a rainstorm! So, I went immediately to fishing.
I cast and cast and cast, thankful for the new line. However, I increased the water level like you wouldn't believe! There was one log at the bottom of this hole that, if you didn't pull up soon enough, you would snag and lose your whole outfit on. I lost one bobber this way. Soon enough, Fish and Game showed up. It was amazing! This guy wasn't rude or anything, he simply asked how the fishing was and what I was using. I showed him (from 20 yards away) and asked if anyone else was catching fish. He said, "no, not really. But I know the guys who are catching them are doing it on pink and yellow jigs. I went out this past week and didn't catch anything until switching to those colors...give it a try!" THANKS! He left without checking a license or hook. My best encounter with them yet. And to think, I thought he was another fisherman trying to shoulder his/her way into my hole!
I left after hooking that log too much. Went to another hole down the river....hooked bottom the first cast and had to break my leader. Done with THAT hole in ONE cast.
Went and checked out the Northfork...it was combat fishing. People shoulder to shoulder. Jetboats pissing the shore-anglers off. People irritated and trying too hard in the pouring rain. (Did I mention it was simply POUNDING rain at the time, not pouring, POUNDING?) I walked around, looking over the edge of the road, for a place to fish. No dice. Too many people. So I left and found another hole further down river. No fish, but a good looking stretch all to myself.
I left at 12:30 that Sunday. I took highway 3 up to CDA...a road I haven't been on before. There was absolutely no traffic and I could just poke along doing whatever speed I wanted in the fog and rain and had a simply GREAT time. Gorgeous country and a place I wouldn't mind living in at all! Imagine rain and fog, small rolling hills, pockets of "outpost" towns, 4-wheel drives, cabins,...backwood folks who waved and smiled when you passed, snow, wind, woodsmoke, dogs, kids sledding, people having a campfire by the side of a random stretch of road, and the absolute ABSENCE of traffic! That broke into more people next to the lake near St. Maries, but nothing like CDA. There, on the way north, were geese, ducks, ice, passes, lakes, streams, and trees. Nothing but solitude out there. My kind of place for sure.
I got home at about 3:30 and dried my gear out in my small apartment. Tent hanging in the living room, tarp hanging from a door, miscellaneous crap spread out on the floor, and pine needles and dirt EVERYWHERE. (I cleaned it up yesterday.)
It was a fantastic weekend. I desperately needed to see the campfire sparks rising into the sky, feel the absense of commotion, smell the cedars, and get OUT OF TOWN. It worked. I came back a new person. It was fantastic...
I may, will, go down again this coming weekend.
posted by geotracker12 at 12:11 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home