Sharphooks
Well-Known Member
Not sure how things looked for you guys but I had a brutal winter--- worked way too hard, took way too much financial risk, spent too many evenings tossing and turning in bed, wondering whether I’d be able to cover financial obligations.
By early ApriI I felt like I’d been ridden hard and put away wet---totally missed winter steelheading on my home waters, missed a lot of things. Only one thing left I could do to turn the channel and get back to some sort of psychic equilibrium---take a long trip north to the Promised Land and try and claw back my steelhead season. Most of all, I knew I needed a wilderness experience---no people, just me, trees and a river. And maybe some fish
Seeing this out the window of the jet got the blood pumping
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Good news----All the stuff I’d shipped north a week before was waiting for me at air cargo. That’s always the sweaty palm part of the trip---one year my inflatable raft got shipped to Florida...
Got my ride to the river with all my gear, sun was shining, all was right with the world--- I was able to get everything set up and stay dry---in that country, dry is never a guaranteed proposition.
Get to my favorite bend in the river and just had to stop for this photo opp:
So with that out of the way I string my rods together and step into the river and.......WTF? Immediate soaked foot! Hole in the boot from last year that I didn’t notice when inspecting the boots prior to the trip---that’s what happens when you miss your winter steelhead season and work too hard---your gear goes to hell and guaranteed, it will do so at the worst possible time. Hypothermia in this part of the world is waiting for you around every bend in the river....
My first thought---is this a scary portent of how the rest of the trip is going to go????
Taking advantage of what turned out to be the only sunny day of the trip allowed me the dry time to pull off to the side of the river and get the hole patched...if it had been raining, well, we don’t want to go there, not on the first day of a six day trip.
Stepped back into the river with a dry foot, caught a few dark winter hold-overs just to prove to myself I still knew how to do that, then made camp.
So in my tent, flat on the ground, I was having a dream that I was driving a very expensive sports car (not mine) down a very steep staircase. Bump, bump, bump went the tires as I inched my way towards the bottom. Then one really steep drop to the ground off the last stair. I got to that point, sweaty hands gripping the steering wheel and then, all of a sudden, panic attack. All hell broke loose. I bolted up out of my sleeping bag ---the ground beneath me was writhing like a snake
I unzip the front flap of the tent, peer above me, and there, up against a purple bruise of a dawn sky , I see the entire canopy of spruce and hemlocks swaying back and forth like seaweed in a tide pool (with zero breeze going on...) WOW!
I slither out of my bag, fire up the stove for coffee, and wonder if I’d just had a catastrophic dream--
So at 6 Am I’m in my humpty-dumpty suit, waist deep in the water, trying to rip a lip when all of a sudden the river rocks beneath my feet start undulating, as if a giant hand was trying to shake a carpet. I look at the trees across the river---they’re swaying back and forth again, huge arcs in the brightening sky—now I know what’s up---earthquake!
I didn’t know whether to be ecstatic or bend over and kiss my arse goodbye. And I chuckled ruefully---before leaving, to quiet down my girlfriend who said she worried about me when I take these trips, I’d reassured her that where I was going it would be totally BENIGN--- the grizzlies eat out of my hand, the river was limited to Class III rapids so how could I possible wrap myself around a log jam and drown, and as everyone knows, I was an expert planner and could cover any sketchy situation that came my way….ha ha….so far, soaked waders and two huge temblors. What could possibly happen next in such a benign place?
So that night, the sky opens up like someone slashed its belly with a huge scimitar. Which made perfect sense---when it turns out that we really do NOT comport ourselves through a benign universe, once the earth opens and tries to swallow you, it logically follows that the sky will open up above your pointy head and try and drown you-----HUGE storm in from the GOA, 30 knts winds, side-ways rain the size of silver dollars, trees coming down everywhere. Mass mayhem!
It was too dangerous to be on the river---not only could I hear trees coming down---(no doubt they were also going in and across the river) but I also could see logs going downstream - ---the river was rising and sucking them off what had been dry beaches yesterday
So not much left to do but unload the gear from the raft, pull it as high as I could off the river bank, lash it down then have a drink or two waiting for the rain to stop so I could set up the tent… By 9 PM, sitting forlornly on a log nursing my third glass of wine I realized it just wasn't going to happen. I had to make a move and do the tent thing before it got dark and the rain just was not going to stop
So, first time in my forty odd year career of wilderness camping I was forced by circumstance to set up my tent in an absolute stone-cold monsoon with zero cover----yes, I had a canopy of trees above me but when it’s blowing a steady 30 with gusts to 40 the rain stacks up in the canopy then comes down in buckets (mixed with moss and branches) on the bigger gusts
Everything got soaked. Everything. My favorite moment--- waking up at 2 am shivering in a wet sleeping bag, turning on a flashlight, and seeing 1/4 " of standing water on the floor of my tent-- inflatable mattress--soaked...sleeping bag....soaked....coat....soaked. And it was only the second night of a 6 day trip---I lay there, another rueful smile twisting my shivering lips….don’t worry, honey…it’s totally BENIGN up there on that river….I’ll be just fine!
At 4 am, when I’m usually firing up coffee, pulling apart the tent and loading the raft to launch downstream to find another dream hole I took stock of my situation ---the weather?---no change. Howling wind, trees continuing to come down, intermittent hail the size of marbles....not a good time to be on the river in a very small totally over-loaded raft.
And once it got light enough to see I checked out the river---it had come up a foot over night. Logs were hurtling off downstream past my camp site as the current picked up ----the river had gone from a limpid clear to a pea-soup green. I knew from experience that with just a bit more water it would turn a choco-brown once the clay banks upstream started their mournful weeping into the water…
When faced with a world of possibilities, I decided that sometimes it's better to do nothing...
By early ApriI I felt like I’d been ridden hard and put away wet---totally missed winter steelheading on my home waters, missed a lot of things. Only one thing left I could do to turn the channel and get back to some sort of psychic equilibrium---take a long trip north to the Promised Land and try and claw back my steelhead season. Most of all, I knew I needed a wilderness experience---no people, just me, trees and a river. And maybe some fish
Seeing this out the window of the jet got the blood pumping
[/URL]
Good news----All the stuff I’d shipped north a week before was waiting for me at air cargo. That’s always the sweaty palm part of the trip---one year my inflatable raft got shipped to Florida...
Got my ride to the river with all my gear, sun was shining, all was right with the world--- I was able to get everything set up and stay dry---in that country, dry is never a guaranteed proposition.
Get to my favorite bend in the river and just had to stop for this photo opp:
So with that out of the way I string my rods together and step into the river and.......WTF? Immediate soaked foot! Hole in the boot from last year that I didn’t notice when inspecting the boots prior to the trip---that’s what happens when you miss your winter steelhead season and work too hard---your gear goes to hell and guaranteed, it will do so at the worst possible time. Hypothermia in this part of the world is waiting for you around every bend in the river....
My first thought---is this a scary portent of how the rest of the trip is going to go????
Taking advantage of what turned out to be the only sunny day of the trip allowed me the dry time to pull off to the side of the river and get the hole patched...if it had been raining, well, we don’t want to go there, not on the first day of a six day trip.
Stepped back into the river with a dry foot, caught a few dark winter hold-overs just to prove to myself I still knew how to do that, then made camp.
So in my tent, flat on the ground, I was having a dream that I was driving a very expensive sports car (not mine) down a very steep staircase. Bump, bump, bump went the tires as I inched my way towards the bottom. Then one really steep drop to the ground off the last stair. I got to that point, sweaty hands gripping the steering wheel and then, all of a sudden, panic attack. All hell broke loose. I bolted up out of my sleeping bag ---the ground beneath me was writhing like a snake
I unzip the front flap of the tent, peer above me, and there, up against a purple bruise of a dawn sky , I see the entire canopy of spruce and hemlocks swaying back and forth like seaweed in a tide pool (with zero breeze going on...) WOW!
I slither out of my bag, fire up the stove for coffee, and wonder if I’d just had a catastrophic dream--
So at 6 Am I’m in my humpty-dumpty suit, waist deep in the water, trying to rip a lip when all of a sudden the river rocks beneath my feet start undulating, as if a giant hand was trying to shake a carpet. I look at the trees across the river---they’re swaying back and forth again, huge arcs in the brightening sky—now I know what’s up---earthquake!
I didn’t know whether to be ecstatic or bend over and kiss my arse goodbye. And I chuckled ruefully---before leaving, to quiet down my girlfriend who said she worried about me when I take these trips, I’d reassured her that where I was going it would be totally BENIGN--- the grizzlies eat out of my hand, the river was limited to Class III rapids so how could I possible wrap myself around a log jam and drown, and as everyone knows, I was an expert planner and could cover any sketchy situation that came my way….ha ha….so far, soaked waders and two huge temblors. What could possibly happen next in such a benign place?
So that night, the sky opens up like someone slashed its belly with a huge scimitar. Which made perfect sense---when it turns out that we really do NOT comport ourselves through a benign universe, once the earth opens and tries to swallow you, it logically follows that the sky will open up above your pointy head and try and drown you-----HUGE storm in from the GOA, 30 knts winds, side-ways rain the size of silver dollars, trees coming down everywhere. Mass mayhem!
It was too dangerous to be on the river---not only could I hear trees coming down---(no doubt they were also going in and across the river) but I also could see logs going downstream - ---the river was rising and sucking them off what had been dry beaches yesterday
So not much left to do but unload the gear from the raft, pull it as high as I could off the river bank, lash it down then have a drink or two waiting for the rain to stop so I could set up the tent… By 9 PM, sitting forlornly on a log nursing my third glass of wine I realized it just wasn't going to happen. I had to make a move and do the tent thing before it got dark and the rain just was not going to stop
So, first time in my forty odd year career of wilderness camping I was forced by circumstance to set up my tent in an absolute stone-cold monsoon with zero cover----yes, I had a canopy of trees above me but when it’s blowing a steady 30 with gusts to 40 the rain stacks up in the canopy then comes down in buckets (mixed with moss and branches) on the bigger gusts
Everything got soaked. Everything. My favorite moment--- waking up at 2 am shivering in a wet sleeping bag, turning on a flashlight, and seeing 1/4 " of standing water on the floor of my tent-- inflatable mattress--soaked...sleeping bag....soaked....coat....soaked. And it was only the second night of a 6 day trip---I lay there, another rueful smile twisting my shivering lips….don’t worry, honey…it’s totally BENIGN up there on that river….I’ll be just fine!
At 4 am, when I’m usually firing up coffee, pulling apart the tent and loading the raft to launch downstream to find another dream hole I took stock of my situation ---the weather?---no change. Howling wind, trees continuing to come down, intermittent hail the size of marbles....not a good time to be on the river in a very small totally over-loaded raft.
And once it got light enough to see I checked out the river---it had come up a foot over night. Logs were hurtling off downstream past my camp site as the current picked up ----the river had gone from a limpid clear to a pea-soup green. I knew from experience that with just a bit more water it would turn a choco-brown once the clay banks upstream started their mournful weeping into the water…
When faced with a world of possibilities, I decided that sometimes it's better to do nothing...
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