She turned on her best honeymoon smile for the first time in three days and said, "so what?. I looked around at this now quiet, warm, and isolated cove we were in, appalled, and uttered the statement you would have thought (for the next 13 years) was the cultural equivalent of Hitler ordering the troops into Poland.
"No. You can't. You'll scare the fish." She didn't speak to me again until we had been married at least twice as long as we had been up til then.
So it came to be that, when I discovered the Deschutes, I realized life had given me a second chance. Here was a place that was predictably dry, sunny, and warm, with spectacular scenery.
You could pack every imaginable camping convenience into the boat, and other recruited couples could provide the camaraderie and female companionship. The cooking, as we did it, was gourmet
by any standards. And the fishing was fantastic. Big flies (salmon fly hatch), short casts, and big fish. Even she could catch fish after fish here, I realized.
So the campaign began. I first made her her own graphite fly rod, and bought a pair of waders that would fit her comfortably I tied up lots of leaders and big salmon fly patterns, so she could lose them in the trees at will without a second thought. I made up a pair of wading shoes with felt soles that fit her, and made her a wading staff. I took care of all the shopping and packing and planning, and did all the cooking and dishwashing when it was our turn. We practiced her casting.
The weather during the trip was beautiful and hot, so hot you wanted to wade wet, and we did. When we got to the perfect, planned and saved, stretch of water, I announced that the time
had come. We went fishing. I took her by the left hand, and led her to THE SPOT. I was her guide, wading staff, fly-in-the-tree retriever, lifter-upper of branches so she could cast under and around them, leader untangler, fly dope doper, spider web clearer, and new fly attacher. I pointed out, when I had led her into position, the exact inch where the first fish would be. I caught her from falling when she screamed at the take and the first jump, helped her clear the running line, and coached her
through the fight. I handled and released the fish, a gorgeous, huge redside. I dried and re-doped her fly, led her wading by the hand five feet further into THE STRETCH, stabilized her in the flow while she cast, and we repeated the whole gorgeous scenario. Ten feet, three casts, and two flies later, a third hog. As I released this third and biggest fish, she looked at me sweetly and said," I don't see why you

Note: no space for the text!
More Text =>
<= Back
Fishtales Start
Table of Contents Order/Contact