And God Smiled... (Sacramento River "Report")

(this is an older piece previously published on an Internet FF board that really sucks nowadays)

No--skirt has not suddenly found redemption or salvation unless it is the sweet bend in a rod, line slicing through the water, muscled rainbows pouncing on caddis fished in the surface. I just couldn't think of a way or words that describe my most recent float down the Sacramento. Far from it. Old tunes from Lou Reed playing over and over in my head as I reminisce, Pale Blue Eyes, Perfect Day, Sweet Jane. Sitting back with a good smoke and a glass of wine, maybe a good cabernet 1987. This was the trip where everything goes as planned--like lovemaking where your clothes hit the floor, zippers magically unstuck and later when you have occasion to put your clothes back on--nary a wrinkle. 6 almost uninterrupted days of floating, Caddis every evening even with the howling wind and the highlight being this last trip with the girlfriend. She's using the "M" word again--got to think about that...

This latest float begins with a big breakfast. Bacon and eggs over easy with toast done on the skillet and black coffee. This is good. Most of the time I am floating I skip breakfast, grab a sweet roll or donut on the way out of town--that and the girlfriend is a health fanatic. Way too much wheat germ and tofu for me especially if I am going to be at the oars all day. Somehow I have talked her into the other white meat, pork without nitrates or antibiotics and the eggs come from cage free chickens. Made a special trip to Whole Foods in Santa Rosa. I must really want her to make this float with me... We loiter around the campsite while I tie a few flies. It's been such a mish mash, a pot pourri of insects on the water-- that I am not quite sure what to tie so I do a few of my old favorites, knock-offs, variations on Gary LaFontaine patterns. By the time we get to the launch it is breezy but manageable, especially compared to the howling wind we were fishing earlier in the week. Looks like a minor front is coming in but my favorite weatherman says clearing, stable with a warming trend. I'm hoping that is enough to get some real hatches going. The water seems colder than usual this year, it is a late spring and the curtain at Lake Shasta is working. In fact I've been sticking fish all along on Baetis and Stoneflies and I am seeing hatches and insects I've never seen in this part of the river. Tremendous numbers of Pteronarcys in some of the uppermost reaches of the river, Skwala lower down. The Brachycentrus, the Green Sedge and the Amniocentrus, the Weedy Water Sedge are noticeable absent so far. Copper Johns and small Pheasant Tails are sticking disproportionate numbers of fish. Something is working in our favor. Perhaps it is the break in the unsettled weather but the first place we drop anchor fish are rising. Immediately I get a couple of grabs--miss them but we pull anchor. It's an excellent slot but maybe beyond the girlfriends abilities so we head downstream. She is a good sport, a beginner but at times easily frustrated; and the next spot we stop at she is pouting and losing interest rapidly in trying to throw an indicator and shot into riffles bigger than anything she has ever fished before. Still, with some patient coaching and coaxing together we hook 4 more fish. Together...I am standing behind her, pointing out seams and trying to explain the vagaries of current and depth that make one spot better than another. Tactfully of course. The luxurious breakfast and flytying session also means that we got a very late start which means I end up passing up a number of slots and hardpan formations that I would normally fish. I pick a riffle that I think will be easy for her to fish and we drop anchor again. Too late--I've lost her. She is hiking down the bank. She is my soulmate--ignoring the "No Tresspassing" signs as she wanders off. So I have the riffle to myself. Fish are rising sporadically. Not bad...Wierd though...several good drifts later the fish are still ignoring my flies, still rising. I don't need to be hit in the head. It's a hard lesson that I've learned, seen many times before. The fish have keyed into emergers. They are virtually ignoring deaddrifted flies, looking for a little movement and grabbing the bug just as it hits the surface. Sure enough a fish grabs on the first cast with the new set up. Short strike which usually means the hook is in the fleshy part of the lip and it's gone after a few seconds. Then I stick a nice fish on my third cast. The girlfriend shows up in time to snap a few photos and she is revived now that we can fish dries. I promise her "dinner" after the next fish or 4 casts--whichever comes last--and hook 3,4 more fish in a matter of minutes. Still I have given her my word and I reel up my line and pull anchor again. One last longing look over my shoulder. Fish are still rising but she wants to sit under the big cottonwood she saw downstream for our streamside meal. My turn to pout. However I eke out a concession. She puts together a meal while I get to sneak in a few more casts and I hook 4 more fish. This is incredible. One or both of us has hooked up every place we have stopped so far. The late start continues to haunt us though. We linger over dinner, a glass or two of wine and now the sun is getting low in the sky. We jump in the boat and I am pulling hard at the oars. Pass a lot of great water. Remorse, wistfulness. I don't know when I will be able to get back. One more trick up my sleeve though. I've hit the evening rise 4 nights out of 5 and I am gambling that if I can find a good piece of water I will hit it again. I am looking for a particular type of bottom, waters' got to be a certain depth and current speed and the Hydropysches will be coming off and the fish will be rising. The Hydropysche is a net spinning Caddis. Filters or strains planktons and algaes out of the current. They do well in big tailwaters like the Sac but they also need a certain amount of current to keep their silken nets from collapsing--that and I've got some wierd theories about a comfortable "depth" for rising fish. Too deep--too much work; too shallow--too exposed and the fish get skittish. Anyways everything falls into place for about the umpteenth time and we hit the rise. Sporadic at first but soon fish are rising throughout the run. She's excited, Alex the Wonderdog is excited and I am working hard to put her on fish. In 45 minutes she has hooked probably a dozen fish and landed 3. I managed to sneak in a few casts inbetween coaching her and helping her land and unhook fish and we have double hook ups. It's wonderfully frenzied and she is having the time of her life. Time to call it a day though. The light is fading fast and I'd like to get off the water at a respectable hour or at least early enough to have greasy red meat, medium rare and formed into a circular patty on white bread at a nearby dive Monday is good too...for different reasons. We explore. Wetlands and vernal pools filled with Golddust and ringed with Amaryllis. Wildflowers that neither of us have seen before as well. A small pond whose inhabitants perform on cue. Frogs leaping off lily pads, bass lurking under the Ludwigia while turtles slide off the perches as we approach. There is an Osprey sitting above it's nest and we make out the fuzzy heads of 2 chicks peeking out. Later I tell her about the Bald Eagle I saw earlier in the week--the lazy one making the half hearted dive...