#765 Musings Beyond the Bunker (Wednesday October 4)
Good morning,
The guide kept saying, “little men, little men.” At first, I thought he might be about to share his opinion about extra-terrestrial visitation. These fishing guides are, after all, a breed unto themselves. There’s no telling what they’re going to launch into something off-the-wall as one moves down the river.
“Little mend; little mend; mend your line,” he repeated. Then, from the deepest recesses of my mind came the recollection that I was able to translate this and adjusted my line, so that it didn’t drag the flies through the water.
THE EXPEDITION BEGINS
Over a year ago, Jake and I determined to make a float-fishing expedition together. We both have wanted to visit the Black Canyon of the Gunnison, in southern Colorado for some time. We finally were able to find a time that worked. I had done one other multi-day fishing trip—to Alaska—under the aegis of Andrew Palmer, arguably the world’s greatest Jewish fisherman. There is something zen about days of flyfishing, cut off from the world, surrounded by natural beauty.
The drive to the Gunnison is beautiful, winding its way through funky towns like Redstone and Paonia and over the McClure Pass. We quickly realized that we were not actually going to float through the actual Black Canyon National Monument, but through the Black Canyon Gorge, which abuts and flows out of the National Monument. That said, there was no shortage of towering, breathtaking sheer rock faces along the sides of the relatively narrow canyon. The events began with dinner at the Black Canyon Anglers lodge, where we met our four fellow travelers. We then returned to the Hotchkiss Inn, in beautiful downtown Hotchkiss (not nearly as quaint as the towns cited above). Think of the motel in Schitt’s Creek, but without the charm. The next morning we headed off for a 45 minute drive on paved road followed by 30 minutes on a rocky, upaved path through the rocks (to call it a road would be pushing it) to the “put-in” spot. And so, the adventure began. A sign of the general oddity of the men who dedicate their lives to guiding people down rivers in search of fish, one of the guides “shot” a couple of Coors beers before getting started setting things up.
At the outset, let me note that Jake knows his way around camping. He has all the tools but, importantly, the skill and acumen that comes with careful study and experience. He also is willing to listen to the guides and pose questions. I am happy just to survive in the wild! While I’ll camp (largely for the camaraderie factor), I am, as John Goldsmith reminds me, someone who doesn’t want to stay anywhere that doesn’t have a lobby. Because I was willing to trust Jake with all matter of decision-making on the trip, it freed my mind to worry about other things, like how sick I might get on the food, whether I would get a wink of sleep, and the potential stings and diseases I might encounter from the various critters around us.
My “takeaways” from the trip were several:
FISHING IS ZEN BUDDHISM ON WATER
You really have no choice but to enter relaxation mode. It’s all about slowing down and getting into a rhythm. There really are not that many prerequisites or demands (particularly if flies are chosen by your guide). You have to settle into the mindset of repeating a basic skill (casting) and letting the river and scenery take you away. For Type A personalities, this takes work. Coupled with being disconnected from “the grid” for three days, can be both relaxing and a little anxiety inducing…
Often, fishing is about finding a spot on the river and wading from one place to another along the shore. This was not that. We were fishing more often than not from rubber boats heading down some 15 miles river over three days. The mix of fishing, rafting, and natural beauty were something else. I hadn’t realized this was not merely a float—but also was a river rafting trip. While we didn’t hit the Class IV rapids we’ve experienced on past trips, there nonetheless was a lot of excitement and we got our share of drenching.
CASTING IS AN ART FORM
It isn’t just throwing a line in the water. By the end of the trip, I was casting over both shoulders, tension casting, side casting, flipping the line, mending the line, stripping the line, and using many of these terms appropriately.
CATCHING A FISH IS LIKE NOTHING ELSE
There is a thrill to hooking a fish, fighting with it and getting it into the net. This is all catch and release, so the fish are tossed back in and go about their day happily eating flies until they get caught again… The fish aren’t easy to reel in, as some can spit the hook along the way, which our guide called “a sporting release.” Clearly, this is not as good as netting the fish but better than “you idiot, you didn’t set the hook properly.”
There are so many different factors are at play in trying to land a fish. The sport is, at its base, about deception. One is trying the replicate the flies that are hatching on that river at that time, find those areas where fish are hiding, “presenting” the fly so it looks natural, and patiently wait for a nibble. It’s interesting to see how many fish swim right by, or take a look and pass, or take a nibble but don’t swallow the fly. Some of these guys are discerning eaters.
LIFE ON THE RIVER
If you hire the right guide, you are in for a treat. These guys took care of us. While we had to set up our tents, they assembled a kitchen both nights on the river and cooked quite the feast for dinner and for breakfast. Lunches were a less elaborate fare, but perfectly fine. Something I definitely appreciated was their setting up a “groover” at each camp. A groover, I learned, was named after when GIs would do their business directly on rocket boxes, without toilet seats. Sit too long and a groove was pressed into your backside!
The three-man tents were positively luxurious when compared to the two-man quarters I shared with Jake when we met on his Colorado Trail journey years ago. There was a little bit of room and, while I woke up numerous times, I felt like I got some sleep. On the other hand, Jake says I snored quite a bit, keeping him up. Since Andrea rarely complains, I have to believe sleeping on the ground might have had something to do with this.
The weather report suggested rain in the middle of the first night. Though a bit later than predicted, the meteorologists were right. A thunderstorm came around 4:30 a.m. and pelted us hard with rain. The space between the claps of lightning and the thunder became closer and closer, until they felt nearly simultaneous and directly overhead. The explosive sound and the echoing in the canyon were deafening, yet a guy in a nearby tent snored through it all…
THERE IS A LOT OF LIFE ON THE RIVER
…and much of it is annoying bugs on shore at night. It’s hard to sit outside and read your book (another one by James McBride—more about this in a later Musing), with a headlamp lighting the page. The bugs LOVE the light. I might as well have advertised, “my face is over here—have at it!”
In addition to the bugs, the fish, and a bobcat spotted by one of our fellow fishermen, there were many beautiful birds. We spotted a bald eagle, osprey, and a kingfisher. There were a variety of others, no less attractive. The little guys, no less beautiful, tend to get short shrift when compared to the majestic birds of prey.
OUR COMPANIONS ON THE TRIP
There were four other guys on our trip. Two were in their 70s and quite into fly-fishing. One of them worked in construction of nuclear plants before retiring. He had us laughing the entire time. Being with him was a treat. The other two guys were 40-somethings who run a construction company in Denver. All four were good company.
These four guys seemingly had little in common, until one started talking about rivers, hatches, wildlife, and hunting. Then they all joined in and I saw that these Colorado folk definitely know their stuff about fishing, the environment, hunting, topography, river systems, and geology. Conversations at dinner covered subjects not often encountered in West L.A., including which birds are best to eat (duck and goose apparently are not so good), where the best hunting is, what hatches and when on rivers, the benefits of fishing just below a dam, and on and on. As a student of history and geography, I was impressed with our companions’ knowledge of the West, its rivers, mountain ranges, canyons, and peaks. They and our guide, Angus, also knew rocks and geology.
The best story that encapsulates the differences between us and our friends is a story one of them told about when he was away from home. His wife heard an injured deer outside their home, apparently the victim of an encounter with a vehicle. She acted quickly, no doubt as Andrea might have, grabbing her shotgun and putting the poor animal out of its misery.
ALL-IN-ALL
There was no doubt that that our four companions and the guides were real pros at this. We were the amateurs. They were quite kind, instructive, and patient with us. Jake and I more than held our own in the fish-catching department. Skill certainly plays a factor (Jake’s skill level is better than mine) and our companions had us trumped in that category. Having the benefit of a local guide choosing and tying the flies helped even-out the advantage (we would have been lost without it). In the end, a lot of the results in fishing seems to be a product of being in the right place at the right time. I think we caught more fish than some of our fellow fishermen. Like life, skill, experience and luck likely are present in equal quantities. Our luck was good.
After each day of fishing, Jake asked, “well, what’ll we do tomorrow?” I’d laugh and say, “how about going fishing?” There isn’t much else to do, even when making camp, as the campsites sit between the river and rock walls. When done fishing, you eat, sleep and are at it again in the morning. It reminds me of Pinky and the Brain. “Hey, Brain, what are we going to do tonight?” “The same as every day, Pinkie, try to take over the world” (or, in this case, take over the fish).
While the others thought the fishing good but not great, for us it was a huge success. We caught a lot of fish, lost a few battles with others and cast without success frequently. That said, we didn’t have a single half-day where we were “skunked” and were excited with each fish caught. That a man with a rod and reel, without bait, can catch a fish is pretty much a miracle as far as I’m concerned.
I have now set one night in a tent as my maximum outdoor adventure. My sleep, back, and knees will thank me. But the short-term inconveniences were more than outweighed by the experiences with the fish, the canyon, our companions, the river, the weather, and each other.
Have a great day,
Glenn