Then it arrived, spoken by a wise man years ago – “Never show a man upside down wearing pants, unless you’re selling pockets with zippers.”

We’d just fished the pocket water of the Grande Ronde, the slow deep pools with just the right sized boulders underneath, but not boulders in the sense of the round – the sharp edges of volcanic basalt wearing dull, and will eventually get there, but not in my lifetime.  This is a nice return to the river for me, having floated it a few years past thorough the Wild & Scenic stretch between Minam and Troy, Oregon.  To be told that we floated, camped, rollicked on the sandy beaches playing Barts, danced, and generally lived it up a year or so ago through some of the densest rattlesnake and scorpion country afterwords was unsettling but sent a jolt of adrenaline up my spine, just the same.

Ladies and Gentlemen, the words of Robert Allen Zimmerman..

“Let me drink from the waters where the mountain streams flood
Let me smell of wildflowers flow free through my blood
Let me sleep in your meadows with the green grassy leaves
Let me walk down the highway with my brother in peace.
Let me die in my footsteps
Before I go down under the ground.”

Mortar & Pestle

I suppose we were there to catch fish of mythical proportions and legacy, but mostly it’s one of those trips were expectations were low despite our best intentions.  To be honest, these fish have traveled further than the ones where I live, and they are probably more trouty in behavior as a result of it.  A recent discussion about steelhead behavior, mostly centered around the “players” or the most aggressive fish a in a pool.  A corollary discussion about the behavior of resident trout and perhaps that the longer that sea-run fish hold in freshwater, their behaviors become more instinctual.  Warmth in a mother’s arms, the natal preference.  And honestly, I don’t fish to compete.  Never have.  Too much of that these days, and the human behavior it drives is counter productive.  Someone replied that if you don’t want to harm wild fish, that we should only fish the systems without wild fish in them.  Isn’t that convenient?  I don’t agree with the most popular and effective way to catch steelhead, because I think it’s the easy way out.  If we’re really going to be serious about sustainable fisheries, then we have to take hatchery fish out of the wild environment to even out the equation.  If the thrill of catching a concrete run fish is just the thrill, then why not build giant concrete pools with only hatchery fish in them, and just let ‘em at it.  Put them far, far away from wild systems, charge by the fish, pound, length – whatever the people say brings value from the experience to them.  I’m not elitist, but a realist.  The continued stocking of hatchery fish in wild fish environments is just bad (insert your favorite term here, like “science” or “ethics” or “human behavior”) and drives a wedge between anglers and the general public who just doesn’t understand the difference.

The quote then began to make sense to me.  The very essence of a pocket is easy access to things that are important enough to be close, but not so important that you have to lock them away.  A pocket with zippers is nothing but a bag.  Wild rivers and their inhabitants should be important enough that we don’t have to put zippers on them.  It’s our way of protecting something we don’t want to lose, when in fact it changes the very essence of what it was to begin with.  You lock up the future of a wild system when you put hatchery fish in it – in essence, a zipper seals it’s fate.

There’s a term used in flyfishing, in describing flowing water features – “pocket water” is water that when the conditions dictate, the smart angler looks there to find fish.  Most often, that’s low and slow water being the dominant features, and fish will seek out the “pockets” of water where higher concentrations of oxygen, and food, should be present.  And, the ability to poke that nose out and grab a few calories with little risk or energy spent just makes sense, to a fish.  Pretty simple.

The more I look at the picture I posted above, the more meaning I find in it.  I stepped out of the boat a few hundred yards above the water I eventually swung a fly through, walking down the cobbled bank.  I sat on a log in the middle of the riverbed, low now and needing rain, and just listened.

Giraffes in the wild.

It’s just a rock, just like the steel beams in the picture above are not giraffes.  But it symbolized something bigger and more real.  A call to nurture the river and its fish for what they are, not to turn it and the fish into something else.  It looks more like a growing egg, protected by something long enough that will eventually fade away.  I just snapped a picture of it, but my initial thought was that it would look great in my collection of other symbolic items – but then the realization is that by possessing it wouldn’t change what it was, only where it was.  So I left it be.

Pepper's final rest.

I’ve met a few of you in person over the last week or so – floating down the Yakima River just past the confluence of the Teanaway, you called my name and it struck me by surprise – guess I’m recognizable but it feels strange to hear it on the water, passing by.  Thanks for reading my blog – hoping you’ll leave a comment about your day as well, it looked like you were with family, your dog(s), and fly fishing.  A perfect way to spend the day.  Pepper liked to float the river with us, and on her last trip to the Clark Fork in MT, I first started to see that these trips would soon end.  I’m thinking of spreading her ashes on the water, and we took a plaster mold of her foot print.  We also did this with our first dog, Sage (just cause it felt funny running after her yelling “Orvis get back here!”  If I mix their ashes in the one thing that brought us all together, the river and fly fishing, my wish is that every return visit will result in a shared memory – but there I go anthropomorphizing.

Steelhead have also been on my mind, lately.  I’ve got a trip planned to the Grande Ronde with the Orvis Endorsed Guide, Mac Huff, in November.  I’ve floated the GR before, although from Minam to Troy in the warmth of July.  This is lower and later, but Mac’s been posting some great photos lately and it looks like it’ll finally happen.

Wishful thinking.

Speaking of issues – this dog must have real issues.  Assuming the owners are the kind of people that get up before they’ve even been to sleep, listen to Norweigan Death Metal on the way to the river, and in general refer to themselves as “Steelheaders” they’ve created quite a monster, here.  A dog that goes by the name of fish that doesn’t even really exist.  Or at least it’s headed that way.  Pacific Coast fish contracting Atlantic Fish diseases via Chile and who knows else where.  Become aware of the issues associated with fish farming, and you’d wish you hadn’t – at least when I’m thinking like a wild fish, that’s what I lament.

If you look around, you’ll find an interview with Robert Hunter, who after watching “The Hounds Of The Baskervilles” with Jerry Garcia, wrote the lyrics to “Dire Wolf” which, and very simply condensed, speaks of the eventuality of Death. “When I awoke, the Dire Wolf.  Six hundred pounds of sin, was grinnin at my window.  All I said was “Come On In.”

Anyways, it’s been a while since I’ve sat down and had a chance to collect my thoughts.  Fall fishing has been really good, and the river’s ready for a winter sleep.  I think of the turning colors as a big, extended yawn and pulling on the blanket, getting ready for a good nap.  Thanks for reading, and if I react strangely the next time you see me on the river, it’s not you – it’s the idea that being recognized is humbling and scary at the same time.

Fall