Wednesday, June 11, 2008

Tied to the Whippin' Post

It's been a gnarly week around the Neil Creek Estate...

The wife took off on Thursday to squeeze seals, and we promptly lost our minds and went fishing, 24/7.

No problem there, really...we are prone to such behavior when the fish show up. Usually we can be found wherever the fish are, happily tossin' and flossin', catching piles of fish and in general enjoying the hell out of life.

The problem, see, is that the last few years we have been collecting switchrods. Great tools for where we live and all, but we now know that they are gateways of evil, and can only lead to one thing: Two-handing.

After road-trips 1 and 2 last season and the time we spent at the wheel of a true 2-hander, the sickness lay in dormancy, benign and unresolved. Two-handing is fun, we reasoned, but we really don't have that many locals that need that sort of tool.

Then we went and bought a 12' 7" 7/8wt. Guided by the unseen hand of the Geek, we plopped down our cash to get the rod and a few lines. After a few practice sessions in the cold spring slush, we felt we could translate enough of our switchrod experience to the true 2-hander and, as long as we remembered to slow the hell down and pull, we would actually look like we knew what we were doing.

Fast-forward to last Friday, when we got word that a local river a little ways out of town was hosting a party for some returning king salmon. As we geared up to go, we reached for the new(er) stick, a Winston bII-mx 9' 10wt, but our hand seemed to be unable to pick up the case. Instead, we found ourselves toting a 2-hander setup to the boat, ready to see what would happen.

That was 5 days, 9 powerbars, 37 beers and exactly 0 showers ago. The first night, Junior hooked a chrome slab midswing in the first hour, the Mad Z got 2 chrome thumpers to hand, and we lost our mind. And spent the next 7 tides enduring the bugs and the beatdown. Waiting for the pull.

It never came, but we ain't giving up. Last night, we had a HUUUUUGE fish glide up behind our fly, look it over, open his mouth...then change his mind and glide back into the depths, accompanied by a high, keening wail.

Fuel on the fire.

We are gonna slow it down this week, what with the little bro and parental units coming to town for awhile. Gotta return the phone calls from the Boss, shave occasionally, and remember not to grunt when folks ask questions. In all likelihood, the gear rods will come out for Pa and Bro, and we will probably throw some dirty, dirty flies on the singlehander. We'll get some crabbing in, and probably stalk a few beaches for dollies. We anticipate a good week of normal.

Then it's back to the whippin' post.

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