At any rate, here are some quick numbers on v3 for the factoid crowd...don't laugh, you know who you are.
1830 air miles.
1722 road miles.
13 days.
3 states.
4 flows.
9337 calories consumed, resulting in
14 lbs lost.
41 ft. of running line lost.
226 ft. of tippet material used.
82 flies lost,
58 of those on fish.
142 mule deer encountered on road,
3 nearly "rentalized".
13277433 mice,
4 of which WERE rentalized.
2 pairs of blown-out waders.
61 fish raised to dry flies, of which
9 were landed.
89 bighorn fishing partners.
92465 cockleburrs stuck to our fleece.
3 days that it blew 30+mph.
1 broken rod.
4 "near-wet" experiences.
1 swimming trip.
145 hours of zen-like calm, coupled with
116 hours of blissful idiotic grinning.
The numbers we can only estimate?
2, maybe 3 cubic yards of fish landed.
Many, many grabs...on top, on tips, on drylines...
Many, many dance partners.
Tons of smiling.
Miles of casts.
Acres and acres of water covered.
Images from the field-
One of the big rivers.
Looking down the end of the canyon.
One river had piles of these guys.
Fuzzy dance partners.
Last light in the canyon.
Flies of Distinction-
This started life as a hackled leech, but the fish wouldn't leave it well enough alone...funny thing, though - the more chewed-up it got, the better it worked.
The Dark Prince, a sz12 morsel to be flung out and trusted.
The Swingin' Prince. You will now be shot, for you have seen too much.
Semi-traditional, and chewed on.
Yes, that is a foam skater, and yes, those ARE teeth-marks.
As for pics of the anadromously inclined dance partners, well...we didn't take but 3 or 4, and only of one buff lady we had a thing with for a few minutes. She was nice enough to stick around for a bit and discreet enough to stay out of the way, so we reeled up and watched her for awhile, just to make sure she was gonna get home alright.
In the end, she went her way and we went ours, and we like to think that we were both somehow better for the experience.
Many dance partners, many casts, many steps, many rocks, many rivers, many runs - as with all trips, the moment you leave the flow, it starts to run together in your mind. Features blur and spaces condense until there is nothing left but the dancers, 2 partners in recombinant iterations to represent the time passed. Many forms of quantification pale and become invalid in this light but there is one that remains-
347 days, 17 hours, and 34 minutes until we get to do it again.
3 comments:
Great report! Love those photos... the used flies images is a brilliant idea!
Man, I envy you. Trips like you write about are still pipe dreams for me. Love reading about 'em though. I linked to your site on mine (pacificnorthwestflyfishing.com). I'd be honored if you wanted to reciprocate. Brian
we play "field goal" splitting those those mule deer on the road...keeps one awake, huh? oh, and we barely slowed down in time to slap a bull elk on the ass outside of LaGrande, which was a first. sweet report, man.
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