Update from the Road.

Day six.

Mother Nature, She hate us.

Fog delay, then flooding on the first river, then drought on the second...

If we wasn't superstitious, we would think that she was out to get us. But, looking back, we were jinxed right from the start.

Never, and we mean NEVER, start a trip on a friday. Any fisherman worth his salt will tell you that.

We didn't get skunked, be we smelled that bastard comin' downstream. Shaky J came through, and we got fish when everyone else on the river got fin. Props, J, for the 3 cast wonder this am.

Tired, road-weary, we are halfway between the Blue Mountains and the Emerald city...a bed awaits.

Pictures and backstory by monday, peeps.

Ok, Let's try this again.

After an agonizing night of waiting, our flight was finally cancelled. 15 minutes after it was cancelled, the fog cleared and the airport reopened...

Bastards.

The one day we try to go Outside, the weather and AK Air conspire to keep us here. This must be part of a Master Plan, hatched by Bull Trout and Steelhead in Washington, intent upon saving their finny souls from the pitchfork of fire and brimstone that is our flyrod...

Then again, it could have just been the fog.

Oh well. We're tryin' again tonight. Shouldn't be a problem (knock, knock) as the weather is fairly clear, and the cries of anguished travelers have diminished from the roar of yesterday's cancellations.

The monkeywrench of a 24-hour delay has caused a wrinkle in the "Ideal Schedule", to wit: only one day of fishing on a bull trout river in WA. The next day has now been consumed as a travel day, with a stop at some as-of-yet unidentified "trout water" on the way to the dry side.



As if we didn't pack enough crap already.

As for the Steelhead portion, it seems that the beatified gaze of Lady Luck might have fallen on our motley crew. Rain is forecast to fall in the river valley for the 3 days before our trip, and no inclement weather is expected for the duration of our stay...once again, Knock, Knock.

We get our steelhead thang on in the too-short 3-week season here...the fish are big, bright, angry, and less than 10 miles from the Ocean. The fish that we are flying to are small, dark, mellow, and about 400 miles from the ocean...but they are steelhead, and that is reason enough to go chase them.

What we want.



What we will probably get...minus the proud adipose.



We just need a fish fix. Shakin' like a junkie with an overdue score, just let our plane be on time so we can feel the sweet release once more.

Later, Baiters.

If the fog ever clears, We are gonna be so outta here...

Alaska Air has a hell of a time in the fall. Almost all of its airports are at the foot of coastal ranges, where large masses of cool air meet the great warm homogenizer of weather, the sea. The result, when you mix in a little wetlands and a river or two, is a carpet of groundfog for about 2 months out of the year.

The impact? 6 cancelled flights today, and our flight changed by about 3 hours...hopefully the rising barometer will bring a north wind, and that will push some of this fog off the runway so we can get the hell out of here.

The good news is, we wangled our way to a first-class upgrade, taking advantage of the Yakutat-Cordova cancellation.

We're gonna need the free beer to settle down. We will post from borrowed laptops, on borrowed connections, with borrowed passwords when we can, but for now, we are incommunicado for the next week and some.

Road Trip '07 begins.

Kitchen Sinkin'

Whaddya do when you go to a completely new system?

When fishin' the locals, We generally don't leave the house with more than one small box, 4 different patterns, or 4 different color beads...the less crap to tote around, the better. Plus, we have the added advantage of the whole first-name-basis with our friendly neighborhood anadromous denizens, so we already know what they dig, and what they give the fin to.

Not so on this road trip.

Well, the rivers on the WetSide are pretty similar to the small coastals that we fish...just a few thousand more cfs. Those don't have us diggin' through they flyboxes like some Orvis Queen in the middle of a hexagenia hatch, hopin' that the fish won't notice that the sulphurs he has only have 2 wraps at the thorax...

We might be overthinking this a bit. 8 Different silhouettes, 3-5 color variations, topwater, midwater, rock-crushing dredgers...Big, Small, Tweeners...purple, cerise, black, olive, grey...

F'r chrissakes, they're just steelhead. And Hatchery brats, at that. B-run retards that think irrigation ditches are a pretty happenin' place to swim. How smart can they possibly be?

But if there is a smart one in the bunch, we're gonna be ready for him. We got the bases covered, Jack.

48 hours to go.

Tools of Abuse

Got the quiver ready...Had it narrowed down to 4, but in a moment of weakness we borrowed Big B's sweet little 6126 and a 350 skagit.



3 more days of gear prep. We might burn out on geekstuff before then. So many lines to choose from...

Like It or Not...

...Winter is here. Officially, with more than 50 days left in Autumn's run, Winter is sort of intruding on another season. But Winter, with it's cold and snow, is the kind of butthead that will do things like that.

Today, the RedNeck Ride goes into storage. With 200+ inches of snow last year, and 200+ forecast for this year, We ain't shoveling out another boat. Ever.



Only 3 more tying days 'til RoadTrip '07...

"Flies" - Quaint, but Anachronistic.

Here at the Neil Creek labs, we manage to consume a massive yearly Tying R&D budget, probably close to or exceeding the GNP of most small Third World Countries if you exclude Canada.

One thing that the balance sheet hasn't been showing lately is a surfeit of natural materials past the standard Rabbit and Marabou. If we fished for itty-bitty fish, we might need more...well..whatever it is that tweedbags tie their itty-bitty-fish flies with. As it stands, we fish for large, ultrapredatory fish, and these fish are caught on stuff that would defy categorization if it ended up in some hapless entomologist's net.

Which begs the question...

When do we quit calling them "Flies"?



If this was buzzin' round our picnic, we might consider moving to a different landmass.

So what should the new generation of "things tied on the end of a leader attatched to a flyline" be called?



We vote for "Kittens".