The Dumb Chinook
Alias Dumber Than Dumb
By Corky Chapman
Is it possible to hook one fish six different times, spend almost 3
hours battling him during a 7-hour fishing day? Very few fishermen
would believe it could happen. The following is a fish story that I
will enjoy telling for years to come. I have no pictures or videos,
but I do have eyewitnesses who can say “I saw it - I was there.” My
godson, Foster Weeks, who has been my fishing companion on the
majority of my fishing adventures for the past 38 years, was my
witness along with ten to fifteen fishermen over the course of seven
hours of fishing on this perfect condition day.
For your information and background purposes: In 1999, while on a
trip to the Babine River in British Columbia, I was introduced to the
“Spey Roddin” method of fly-fishing, by a couple of Spey Rod Guides
who made it look so easy and caught lots of steelhead with a variety
of simple roll casts. Since so many of my fishing friends have become
fly-fishing purists, and I wanted to continue to be invited on these
fly-fishing only trips in the future, the Spey Rod appeared to me to
be a great way to improve my fly-fishing skills. Last Christmas my
present was a Spey Rod “package” (reel, line, sinking tippets, and 6
special Spoon Flies created by Todd Sabine). And now, nine months
later, I finally have the opportunity to try out my new equipment.
This adventure began at 7:00 a.m. on a warm sunny late September
weekday on the Feather River, a mile downstream from the Oroville city
limits. I rigged up the 14' Spey Rod with a new reel, and a 20'
sinking line attached to the end of the floating line. I added an 8'
15lb. tippet and tied on one of Todd Sabine’s latest inventions, the
Spoon Fly in the silver pattern. My fishing goal this day was to
spend the whole day fishing with Todd’s silver and gold Spoon Flies
that he gave me last Christmas. So, armed with three silver and three
gold, “let the games begin.”
My uncle, Woodrow Wilson who lived in Oroville, first introduced me to
this wonderful “secret” section of the Feather River over 50 years
ago. It has about 100 yards of medium to slow running riffles (two to
six feet deep) before dropping off into a deep hole 50 to 100 yards
wide. This pool runs for at least a half a mile below before the next
set of riffles begin. Above me is another large quiet pool running
upstream about a mile. My Uncle Woody said there will always be fish
in this run between July and October - Silver Salmon, King Salmon,
Steelhead or Trout. Woody claims he caught a 55lb Striper and a 60lb
King in this area... Of course, I believe it.
There were some 40# and 50# Salmon splashing their way upstream as I
decided it was time to fish. I looked up to the sky and said thanks
to my Dad and Woody for all the great days of fishing I’ve had at this
spot, as I stumble and slide over the mossy rocks to get to my
favorite gravel bed. Foster rigged up his spinning rod with an 8'
leader and a tiny pink glass bead and moved upstream about 30 yards
above me - with a smile on his face. A cry “fish on” from the other
side of the river kept me from making my first cast. A young boy
stumbled down, or should I say was being hauled downstream by a large
salmon which came airborne right in front of me. For about ten
minutes, the fish ran up and down the river. With two more jumps the
fish broke the line and was gone. There was a sad look on the boy’s
face. He had just lost a 20lb to 25lb fish. No tears, but a few four
letter words could be heard. I thought to myself, he will get another
chance as this hole was loaded with fish on this almost too perfect
morning. Time for my first cast. All conditions were go. I stripped
out about 40' of line and with an easy roll cast laid the line and fly
in the perfect spot. My sinking tip line took me down on the bottom.
A small mend was allowing my fly to swing around in front of those
large moving dark shadows below me. The 14' rod sure made it easy to
follow the line. I felt a small tug. Could I be lucky enough to get
a hit on the first cast? I set the hook, felt some resistance, but
no fish this time. I moved downstream about a foot and repeated the
same cast only this time I had another 5' of line out. As the line
came around, I felt a heavy pull downward and a shake. This had to be
a fish. I set the hook and the line started moving upstream. O boy,
a fish on my second cast. I wanted to call Todd immediately to tell
him that his SILVER SPOON FLY REALLY WORKS! This was a big fish. My
tip was up, and my drag seamed right as the fish stripped line heading
up through the riffles. The fish turned and headed down in the middle
of the fast current. It was then I noticed a silver flash on the
dorsal fin area. Oh no, a fowl hookup! It was a very large fish and
I could not turn him. He was in control. It was then I decided to
ask Foster to help me get this one in. I sure did not want to lose
the fly on the first fish. After about fifteen minutes of battling
him, I got him to roll over on his side as I slowly moved him into the
shallow water behind me. Of course we forgot something. We had no
net. “OK Foster, do your thing.” As Foster tried to come up behind
him and grab his tail I slipped and the fish took off to the middle of
the river and snapped off the fly. As it rolled and jumped I could
see my Silver Spoon fly was dangling from his dorsal fin. It will be
no surprise to you that a couple of four letter words came into my
thoughts. I only had six flies to last the whole day, now I only have
five!!! We are only one half hour into this fishing trip.
I
waded back out to my gravel bed, secured my spot, and tied on another
silver pattern. I cast out, and hooked another fish, much smaller
than the first fish. I got her in (it was easy to unhook the barbless
hook) and released her to go up the river to spawn and have her
babies. During the next hour I hooked up six more fish and landed
three. All these fish were getting dark from their long journey and
were in the 15lb to 20lb range. What a great day this is turning out
to be.
Across the river, there were six fishermen all with spinning rods,
fishing beads and lures. They were having lots of success hooking
fish, but only landing about one out of four. Half the fish that got
away were the result of their fishing buddies not knowing how to
properly net a fish. Foster and I had lots of laughs over this -
where were our video cameras? I could have shot some footage of this
and probably would have won the America’s Funniest Video T. V. show.
The sun was now on the water and you could see lots more of those dark
shadows moving up and down the river. There must have been at least
one hundred fish working the hundred yards of riffles below me. I put
on my polarized glasses, and the dark shadows turned into fish. I
decided to try the Gold Spoon Fly. I tied one on and slowly moved
back out to my spot. Just before my first cast with the gold pattern
I noticed a silver flash about twenty yards straight out in front of
me. He’s back!!! I wonder if the gold fly will get his attention. I
moved upstream a few yards so I could get the fly down on my drift and
swing it around in front of him. My heart was beating faster than
normal as I roll cast up stream, let it drift down in front of him,
and WHAM!!! He ate it up. I set the hook, and cried out “fish on.”
Then I yelled to Foster that I had hooked the same fish that has my
silver fly on his dorsal fin. “No way,” Foster mumbles. But this
time I’ve got him in the mouth, a legal hook up. The battle is on
again. This is a forty plus inch fish putting him in the 30lb plus
range. He has a tough “I don’t want to be caught” attitude. He’s a
“real test” for my new Spey Rod and gear. By this time, I was
starting to draw a lot of interest from the other fishermen in the
area. “Who is that old man with that extra long rod, and what the
hell is he using???” We continued our tug-of-war for about twenty
minutes and he headed upstream, and got into the fast water. He
jumped and broke off the fly... Now I was pissed! This same fish now
has one silver fly in his dorsal fin and a gold one in the nose. He
was easy to spot now, running around with silver and gold flashing
like a neon sign in Las Vegas. I continued to catch fish, catching
two fish on consecutive casts twice within the next half hour.
It was getting warm, in the 90`s, and an early lunch sounded good to
me. Town was only a five minute drive so I left Foster fishing and
headed for the golden arches for some Big Macs and fries. I honestly
needed a rest. My shoulders and back were getting stiff and sore. By
noon, I had hooked up ten fish. That’s a lot of torture for my old
body. I wanted to call Todd and tell him what an outstanding half a
day of fishing I had just experienced, but he was in Canada Steelhead
fishing, and unreachable by phone. I can’t believe he’s catching any
more fish in Canada than I’ve caught today on the Feather River.
During this lunch break, I decided to nickname this fish “Dumber Than
Dumb,” because he continually hit and tried to mangle Todd’s spoon
flies. This day will be remembered for a long time. That’s why I am
writing it down... So I won’t forget!
Lunch time is over, I’ve rested and now it’s time to get back to
fishing. Foster had already moved upstream and had hooked a very
active fish. I slowly waded out to my favorite spot, when someone
from the other side hollered “I just saw your fish up here by me a few
minutes ago, he’s looking for you.” A half a dozen laughs could be
heard from across the river. Wow. I’ve even got fish spotters trying
to help me out! On my fourth or fifth cast I had a strike, I set the
hook, my line headed upstream and a bright missile came out of the
water. This fish did a 4' leap in front of us, and ten minutes later
I landed and released a beautiful 6lb to 7lb hen steelhead. What a
great day this has turned out to be. I thought to myself, Todd has
really created something special; his new flies are hot!
My next thought was one testing my personal conscience. Should I
share my new found secret flies with my friends, or should I just win
all the future fishing bets (i.e., the first, the most, and the
biggest fishing pools) in the years to come? I then remembered what
my parents worked so hard to teach me - that it’s better to share your
good fortune with others. So here is another reason to write this
story. I do know that if I had a hundred of Todd’s flies with me on
this particular day, I could sell out in ten minutes at $10.00 each.
Having hooked up ten fish in the first four hours and landing six, I
was established as the hottest - numero uno - big kahuna - the man of
the day on the Feather River. I do know that my arms and shoulder
ached from more than two and half hours of battling fish. One of
those fish still had two of my flies getting a free ride around the
hundred yards of riffles in front of me. My goal now was to get back
to my “hot spot” and catch him again. Slim chance, I thought to
myself. Then I remembered my Dad always said “Son, your not going to
catch any fish if your line is not in the water.” I slowly waded out
to my spot on the gravel bar and found the flat rock I always try to
stand on. I decided to try the gold pattern again, since that’s what
the Steelhead had taken earlier. Although it seemed like color didn’t
matter, both the silver and the gold patterns were red hot.
I
spotted three fish working within fifteen yards of where I was
standing. Then a flash of silver and gold caught my eye. Could it
really be the fish with my two flies? He was back in the spot where I
had hooked him twice earlier in the day, and only about twenty-five
yards from me at about the one o’clock position.
My first cast was about five yards too long and drifted past him. I
let it float downstream hoping no other fish would hit it and scare
off “Old Dumber than dumb.” My mission was to catch him and get my
two flies back. I reeled in a little line and laid out a perfect roll
cast about ten yards upstream. My drift was right on target. The
line stopped, my tip dipped, and I felt a slight tug. I was so
excited that I set the hook, but nothing happened. I must have a
snag. Then my line started moving upstream. It was a fish - but
could it really be? Yes - it’s him! I see the silver and gold flash
as he becomes airborne as he heads upstream. He decided to turn
downstream before I was ready for him. I had at least ten feet of
line wrapped around my foot. It was a legal hookup in the nose. He
had actually grabbed my third fly. He is living up to the nickname I
gave him at lunch. Now I was doing battle with the same fish for the
third time today. I wasn’t doing very well on slowing him down as he
was dragging me into the faster water about forty yards below our hook
up spot. I backed up toward the bank and shallower water and let my
rod do most of the work. After about fifteen minutes of tug-of-war, I
called out to Foster to come down and give me a hand. I also told him
I had the same fish for the third time. About this time the fishermen
across the river were telling me to haul him downstream so they can
start fishing again. The river etiquette and rules were now being
tested. As all good fishermen know, the proper thing to do when a
fellow fisherman hooks up a fish - you pull your line in and let him
do battle.
Foster set his pole aside and came down to give me a hand. Remember,
we’ve already had this fish in our hands twice and he got away before
we could get my two flies out of him. Foster took position about
twenty yards downstream, and I proceeded to work the fish into the
shallow area between us. He rolled on his side as Foster slowly came
in behind him and grabbed the fish by the tail. Could it be that we
have him cornered this time? As I look down at him I realize he’s got
half my tackle box attached to his body. One silver fly in the dorsal
fin and two of my gold ones in his mouth. I reach for my forceps and
attempt to retrieve my silver fly first. The fish begins to thrash
around, he slips out of Fosters hands and takes off toward the middle
of the river again. I did not have control of my rod and line. There
was no way of slowing him down as the line was wrapped around the
reel. The bend in my rod snapped back and the fish was gone for the
third time. The only salvation this time is that the fly is still on
the end of my line - not added to the jewelry already on the fish.
Upon close examination of the fly, the hook was almost straightened
out. At that moment Foster, and I learned the value of the mesh glove
that guides use. You can bet that our next fishing trip we will each
have one on our fishing vests. Foster returned to his fishing hole
while I looked for a comfortable rock to rest on.
I
was now becoming the joke of the river today. “Hey Mister - how could
you lose the same fish three times?” - “I see your fish over here, if
I catch him do I get to keep your flies?” I couldn’t help but laugh
along with the other fishermen now in my secret hole. There were 10
fishermen on the other side of the river and three more with Foster
and me on our side of the river.
A
few cars had parked on the bluff across the river overlooking our not
so secret fishing hole, so we now had another dozen spectators eager
to watch and laugh at the circus atmosphere we were creating with
fifteen fishermen casting in all directions. It was a sight to
behold. You probably are asking the question “why would anyone even
want to be part of this crowded event?” A loud deep voice from across
the river “hey old timer your fish is still waiting for you,” raised
my competitive spirits. I was now being challenged. I had to preform
and go after “Dumber than Dumb” one more time. After all, he still
had two of my flies getting a free ride, and I wanted them back!
My spot was still open and waiting for me, so I slowly waded out to
the gravel bed and positioned myself on the flat rock that marks my
hot spot. As I was stripping out a little line and getting ready to
cast, a drift boat decided to shoot the riffle so I held up until it
passed through. Now I’m ready to try again. After three or four
drifts without a touch, I decided to add a little split shot to get me
to the bottom. Sometimes you have to put your fly right in front of
their nose to get a strike. The next cast got me a hook up with a
very dark old beat up fish with lots of battle scars. He broke off
after a fifteen minute tug-of-war. I was very happy to not have to
handle that fish. As I was getting ready to cast again, I saw the
flash about twenty yards upstream. Could it be him again? It had
been a good hour since I last hooked him. Maybe I’ll get a fourth
chance to get my flies back. If you were a gambler no one would take
these odds. But guess what, I laid out a roll cast about fifteen
yards above him and watched my line stop, twitch a little, move a
little more, so I set the hook. “Fish on” I called out as my line
moved upstream about twenty yards. The fish settled on the bottom and
decided to wait me out. So we played tug of war for about five
minutes to no avail. I was holding up the other fishermen from
fishing since all had pulled out their lines on our side of the
river. I tried to put a lot of extra pressure on the fish. I really
felt I had the advantage with the 14' Spey Rod. All of a sudden, I
woke the fish up and it started downstream. My only hope was to keep
the fish on my side of the fast water this time. The fish took off
about forty yards of line and broke water, rolled, then I saw lots of
flash, and I realized this was a foul hook up - once again in the
dorsal fin. What’s the chance of that happening? Slim to none! I
called out to Foster to get ready to help me out when I need it. Of
course, Foss didn’t believe me when I said I’ve got the same fish for
the forth time today, but he’s foul hooked so I’m going to take him
down stream and wait him out. A lot of cat calls came from across the
river and they were taking bets against my catching old “Dumber than
Dumb” once again. They had watched him out smart me on three other
occasions during the course of the day. The two fishermen to my left
pulled out and let me pass by them and politely wished me good luck.
They had arrived in time to witness two of my four hook ups with this
unusual fish that has haunted me all day long. This time I was going
to win the battle and get my three flies back. There was one silver
one, still hanging from the dorsal fin, and one gold one, still
attached to the side of his mouth, and now the new foul up. After ten
minutes of tug-of-war, I got him to roll over on his side and Foster
slowly approached from behind him when I noticed that my third fly was
actually hooked into the end of the silver fly in his dorsal fin and
not into his fin itself. Foster grabbed him by the tail and tried to
hold him still while I attempted to get the hook out of the fly. To
my surprise, it was actually hooked thru the eye of the other fly.
With forceps in hand, the fish thrashing around, I slipped and dropped
my rod. Foster, while laughing at me, let the fish slip out of his
hand. The fish didn’t need any survival help this time and made a big
wake as he headed back to the safety of midstream. I grabbed my rod
and realized that all the slack line on the tip of my rod meant that
the fly came loose when I slipped and released the pressure on the
fish. My only victory this time was that I still had my fly. But the
fish still had two of my flies taking a free ride around the river.
I
was beat, confused, and starting to believe I’ve been cursed by the
fishing gods. The scoreboard now read: Fish Four Points - Corky
Zero. It was hard for Foss and me to believe that I had hooked the
same fish four times in one day, physically had him in our hands three
times and still failed to get my flies back. This was definitely a
story too terrible to talk about. Thank God, Foster is a trustworthy,
honest, and moral young man, as he is my witness to this strange day
on the Feather River.
I
decided to head to the bank and rest for a few minutes. Foster waded
back upstream to his favorite hole and began fishing again. He had
spent at least an hour and a half trying to help me land and conquer
ole “Dumber than Dumb” to no avail. It wasn’t long before Foster
hooked up again into a nice King salmon in the 15lb to 20lb range.
This fish hauled him down the river. After a ten minute battle, Foss
landed and released him and headed back upstream to his own personal
“honey hole.” I was content to sit on a rock and watch all the action
unfold before me. There were at least ten fishermen in the area so
there was at least one fish hooked up at all times and sometimes there
were doubles. There were lots of laughs, and plenty of action for me
to watch.
Another half hour passed before I decided to go back to my spot which
was, surprisingly, still open and awaiting my return. I changed my
fly back to a gold pattern. I continued my new found twenty to thirty
yard roll casts, letting them sink, mending the line, wiggling the
tip, and waiting for a strike. There were still lots of those dark
moving log-like objects moving fifteen to twenty yards below me. I
mentally prepared myself for some more action and after six or seven
drifts I hook into a small active fish that heads downstream. After
about ten minutes of battle, I land and release a young fresh buck
King around 15lbs. I still have a mission to get my flies back, so I
work my way back upstream to my favorite spot. There were about a
half a dozen salmon working their way up steam on both sides of me as
I stood still and watched mother nature at work. A second group
followed behind and one of the largest, around a 40lb fish decided to
use my leg as a leaning post to rest on the way up the river. He was
holding up my fishing so I moved my foot causing him to move upstream
a few yards.
It was time to get back to fishing so I spent the next few minutes
trying to spot the silver and gold flashes that would let me know he’s
still in the area. After about ten casts with no action, I moved
upstream about twenty yards to try to change my luck. As any serious
fisherman knows, fish can shut down, turn off, or become active
feeders without any notice whatsoever. The older I get the more I
realize that its “fishing” that I really enjoy and not just
“catching.” I’ve had some great fishing experiences and never caught
a fish. “Down by the River, sitting on a rock, Mother Nature and Me,”
has special meaning to me. Sometimes I think this is as close to God
as I will get here on earth. My heart and mind relax in this
beautiful river while I wait for the tug on the end of my line. The
phrase “the worst day of fishing is better than the best day of work”
gives me an excuse for going fishing on this Thursday afternoon. It’s
a good reason to play hooky! Today, I get an A in “Day Dreaming 101".
The wonderful silence of the moment is broken with a cry from across
the river. “Hey old timer, I see your fish over in front of me.” Can
this mean that I’ll get a fifth chance today to get my flies back? I
slowly wade out to mid stream and begin the same roll cast with a gold
pattern that has worked so well this afternoon. It drifts. I mend
the line, lower the tip, and get ready for the strike. No takers this
time. I repeat these steps again and again, with no results. Maybe
old “Dumber than Dumb” has wised up. I decide to try it one more
time. As I bring the perfect drift around and start to short strip
the line upstream, I get a big strong tug. I set the hook. It’s a
fish all right, ripping the line upstream for about thirty yards
before turning back down in the heavy current. I call out “fish on”
and head downstream to get out of the way of my fellow fishermen. It
feels like a heavy fish, so I decide to take my time and not horse him
in. Patience is what’s called for this time. I haven’t even seen the
fish yet as we play tug-of-war one more time. All of a sudden, he
gets active and heads for the fast current and rolls in front of me.
I can’t believe my eyes, it’s “Dumber than Dumb” with my flies now
flashing as he comes airborne. “He’s got him again” rings out from
three or four fishermen around me. I call to Foster once again that
I’ve got him again and I ask him to get ready to help me once more.
He’s legally hooked in the nose so I might have a chance this time to
wait him out. He decides to make one more run, gets into the heavy
current and breaks me off. The only good news is that I got my fly
back. I now have to listen to most all the other fishermen tell me
how sorry they are that I lost the same fish for the fifth time today.
The score board now reads: “Dumber than Dumb” 5 - Corky 0. That’s a
complete shut out in any sport I’ve been involved in. I had to shake
my head and tip my hat to this fish for he had really proved to me his
superior desire to be free. So far, I was unable to convince him that
all I really wanted was to get my flies back and that I would let him
go free. How could I ever explain to my friends and family that I
hooked the same fish five times in one day and not manage to land him
long enough to get my flies back?
I’m tired, my shoulders ache, my ego is bruised, and my reputation of
being a better than average fishermen is now in question. I decide to
take a little break and meditate on this dilemma. I go sit on a big
rock shaped like a chair and relax and watch the other fishermen have
some fun. About fifteen minutes pass when I hear someone across the
river yell that he sees my fish. After having him on my line five
different times during the day, and battling him better than two hours
over the course of the five hookups, I was declared the owner of
“Dumber than Dumb” - My fish. “Hey mister I see your fish again.”
I’m not sure the locals aren’t poking a little fun at me... I sure
wouldn’t blame them. One more “there he is - I see him,” is all I
need to get me up and heading back to my spot. One fisherman even
moved upstream a bit as I waded back to the flat rock that marks my
hot spot. It was now getting close to three o’clock in the afternoon,
so the sun was at the right angle for me to see the large number of
fish working at the edge of the riffle below me. The clear water and
the sight of lots of fish got me excited. I decided to try again to
catch the elusive “Dumber than Dumb,” for the sixth time, to get my
flies back so that I can go back to the motel and take a nap.
I
put on a Silver pattern and put my simple roll casts to work again.
It was a little slow, as only one fisherman on the other side was
taking his hooked fish down the river. I had made about ten drifts
without success, not even a hit. One fisherman on the other side of
the river was fishing with a silver spinner. I could see it easily as
it moved upstream about ten yards in front of me. I saw a few fish
follow it and then back off and go back down into the pool below us.
I wasn’t paying any attention to my own line and had a strike and
missed it. I was watching everyone else trying to hook up. I decided
it was time to get serious and attend to my own rod and line. The
spinner fisherman had cast just before me, so I waited for him to reel
in before trying again. As I watched it go by in front of me, I could
see three or four large fish following his lure. My heart started
pounding when I noticed that the fourth and last fish chasing his
spinner had a lot of gold and silver glitter on him. I couldn’t
believe my eyes. It was him again! He stopped and turned back and
swam slowly by me. I could almost feel his eyes looking at me and
challenging me to try again. It’s a very eerie feeling to think you
can communicate with a fish, but at this moment I was. I waited a
couple of minutes, and made the perfect roll cast - the same cast that
had served me so well all day long. I let it sink, mended the line,
and watched it drop into the same hole where I had hooked him the
other five times. I let it sit for awhile before starting to strip
the line in six inch pulls. On about the tenth one, I felt a very
strong tug and shake and I set the hook. This was a heavy fish and
was headed upstream full speed ahead. Foster heard me yell “fish on”
as the fish broke water and rolled practically in front of him, and
yes, it was “Dumber than Dumb” with my flies still hanging from him.
“The old man has got him again” could be heard up and down the river.
I was getting all kinds of advice from my fellow fishermen. Many of
them had watched me battle and loose him on five other occasions
today. Foster said “lets take him downstream and wait him out.” That
sounded like great advice to me.
Foster headed downstream to get in position to help me. You have to
remember this was the fifth trip down the river with this same fish
today. We knew most of his tricks and of course he also knew ours.
We were offered a net from across the river and I said no thanks. I
consider fishing a sport and with the scoreboard showing the fish with
5 and Corky with 0, I did not want this to be shut out. I let my 14'
Spey Rod do most of the work as he rolled a couple of times and
sounded to the bottom of a quiet deep pool. Now it was a waiting
game. After ten minutes of waiting with very little movement,
I
decide to try to get him to move and give me a chance to get him to
shore. I knew he was hooked in the nose so I should be able to
control his runs to the fast water if that became an issue. I started
to put a lot more pressure using the power of my rod. I had never
used a rod this large before, but now I knew why the Spey Rod was
invented. It gave me the leverage I needed to get “Dumber than Dumb”
mad enough to continue our battle.
After a couple of short runs, and a half-hearted roll and jump, he
rolled on his side as if to say “ I give up.” But lets not forget,
Foster and I have had him in hands, arms, and grasp on three other
occasions only to have him get away. So I really didn’t trust him to
just give up. Foster moved in behind him, grabbed his tail and slid
him into the shallow water. I moved in and sort of pinned him in with
my knees which brought a laugh from Foss. He wanted to know If I
learned that move watching late night wrestling on TV. The miracle of
the day was that all my flies were still hooked to him, two from the
earlier hook ups and now the new one. With forceps in my hand I
removed my Silver fly from the dorsal fin and the other two from his
mouth. This was all done with great care and affection for this
fish. What a day this has been. We slowly moved him out to the
deeper water to revive him before saying good-bye. It almost seemed
like he didn’t want to leave us.
Once he realized he was free he looked me in the eye as if to say
good-bye and thanks for being a fisherman who believed in catch and
release. It brought a tear to my eye for this was about as close as
I’ll ever come to having a fish as a friend. He had given me six
hookups, in almost three hours of battling him. He won the first five
Hook ups, so maybe the nickname “Dumber than Dumb” isn’t appropriate
given the effort he exerted over the past seven hours. I said
good-bye and waded back to the rocky shore to find a rock to sit on
to relax and day dream about this most unusual day of fishing at my
not so secret fishing hole on the Feather River.
Now that so many fishermen had watched me and my fish battle all day
I’m sure the fish stories about the old man with the long funny rod
using some unusual silver and gold flies, hooking 16 different fish
with one of those was hooked six times. This will probably become a
Feather River legend.
I
felt I had to write this story to really explain how it was possible
to accomplish this feat and still assure my friends that this is a
true fishing tale. (Sometimes fishermen are accused of
exaggerating and embellishing the size and number of fish caught.)
Although a great deal of Foster’s time was spent helping me try to
land my fish, he also had a very successful fishing day. That day he
hooked into ten Salmon, landing five on his special bead rig.
THE END
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