Scud
The Snoqualmie was a zoo this weekend. Everyone was there. I took Elaine up Saturday and she decided to carry her beach chair on her back but changed her mind about the flower press (thank god) and left it in the truck. She did manage to catch a nice trout – second time fly fishing – and then sat in the chair and read. I told her some people pay $400 for a guide to show them how to catch a fish like that. Plus tip. She bought me a hamburger and a beer later that night at the North Bend Bar and Grill and I was very appreciative. It was a particularly tasty hamburger.
Anyway as we were going up river yesterday, this couple was coming down, they were obviously local white trash – cigarettes, tattoos and a spinning rod – even though the river is catch and release and fly-fishing only… Elaine is always friendly to who ever she sees so we stop and say hello.
“Are you girls from around here?” the thirty-ish woman asks showing a missing tooth in her smile. When we say, yes, yes we are, she tells us she has just the thing, “Remember the K-Mart in Bellevue?” she asks. And I do because I used to buy flies there eleven years ago when I first started fishing the Snoqualmie. In fact I once filled a little plastic box with ten of them. However the cashier insisted that I could only pay for one since that’s how it scanned and she didn’t know how to use the multiplication button on the register. I insisted three times I owed her more, but the line was building behind me and she would only charge me what she could scan, so I paid for one. The K-Mart has been out of business for some years now. It’s just a big empty building and parking lot.
Anyway our local woman got out a little plastic box filled with spinning lures and bobbers and I’m thinking WTF… then she pulls out a little orange #16 scud – like a little shrimp. “This will kill ‘em. They’ll love it.” So I say thanks and put it in my fly box because it’s cute, but kind of garish and I really wasn’t sure about the scud thing. I felt I had a pretty good idea about what worked and what did not on this river since I tend to feel that it’s my river.
Anyway I had such a nice time yesterday with Elaine that I wanted to go up even farther today. And I thought, well, maybe, maybe I’ll make a few of the little shrimp-ie, krill-ie, scud things. My nymph book says, “many anglers incorrectly associate scuds only with lakes…” and points out that they exist in a lot of rivers as well. So I made four.
When I got to the river it was even worse that Saturday. There was a large group of men with huge spinning rods, bobbers and worms. One woman, a fly fisher, said she felt they were taking mostly suckers – icky white bottom fish, however another fellow said he’d seen them taking out even little tiny trout. The idea of killing the little guys made me very sad. I walked a long way up river to avoid them, but I even found them in some of my favorite and distant spots.
Eventually I walked further up than I ever had before and came to some amazingly beautiful and wild places – no boot prints – just animal prints in the clay by the riverside. However, I didn’t get any response to my fly. So I put on the scud as a dropper– and I got fish.
It was getting late so I started walking back. I was feeling pretty good. By then I had gotten four fish on the scud – none had hit the dry. But because I was walking fast over the rocks, I got careless and fell – my knees came crashing on the stones. I had tripped on a small stick. It’s the little things that get you sometimes. And after all the safety shit, the life vest, the wadding staff… Well, I thought I have the phone if I need it. This was of course between thinking – Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! That hurt like fucking shit!!!! – That, and wondering if I would be able to get up again. I did get up, and pretty quickly. I always feel getting right back up is the best policy.
I was still about an hour away from the bridge and my truck and I had to cross the river three times. I kept walking and I got to feeling steadier. The first crossing was through deep calm water and the cold water felt good on my knees but I was very concerned about falling again. I made it down to the next river crossing which was wide, fast and full of large rocks. I was very cautious. It also is just above one of my favorite spots. The spinning guys had left. It was hazy, cloudy and the air pressure felt funny so there wasn’t much happening – no bugs hatching, no fish rising. Still I stopped to fish. And yes, I caught two on the scud.
I kept walking down, crossed the river again. A man and his son were fly-fishing at another favorite spot. I stopped to talk. They didn’t really know what they were doing. He obviously didn’t fish much. He also had on a hat from the Internet fishing group that had banned me for suggesting that fish didn’t care about the gender of who caught them. I was questioning why they wanted a woman only fly fishing day where the men would cook. (Give me a break.) And I got banned from posting. I kept going down stream.
I saw another guy fishing ahead of me but then I noticed – fish were rising right where I was. I realized that it was a nice tail out from the deep pool above. I walked out into the water and cast. I got a fish on the scud. The other guy was watching. I got another. He started walking over. I got a third. If ever there was a good time to have an audience on the river, this was it.
“What are you using?” I told him about the scud and gave him one. He asked about my casting and mending and I showed him how to mend so the fly floated drag free. He said he’d only been fishing for a year. It occurred to me that I had fished that river for a long time. I had put in years here. Caught fish, yes, but mostly missed fish and fucked up, again and again, and eventually learned from it. The only way I learned was going out again, and again, and again.
I think my knees are bruised but they haven’t changed color yet. I think I’m going to make more scuds and keep listening to everyone on the river. I’m also never going to fish on Labor Day weekend again.
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