Yakima River Report 5.6.16

Recently, I had the opportunity to fish alongside two astounding anglers, my good friend, Don Reeves, and our guide, Scott Wilson, on the Yakima River. My familiarity with the Yakima is limited, which is unfortunate since it is a beautiful gem in the heart of the Pacific Northwest. Mostly, I go ripping along her banks at breakneck speeds in a desperate urgency to make it to Seattle to catch a plane; often catching a glimpse of her waters just long enough to give myself a mental lashing for not fishing her more.

The Yak is a storied watershed that is at the heart of the Washington fly fishing industry. She provides tough proving grounds for young anglers who are desperate to learn the ways of her well taught and finicky finned inhabitants. Those that rise to the top and become respected guides on these waters can match skills with the best anglers in the trout fishing world. Scott is one of these guides. He is a masterful wizard in the art of finding ways to convince a fish to take a fly.

From the way he rigs his indicator setups to the hidden art inside his dry fly box and the artful use of his situational steamers, Scott has more knowledge of his home water than most fisherman can achieve in a lifetime. It’s not that he is stealthy or secretive in his ways, in fact, his demeanor is completely contradictory, but he will show you things so simple and effective that your forehead will hurt from the "duh, why didn’t I think of that?" head thump.

Don is an avid angler, outdoorsman and probably, the most arguably best pursuer of game I have ever seen. He is dangerously methodical, and impressively patient. If Don had me in his crosshairs, I would just as well give up because it’s not a matter of if, it’s when. This is why I enjoy fishing with Don so much; he can become dialed in on a prey and take the toughest of conditions head on with a smile. It is remarkable to witness the effects of his skill.

We were going to need all these attributes once the local forecaster had sprung the good news that we were going to see the potential of a record high and the river was still on the rise. The words that veteran guides generally respond to with "hang on to your oars, boys, its gonna be a quick one" and the younger crew is thinking hurricane season in the Keys doesn’t sound too bad about now.

To top it off, it looked like there was a good chance of thunderstorms in the afternoon, but heck why would that slow us down. With the sun high and water gin clear, why not a little rain to turn on the fishing? Just to be on the safe side, I instinctively removed my wading coat from my boat bag to welcome an epic weather event, a choice I lived to regret later (one can forget a raincoat, or a thermos of coffee, but leaving them both behind is plain ignorance).

The day started like it was going to be off the hook good, the electricity of the crispness in the air gave the sensation of "Big Things" were about to happen, but by noon, the general consensus in the boat is it was apparent the residents had gone on strike or mass migration. We had only managed to eke out a white fish with the most unique approach to consumption I have ever seen.

I think he decided to size the #6 Pat’s Rubberlegs up on the exit before he ate it. I landed a nice cutt-bow on a streamer while Scott and Don had a confab about what was the next trick on the list to try. It was an interesting morning to say the least, every seam and feeding lane seemed completely devoid of fish.

March Brown spinner, midges and caddis were coming off in flocks encompassing the boat, yet none of the crafty impressions tied to resemble the adults or their developmental stages would yield a fish. Finally, in an act of desperation, we decided to take a break, eat some lunch and contemplate our plight. It was then Don asked if we were ready to get wet because it looked like the cell off to our west was beginning to bear down on us.

We loaded the boat and it began; both the rain and the catching. Don was honed like a Kershaw fillet knife; pulling fish from every bucket, slot, and seam. Which was good since I was trying to remember in wilderness training about what the relationship was between the exposure temperature and rain? All the while thinking about how ridiculous it was to leave a perfectly good coat in my truck and hearing my wife laugh about all the "fancy" wading gear in my closet.

There was nothing to do about it, however, so I just sat back and enjoyed the show; Scott calling out the river while Don hit the mark and boated another 16 to 18" fish. When the rain finally reduced from a thunderous pour to a calming drizzle, I ribbed Scott about making sure the best fishing is a mile from the takeout, and just as we rounded the bend Don stuck a 20" rainbow.

I guess the moral is don’t quit trying! With a little unlikely Divine intervention, due diligence, and persistence things can always turn around. The reverse Karma raincoat idea isn’t a bad angle either.

Cheers,

Luke