Battle Lines Have Been Drawn

The winter steelhead run was less than great this year, but the Springer run looks to be awesome. The problem is, as most of you know, it’s real Hard to get your fly in position, and stay there long enough to aggravate them. I have been busting my butt trying to figure out how to do this. Well I think I have it part of the way figured out. I took my 8wt spey rod, lined it with a skagit and a t12 tip casted the whole glob ,  up stream and mend my way through. This is kinda like hi-stick nymhping only treating your tip as a leader. I made three passes this way then I felt a little strike, I made a half hearted jerk, thinking I might clear the smolt off the fly, only to feel the full weight of a submersed freight train! It has been several years since I have been Chinook fishing, as I usually turn to trout this time of year to avoid the crowds. The fish took to the air dragging the skagit head and heavy tip out of the water like it was dental floss! It made a run towards the frog water up stream of me, giving me the false sense that I might actually land this brute. Then he swapped ends again, took to the Air, gave me the middle fin, and dashed down river combining all of his muscle and the mighty Rogue in its fight against me. The clicks of my reel became screams which drew the attention of the whole river bar, people were pointing, and laughing at the noise, until the mighty brute decided to make himself present in their lives also. Not, 20' off the bar the salmon took to the air only to return to the water with a crash that would put any cannonball to shame. People screamed, mothers gathered their children, and a Pit bull whimpered, stuck its tail between its legs, and ran under the nearest pickup.  People became silent; some even started to pray as they realized that I, standing in the middle of the river, was connected to that Monster. Coil, after coil departed from the reel taking with it any feeling of control that I might have ever had until I started to see the bare arbor and the tiny knot that would have to take the brunt of this frontal attack. I knew there was no way the small dacron knot could hold up, so I bowed the tip of the rod, in surrender, and held fast on the spool. The brute didn't even give me the satisfaction of seeing him when he turned my heavy forged hook into a strait pin. The line when limp, I breathed a sigh of disgust mixed with relief, ok mostly relief as I knew I had no control over this fish. People left the river bank as if they had just watched a movie with a bad ending.  Others, laughed, whispered something among themselves, and pointed in my direction. My dog, ya that’s right my dog, left my side and found a tree to hide under. I had been schooled by the River King—telling me to head to my usual sissy haunts on some small brook trout stream and leave his subjects alone.  Laughing rose from the emerald depths provoking me to shake my fist in a vow to return and declare battle once more. Mighty Rogue King, you may have won this battle but, I WILL WIN THE WAR!