“He’s right here, and he won’t take my fly!” He said annoyed, keeping his eyes on the fish. The fish rose again, “There he is!” I said. “Yep, I see him,” Feef said as he went to cast. His fly drifted right over the spot where the fish had rose. “Eat my fly, fish!” He said, frustrated as his fly drifted over and over the rising fish. “Why arn’t you eating my fly?” “What do you have on?” I asked, “A BWO emerger.” “You should switch to an adult, size 18,” I suggested, after watching the fish feeding. In silence he tied on an adult BWO, “there it is, now I’m going to get him.” He said with newly found confidence. I went back to tying on my fly when I heard, “God damn it!” I looked up to see that his back cast had snagged some weeds behind him. “NO! NO! NO!” he yelled tugging his fly rod away from the weeds, but his fly remained firmly stuck.
A fish had rose a few feet in front of the fish he was casting to, so I got into position and made a cast. The fish took my fly on the first cast without hesitation. “Boom!” I said setting the hook. "I hate you, I hate you!” my brother yelled in protest to my success.
My fish swam off, and my brother was still after his - still rising - fish. “This is it, this is going to be the one!” He cheerfully said as the fly fell in the feeding lane of his fish. I stopped and watched as his fly, once again, drifted over the fish, untouched. “WHY AREN’T YOU EATING MY FLY?!!!” I started laughing and said, “Let me see your fly.” As he walked over to me I made a quick cast to a rising fish. “Two for two!” I yelled bringing in a fish; I looked back at my brother and said, “Two for two, Brother!” “Yeah... that’s really great.” He scowled.
I released my fish and checked out my brother’s leader. “Well no wonder you aren’t caching any fish!” I yelled at him. His leader was chewed up to about 2X tippet with about three inches of 5X tipped tied off of that where his fly was tied; it was only about four or five feet long. “What were you planning on catching these fish with? Hopes and dreams?” I said as I quickly extended his leader out to ten feet with the same fly I was using. He was good to go, and we both started fishing again. Another fish rose in my section so I casted out, and it ate my fly.
The fish my brother was originally casting to was long gone by now. I was catching more fish further out in the river, so he stepped out to join me and started targeting the fish in front of him. “My timing is all off!” He yelled to me. “Then time the fish.” I advised. I am happy to report that Feef did catch a fish, however when he brought it in I asked him if he would like a picture. “No, this is a small one.” He said as the little thing darted off. The hatch was over, and the wind froze our hands before we decided to head back. We met up with Pat, who had brought in a few more fish with his streamer; some were even bull trout, he explained, as we set off back home.
The muddy roads reminded me of pumpkin pie with whipped cream as we headed out of he canyon. I enjoyed Pat telling me about his experience on the water as we drove out in the light snow. We reached a great lookout point on the road, overlooking the South Fork of the Boise. “Lets stop here and get a picture.” Pat suggested, bringing out his camera.