“I should paint this damn thing orange.” Jim said, as we waded around looking for his anchor. Mark felt really bad about losing it in the first place, and stayed in the deeper section of the water with his eyes open. After about 15 minutes, the hope of finding the anchor was gone.
“Well, let's head back to the boat.” Jim said sadly, but Mark and I stayed in the water to look a bit longer.
“There it is!” Jim yelled.
“Seriously?” I asked, but I didn’t need an answer, Jim was already up to his elbows in the water.
Everyone was all smiles as Mark waded over to help carry the anchor back to the boat.
Happiness from the current blunder filled the boat. We poked a little fun at Mark for losing the anchor, but now that it was back all was good. In the distance there was a nice portion of stagnate water I had to get my fly to.
“I can get you a little closer.” Mark said.
"Don’t worry, I can hit that.” I said, pealing off line from the 7wt., double-hauling fast, and blasting my fly to the stagnate water. The arch of the fly line turned over beautifully, presenting my fly right where I wanted it. I dropped my rod-tip and made one strip. BANG!
“Yeah!” I yelled.
“Oh, baby! Get em!” Mark yelled, as Jim found the net and handed it to me. I stripped the fish in fast and with a heave, netted the fish. I handed my camera to Mark so he could take a quick picture of me. It was clear downstream, so he could take his hands off the oars for a few seconds.
“Oh no! Damn it!” Mark yelled, “I lost the anchor.”
“No you didn’t.” Jim replied, thinking it was a joke. I looked down at Mark’s feet, and saw that there was no more anchor rope.
“He’s not kidding...” I said, dismally. As soon as I said it, a cloud of melancholy loomed in the boat. Jim sat down, and Mark felt terrible. It got quiet in the boat as we drifted downstream.
“I hate to be that guy...” I said, carefully, “But do you think you could paddle me a little closer to the bank so I can hit those pockets?” The anchor was gone for good now, no sense passing up good water, I thought.
“Yeah.” Mark said, and paddled over.
No more fish were caught the rest of the way. Jim hooked into a nice one, but it got away. In that same instance, the excess fly line he had by his feet had slipped overboard and caught onto something in the river. In a flash, line was being pulled backwards through his fly rod, which Jim tried to stop. He grabbed the line, which seared through his hand, bring Jim's big streamer to the rod tip, breaking off the fly and the rod tip simultaneously. Needless to say, the takeout point was a welcomed sight.
Together we had a fantastic dinner paired with even better company. We were staying in Lois’s house just outside of West Yellowstone; a perfect place for any dedicated angler.
“I think fishermen are great!” Lois said with a smile. “They are the only people who will travel miles and miles... ALL FOR A FISH!”
Her charm made us all smile.
“Well tomorrow we are waking up at 5 a.m., all for fish!” I said back with a smile.
“Well then we better get back so you guys can get to bed!” Lois suggested. And we did, ending an interesting day of fly fishing.