There is little doubt that superstitions are a part of fishing. I reflexively strive to avoid giving in to them, as they're typically aligned diametrically opposite the very order, logic and reason that make fishing, and for that matter many of my pursuits, so enjoyable. To think that having a banana on the boat could affect the outcome of a fishing trip is ridiculous enough to have me consider whether or not the boat's captain is sane. Likewise, the current in-house superstition that one will face a maelstrom of nefarious elements, mostly in the form of torrential downpours or gale-force winds, while fishing with editor Troy Letherman is equally absurd. Yet when faced with certain truths, one finds logic in the fringes of reality.
Take for instance, my most recent trip to the Naknek River. On this particular engagement, we came prepared for the big fish. Lots of anglers, piles of camera equipment, professional guides, photographers and high-end big-fish rods. We even packed along Spey rods to fourteen and a half feet. Staying at the luxurious and always entertaining Bear Trail Lodge, we enjoy great food and good times with Donnalee, Morry, Seth, Phil and Tanya, packing the luxury in between full days of fishing the big river. We sleep like babies after strenuous angling in wet and cold weather. It's all so perfect that I can't think of a single reason why we wouldn't return triumphantly, with stories of giant trout and enough accompanying photography to fill the pages of this magazine. Well, here's the short version.
After fishing the river for four days, we'd found some productive seams and learned a few new holes from both Nancy Morris-Lyon and our own tendencies towards aggressive wading. Then I drowned my camera.
It didn't seem like that big a deal, since famed photographer Dusan Smetana was along on the trip and always seemed to be just downriver, or at least within communication range of the two-ways we'd brought. Like I said, we were prepared for big fish-during our first few days on the water, anything decent was called into Nancy, who would race to the scene with Dusan on the boat.
However, the day after accidentally depth-testing my camera, Troy and Dusan escape to fish American Creek with Nancy's husband, Heath, while Wayne and I remain on the Naknek, which seems to have become an addiction.
With the other two gone early to meet their fly-out at the dock, we take our time making our way to the boat. But after about eight cups of coffee with Morry and Donnalee, I roust Wayne. I'm so wound on caffeine that I'll be riding that buzz for about 20 fish. While warming up the boat, I ponder the absence of a camera. We've left our best camera in Anchorage, wanting to avoid the inevitable King Salmon fall weather. This leaves us unarmed. My mind is wrapped around a reasonable conclusion-basically that chances were slim we'd catch anything huge, especially considering our slow start to the week, and since we'd already taken many good shots of nice (though not braggable) fish the day before, another round of average photographs seemed superfluous. It was getting late already, and why not just go enjoy the day, I thought. Somewhere on the fringes of my consciousness, however, a superstition tumbled around, demanding to be recognized - you always catch your biggest fish when there isn't a camera around.
Two hours later, I hook what now comes to give me both pleasure and pain. Immediately after I drove the fly home, the fish bolts for the middle of the river and turns broadside into the current. I'm into my backing and am simultaneously wondering if I have snagged the rascal, or if this is one big fish. If the latter, will my knots and backing hold? Already I can picture my fly line floating downriver without me, which sadly, wouldn't be the first time.
Not once does the fish go airborne, as most of the other trout we catch have. Finally, I'm able to start gaining some ground back upriver, but the fish will still not move into the slacker water, where we might have a chance to land him. On the way past me to get the net, Wayne lucks into a look at the articulated leech hanging out of the trout's mouth and estimates the fish at a couple of feet in length. I'm starting to now believe that we've got a big fish - a trout well in excess of 24 inches. Then when I sweep the fish out of the current, forcing it into a position directly below me downriver, the brute rolls onto its side and I can see the start of a very thick body. At that time, a huge tail broke the surface. I began babbling uncontrollably; we had a monster.
When the fish finally came to hand, I could see it was a solid, experienced buck with a gaping maw large enough to engulf my fist. With huge shoulders and a giant tail girth, I felt like I was holding a big silver. Taping at 33 inches by 18G inches, this rainbow is very near 15 pounds and is the largest I have ever caught.
You're just going to have to believe me about that, because there is no picture. And believe me, no one is more disappointed about that than I am.
In sum, I learned several things from this latest experience on the Naknek:
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Leave the camera home, catch big fish. The downside is the rations of sass you'll get from friends, family, and other lodge members. After returning with big fish tales, we were greeted by lodge members with rebuke, since not having a picture translated to not having caught the fish. Ironically, this identical group was in that same hole the next morning, and from the looks of it, didn't know how to fish it. When we came back a few hours later, the run had been vacated and we settled back in and caught another 25 trout. Sweet justice.
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Catching a big fish is somehow much sweeter when you have a photo to remember it by and to include in your photo gallery. Bring a backup camera and take a moment to make sure your primary camera is safe against the elements.
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It really is going to rain a lot if Troy is anywhere around.
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While big trout are hard to come, angling superstitions are not.
-Marcus Weiner
Publisher
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