The Toughest Catch of All

Chapter 1. Selecting the Proper Lure, er...Fly

"Hi hon!" I said as I walked in the door. I handed her the hot cocoa I bring her from Starbuck's every day after work. "What are you doing on Friday?"

"Not much -- why, what do you need me to do?"

"Nothing. I have to go to the Seattle office to take care of a few things, and thought you might want to come along for the ride. It should be a nice day, we could stop somewhere for dinner on the way home, and you could go over to 'In the Beginning' while I'm at the office."

OK, in retrospect this might not have been fair. 'In the Beginning' is Laura's favorite quilt shop. Quilting is Laura's one true passion, so this was akin to rubbing PowerBait scented fly floatant on a Stimulator. But sometimes the hard-to-catch ones require special treatment. And I'd been trying to get Laura to try fly fishing for most of the 25 years we've known each other.

"Sounds like fun," she said.

Chapter 2. The Cast

Normally on a Thursday, I'd have been fishing with Vern, but I'd begged out of the trip this week. Instead, Laura and I were watching the Seattle Mariners on T.V.

"You know, I was thinking about our trip tomorrow..." I started.

The Mariners were changing pitchers, so I figured I had her attention for about 90 seconds.

"what about it?" she asked.

"Well, the work I have to do in Seattle won't take me more than a couple of hours. We could do a short drift down the Yakima on the way home from Seattle, just a couple of miles so you can see the river. You know how you've been saying that you'd like to take a ride in the drift boat one of these days..."

People will tell you that the secret to a good marriage is complete and utter honesty. Of course that's complete and utter nonsense. The people who tell you that are usually on their fifth marriage, and still haven't figured it out. The real secret to a good marriage is knowing the effective use of a little white lie -- and knowing when to let one pass. Laura wanted to take a ride in the drift boat about as much as I wanted to take a ballroom dancing class. But she is good-hearted enough to pretend.

And I am just mischievous enough to call her bluff.

"um, sure, I guess....but just a short ride, OK?"

Chapter 3. The Presentation

"Hi Steve," I said as the green Range Rover pulled into the parking lot at Red's Campground and Flyshop. I pay Steve a few bucks a month to store my drift boat at the campground, so that it's always ready to go. We'd called ahead on the cell phone so the boat was already pulled up to the upper lot, ready to be shuttled up to the launch. Laura was sitting on the porch, decked out in her sun hat.

"I want you to meet the most important person I'll ever bring on a fishing trip," I said. Steve was his usual charming self, putting Laura at ease. Fidget the Wonder Dog, Steve's ever-present chocolate Lab, offered a tentative sniff of Laura's hand.

I'd originally expected to drift from MP 19 to Red's. That's about 5 miles of nice water, and often yields an otter sighting or two. But as we drove through the canyon from Ellensburg, I'd counted 13 drift boats between the Bighorn boat launch and Red's.

Now, a baker's dozen boats spread out over six miles of river may not sound like a crowd, but it was more than I felt like dealing with today. A change of plans was in order, so we put the boat in at Red's lower launch. I didn't feel like playing leapfrog with the other boats, and besides, the drift below Red's is a little quieter, more distant from the road in most places.

We exchanged small talk with Steve and paid the shuttle fee while Tyler launched the boat. By the time we got down to the launch, the Hyde was in the water, ready to go. I dusted off the life vest I keep in the boat -- it hadn't been used for a long time -- and gave it to Laura. "Want to make sure you're safe," I said.

That wasn't a white lie, by the way. Spend 25 years with someone and you tend to get a bit protective.

"See you at the Slab at 6:30?" I asked Steve. I knew this would take us off the water before the evening caddis had a chance to bring many fish up, but catching fish was lower on the priority list this trip.

"Sure thing, Scott." he said, and we pushed off downstream

Chapter 4. The Rise

We drifted below the big basalt cliff that rises 800 feet above the river, a short distance downstream from Red's. The canyon was as green as it gets, fresh spring foliage on every tree and bush. Cottonball clouds soaked up the sun, and made the sky look a deeper blue by contrast. When we were out of the shade, the sun warmed us. Red winged blackbirds and the rush of the current were the only sounds. Laura sat in the bow of the boat, her ever-present book along for the ride. But I noticed, when I wasn't scanning the banks for rising trout, that she was spending more time watching the scenery than reading her book. Twenty minutes into the drift, I broke the silence.

"Pretty cool place, huh?"

"Yeah, I can see why you come up here all the time" she said. And went back to her book.

Laura and I have never been a real talkative couple.

Chapter 5. Breaking Off

"Damn" I cursed, as I snapped the tippet on a nice trout that had come up to take my size 14 deer hair caddis. "I always break off the first fish of the day!"

"Did you hook a fish?" Laura asked absently, looking up from her book. "Maybe I should watch when we're anchored and read while we're drifting. Then I'd get to see the fish."

A good plan, though in truth I'd suggested she watch for rises while we drift because she's got better eyesight than I do.

And she had spotted a few, too. Not many, mind you, because the fish weren't very active. They were probably resting from the March Brown feeding frenzy they'd had a few hours before we arrived. But every so often she'd say "there's one!" and point to a nondescript tangle of bushes or a rock. Her quilting had taught her attention to detail, so she was able to tell me exactly where the fish had been, marking them in her mind like push pins along a fabric seam. Vern could take some lessons from her.

But I'd only anchored on a few, and hadn't had much luck with the few I cast to. As is usually the case during the early caddis season, all the best risers had all been tucked in tight behind dragging branches. It would have been technical casting at its best, even if the wind hadn't been blowing. But the wind was blowing, frequently shifting directions and gusting up to about 15 or 20 mph. I spent as much time tying on new flies and tippet as I did casting.

"Brrrr..." Laura shivered in the bow of the boat "....it's getting cold out here."

I offered up my down vest, which is usually stowed away for just such a situation. But this wasn't the kind of cold that could be chased away with a mere coat. This was the cold that signifies "I'm ready to go home now" and can only be remedied by a quick drive home in a warm car, and the sooner, the better.

I pushed hard on the oars and we slid in to the Slab boat launch at exactly 6:30, a little cold but good spirits intact. I could smell the stench of skunk on the boat. Somehow, Laura -- who can detect the scent of garlic from a mile away -- didn't catch a whiff.

Chapter 6. Hope Springs Eternal

Heading out of Yakima after a quick dinner at Miner's drive-in, we picked up the Mariners on the Radio. After a slow first few games, the M's were in first place in the division, and had a slight lead on the Angels. All seemed good with the world.

At the end of the inning, Laura reached over and turned down the radio.

"You know," she said, giving my thigh a little squeeze. "That was more fun than I thought it would be! We'll have to go again once the weather gets a little warmer."

I tried not to let on that I knew she'd been hooked.

"Who knows? Next time I might even let you show me how to cast."

The promise of next time. Sometimes, at the end of the day, that's all we've got to show for our efforts. But somehow, it seems like more than enough.

And who knows? -- someday I might just take that ballroom dancing class.