I am known for being daring around
water. As in: It’s not so deep, and, It’s not so fast. And then being swept
downstream to heave out my carcass where I catch a handhold. The first time I
went in in waders, I did not know the gasp reflex the body has with temperature
change and that the mind loses grip on reality the first 20 seconds – you think
you are going to die. Even on subsequent dunkings, the mind tells you you are
going to drown. You just have to live through it, or you do drown.
So, on my recent, annual, camping trip
to the north of Van Isle, to fly fish for pinks in rivers, estuaries and on
saltwater beaches, I was presented with a good four hundred yards of open water
as the tide had not receded enough. This water stood between me and thousands
of milling pinks on the beach, so numerous and bity, a 25-fish release day was
realistic. Most water would be thigh deep, but many channels dipped deeper.
Not knowing the path, and being the
first fly guy to cross (I wake at 5AM), didn’t have tracks to follow. I did
what should result in a safe crossing: I waded upstream several hundred yards,
searching for visible bottom. I knew there was algae that made it disappear and
had crossed on a lower tide, so, catching the second angler coming behind me in
the corner of my eye (someone I had to beat to the fish), decided to forge
ahead.
Arms over my head, I waded up to my
belly button, then on tippy toes. My waders’ zipper chose this moment to ‘open’
a little and the first drops of water splatted my shirt. I soldiered on, up to
the top of my waders and then, over my head and several gallons of ocean cold
water hit my warm, sleepy body. Many muffled expletive-deleteds, and my hat
rose above the surface, with only one choice. I had to swim to the other side.
One hand pushed the fleece vest in my hand into the water, and the other used
my fishing rod to do the same.
So I came to the other side of the water,
proving even when you might die, you don’t drop the rod. The stones were wet,
fist sized, and I held on with my rod hand (and rod – I break a few). I began
heaving myself up the rocks, all of which slid down so I almost could not get
out of the water, it was so slippery and vertical. Rocks sliding beneath my
feet, I climbed the bank ten times to climb it once.
Sloshing along, I came to the other fly
guy who was putting his vest and etc. back on. He shed them thinking he had to
save me. “Ah, er, you cross at three finger log, here,” he said. He was a foot
shorter than me, and dry. Hmm.
Lying on the beach, feet up on a log, I
let two gallons of ocean drain out of my waders. My zipper now gaped, totally
ruined. Then I looked at the fish, and worked myself onto my feet, and across
the beach to a small point, where the jumpers jumped. My Fuzzy Pink soon
tightened my line and the silver of a fish’ flank.
It was truly spectacular. In twelve
casts I received 13 bites and released 11 fish. The cast I received bites from
two fish, was the only one I landed neither. And then the cold. Jumping up and
down, thigh deep, to keep from shivering too hard to cast. After turning the
hook on fish 20, I fell over. I headed to shore, but was so cold my feet would
not do what my brain told them. I fell onto barnacled stones, ripping both
palms apart.
Tide now receded, head bent down, I
sloshed the open water, then strode on, breaking into a run up the stony bank
to warm up. Back at my tent, 10:00 AM and rising beyond 75 degrees. I ripped
everything off – to keep from freezing. Ruined waders, soaked rain coat, soaked
wallet, receipts/bills stuck to one another. Boots, waders, fleece vest, wet
shirt, soaked pants, soaked socks. All ripped off.
I spent the day drying everything and
fixing my waders. I snipped a pot scrubber in lengths, found marine caulking
and caulked the pieces up the zipper, found some duct tape and, in Red Green
fashion, found it would stick to itself when wet. So three layers of duct tape,
waders turned to the outside. Strips of white socks this time, caulking, duct
tape.
Next day? I crossed at three finger log.
My left foot sprang a leak to remind me not to be dumb again. Caught double the
fish of the day I almost died. Fabulous.
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