Thanks for all your kind words.
Day 2 of The Journal.
The night slipped by very quickly it seemed, was it the one beverage or all the exercise of the previous day?
As I stretch my legs, I hear Pete stirring from the top of his truck, that is where he slept, in a sleeping bag on top of his truck's canopy.
He said it was so he could get a good view of the stars as he fell asleep. Come to think of it, it was a far better place than my bed, in the reclining front seat of the Leaf Mobile.
It is shortly before 5 am and the new day is just starting to dawn, the sweet smell of the sage brush and the fresh desert like air clears the cobwebs from one's head in a hurry.
As Pete gets ready I tell him I will meet him at my favorite spot, where I ended the previous day.
I turn the Leaf Mobile around heading up the dusty road which at one time was the old Trans Canada, the time is 5:01. I reach the current TCH and quickly accelerate the LM up to the speed limit as I want to be the first to get to the fishing pool as it can only be comfortability fished by 2 anglers.
As I reach the parking area the fellow I know that was here yesterday is also just arriving. He tells me he got no more fish after I saw him yesterday. Pete then pulls in shortly after and I say "lets all go down and we can take turns fishing" He declines and decides to head to another spot he wants to fish. I feel bad as I was looking forward to fishing with him but decide to stay to my original plan.
As Pete disappears from sight heading North East I lower my equipment with a rope over the retaining wall, down 20 feet to the run below. Darrin and I wait a bit for a little more light before we head over the ledge and into the fishing spot.
The pool looks so inviting in the breaking light, a lovely hue of green, the odd sockeye is also greeting the new day, flipping just above the surface as they rest in the fairly calm waters before they once again surge their bodies into the torrid waters to continue their perilous journey to their natal streams.
Darrin and I pick our spots to fish and it is a while before the first jack takes a liking to our offering, Darrin's roe, as he lands a nice bright spring jack in the 15 inch range.
I am trying to adjust to the swirls and undertow of the pool as it can take a bit of a challenge at times to determine if it is a bite or not.
We are maybe 30 minutes into our fishing time when a First Nation fishers comes over the ledge with is dip net in tow, heading to a rock out cropping just below us. I watch him as ties a safety rope to a rock and loops the other end over his shoulders, one cannot be too careful here, one false step and certain death would be your fate in the Thompson's unforgiving rapids below.
I go back to concentrating on fishing and the action starts to heat up as I am into 3 in a row but loose them all. I check the number one gammy, its still is as sharp as is was when it came out of the package, no excuse there.
Meanwhile the FN fisher is dipping out some sockeye including getting two at once.
Finally while looking away I feel the tug of a fish, I set the hook and a salmon is trying to gain its freedom, even trying to exit the pool into the rapids below. It almost felt like a spring for a moment but as I draw it near to my feet I see it is a spring jack of about 14 inches, a lot of fight for its size.
I wrap it in some wet newspaper, the ice now broken. Every so often some more fish pull in, we miss and lose some before I land fish number two, a jack a little bigger than fish number 1, it joins the latter in the wet newspaper. Sockeye continue to splash around in the pool, there is so many but not one bites why is that I think to myself.
Hunger pains now take over and I head for some breakfast stored in the cooler back at the truck, leaving the pool to Darrin.
After a 30 minute break I am back at the pool, Darrin has had no action. Shorty after, Dale a fellow fisher arrives on the scene and heads to the run I started at yesterday and in no time he is into fish. Darrin has decided to leave so I have the pool to myself for a short time until two other fellows come to join me. The bright sun is now radiating down on the pool.The Native fisher has now left his lofty perch and makes two trips with his packsack containing maybe 10 or 15 sockeye at the most.
The newcomers do a little fishing, talking and sunbathing while I land jack number 3. Dale in under a hour has his limit and is packing up. Just as he has landed his fourth I am into another, the biggest so far.
It puts up a good battle but some blood spurting from its mouth is coloring the water.
As it tires and while trying to beach it the hook pops out. The fish just lays there in the water, now free of the hook.Then maybe in shock it flips on its back or was it from the loss of blood? What should I do? Once a fish is free is it proper to try and catch it with ones hands? Because it would most likely not recover if left to drift away I bend down, just then a surge of water pushes it within reach. I know as soon as it feels my hands it will right itself and be gone. I carefully slip my finger behind the gill plate and with a quick thrust I am able to pin it to the bottom of the river bed, followed quickly by flipping it ashore. I am now feeling guilty of what I was doing but the lesser of two evils as now the 17 inch spring jack will not be wasted. What a way to end the fishing day I think as I pack up, knowing this part of the story will tarnish The Journal somewhat.
I tie up the 4 jacks and equipment to the rope, then head back to the highway. As I get there Dale has hauled up my stuff. We decide to go to another spot of the river to clean our respective catch.
I have 4 red spring jacks while Dale has 2 reds and 2 whites, all nice plump, firm fish, my first salmon in nearly a month. All 8 are then packed together in a burlap sack and slipped into a cooler filled with 2 litre frozen bottles.
We both then decide to head to Spences Bridge to find some shade from the 35 degree heat and spend the night in a campsite just below the Nicola River.
Before I do that I find a restaurant and chow down on the first hot meal in nearly 48 hours.
Final segement of the Journal to follow.
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Topic: In Search Of Some Jack Springs, The Thompson River Journal (Read 5602 times)