Spoils of The Savage

The empty Budweiser can on my nightstand explained why I'd slept through my alarm. It was almost 7:00 AM and I was pissed I'd slept in. After having gotten a taste of the Savage and its seductive pocket water the day prior I was itching and anxious to get back in the river. Fishing fast, bouldery pocket water is addictive in that it tantalizes the imagination. Every gurgle and swirl and divot and eddy and riffle could hold a trout and on the good days, they do. The cloud cover overhead and my tendency to be overly optimistic about the fishing had me feeling that today could be one of those days.

Still sporting my Jockeys I strolled out onto the porch for a prognosis. The pool behind the house looked inviting but showed no sign of rising fish; I could enjoy my coffee at a leisurely pace.

Brett and I enjoyed a fishless first hour but it was not without exclamation. Brett had opted to swing for the fences from the get-go and rigged up a grossly oversized streamer on a short, stout rod. While I was plunking for dinks he managed to move two garantuans that I'm sure he'll describe in detail in a later post. Still, with no fish to hand by 9:00 we decided to explore some agua nueva. Eventually we stumbled onto a pod of midging dinks (gorgeous, wild dinks, mind you) and Fast Jimi managed to get on the board...

Not to be outdone, player #2 topped my high score..

Around Noon a familiar face showed up. After spending the wee hours of the morning in the woods chasing gobblers PJ had bagged his thunder chicken and was ready to tango with some truchas. We enjoyed a cold beverage over the story of his trophy bird and then relocated. The Savage smiled on us again...

After bringing two stunningly beautiful browns to hand within minutes of each other Brett and I agreed it was best to quit while were were ahead. We'd gotten a taste of the fantastic fishing in this area and agreed that we'd be back. And we will be.