Tuesday begins in the same fashion. We dump the two boats, Mike and Alex leave with the vehicles and the rest of us ferry out to mid river to escape the maddening clouds of mosquitoes that engulf us at the boat ramp. 20 minutes, then 40, then an hour go by. We already know how this story ends. At last we hear a 4X4 tearing up gravel, only this time it's Mike's. No spotter. Looks like we'll be running our own shuttle in the dark tonight.
The fishing on the lower river is comparable to that of the previous day, but the fish are bigger. Where current, depth and structure meet there is an 18-inch smallmouth waiting to pummel a BoogleBug or Wiggle Minnow. That is, if a pike doesn't beat him to it.
At one point while the boats are anchored side-by-side for a mid river chat, a 3-foot sturgeon comes within inches of jumping into the boat, scaring the shit out of everyone and making for a good laugh.
We fish until we're seeing our flies by moonlight, picking up one last 18-incher within a few feet of the ramp. The drive back to camp is punctuated by a blown fuse in the Big Orange that cuts out our lights, leaving us speeding down a twisting two-lane highway in the black of night. Fuse changed, crisis averted, we make it back to camp and sleep hard.
At one point while the boats are anchored side-by-side for a mid river chat, a 3-foot sturgeon comes within inches of jumping into the boat, scaring the shit out of everyone and making for a good laugh.
We fish until we're seeing our flies by moonlight, picking up one last 18-incher within a few feet of the ramp. The drive back to camp is punctuated by a blown fuse in the Big Orange that cuts out our lights, leaving us speeding down a twisting two-lane highway in the black of night. Fuse changed, crisis averted, we make it back to camp and sleep hard.
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