What follows is a terrific bit of writing from Mark Koide, the hero of my Ruby Springs post last year. Let's book the next trip!
by Mark Koide
Since Greg appears to have taken a hiatus, I wanted to
share a fish story, one that all dads and sons who fish together will appreciate.
The backstory is that a long time ago I had
a co worker who was a hardcore flyfisherman.
He let it influence his choice of college and even where he lives - on
the tailwaters in Westport CT.
The
consequence of this was his son, now entering his senior year, took his
avocation to a much higher level.
He
attends Colorado College, a short drive to the South Platte Dream Stream,
majors in marine biology and spends his summers making a buck teaching
flyfishing and this summer guiding in Alaska.
I remember Max as a 10 year old catching browns to 20 inches and
largemouths to 5 lbs in his backyard.
His father Ted and I parted professional ways almost 20
years ago, but have been able to maintain a semiannual fishing schedule.
This usually involves hooky from work and
family since we both now have multiple teen to early 20ish kids and wives who
are working and working at home.
Our
fishing trips have been, therefore, of the "next wednesday might work, you
in?".
Location and fishing
conditions are secondary to the demands of our work and family schedules.
So we have done the best that we could in
this part of the country (I live in Northern NJ) on very short windows of
opportunity --
Farmington, Housatonic,
Upper Delaware, and of course stripers and blues up and down the coast.
Last year there was
a distinct shift in schedule.
Both Ted and I have reached the place where we have a bit of flexibility
at work and the kids are in college with its narrow required windows and high
school events where we are often decidedly not required.
So when the email or text comes across, they
are now more like
“can you meet me in
Bozeman, MT in 4 weeks for three days”.
Got that one from Greg last year and he chronicled our adventure
here.
Greg’s text was followed last fall by “Max and his
friends’ are ok with us joining them on the South Platte in late October.” There was the undertone of serious fishermen
were inviting a dad and a friend who had better be competent in the
invitation. While I am no match for Ted
and Ted is now well shy of Max and his friends abilities, we held up our end
and had a remarkable experience. One
that at some point should be written up because it involved a small pool that
turned up browns to 26” and rainbows to 20” on an hourly basis. But that isn’t this story.
This story starts with the recognition on the South
Platte that Max and his friends at Colorado College have transcended from
competent to gifted
with the best of all
complementary traits patience.
So when
the text came in May “Max is guiding in Alaska on Lake Creek for the summer”,
I immediately texted back two letters “IN”.
This was in itself remarkable because for
almost 15 years, I have been stuck at 49 as the number of states that I have
travelled through.
Too many years on
the road for work and a childhood spent driving to visit our relatives on the
West Coast and Southwest
had left me one
state short.
Only the prior week, I
had convinced my family that we should lock down our vacation plans to go off the
grid in late August with a once in a lifetime trip to Alaska’s Denali and Kenai
Fjord National Parks.
Now in my 53
rd
year, I would be hitting the state twice.
PHOTO: A preview of what's to come.
To make the trip even more attractive, Ted and I were
on a family rate at the lodge which meant a significant discount filling a
vacant cabin. Ted and I were to rendezvous
in Anchorage on a Sunday night and fly out ion Rust’s charter plane service n
the morning. Both of us were on airline
points and food at the Mountain Wilderness Lodge was all included. Max would be our guide.
Travel warning:
Getting to Anchorage from the East Coast on American Airlines points is
a alarmingly risky proposition.
Six
hours late with additional stops in Denver and Seattle (my original route was
EWR to DFW to Anchorage) and a change to Alaska Air for the last leg, I made it
to our room.
There I learned that Ted
had only just arrived beating me by 2 hours despite having a six hour start on
me.
For those quick at math it means he
was 10 hours late.
It was now 3am in
Anchorage and we had 5 hours to sleep before we needed to catch the bus to
Rust’s.
A final thought before I continue,
my experience in flyfishing like many of you
has taught me that this is the kind of fishing that has nothing to do with
luck.
Drift fishing dead bunker through
Woods Hole, casting into the rips off the Vineyard and even chasing funny fish
with the long wand are influenced by luck.
In my experience with salmonids and flies, the skill of the angler is
directly correlated with the frequency and size of the fish he/she catches.
It has to do with
strategy, presentation, accuracy, and the
fight.
As I have encountered new species
and aqua environments, experience is also required to land trophies even if you
have been fortunate and skilled enough to hook up.
On the South Platte, we had established an order
for frequency and size.
Max would lead
on frequency and size followed by Ted and then me.
