It doesn’t matter if we’re talking fishing, work, relationships, whatever; everyone has that lofty goal that sits on your “someday” horizon for years. Maybe it’s to get into the 20/20 club with a big fish, or write that book, get that promotion, etc. The moment you achieve one of those goals, you feel like you’re on top of the world.
Ever since Mark pulled a grayling out of the Shoshone River near Cody, Wyoming way back when I was a just a little guy, I have been fascinated by the species. Their exotic looks, the beautiful colors of the sail, and their utter rarity have built themselves into an almost mystic figure in my mind. I have always, always wanted to catch one.
After Mark and SWMBO headed back to Washington yesterday morning, I threw the float tube in the car and headed to Hyalite. After two pretty late nights in a row, I was pretty tired, but it seemed a shame to waste such a pretty day. I picked a new pullout down by the south end, and kicked my way into the water.
I also find it ironic how you can fish your way either across a lake (and I mean all the way across the lake) or walk miles down a river, and the only place you’ll catch fish will be within 100 yards of where you parked. Doesn’t happen too often, but when it does it always makes me smile.
The only exciting thing that happened in the first two hours was when a loose strap somehow got wrapped around my foot, inducing a couple moments of sheer and utter panic. I know it’s a fresh water reservoir, there’s no giant octopus or anything in there, but when something grabs your leg when you’re in a float tube in the middle of the lake, it is cause for concern.
On the way back to the shore near where I had parked, the first fish showed up: a dark yellowish shape slowly following my zonker. When he finally flashed away, the cutthroat was probably easily 20-inches. And of course, the next cast to the same spot, the zonker latched onto a submerged tree and was lost.
A double wannabe rig was next, olive and ginger. A couple of little brookies later, I had a new favorite. As the wind pushed me toward shore, a deep cut near the bank looked inviting. Cast, strip, strip… Bam! I’ll give those little brookies this, they may not be too big, but they hit and fight pretty well.
A couple decent cutthroat were in the mix as well. As far as trout go, at least in my opinion, cutthroat are the most beautiful. The big red slash, the dots clustered near the tail, they just look wild. And it doesn’t really get any more wild than pulling native fish out of a watershed they’ve been inhabiting since time began pretty much.
The fishing slowed down a bit after a while, and I was distracted by what looked like a pretty girl in a canoe. Couldn’t quite see, and as I twisted around to get a better look a fish grabbed a fly hard enough to almost jerk it out of my hand. After a couple minutes of fighting, I finally brought it up close enough to get a look at it.
It was a grayling.
Hot damn, a grayling. After probably 15 or 16 years of thinking about it and wanting one, I had a grayling on the end of my line. A by God grayling. I think the maniacal laughter that followed once this fact set in chased the canoe away, they were way over on the other side of the lake next time I looked.
It was everything I had imagined it would be. Beautiful colors in the sail, good fighter, the spots mixed in with the silver body… I sat there for a long time gently holding it in the water once I got the hook out and looking at it. And before anyone says anything, yes, I know it’s bad to lay a fish on my lap and the boat, but my hands were shaking too much to hold the fish and pull the fly out at the same time.
It was one of those experiences I really wish I hadn’t been alone for. It’s something you want to share. Native fish are under constant threat, and who knows how much longer you’ll be able to find these fish in the lower 48. When you hold a grayling, or a native cutt, or any native and threatened fish, in your hands and just look at it, it makes you want to protect it.
After that grayling, I was satisfied. Kept fishing anyway, and after one more cutthroat big enough to pull me around a bit I decided to call it a day. Driving home, I still couldn’t believe it. I finally caught my grayling.
Who said dreams don’t come true?
