A Little Perspective

    Saturday afternoon my girlfriend, my good friend Leroy and myself had decided to go camping up the north fork of the quinault river. Summer steelhead, resident trout, and whitefish promised to provide plenty of angling opportunity and we all knew from experience that the scenery was breathtaking. Unfortunately our plans screeched to a halt when I severely sprained my ankle playing basketball friday afternoon. However, my stubborn streak and Leroy’s ever present optimism would not allow our camping plans to flame out.
    In light of my limited mobility we decided to load up the drift boat ad camp at the east end of Lake Quinault where the Quinault River dumps in. We had done well there in the past, taking steelhead, salmon, dolly varden, and cutthroat trout from the lip of the river mouth. This trip would prove to be a test of patience and resilience as my ankle was not the only misfortune we would encounter.



    The first stumble in what would be a tragic face plant in our angling history, we began to assemble the gear only to find that the borrowed motor we planned to use had been reclaimed by its owner, and we had to row to the mouth from the closest put in, roughly half a mile away. This usually wasn’t a problem, as I am capable behind the oars and Leroy is not only an experienced oarsman but the human equivalent of a mule, this day however the wind was absolutely howling, the wind was ripping three miles across the lake and blowing us into shore, making the trip VERY difficult.
    Through trial, frustration, and a little too much profanity we finally made it to the mouth. We made camp in a grassy area on the bank of a protected back slough, where the wind wouldn’t bother us. After sufficiently flogging the water of the very fishy looking back slough to no avail we rowed out to the slough’s confluence with the river. Leaving me and my bum ankle with the boat Leroy hopped out and headed up the river bank.
    I then faced a couple problems. Firstly the river was more than a little high, although clear, making getting any flies near the bottom a challenge. Second the 25 mph wind was blowing right in my face, and finally, I can’t yet double haul. These three things combined to produce not only a fishless evening but a nearly castless one sprinkled with superfluous profanity and a heated argument with my girlfriend as a result. My fit reached a breaking point when the wind grabbed my cast and deposited my hook neatly into my anchor rope, as I leaned over to undo it, muttering profanities all the while, my ankle gave out and I fell in a heap on the boat floor.
    red faced and angry, it wasn’t until I arrived back at the camp site that I realized my folly. As I looked into the flames of the campfire I realized that I don’t live here because of twenty pound steelhead, or because of giant runs of salmon. I live here for moments like these, I live here because I have the choice to go camping at the mouth of a glacier carved lake in the wilderness on a whim. To enjoy with my friends and family the beautiful views, beautiful water, and beautiful fish that out river offer. Fish or no fish, hell, cast or no cast, I still was in the wild, I still enjoyed fire roasted potatoes and hot dogs with two people I love, and I still wasn’t an hour away from home. I fell asleep that night with my belly full, and a new perspective in my head.