Guest Post Written by Stephen Neal

In Wildness is the Preservation of the World - “Henry David Thoreau"

Cy stood crotch deep in the river, his rod cradled in his hand just above the rivers surface, the tip pointed at his fly. The river’s current carried his steelhead fly at that perfect walking pace down into the dangle, he waited. The first tug telegraphed itself up through the line and rod into his hand, he lingered, letting each grab go unanswered, when the reel began to unwind, he raised his rod and set the hook. Cy and Brandon our guide, both sensed that this was a steelhead with possibility. When the steelhead came out of the water in its bid for freedom, the excitement was palatable.

Cy deftly used the flex of the rod to gently manage his attached water citizen, bringing it to Brandon’s net through the fishes’ aerial acrobatics and water antics. Each leap into the world of oxygen was a thing of splendor, as the water slid off the fish’s sides and fell back into the water, each drop and spray reflected Fall’s afternoon light. The fish was a beauty, a wild buck, a nice first Steelhead, a personal meet with this creature of our earth’s rivers. It was a well-earned reward for his time spent learning new casts, knots, fly selection and line control. Cy’s hookup and landing of that Steelhead, will be a memory I will carry with fondness for the rest of my days. A shared memory of the fulness of life.

Cy and I were in Northern California we were spending the day with Brandon Worthington of Worthington Fly Fishing, swinging flies on the Klamath River to wild steelhead. Mid November, fall was in full bloom, with chimney smoke and a taste of winter in the air. The air temperature was hovering around 40 and the water registered 50 degrees. When the sun shone, we were comfy but when it hid behind a hill or cloud, a chilly quiver would creep down our spines. That cold was forgotten each time that familiar tug telegraphed itself to our casting hand.

Fishing with Brandon was like fishing with a respected friend. There was an ease and grace to his every action, his subtle nature belies his knowledge and skill. A gentile but powerful stroke or deft hand movement put the drift boat in position to take advantage of the current and flow of the river. His instructions on casting or fly placement were on point and timely and matched our skill level and improved our performance. His respect for nature, the river and the fish and preserving and protecting them were spot on, he is in a class with Marty Sheppard when it comes to guiding.

Bridget, Brandon’s wife while not on the river with us, was still present, the meal she prepared for us was first rate and Brandon spoke of her with love, respect, and admiration. They make a good team in managing and operating their guide business. If you are looking for a guide for Northern California or Southern Oregon, he would be an excellent choice. I am not alone in making this recommendation Cy, Jeff, Scott, Bob, and Kevin would back this assessment up.

Fifteen years - The six of us were on our annual trip fishing on the upper-Sacramento. Bob always on the lookout for fishing opportunities had followed up a lead and discovered Worthington Fly Fishing, it paid off well. We were all feeling a bit snake bit on the Sac, this year. For years we had heard stories from Dunsmuir locals about trout rising to October caddis in November after the usual seasonal fishermen had returned home. When Kevin told us that his oldest Son was getting married during our usual outing time, we moved our trip

back to try our hand at catching trout on October caddis in November. What we encountered instead were trout disinclined to take what we were offering. We spent a lot of time trying everything we had in our fly boxes and receiving extraordinarily little in return. So, our time spent fishing with Brandon revied our fishing spirits, that is not to say we did not have fun together on the upper-Sac.

Kevin and I were fishing Sweetbrier while Scott and Jeff were fishing with Brandon, and Cy and Bob waggled their Rods above the water around town. I got skunked, but Kevin caught three on the first run we fished then came up zero on the rest of the water. After about three hours of fruitless casting we headed back to the cabin to warm up and re-access our fishing. After a snack we decided to try the water below the cabin and set out to do so. Now things were about to get interesting.

The evening before Scott had a large rainbow roll on his dry fly at the head of the pool, below a frost burned Elephant Ear plant. As Kevin headed upriver to fish beyond the pool, he told me to not leave the water until I had thrown a dry fly to that same spot. It was not to be, I got a bird’s nest in my line on the next cast and headed back to the garage to sort out the mess I gotten myself into. I hollered at him to fish the spot, but he could not hear me over the river. When Kevin returned to the cabin, he had a fish story to tell and a picture to share. He admonished me for not fishing the spot and shared his picture of a nice hefty rainbow trout neatly wrapped up in Kevin’s line. Kevin was feeling pretty proud of himself and thankful that said fish had neatly wrapped himself up so that Kevin could land it on his light tippet. He politely accepted my excuse of my failed cast and subsequent line tangle but I think inside he was thanking God that my cast has failed and that he got to cast to the fish under the Elephant Ear plant. That would have been the end of that story but there are four other people in this group of fishermen who are about to take this fish story to a new realm.

That evening around the dinner table in the glow of the fireplace and under the influence of a little wine and Scotch, Kevin told his fish story; and Jeff was primed and ready. We had all been told Jeff’s story about how Kevin had stolen his fish 15 years ago, Jeff had hooked a monster and fought it for an eon of time and the fish had come undone and Jeff was left with a broken heart and a parted line. And the next day Kevin fished that same hole and not only hooked that same fish, but he had the audacity to land it. Jeff’s world was undone and for 15 years we have heard this tale told about how Kevin is a Fish Thief. Jeff was sure that he could now remake his case that Kevin was a fish thief, and that Scott would back him up. And as per usual Jeff retold his story of failure and betrayal and for the next forty-five minutes we pontificated, we speculated, and hypothesized about said fishing infractions and laughed uproariously. It was agreed that Jeff, first wore the fish out thereby allowing Kevin to catch it, and that Scott left his fish so disappointed in not taking his fly that it was determined to take the next fly it saw, thereby allowing Kevin to catch it.

Ah the loyalty of fishing friends and the deft hands of light-fingered maestros of rods and fly presentations, will present endless possibilities for mirth and accusations of unfair play for years to come. And so, goes our fishing discussions over diner, scotch, fireside chats, and smoke sessions. Each of us becomes the hero or the goat depending upon whom, is telling the stories. Our banter is just as great today as it was 15 years ago when we started this journey. Good fishing friends are worth their weight in gold and tall tales. I cannot close out this article without mentioning Bob Grace owner of Ted Fay’s in Dunsmuir. Bob and his fly shop are an integral part of the Dunsmuir experience. Please drop in and support Bob when you are in the area.

As always, Thank you Cy, Bob, Kevin, Scott, Jeff and Brandon and Bridget Worthington and Bob Grace of Ted Fay’s, for a wonderful and epic fishing journey in Northern California. Each of you add joy and richness to life.

Stephen
The world is out there, the journey starts the minute you leave the door, go outside and truly live.

“When given the choice between being right or being kind, choose kind – Dr. Wayne W. Dyer

“Many go fishing all their lives, without knowing that it is not fish they are after” - Henry David Thoreau