Sight Fishing, Hula Hoops and Sheep Herding

"You don't leave fish to find fish."
 -Joe F.

"The Lord can give, and the Lord can take away. I might be sheep herding next year."
 -Elvis Presley


The mantra that you "don't leave fish to find fish" keeps me going back to two rivers out on the Plains. Some big fins are out there and they have been cruising and feeding, and so I keep showing up to try and trick them. A blue sky above on a day off means get the car keys and go.

Once stream side I forget about most of the river and search the first five to ten yards out for any sign of life: a dark back creeping up a run, a shallow water bank feeder, a cycling feeder. The sight fishing all takes place in a foot or two of water, or less. My ankles get wet and that's about it.

It was blue above on Saturday morning and so I made the drive. I hiked downstream and spotted some trout. I also spotted a large family or group of friends camping in the Coulees. They were dreadlocked and playing with hula hoops. It was kind of carnival like with the trailer, tent and outstretched tarps. I kept looking for a juggler, or a stilt walker. They looked like they had been there all summer. I thought, "not a bad place to hang out".

It was sunny on Sunday and so I went again. Surprisingly I had the place to myself. I never saw another angler. This time I went upstream; way upstream. I was on my knees moving in on a bank fish when I heard a loud panting behind me. It was a big white Pyrenees like pooch with a dangling pink tongue. She was a sheep dog. She nudged me and flipped over waiting for a belly rub. How could I resist. After that she had a brief swim and then slipped back under a barbed wire fence to watch over a sizable herd up on a hill. A dutiful employee.

 

On both days the sight fishing was mesmerising. I had to cover a lot of territory but with the high sun and blue sky I got to watch a dozen fish react to my offerings. I was watching them think. One fish came up to my fly which landed between it and the bank...it looked at it and then lazily turned away, only to circle and return a couple of seconds later for another look, suspending itself right in front of the fly for a few more seconds, and then it gently broke the surface with its nose and ate it.

On the drive home on late Sunday afternoon a pack of reservation dogs stood on the highway and stared down my approaching car which was going 120km. When I slowed down and swerved they went for my tires.

It was a good weekend. Some of the best visual angling I have ever experienced. I saw my reel backing two times, got lucky and landed several great trout. I also got to see hula hooping Bedouins, a friendly sheep herder, and some reservation dogs with attitude... just about anything can happen, and often does, out on the Plains!

Post Script-
When I got home I rummaged through the garage to see if I could find and old hula hoop...