This year’s road trip (our 9th!) found Rich, Wayne and me heading for Lake Curlew in N.E. Washington State, about 12 miles south of the Canadian Border.
After a quick stop at Linda’s house in Chewelah to pick up fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies, we headed off. Lake Curlew was only about 2.5 hours from Rich’s house at Bussard Lake. We have learned from past trips that the further you drive, the less fish you catch! That bit of hard-earned road wisdom resulted in a catch of 29 feisty rainbow trout in the 14-17 inch range from Lake Curlew. And that figure does not include the 25 rainbows we caught at Waitts Lake back home...but more on that later.
Faced with a fork in the road, we stopped to ask a guy mowing a rather threadbare lawn how to get the last few miles to Lake Curlew. He told us to go straight ahead and drop a left. We asked him whether he had fished at Lake Curlew. “Oh yeah, the fishing is good up there. Ah caught some real nice rainbows off the dock”.
Off the dock? That did not sound like our kind of fishing. Couldn’t he see our mighty boat in the back of the truck? Did we look like old farts who would fish off a dock? As we drew away, we noticed a large sign on our left that said: TO LAKE CURLEW. We should have known better than to ask for directions. But at least there was a promise of good fishing.
We were still looking for the fishing camp when we passed a guy/gal going in the opposite direction on a large orange motorbike. He or she was wearing a Darth Vader type of helmet. “That looks like Harry,” Wayne said. Harry is Rich’s son but it seemed a little unlikely that Harry could have found us when we were still unsure ourselves where the fishing camp was located. Rich said he didn’t think it was Harry. As he said that, the guy on the motorbike turned around and headed back towards us. He stopped and took off his helmet. It was not Darth Vader. “Harry!” we all screamed.
Harry joined us for lunch. "How the hell did you find us?” we asked. “Well, Rich told me that he was going fishing at Lake Curlew so I just came”. That simple, huh? Maybe Harry should have been our navigator on the way up? Harry headed home after lunch and wished us luck as he surveyed a rather black sky and whitecaps being whipped up on the lake by a rising wind
We inspected the cabin. It looked quite comfortable, had a full kitchen and two bedrooms. There was a narrow bed in the living room and I could see that we were all wondering who was going to end up there. I suggested we toss a coin. I tossed against Rich and lost. He got the matrimonial suite. I tossed against Wayne and lost. He got the lake view room. Damn. Who suggested tossing a coin? Hardly democratic.
We discussed fishing strategy and decided that we should get out there and fish before it really began to rain. While Rich prepared the boat, Wayne headed off to try fly fishing off the the dock right outside our cabin. He got a few bites but we were soon ready to go find the big rainbows.
We headed off into the wind and waves. I was not at all sure that this was the right decision but the Commander had spoken and that was it. We were tossing around and the sky looked ominous. We only had a small electric motor so wind was not our friend. But almost immediately, Rich and Wayne started catching fish. I caught nothing--I was merely feeding worms to the fish. This was cruelly noted. Rich and Wayne proceeded to catch 11 good size rainbows and several lovely 14 to 15 inchers in the next few hours.
We were fishing reasonably close to the shore but then Rich decided to head off into the center of the lake, into deeper water. As we turned against the waves, I was aware that three old guys in a 51 year-old boat of that size should probably not be out so deep. I was reflecting on other existential matters when there was an almighty tug on my line. A fish? I was shaken out of my reverie.
Of course, I received conflicting instructions from the real fishermen about what to do and did my best to square the circle. As the flashing silver lure appeared to the left of the boat, Wayne, our excellent net man, was telling me to get the fish nearer the boat. It was thrashing around out there and looking reel angry.
With one decisive sweep of the net, Wayne scooped up a fat silvery pink rainbow, beautifully curled in the blue netting. It was a big one--17 inches--and my only fish that afternoon, except for a desultory perch of no consequence. As I told them, I always go deep for the big ones!
It was a good ending to our first afternoon. The decision to brave the elements was considered both wise and visionary (by the Commander and in retrospect); although it did seem counter to the view that trout don’t like unsettled weather. Strike one to the fishermen!
By the time Rich had cut and gutted all the fish, it was getting dark and we were informed that all the places to eat nearby usually closed about 8pm.
We headed off to the nearby town of Curlew. Sadly, we discovered that the main (only) street had been dug up as part of a big sewage project and, even more sadly, that the Curlew Saloon (which you can just see behind the Hitachi and sewage dig to the left) was “CLOSED” (even though there seemed to be quite a few people in there still drinking). The only other two guys we saw in Curlew appeared to have imbibed their fair share.
So, we returned to our cold cabin. We had dry granola and red wine for our dinner with Linda’s cookies for dessert. Nobody actually thought about cooking our magnificent catch which had been entrusted to the freezer compartment of the fridge. We did not locate any heating that evening and it was rather cold during the night. Cold or not, we had achieved our goal. I fell asleep dreaming of the 22 inch rainbows that were said by Joe, the owner of the fishing camp, to be in the lake. We had also learned on earlier fishing trips that owners of fishing camps tend to exaggerate or downright lie about their “well-stocked” lakes.
The next morning it was pouring with rain. You could hardly see the mountains in the distance and the world looked very grey. We sat around the table talking about life, young love and Donald Trump. We finally wandered up to the little open air restaurant where all the chairs and tables were soaked. Janice, the kind lady in the kitchen, told us to go into Cabin 4 and we could eat there. Surprisingly, the food was very good and we wolfed down large quantities of coffee, “shamble--a bit of everything,” sourdough toast and other goodies.
Rich and Wayne had rain gear but I had not come prepared--I had never been a Boy Scout. Wayne told me to go find something to wear so I sought out our increasingly friendly Girl Friday, Janice, who rummaged around and found me a nice clean 20 gallon garbage bag. We were ready for fishing!
Unfortunately, that was not true. I had not been able to buy an out-of-state fishing license down south because the computer kept rejecting my name. Could it be my criminal record? Wayne had had no problem. Strange. I told them to go ahead and fish while I went around to the Black Beach Resort across the lake to sort out my problem. Like good mates, they refused to leave me alone. They no doubt needed my expertise and guidance (or, more likely, somebody to blame if they caught nothing).
Two hours later, we staggered out of the little shop at Black Beach Resort with my fishing license. A very sweet but incredibly s-l-o-o-o-w old lady named Kay had enormous difficulty navigating the computer and finally called Fisheries and Wildlife to find out why it was rejecting my name. I cannot relay the full level of frustration I was feeling in a family blog because every word would begin with “f” and that would not be “f” for fishing.
Kay and “honey” in Fisheries and Wildlife at the other end, chatted their way through the various glitches and blockages in the computer program while inquiring about each other’s kids, grandchildren, other distant relatives and Kay’s upcoming 50th wedding anniversary for a good 45 minutes. Finally, Kay informed me that the problem was that someone had typed in the wrong four digits for the second half of my zip code--1942 instead of 1944. What? I was on the floor weeping. I think she was so overcome by my reduced state that we all got an invitation to her 50th wedding anniversary party on June 4. I will NOT be going.
At this stage, things could only get better. Suitably garbed against the pouring rain, we ventured out again onto the lake. Except for the rain running down my garbage bag and straight into my shoes, life was good. We were on the trip and fishing!
Of course, we had not meant to waste a whole morning and half the afternoon. Everyone knows that fish don’t like the afternoon hours all that much. But fishing lore was a bit off again because we caught 12 lovely Rainbows. I was still not a big catcher but blame it all on my one arm trash bag which probably scared the fish. Nevertheless, just for the record, and in my own defense, I have to say that my two fish did not disappoint. Need I say more?
Here are some members of our catch that afternoon. Rich is the professional cutter and gutter and does a great job. We put these babies in the freezer and made sure that we headed off early enough to meet the 8PM eating curfew that seems to operate in this part of the country. We ended up in a little town called Republic that has an interesting main street, including several good restaurants and even a small brewery right there in the center of town. We slipped into Freckles’ BBQ Gourmet just before 8PM and had an excellent meal.
We got some insights into the difficulties of the restaurant business in Republic, the break of up an otherwise successful personal and business relationship, how that sucked in general, and how to use lawyers like Rotweilers. We had to wake Wayne up to go home. At the end, we all understood why it was probably better to eat early and get out of town before the real fun began.
Just as we were leaving who is walking out with us but Kay, that sweet old lady of the fishing license debacle. “Hi Kay,” I said rather weakly. “Well, Hi there,” said Kay, looking over to her ancient husband who seemed like he had waited a lifetime for his fishing license. "Now don’t you folks forget our 50th wedding anniversary party on June 4!”. I felt weak and depressed all over again.
Joe, the owner, who was never seen unless sitting somewhere on a chair with his three dogs, had told us when we first came that Lake Curlew had been stocked with Muskee about 20 years ago to get rid of some “bad” fish which ate everything else. The Muskee were sterile (don’t ask) and would one day die out. It would appear that they weren’t all that sterile--like the dinosaurs who weren’t supposed to be able to reproduce in Jurassic Park.
In any event, there are still some big boys left and this is one of them on the left--a 50.5 inch Muskee! Remind me not to swim in Lake Curlew. The guys on the dock were hoping to catch the monster that lived under the dock.
After breakfast, we headed out onto a calm lake bathed in sunshine. Quite a difference. Need I tell you that we started catching fish. I think we caught about 5 or 6 in about an hour or so. But we needed to head back to Bussard Lake for a dinner party that night so brought the boat around to the little beach where we could get the truck down to the water.
I got over the side of the boat to pull it into the shore. I was walking along a channel of reeds when I suddenly saw a huge Muskee pass just in front of my legs. He turned to the left and went up into another channel of reeds. That was him, the big guy who lived under the dock!!
He was not 50 inches, for sure--more like 40-42 inches. He had a really big, ugly head and seemed quite unconcerned by our presence. I got out of the water quickly. I had seen “Jaws". I was the only one who saw him so you have to take my word for it. But I would never tell a whopper about the size of a fish--that is reserved for the ones that got away!
We are getting really, really good at these road trips!
NOTE: the original of this blog was published on June 16, 2016.
No comments:
Post a Comment