In the annals of angling and dangling, there have have been many exaggerations, misrepresentations, false memories and downright lies about the size of fish caught and lost. It is, therefore, with some trepidation that I assert that the fish we caught this year were definitely bigger, fatter and heavier than those we caught last year. Seriously.
Whether we caught Rainbow Trout (above), Kokanee Salmon ("Silvers") or Largemouth bass, they were noticeably meatier than last year. Were we just imagining this? No way. Yvette, our resident chef who lovingly cooked the Rainbows and Silvers, commented on the size and weight of our catch.
"Wow," she said looking at bulging ice boxes filled with 85 Moby Dicks, "is it just me or are these fish bigger, fatter and heavier than last year?" I distinctly remember her saying that. Or was it Kirstine? Reimes maybe? Whoever said that, they were absolutely right. Let me explain.
In the case of the fat Silvers (above), our observation was science-based. Silvers only have a life cycle of four years. It really sucks if you are land-locked salmon. Last year, they were just two years old. This year they are three years old and, consequently, BIGGER. Wait until we go back next year to Lake Conconully and catch those Big Fours. It will be like a re-run of Jurassic Park.
And back home at Bussard Lake (above), we caught and released 50 plus Large-mouth bass, including several unprecedented 14-15 inchers. These whoppers snapped at our flies and charged the yellow poppers with alarming ferocity.
Rich told us that in the past couple of years the bass had been depleted by river otters that had penetrated the lake. But last year, there were no otters so the bass had had time to recover--hence the record sizes. Whatever you may say, size does matter if you are a fisherman!
O.K. Now that we have got the statistics out of the way, let's get on with the blog.
Our first day at Bussard Lake was spent inspecting the ever expanding Schatz property empire, some of which had been sustainably logged and cleared towards the end of winter. We were surprised to discover that just behind the Schatz house there was a big old double-wide (left) that had been rented out over the years to various people. It had been well hidden but the logging had revealed another world back there. Wayne and I were thinking we could take it over and have our own little plot in paradise if Terry and Regee didn't mind the pack rats and using the out-house in winter.
Wayne and I fished Bussard Lake and had our first encounter with the steroidal bass. We just couldn't stop catching them. They were basically defending their nests and came hurtling out of the reeds like crazed Kamikaze and ended up on our hooks. We don't eat bass from Bussard Lake so they were gently put back for another day. In some cases, it was just another minute because the same fish charged again. Like I said, Kamikaze.
The next day, we headed northwest for Lake Gillette, towing our co-owned, lavishly painted, trusty three-man boat with the not-so trusty Tommy Tohatsu outboard motor on the back. More on Tommy later.
Now, we depend upon Commodore Schatz to choose luxurious lodgings on these remote lakes because the D.C. Boyz need a little comfort in their waning years (no pun intended, Wayne). So, we were very much looking forward to the "three-man accommodation" that Schatz had secured at Beaver Lodge, presumably with a splendid view out over Lake Gillette. Wayne was all excited because he hails from Gillett (no "e") in Oconto County, Wisconsin, where he learned to fish, run a dairy and balance the books--all the basics for being the Managing Partner in a law firm. But I digress.
As you can see, our accommodation was actually part of a beat up work shop located across an interstate highway and well away from the lake. Our digs boasted one big bedroom with two vast beds; and one small (windowless) bedroom which had a camp bed and a random water heater in the corner. It also had a hole in the wall which looked suspiciously like a rat hole.
You will never guess which bedroom I was allotted. Yes, that's the one! I didn't whine or complain or in any way object--I just sat on the bed and wept silently. Sensing my dejection, Rich and Wayne promised faithfully that at Lake Conconully, I would get the best bedroom but somehow that promise did not console me. Talk about rustic. This was like something out of the movie "Deliverance." And we all know that movie didn't end well.
But looking on the bright side, the fishing was excellent at Lake Gillette and that's why we were there, right? Right.
Even though we were told that the best fishing was in the middle of Lake Gillette, we discovered that the lake further south, Sherry Lake (below), was the best lake for Rainbow Trout. That's where we saw several Osprey diving for fish so that's where we headed on both days and caught our regulation 15 Rainbows each day. Above is the first day's catch. As always, Rich and Wayne caught most of the fish; but I did catch several good size Rainbows just to prove that a Chesapeake Bay fisherman can adjust to lake fishing!
It was on Sherry Lake that our motor, Tommy Tohatsu, started playing up again. He had done the same thing last year and we had had him thoroughly tested and "repaired" but here he was again, sputtering and conking out on us. Hmmm. Maybe time to retire Tommy, the motor that had been sold to us with the boat by a little old lady who said it had "hardly ever been used". Never trust little old ladies selling outboard motors, my mother used to tell me. Well, we determined there and then that Tommy would be put up for sale when we got back home and that we would invest in a brand new battery for our current electric motor. From now on, we would fish in total silence. The fish would not be able to hear Tommy coming from five miles away.
I don't have a photo of the sudden squall that hit us on Sherry Lake but a threatening black cloud formation was looming over us. Commodore Schatz turned the boat around as best he could and headed back towards Lake Gillette with Tommy spluttering and being generally unhelpful. Whether by good fortune or superior weather-reading skills (never before noted), Commodore Schatz got us under the small bridge at the exit from Sherry Lake just as the heavens opened and monsoonal rain lashed across the lake. If we had been marooned in the middle of the lake with no motor, I am quite sure that we would have sunk under the weight of that deluge. But we survived and brought our catch safely home.
Talking of our catch, Commodore Schatz let it be known that "others" should also be helping in gutting and cleaning the catch. The "others" looked a bit mutinous but his comment had some element of truth. In fact, it was just the plain truth, dammit. Wayne and I had never cleaned the fish. My excuse is that I can't bear to handle live, squirming fish so had not volunteered for this work in the past.
I know, I know, how can I call myself a fisherman? And why does poor Wayne have to net and unhook my fish for me when I actually do catch a fish? Well, I just want to keep him busy and distracted because he tends to fall into a funk when he is not catching fish. In fact, I am providing a social service and helping him to maintain a stable and healthy mental attitude. He has to be kept busy at all times.
In any event, I said I would only clean dead fish, not those that were still moving. It is quite a disgusting task but I did it on several occasions without comment (just whining) and, if I might say, with something approaching surgical precision.
It was noted that Wayne did not partake in cleaning activities but we did not reprimand him because he is our ace net man and has always done a superb job of landing fish in the boat. Probably the most important job on the trip, except for the Treasurer and Official Photographer. Plus, as I have already mentioned, we had to think about his delicate mental state when he is unable to catch fish. Best not to push him too far, we thought.
But it was not all fishing at Lake Gillette. One afternoon after catching our regulation 15 Rainbows in the morning, we went on a little expedition to Crystal Falls which was a beautiful nature spot nearby.
Then there was cigar night down by the lake. We got chatting to these guys who had the neatest little hook up home (we call them caravans in England) which was pulled behind their Jeep Cherokee with a Hoby kayak on top. They told us it had a queen-size bed, full kitchen, shower and solar panels on top for all electrical needs. Dude, we thought, maybe Terry and Regee would prefer something like this if we were going to take up residence behind the Schatz house?
And did I mention how we savored and lingered over our breakfasts with the lovely Kiley who helped out in the store and the cafe. She put up with our idle banter, bemused and/or smitten by Commodore Schatz and his tales of derring-do in distant parts of the globe. Thank goodness he didn't launch into one of his economics lectures or we would never have seen her again. Sadly, I forgot to take a photo of Kiley--what was I thinking? But hey, what happens in Lake Gillette, stays in Lake Gillette.
Unfortunately, Kiley was not there on our last morning and another lady d'un certain age served us and took an immediate shine to Wayne. She constantly interrupted our philosophical discussions with unnecessary coffee pouring and plate clearing while trying to engage Wayne in conversation.
Wayne is such a liability on these trips because people think he is Robert Redford traveling incognito. Last year it was Allison at Lake Curlew; and several years before that the beautiful Korean goddess at the Banff lodge where we got charged $43 for a pizza because she was all flustered by Rusch/Redford. As the Treasurer, it was me who got the blame for this gaff. Ah well, stuff happens on these trips; but we don't harbor grudges or remember all the things that go wrong, right guys? Guys?
We spent a delightful and relaxing weekend back home at Bussard Lake with Yvette, Kirstine and Reimes, the latter two in the last throes of High School and preparing for their graduation. One night we had dinner at a superb Thai restaurant in Deer Park. There was much feasting on Rainbows at home and one evening, we were joined by Linda and her friend. Linda brought a magnificent home-made rhubarb pie and her friend brought a delicious home-made rhubarb crumble. Such bounty.
We departed again for a little more fishing, this time on Lake Conconully in the northeast of Washington State, up near the Canadian border where the legendary Kokanee Salmon awaited us. We passed through Republic on the way and tried to have lunch at our old haunt "Freckles" but it was closed for lunch that day. Never mind, we went next door to the impressive Republic Brewery which makes its excellent beers on the spot.
I have perhaps unfairly castigated Commodore Schatz for the rustic digs at Lake Gillette but he had clearly pulled out all the stops for our accommodation at Lake Conconully. We had a veritable luxury condo overlooking the lake and I had my own room with a king size bed.
It used to be the resort owner's condo but he moved downstairs when his mother-in-law could not get up the stairs. This was the Ritz Carlton of fishing cabins. No wonder we were so happy to just sit there listening to Professor Schatz lecturing us on gripping economic scenarios for the future, world politics and obscure college basketball teams. Fishing? Do we really have to go fishing?
But I also want to give a shout out here for our cool, calm Commodore who, on many occasions, has had to drive the boat, watch out for weather variations, avoid other boats, net Wayne's fish and reel in his own fish all at the same time. (Yes, we have had two three-catches and many two-catches at the same time over the eleven years).
The Commodore has never let us down and has always maintained his cool and wry sense of humor in all situations--even when the Official Photographer has failed spectacularly in some piscine-related task (like pouring Evian water into the the fish box instead of lake water or getting the fishing lines all tangled up in the motor). Ave, Imperator, piscituri salutant!
The town of Conconully does not have a lot to offer in the way of restaurants or high living. That first night we repared to the Sit'n Bull Saloon which was packed because it's about the only show in town. We had to wait quite a time before a very friendly and fresh-faced lady came to the table and asked what she could offer us "boys" to drink.
Rich and I settled for beer (we are in a saloon, after all) but Wayne asks if they can make him a Manhattan. Oh no, not again, I thought. This nearly caused a fatality up in Montana a few years back with the bearded mountain men and a deaf barman. Our lady looked a little blank but after Wayne listed the ingredients she said she would go ask the barman.
She came back and said they didn't have any bitters. Wayne said OK. Then she came back and said they didn't have any Sweet Vermouth. Wayne said OK. Then she came back a third time and said it looked like they were flat out of bourbon. Wayne conceded defeat and ordered a Miller Lite!
About ten minutes later our lady came back and sat down at the table with us. "Well, what do you boys want to eat, " she asked, readying her order pad. "What have you got?" we asked. "Well, I don't work here. I'm just helping Mary over there. She's real busy tonight." So, we got chatting and she told us her name was Ann and was actually a fire-fighter on leave from Seattle to help out in Conconully for a couple of weeks. Hey, quite a nice place for summer.
Now, Ann was quite a buxom gal and I could imagine her crashing through burning buildings with a huge axe and red helmet and just hoped that Wayne and Rich weren't going to give her any trouble over the menu. We all settled for hamburgers if I remember correctly because that seemed to be the only correct answer to the "food" question in the Sit'n Bull--just like beer was the only right answer to the "drink" question. (Miller 4, Manhattan 0).
Ann was quite a character. She had fought forest fires, major building fires, home fires ("they really go up") and had had her share of heart attacks, strokes and cats up trees. She was interested to know where we were from and was quite intrigued that the D.C. Boyz had found their way to distant Conconully. We explained that Schatz was the "local" but I rather gathered that Chewelah 40 miles north of Spokane was not deemed to be so "local". Anyway, she was a wonderful addition to our party and the burgers were great too. A very successful first day. Pictured above are some more "locals" outside the Sit'n Bull.
The next day we fished early in the morning, caught our 15 Silvers and Rainbows with comparative ease and then headed into town for a very late breakfast the only other eating place in Conconully. Can't remember the name--Red something. Wayne had a bit of a run-in with the 74 year-old waitress over the fact that they were not serving breakfast after 11AM. By this time it was at least 12.30PM. He wanted Eggs Benedict but she wasn't budging. Breakfast was OVER. I can't remember the exact words but Wayne said something like: "What if I paid you more than the $13 on the menu for the Eggs Benedict?" "Sir, there would have to be a zero in that figure for you to get Eggs Benedict after 11AM."
Once again, Wayne had failed to put a dent in the way things were done in Conconully. And that cranky old lady was a bit mischievous because after she had taken our LUNCH orders she gave us a sly look and added: "Them Eggs Benedict are r-e-a-l good!" After our "breakfast" we decided to drive up the mountain behind Conconully to check out the snow that still seemed to be hanging about up there in late May.
We had been up above the snow line last year and, if you remember, Rich and Wayne had hurled a few snowballs at the photographer. The photo below shows why it is best for me to be behind the camera rather than in front of it. I am sure that I am taller than this and not so bald!
I wanted to take some more photos of our surroundings so Wayne and Rich took off in the truck to see if they could get to the top of the mountain. I was happily snapping away for some time and then started to walk up the road to meet them coming back on the way down. I must have walked about a mile and the road got narrower and the forest started to close in.
I am not usually given to wild or scary thoughts but I started to think about what would happen if I blundered into a bear out there all alone. This thought became a little more real when I heard twigs breaking or other strange sounds emanating from the forest. Man, where were those guys? Was it brown or black bears that could climb trees? Was it a good idea to run or did you go into a defensive crouch? What if there were grizzlies up here? Oh boy. I wish I could remember what was on that sign back there about Knowing Your Bears.
I am not kidding but I really did have some reservations about moving any further up the mountain. Maybe it would be better to just sit down and keep still? After what seemed like an age, I heard the distant rumble of an engine and sure enough it was the truck returning. Rich and Wayne were a little nonchalant when I told them about my bear phobia and said that they hadn't been away very long. They were more excited about telling me how they had nearly got to the top and could see Canada. Yeah, and I could have got topped by a bear down here, I thought!
After all the contretemps in the eating establishments of Conconully, we bought some supplies at the General Store and decided to stay in for the night and consume what the hell we wanted! Cheese and biscuits with Canadian Club whiskey and ginger ale makes for a fine meal.
The next morning, we were out again on the lake and I honestly cannot remember any particular drama or story that should be relayed. Am I forgetting important moments? We were by now a well-oiled fishing operation and catching Silvers and Rainbows of good proportions. We called out to a few other boats which were fishing and they seemed to be catching at about the same rate as us. We talked a lot, told jokes, ribbed each other, remembered past Road Trips and past triumphs of the fishing world and the wider world, didn't get too bothered about the burning sun or wind or rain and laughed at our little foibles, predilections and advancing years, as evidenced by our climbing out of the boat on hands and knees to be safe. Or was that just me?
We finished up at at Lake Conconully and checked out of our luxury condo. A sum total of about 85 big ones. Not so many as last year but a lot more meat. The Commodore had plotted an intriguing route home that would take us over a mountain pass via a "short cut" which would bring us out at Sullivan Lake. My heart sank at the thought of Schatz ordering us to jump from the bridge at Sullivan Lake into the icy waters below and was already thinking of pleading a headache or a broken back to avoid what had become known as "The Jump." Wayne didn't say anything but I knew he was thinking the same thing.
The "short cut" proved to be illusory. After about 12 miles of slow climbing up a very narrow mountain road, we encountered large tracts of snow on the road. We had not passed any other vehicle during those 12 miles and it was deemed unwise to venture further up the mountain and risk getting stuck. They might not find us for a week--or at all. Nobody even knew we were up there!
Our driver, Wayne, then had to make a rather dangerous 12-point turn with a deep, flooded ditch on one side and a heavily forested 500 ft. ravine on the other. With a lot of guidance from Rich and me and Filipino-style tapping on the truck, Wayne managed to make a perfect turn without sending us into the ditch or over the side of the ravine. As we drove a little further down the mountain and around a hairpin corner, we discovered a big passing area where Wayne could have made the turn in one go. Such is the perversity of life.
We made it down to Sullivan Lake and, mercifully, the Commodore decided that we should not jump this year and that it would be more daring to tackle it in a wheel chair when that time came. We took another short cut and boarded the free ferry at Inchelium and made our way slowly home. We were welcomed back with a rollicking dinner and altogether too much laughter and noise fueled by too many red wines and Manhattans. Poor Kirstine's boyfriend was a bit bemused by the whole show and definitely thought the D.C Boyz were a bad influence on Dr. Schatz, the calm and normally abstemious Professor of Economics. Little does he know!
Unfortunately, I am running out of space so a few photos will have to tell the remaining story.
No, we seem to have hit our stride. We no longer have to pretend that we are warriors, adventurers or super heroes--even though our wives still think of us in those terms.
NOTE: the original of this blog was published on July 4, 2018.
Whether we caught Rainbow Trout (above), Kokanee Salmon ("Silvers") or Largemouth bass, they were noticeably meatier than last year. Were we just imagining this? No way. Yvette, our resident chef who lovingly cooked the Rainbows and Silvers, commented on the size and weight of our catch.
"Wow," she said looking at bulging ice boxes filled with 85 Moby Dicks, "is it just me or are these fish bigger, fatter and heavier than last year?" I distinctly remember her saying that. Or was it Kirstine? Reimes maybe? Whoever said that, they were absolutely right. Let me explain.
In the case of the fat Silvers (above), our observation was science-based. Silvers only have a life cycle of four years. It really sucks if you are land-locked salmon. Last year, they were just two years old. This year they are three years old and, consequently, BIGGER. Wait until we go back next year to Lake Conconully and catch those Big Fours. It will be like a re-run of Jurassic Park.
And back home at Bussard Lake (above), we caught and released 50 plus Large-mouth bass, including several unprecedented 14-15 inchers. These whoppers snapped at our flies and charged the yellow poppers with alarming ferocity.
Rich told us that in the past couple of years the bass had been depleted by river otters that had penetrated the lake. But last year, there were no otters so the bass had had time to recover--hence the record sizes. Whatever you may say, size does matter if you are a fisherman!
O.K. Now that we have got the statistics out of the way, let's get on with the blog.
Our first day at Bussard Lake was spent inspecting the ever expanding Schatz property empire, some of which had been sustainably logged and cleared towards the end of winter. We were surprised to discover that just behind the Schatz house there was a big old double-wide (left) that had been rented out over the years to various people. It had been well hidden but the logging had revealed another world back there. Wayne and I were thinking we could take it over and have our own little plot in paradise if Terry and Regee didn't mind the pack rats and using the out-house in winter.
Wayne and I fished Bussard Lake and had our first encounter with the steroidal bass. We just couldn't stop catching them. They were basically defending their nests and came hurtling out of the reeds like crazed Kamikaze and ended up on our hooks. We don't eat bass from Bussard Lake so they were gently put back for another day. In some cases, it was just another minute because the same fish charged again. Like I said, Kamikaze.
The next day, we headed northwest for Lake Gillette, towing our co-owned, lavishly painted, trusty three-man boat with the not-so trusty Tommy Tohatsu outboard motor on the back. More on Tommy later.
Now, we depend upon Commodore Schatz to choose luxurious lodgings on these remote lakes because the D.C. Boyz need a little comfort in their waning years (no pun intended, Wayne). So, we were very much looking forward to the "three-man accommodation" that Schatz had secured at Beaver Lodge, presumably with a splendid view out over Lake Gillette. Wayne was all excited because he hails from Gillett (no "e") in Oconto County, Wisconsin, where he learned to fish, run a dairy and balance the books--all the basics for being the Managing Partner in a law firm. But I digress.
As you can see, our accommodation was actually part of a beat up work shop located across an interstate highway and well away from the lake. Our digs boasted one big bedroom with two vast beds; and one small (windowless) bedroom which had a camp bed and a random water heater in the corner. It also had a hole in the wall which looked suspiciously like a rat hole.
You will never guess which bedroom I was allotted. Yes, that's the one! I didn't whine or complain or in any way object--I just sat on the bed and wept silently. Sensing my dejection, Rich and Wayne promised faithfully that at Lake Conconully, I would get the best bedroom but somehow that promise did not console me. Talk about rustic. This was like something out of the movie "Deliverance." And we all know that movie didn't end well.
But looking on the bright side, the fishing was excellent at Lake Gillette and that's why we were there, right? Right.
Even though we were told that the best fishing was in the middle of Lake Gillette, we discovered that the lake further south, Sherry Lake (below), was the best lake for Rainbow Trout. That's where we saw several Osprey diving for fish so that's where we headed on both days and caught our regulation 15 Rainbows each day. Above is the first day's catch. As always, Rich and Wayne caught most of the fish; but I did catch several good size Rainbows just to prove that a Chesapeake Bay fisherman can adjust to lake fishing!
It was on Sherry Lake that our motor, Tommy Tohatsu, started playing up again. He had done the same thing last year and we had had him thoroughly tested and "repaired" but here he was again, sputtering and conking out on us. Hmmm. Maybe time to retire Tommy, the motor that had been sold to us with the boat by a little old lady who said it had "hardly ever been used". Never trust little old ladies selling outboard motors, my mother used to tell me. Well, we determined there and then that Tommy would be put up for sale when we got back home and that we would invest in a brand new battery for our current electric motor. From now on, we would fish in total silence. The fish would not be able to hear Tommy coming from five miles away.
I don't have a photo of the sudden squall that hit us on Sherry Lake but a threatening black cloud formation was looming over us. Commodore Schatz turned the boat around as best he could and headed back towards Lake Gillette with Tommy spluttering and being generally unhelpful. Whether by good fortune or superior weather-reading skills (never before noted), Commodore Schatz got us under the small bridge at the exit from Sherry Lake just as the heavens opened and monsoonal rain lashed across the lake. If we had been marooned in the middle of the lake with no motor, I am quite sure that we would have sunk under the weight of that deluge. But we survived and brought our catch safely home.
Talking of our catch, Commodore Schatz let it be known that "others" should also be helping in gutting and cleaning the catch. The "others" looked a bit mutinous but his comment had some element of truth. In fact, it was just the plain truth, dammit. Wayne and I had never cleaned the fish. My excuse is that I can't bear to handle live, squirming fish so had not volunteered for this work in the past.
I know, I know, how can I call myself a fisherman? And why does poor Wayne have to net and unhook my fish for me when I actually do catch a fish? Well, I just want to keep him busy and distracted because he tends to fall into a funk when he is not catching fish. In fact, I am providing a social service and helping him to maintain a stable and healthy mental attitude. He has to be kept busy at all times.
In any event, I said I would only clean dead fish, not those that were still moving. It is quite a disgusting task but I did it on several occasions without comment (just whining) and, if I might say, with something approaching surgical precision.
It was noted that Wayne did not partake in cleaning activities but we did not reprimand him because he is our ace net man and has always done a superb job of landing fish in the boat. Probably the most important job on the trip, except for the Treasurer and Official Photographer. Plus, as I have already mentioned, we had to think about his delicate mental state when he is unable to catch fish. Best not to push him too far, we thought.
But it was not all fishing at Lake Gillette. One afternoon after catching our regulation 15 Rainbows in the morning, we went on a little expedition to Crystal Falls which was a beautiful nature spot nearby.
Then there was cigar night down by the lake. We got chatting to these guys who had the neatest little hook up home (we call them caravans in England) which was pulled behind their Jeep Cherokee with a Hoby kayak on top. They told us it had a queen-size bed, full kitchen, shower and solar panels on top for all electrical needs. Dude, we thought, maybe Terry and Regee would prefer something like this if we were going to take up residence behind the Schatz house?
And did I mention how we savored and lingered over our breakfasts with the lovely Kiley who helped out in the store and the cafe. She put up with our idle banter, bemused and/or smitten by Commodore Schatz and his tales of derring-do in distant parts of the globe. Thank goodness he didn't launch into one of his economics lectures or we would never have seen her again. Sadly, I forgot to take a photo of Kiley--what was I thinking? But hey, what happens in Lake Gillette, stays in Lake Gillette.
Unfortunately, Kiley was not there on our last morning and another lady d'un certain age served us and took an immediate shine to Wayne. She constantly interrupted our philosophical discussions with unnecessary coffee pouring and plate clearing while trying to engage Wayne in conversation.
Wayne is such a liability on these trips because people think he is Robert Redford traveling incognito. Last year it was Allison at Lake Curlew; and several years before that the beautiful Korean goddess at the Banff lodge where we got charged $43 for a pizza because she was all flustered by Rusch/Redford. As the Treasurer, it was me who got the blame for this gaff. Ah well, stuff happens on these trips; but we don't harbor grudges or remember all the things that go wrong, right guys? Guys?
We spent a delightful and relaxing weekend back home at Bussard Lake with Yvette, Kirstine and Reimes, the latter two in the last throes of High School and preparing for their graduation. One night we had dinner at a superb Thai restaurant in Deer Park. There was much feasting on Rainbows at home and one evening, we were joined by Linda and her friend. Linda brought a magnificent home-made rhubarb pie and her friend brought a delicious home-made rhubarb crumble. Such bounty.
We departed again for a little more fishing, this time on Lake Conconully in the northeast of Washington State, up near the Canadian border where the legendary Kokanee Salmon awaited us. We passed through Republic on the way and tried to have lunch at our old haunt "Freckles" but it was closed for lunch that day. Never mind, we went next door to the impressive Republic Brewery which makes its excellent beers on the spot.
I have perhaps unfairly castigated Commodore Schatz for the rustic digs at Lake Gillette but he had clearly pulled out all the stops for our accommodation at Lake Conconully. We had a veritable luxury condo overlooking the lake and I had my own room with a king size bed.
It used to be the resort owner's condo but he moved downstairs when his mother-in-law could not get up the stairs. This was the Ritz Carlton of fishing cabins. No wonder we were so happy to just sit there listening to Professor Schatz lecturing us on gripping economic scenarios for the future, world politics and obscure college basketball teams. Fishing? Do we really have to go fishing?
So, how was the fishing? Awesome! We went out on the first afternoon but there was quite a bit of wind. We did several big loops and the fishing was a bit slow. Towards the end of the afternoon, Rich and Wayne started to catch Silvers and those big boys (the fish, not Rich and Wayne) put up one hell of a fight, thrashing and leaping out of the water before succumbing to the netting skills of young Wayne. Look at this monstrous Silver he netted after a big fight and lots of thrashing around.
The Commodore has never let us down and has always maintained his cool and wry sense of humor in all situations--even when the Official Photographer has failed spectacularly in some piscine-related task (like pouring Evian water into the the fish box instead of lake water or getting the fishing lines all tangled up in the motor). Ave, Imperator, piscituri salutant!
The town of Conconully does not have a lot to offer in the way of restaurants or high living. That first night we repared to the Sit'n Bull Saloon which was packed because it's about the only show in town. We had to wait quite a time before a very friendly and fresh-faced lady came to the table and asked what she could offer us "boys" to drink.
Rich and I settled for beer (we are in a saloon, after all) but Wayne asks if they can make him a Manhattan. Oh no, not again, I thought. This nearly caused a fatality up in Montana a few years back with the bearded mountain men and a deaf barman. Our lady looked a little blank but after Wayne listed the ingredients she said she would go ask the barman.
She came back and said they didn't have any bitters. Wayne said OK. Then she came back and said they didn't have any Sweet Vermouth. Wayne said OK. Then she came back a third time and said it looked like they were flat out of bourbon. Wayne conceded defeat and ordered a Miller Lite!
About ten minutes later our lady came back and sat down at the table with us. "Well, what do you boys want to eat, " she asked, readying her order pad. "What have you got?" we asked. "Well, I don't work here. I'm just helping Mary over there. She's real busy tonight." So, we got chatting and she told us her name was Ann and was actually a fire-fighter on leave from Seattle to help out in Conconully for a couple of weeks. Hey, quite a nice place for summer.
Now, Ann was quite a buxom gal and I could imagine her crashing through burning buildings with a huge axe and red helmet and just hoped that Wayne and Rich weren't going to give her any trouble over the menu. We all settled for hamburgers if I remember correctly because that seemed to be the only correct answer to the "food" question in the Sit'n Bull--just like beer was the only right answer to the "drink" question. (Miller 4, Manhattan 0).
Ann was quite a character. She had fought forest fires, major building fires, home fires ("they really go up") and had had her share of heart attacks, strokes and cats up trees. She was interested to know where we were from and was quite intrigued that the D.C. Boyz had found their way to distant Conconully. We explained that Schatz was the "local" but I rather gathered that Chewelah 40 miles north of Spokane was not deemed to be so "local". Anyway, she was a wonderful addition to our party and the burgers were great too. A very successful first day. Pictured above are some more "locals" outside the Sit'n Bull.
The next day we fished early in the morning, caught our 15 Silvers and Rainbows with comparative ease and then headed into town for a very late breakfast the only other eating place in Conconully. Can't remember the name--Red something. Wayne had a bit of a run-in with the 74 year-old waitress over the fact that they were not serving breakfast after 11AM. By this time it was at least 12.30PM. He wanted Eggs Benedict but she wasn't budging. Breakfast was OVER. I can't remember the exact words but Wayne said something like: "What if I paid you more than the $13 on the menu for the Eggs Benedict?" "Sir, there would have to be a zero in that figure for you to get Eggs Benedict after 11AM."
Once again, Wayne had failed to put a dent in the way things were done in Conconully. And that cranky old lady was a bit mischievous because after she had taken our LUNCH orders she gave us a sly look and added: "Them Eggs Benedict are r-e-a-l good!" After our "breakfast" we decided to drive up the mountain behind Conconully to check out the snow that still seemed to be hanging about up there in late May.
We had been up above the snow line last year and, if you remember, Rich and Wayne had hurled a few snowballs at the photographer. The photo below shows why it is best for me to be behind the camera rather than in front of it. I am sure that I am taller than this and not so bald!
I wanted to take some more photos of our surroundings so Wayne and Rich took off in the truck to see if they could get to the top of the mountain. I was happily snapping away for some time and then started to walk up the road to meet them coming back on the way down. I must have walked about a mile and the road got narrower and the forest started to close in.
I am not usually given to wild or scary thoughts but I started to think about what would happen if I blundered into a bear out there all alone. This thought became a little more real when I heard twigs breaking or other strange sounds emanating from the forest. Man, where were those guys? Was it brown or black bears that could climb trees? Was it a good idea to run or did you go into a defensive crouch? What if there were grizzlies up here? Oh boy. I wish I could remember what was on that sign back there about Knowing Your Bears.
I am not kidding but I really did have some reservations about moving any further up the mountain. Maybe it would be better to just sit down and keep still? After what seemed like an age, I heard the distant rumble of an engine and sure enough it was the truck returning. Rich and Wayne were a little nonchalant when I told them about my bear phobia and said that they hadn't been away very long. They were more excited about telling me how they had nearly got to the top and could see Canada. Yeah, and I could have got topped by a bear down here, I thought!
After all the contretemps in the eating establishments of Conconully, we bought some supplies at the General Store and decided to stay in for the night and consume what the hell we wanted! Cheese and biscuits with Canadian Club whiskey and ginger ale makes for a fine meal.
The next morning, we were out again on the lake and I honestly cannot remember any particular drama or story that should be relayed. Am I forgetting important moments? We were by now a well-oiled fishing operation and catching Silvers and Rainbows of good proportions. We called out to a few other boats which were fishing and they seemed to be catching at about the same rate as us. We talked a lot, told jokes, ribbed each other, remembered past Road Trips and past triumphs of the fishing world and the wider world, didn't get too bothered about the burning sun or wind or rain and laughed at our little foibles, predilections and advancing years, as evidenced by our climbing out of the boat on hands and knees to be safe. Or was that just me?
We finished up at at Lake Conconully and checked out of our luxury condo. A sum total of about 85 big ones. Not so many as last year but a lot more meat. The Commodore had plotted an intriguing route home that would take us over a mountain pass via a "short cut" which would bring us out at Sullivan Lake. My heart sank at the thought of Schatz ordering us to jump from the bridge at Sullivan Lake into the icy waters below and was already thinking of pleading a headache or a broken back to avoid what had become known as "The Jump." Wayne didn't say anything but I knew he was thinking the same thing.
The "short cut" proved to be illusory. After about 12 miles of slow climbing up a very narrow mountain road, we encountered large tracts of snow on the road. We had not passed any other vehicle during those 12 miles and it was deemed unwise to venture further up the mountain and risk getting stuck. They might not find us for a week--or at all. Nobody even knew we were up there!
Our driver, Wayne, then had to make a rather dangerous 12-point turn with a deep, flooded ditch on one side and a heavily forested 500 ft. ravine on the other. With a lot of guidance from Rich and me and Filipino-style tapping on the truck, Wayne managed to make a perfect turn without sending us into the ditch or over the side of the ravine. As we drove a little further down the mountain and around a hairpin corner, we discovered a big passing area where Wayne could have made the turn in one go. Such is the perversity of life.
We made it down to Sullivan Lake and, mercifully, the Commodore decided that we should not jump this year and that it would be more daring to tackle it in a wheel chair when that time came. We took another short cut and boarded the free ferry at Inchelium and made our way slowly home. We were welcomed back with a rollicking dinner and altogether too much laughter and noise fueled by too many red wines and Manhattans. Poor Kirstine's boyfriend was a bit bemused by the whole show and definitely thought the D.C Boyz were a bad influence on Dr. Schatz, the calm and normally abstemious Professor of Economics. Little does he know!
Unfortunately, I am running out of space so a few photos will have to tell the remaining story.
Sadly, we would not be around for the graduation of Kirstine and Reimes. But we made them pose for this cheesy photo at Cafe Mondo, much to their horror. Kirstine will be heading off to the University of Washington (where Rich went) in September; and Reimes will be joining the Navy, also in September. We wish them both lots and lots of luck in the big wide world beyond Bussard Lake.
The last dinner of the trip was at Cafe Mondo, our favorite Italian restaurant in Chewelah, where Linda lives just around the corner.
In conclusion, a few observations. Our 11th Annual Road Trip was one of our best. If I had to describe it in just one word I would say MELLOW. Yes, mellow, just like these two old geezers below. Of course, this is just my own observation. Rich and Wayne can, if they wish, disagree or reject this summation in the "Comments" section below.
Unlike past trips, there was no high drama, no death-defying Lochsa River rafting; no 800 mile treks into the Canadian Rockies; no cantering horses at Crystal Lake; no bear or moose sightings; no plunging into icy Arrow Lake to cure hangovers; and certainly no compulsory 20 foot leaps into Sullivan Lake.
No, we seem to have hit our stride. We no longer have to pretend that we are warriors, adventurers or super heroes--even though our wives still think of us in those terms.
We are more relaxed, enjoy reminiscing as much as doing, engage in more detailed discussions about various aches and pains and even, on one memorable morning, had to delay our fishing at Lake Conconully while Professor Schatz regaled us with a long exposition on trade wars, tariffs and the role of GATT and WTO. I am not joking. The fact that Wayne and I sat there listening for over an hour and enjoyed every minute of it says something (not sure what) about the stage we have reached.
And to cap it all, on another morning back home at Bussard Lake, I watched in amazement as Rich and Wayne took it in turns to measure their blood pressure on some CVS digital machine. Holy Mackerel, I thought, has it come to this? Then I took my own blood pressure and discovered that it was abnormally high. And after I came back to Virginia, my doctor (who is distressingly called Dr. Gurney) told me that I did indeed have elevated blood pressure and has put me on 10mg of Bystolic a day for 6 months. So, I have now joined the BP Team and next year all three of us will be sitting there comparing our results after breakfast!
Suffice it to say that our 11th Annual Road Trip was, as always, a magical time and the bonds of friendship were further strengthened. Thank you again to our wonderful hosts, the ever expanding Schatz Family, and for all the fun, laughs, meals and rhubarb pies that you so generously provided. We happy few will sally forth again next year to enjoy more fishing, adventures, tall tales and, of course, many more Manhattans!
NOTE: the original of this blog was published on July 4, 2018.
Ian: You are a real word smith and a great photographer who always makes the stories better than the actual events. Thanks for your friendship. Wayne
ReplyDeleteOne of your best posts! Almost died of laughter...you should've made it even funnier so I could have just died already!!
ReplyDelete