2019: The Conconully Conundrum

I really don't know how to say this.  I want to skirt around the issue, find excuses, attribute it to climate change, river otters, lousy worms, the Trump administration, adverse water temperatures, too much pollen, green algae in the water, malevolent supernatural forces or even human error on our part (nah), but nothing seems very convincing.

The simple and profoundly disappointing truth is: WE CAUGHT NO FISH AT LAKE CONCONULLY THIS YEAR!  There, I said it.  No fish. Nada. Zero. Zilch. Nuthin'.

This was going to be our biggest fishing year EVER.  Many of the Kokanee Salmon in Lake Conconully were supposedly in their fourth (and final) year of life.  So, by definition, they should be great big whoppers of 17 to 20 inches based upon last year's 14-16 inchers.

But there was no evidence anywhere of Kokanee Salmon; and precious little evidence of Rainbow Trout, our secondary target fish.  Some people were catching small Rainbows from the shore but very few people were catching anything from the boats on the lake.

Three old blokes said they had used Power Bait (an olfactory turn on for fish) and had caught about 10 Rainbows in one spot. Big deal. But we are purist "hook and worm" guys and regard Power Bait as tantamount to apostasy.  Just not cricket, as the English say.

We have no plausible explanation for this phenomenon.  All we can say is that we were not the only ones to undergo piscine deprivation syndrome (PDS), a close relative of PTSD.  Wayne had to go into therapy; Rich became detached and morose; and I had to buy a few more boxes of cheap red wine.  But we soon snapped out of it.  "Don't Whine.  Just Shine" was our new motto (see photo).  After all, this is called our Annual Road Trip so we hit the back roads to go see some magnificent scenery.  

We headed due north from the township of Lake Conconully to the Upper Lake (left) where we talked to the local fisher folk about fishing conditions there.  They pointed to the thick yellow pollen everywhere and said there was green algae below the surface.  Nothing was happening there either.

We drove further north along a dirt road towards a place called Loomis which was marked on the map--about 12 miles away.  Along the way, we found a chap panning for gold in a small river crossing.  We asked him if we were on the right track for Loomis.  "Sure."  He also told us that he was the Mayor of Loomis.  We asked if there was a gas station in Loomis and he said "Yeah, when they have gas."  We plowed on. 

We passed by Blue Lake which Rich remembered fishing many moons ago.  Nobody was fishing there that day.  Not a good sign. It was preternaturally quiet with water like glass.  At a later stage we were stopped (at the point to the right) by a guy with a STOP sign who warned us that there were road construction vehicles ahead all the way to Loomis.  We asked him if there was a gas station in Loomis. "Sorta," he said. This did not inspire confidence.  We asked if there was somewhere to eat in Loomis and he repeated "Sorta".  This must have been the Mayor's son?  Neither was exactly promoting tourism in little Loomis.

Loomis proved to be a small unincorporated town with a population of about 159 mortals, a gas station with one pump, a closed restaurant (left) and a "convenience" store which actually served us some really tasty fresh-fried chicken and sodas (my first can of Coke this year).  The young lady in charge answered all our questions, was very friendly, told us that there was no Mayor of Loomis and confirmed that the fishing was not much good this year in that area.

However, some random guy who was standing next to us said: "You gotta try Lake Chopaka.  Them's holy waters up there."  Holy waters?  Now that sounded more hopeful.  Maybe there were benevolent supernatural powers up there?  Another guy showed us how to get "up there".  He took us outside and pointed to a mountain (above is the view from the top) with a road that went straight up the side with a rather alarming drop.  "Go straight up that grade road and you'll find Lake Chopaka."  He gave us very precise directions but we still missed the turn to get onto the grade road which looked more like goat track to me.

By missing the grade road, we had to climb around the back of the mountain.  It was actually a beautiful drive, crossing the thundering Toste Creek at many points and meeting up with a forest ranger who told us to "just keep going" to get to Lake Chopaka.  It took about an hour of bumping around (and taking the wrong fork at one point) but we finally reached Lake Chopaka.

Rich and Wayne talked to one fisherman up there but I didn't get the sense that Lake Chopaka was some fishing nirvana.  It was a beautiful lake at the top of a mountain that's all. Holy waters? "Sorta," would seem to be the appropriate response. It would also be a good reply if anyone asked if the fishing was good at Lake Conconully.  

On the way back down the mountain on the scary grade road, Wayne, our Designated Driver, put Rich's V-8 Toyota Tundra through its paces.  We descended at record speeds in 4-wheel drive and tested the endurance of the brakes--white knuckle stuff. It  required a stiff drink to loosen me up when we got back to Conconully.  That night we dined at the Sit'n Bull Saloon and were the only people in the whole place.  No fish, no people.  What was happening in Conconully?

The next day we took another ride into the mountains up towards Canada.  We had been on the same road last year but we went much higher this year until we could see snow in the distance.  We think the snow bowl in the photo below is Mount Tiffany which is over 8500 ft above sea level.  

Our snow trip day had started with a late breakfast in the Red Bull Saloon which seemed to be inhabited by some very large people at the bar.  If you look at the photo carefully, you will see what I mean.  Mind you, if you ate there every day and consume four bottles of beer with your eggs and bacon and sausages and pancakes and sourdough toast, you might also become a little chunky.  I know!

The grumpy waitress who wasn't so nice to Wayne last year was still there but we don't think she remembered him.  But maybe she did--the  two things he ordered she said they didn't have.  Best not to mess with the locals!

That evening, we fished again but with no luck.  However, the upside was that Wayne, full of unspent energy, took charge of dinner and grilled some delicious bratwurst on the outdoor grill.  They were washed down with some Stella Artois while we watched the Toronto Raptors defeat the Golden State Warriors in the first game of the Series.

Who needs fish when Wayne is cooking world-class bratwurst?  This was a different side of our Designated Driver and Net Man. He followed up this culinary feat by clearing up and stacking the dishwasher.  This was truly unprecedented.  Don't tell Terry that he has these latent skills or he will become the new Mary!

So, Lake Conconully was not quite what we expected this year.  But you have to be philosophical about fishing.  I came up with what I call the Joe Biden theory.  All conditions are perfect for the candidate (us)--but there are no crowds (fish).  What gives?  Nobody truly knows.  Like the stock market, it's a mystery.

Given the weird fishing conditions, we only fished for two hours in the evening.   During the day, we got out and saw the magnificent country in N.E. Washington--the "good Washington" as Rich calls it. Photos really can't capture the majesty and the peace and calm out there.  Sometimes even us garrulous old geezers ran out of words and just sat there in awed silence.

Maybe if we had kept silent for just a bit longer the fish would have come?  We'll be back again next year but might give Lake Conconully a miss.  Priest Lake in Idaho, here we come!!

NOTE:  the original of this blog was published on June 6, 2019.