B.C. Bytes / by Rhys Logan

Sitting under the forest canopy I can think back and remember how deafening the rain was.

My arms were getting a little tired but only from shrugging my shoulders against the full, heavy droplets assaulting my new fishing hat, compliments of my sister for a christmas present.  It was working wonderfully. I may have been thoroughly saturated from about my shoulders down but my head and neck were sure dry and with a solid 8 or 9 hours left of floating, all small victories might as well have been milestones.  

With Chan trying to give me and Trav the rundown on our nymphing techniques (or lack of) we were searching for that beautiful color these BC trout seem to glow with.  Elusive fish beautifully sized, easily spooked and sneakier than forest ninjas.  We had made the three hour drive up to spend a couple days on the river and a night in the woods fending off Rainier-fed flatulence and mosquito militias out for blood. Both of which were horrendously, albeit hilariously exacerbated by believing it was a good idea to sleep in Chan's CRV and keep our dinner reservations in my Hyundai.

A few gulps of coffee and clif bars in the morning and we were underway, searching for good holes on the river, which were not easily ascertained with slightly flooded levels from heavy rain.  But we were fishing.  As one of the utmost relaxing and enjoyable past times as I have ever come to know, it sure beat sitting in front of my computer, and still does.    

While we may have been in the middle of the only massive rainstorm the entire summer had seen, it was ill timed but much needed. A drought ending drink that turned our brownish looking west side back to its familiar deep emerald and reminded us of the pensive calm that would set in a few months. That cloud-rolling and oppressive but beautiful quiet that blankets the peaks that only peak-a-booed us for the short 48 hours we were there. But soon the clouds parted and our motivation rose along with a few nice trout, coaxed by the sun and subsequent hatches.  

Just enough of a taste of that summer feeling keeps me sane during these long dark months, and like anything worth drinking, it always gets even just a little better with time. As I think of it now, even in the deepest part of January I can feel that calm energy wash over me, a subdued excitement if you will, matched only by the thought of, "Soon, very soon." 

thanks for looking,