On that first day, I tied on a big purple foam hopper, something I’d never fish back home in Pennsylvania. It only took two casts before I saw the pink-streak-wink of a cutthroat reaching for my fly. I missed that fish and the one after and more than I want to admit. I’d never waded in water that clear. I’d catch myself watching the cutthroat reaching through that glacial mirror for the dark color floating on the bright surface, like the long suck-draw of a cicada through a summer haze cut by rain. Inevitably I’d set the hook too soon, succumbing to the anticipation of the snap and heft and motion of a hooked trout. I tried to force myself to slow down, but I am weak in the presence of so much beauty about to break water. The next day I switched and started fishing a shorter 4-weight fiberglass rod. Its slow ac-tion compensated for my greedy quick-sets and I finally started landing fish. Finding and catching fish became a routine like filtering water, or eating jerky, or skipping stones to keep time. I’d wake up and drink coffee while sitting on the ledge, watching the sun touch the mountains and draw its way down to the river. Once the valley was in light, I’d fall into that slow glass rhythm of pauses, fly line loading and slow settle of cutthroat chasing floating plum. The trout would turn up from the deep-blue green riverbed toward alder touching water and I’d wait and wait and wait until the surface broke and the rod forgave my quick judgment. I stood in sandals in the cold water and the big stones moved so I moved with them and let the reel do the work of balancing the rod and the fish and myself in a fulcrum of desire and preservation. I finally worked the cuttie into the shallows and there it was, sangria stuck in the jaw. I kept asking why purple? as a pink throat slash cut water. BELOW “Annica Stivers’ hands, dyed purple as if from a bank robbery dye pack, reveal evidence of a high-mountain huckleberry heist. Half harvesting and half gorging ourselves while on a hike, the fields of berries provided a welcome distraction from heat and smoke.” Photo: Aaron Agosto
The Flyfish Journal The Flyfish Journal 13.4: Page 103
