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By Average Joe
Last year my brother and I were invited to go on a three day rafting/fishing trip. ... hilit=Jodi

We had a great time, but the fishing was much tougher than we expected. The other fishermen on the trip were all gear guys, and they moped up throwing big five inch Rapalas into all the pools and runs ahead of us. At the end of the trip, my brother and I vowed that if we were ever invited back we'd bring 8 weights, fast-sinking shooting heads, and a fistful of streamers.

We got the call again this year, and the guy who organizes the trip told my brother there was room for two additional guys, so my brother put the word out to two of his friends, and both of them jumped at the opportunity.

One's a nice enough guy (NEG), but the other I've no real use for (FTG). My brother said it would probably be best if he fished with FTG, so I agreed to share a raft with NEG.

I found out that our oarsman from last year, Jodi, would once again be piloting one of the rafts on this trip, and I remembered that she liked Coors, so I purchased two thirty-packs, hoping that would be enough. (It wasn't.)

We were told that we needed to be on the river early, which meant being packed and ready to go at 3:30 am.
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Two and a half hours later we met up with the oarsmen.
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The oarsmen had warned us beforehand that the weathermen were predicting a heat wave. They also stressed the importance of proper hydration.
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We were told that our river was down at the bottom of this canyon.
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There were quite a few people at the put in, but they were all there to paddle. I guess living the life of a galley slave is all the rage these days.
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We were there to fish.
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For whatever reason I just wasn't in the mood to start chucking streamers - I figured there would be plenty of time for that later - so I hung a Brindle Bug below a bobber, lobbed it out into the river, and asked Jodi to hand me another beer. Within minutes, I was feeling like a fucking Austrian.
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Fly fishers occupied two of the three rafts in our group, while the guys in the third raft jumped ahead just like the previous year and threw Rapalas at every run and pool in the river.
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Years ago, some gold miners blasted a tunnel through some rock and diverted the river. Rafting through this stretch is always one of the highlights of the trip.
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Inside the tunnel.
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On the other side.
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(To be continued, hopefully, some time next week.)
Nice. Good times. That looks lime a really cool trip- especially if the assholes opt or there own campsite too
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By jerome
That whitewater looked insane. Awesome scenery.
Eagerly anticipating round 2. Keep it up
Not long after passing through the tunnel, we pulled over and had some lunch.
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After lunch I rigged up my 8wt and spent the rest of the day throwing streamers into water like this.
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The first couple of hours I got a few follows, but that was it. Eventually I hooked up with a little rainbow.
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We suffered a slight mishap.
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I thought Jodi would switch it out with her spare, but she rowed with it the rest of the day.
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By the time we caught up with my brother, FTG, and the Rapala boys, they’d already beached and had started setting up camp.

My brother: “How’d you guys do?”

Me: “I got a small one.”

NEG: “Nothing.”

Me: “How about you?”

My brother: “I got two small ones.”

FTG: “Nothing.”

Me: “What were you guys fishing?”

My brother: “We pounded the banks with streamers all fucking day.”

Me: “How did the Rapala boys do?”

My brother pointed to the edge of the river, and there I saw a stringer full of fish, all of which appeared to be over twenty inches long.

Me: “Holy shit.”

My brother: “Those are just the ones they kept. They fucking hammered them.”

Me: "Well, this looks like a nice run right here. I'm sure the fish will start rising soon and we'll be able to pick up a few on dries."

My brother: "Don't count on it. The Rapala boys took seven out of here before we even pulled up."

I found a semi-level piece of landscape, set up my cot, and unrolled my sleeping bag.
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It was time for a drink.
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Some observations:

1) If you’re planning to go on a group camping trip, and you’re not sure if everyone will be bringing a chair of their own, then unless you derive pleasure from telling people to get the fuck out of your chair every time you come back to it after getting a drink or taking a piss, leave yours at home.

2) When a woman says, “I like gin, but it doesn’t like me,” don’t respond by handing her a martini and saying, “One won’t hurt you” unless you plan to turn in early in order to avoid the raging lunatic stomping around camp swearing indiscriminately at God knows what and looking to fight anyone or anything that gets in her path.

After a light breakfast the following morning, we loaded up the rafts and continued on our way. Once again the Rapala boys raced ahead.
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Jodi continued to use the damaged oar, but only for a little while.
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NEG drifted a stonefly nymph under an indicator while I threw streamers all morning.

We caught absolutely nothing.
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It was hot - well over the century mark - so we found a nice beach, pulled over, and took a dip. It was while we were sitting there in the boat, beers in hand, life vests hanging from D-rings and helmets keeping company with the two dozen or so empties rolling around on the bottom of the raft, that Fish and Game came floating down the river. I guess having a good time is considered suspicious behavior, because they made a beeline straight for us. NEG and I were asked to produce our fishing licenses, which we did, and after verifying that they were genuine, they turned their attention to Jodi and started peppering her with a barrage of questions. Sometimes she answered truthfully, and sometimes she was vague. All I kept thinking was “I wish I could slip her a martini right about now and watch her go all Calamity Jane on these fuckers.”

After a while they tired of us and let her go with a warning for several supposed infractions. Then they jumped in their raft and paddled away, intent on chasing down the rest of our group.

Eventually we caught up with my brother.
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Fish and Game had interrogated them as well.

My brother and FTG had picked up a couple of fish each, but they’d really worked for them, and their oarsman was pissed.

“I’ve got no problem with the Rapala boys throwing gear, but it’s not right that they’re always taking the first shot at the fish. They’re sticking or scaring off everything in the river, and they need to let us take the lead once in a while.”

We had some lunch, and then we headed on our way. We fished until we reached our camp for the night.
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We caught absolutely nothing.

As we approached the beach we could all see another stringer full of big fresh fish lying in the river. I cut off my streamer and as I was taking the rod apart I heard a cracking sound and felt the cork handle spin in my hand, and instantly I knew that I would not be using that rod anymore on this trip.

After setting up my cot, I went to table that held all the liquor bottles and grabbed the brandy (the gin was empty). Then I lit a cigar, told someone to get the fuck out of my chair, and settled in while Jodi cooked dinner and my brother’s oarsman pleaded with the Rapala boys to hold back the next day.

(To be continued.)
Last edited by Average Joe on Tue Jun 18, 2013 10:28 am, edited 1 time in total.

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