By Jeanette Hill
The summer of 2007 was a busy and fun summer. Even thought there were no exotic fishing destinations like Alaska or even Montana for me. Just a summer of getting to know the local waters a bit better.
Among the most exciting trips was my trip to the Methow River for the first time. This fishing buddy of mine, Sharon, was getting ready to go on an awesome fishing trip to Montana, Wyoming and back through Idaho with her Dad. I needed to get her into some bigger fish before then, so she would be ready for her “A river runs through it summer”. I chose the Methow.
Leaving early one Friday morning in late July, our destination targeted the Methow Valley in North Central Washington. Neither of us had been there, but I knew that the Methow River is considered one of our states “Blue Ribbon” rivers. Along the way, we marveled at the beauty that unfolded on the Cascade Loop Highway. We snaked along the Skagit River before climbing up to Lake Diablo and then wound our way through cathedral like mountain peaks before dropped down into our destination-The valley of every trout chasing woman’s dreams.
Not knowing the area, we pitched our tents right on the river at a Good Sam’s RV Park. Our thinking being that we would be free to leave our stuff in the tents while spending our days driving up and down the river in pursuit of “Troutzilla”. After all, this was an RV park full of retirees (much like my parents). I could not think of a safer place to leave all of our stuff than a park full of grandparents-who seemed addicted to watching over everything at all times.
As we were pitching tents and setting camp, Sharon admitted that she felt intimidated. This was her first time on a “Blue Ribbon” river. Two camp sites over, a group of men with all the latest gear, worked the river. I observed. Not a single strike for any of them. I studied the river intently. Where were the fish? What was the bug dejour? Through my binoculars, I saw few subtle rises. “Ha!” I thought to myself, “I know what the boys are doing wrong nee-ner, nee-ner , nee-ner!!!”
Sharon and I geared up. I said to Sharon, “Let’s go put some ‘women’s fishing mojo’ to work on the water” As we walked towards the water, I passed the last man to give up. I said a polite, “hello” and asked, “Dry fly or wet?” He replied, “Dry.” I chuckled to myself because I already knew the answer from watching the fish.
Wading out into waste deep water, my first cast a strike. Two more casts and I landed the first of several fish that I would catch before dinner.
Sharon was feeling a lot less intimidated. She was getting strikes too! But Sharon experienced some technical difficulties that Friday. She couldn’t find her polarized clip-on’s. Unable to see through the glare on the water, this was a challenge we were determined to overcome. Settling in for dinner that night, we planed our attack for Saturday. After all, we were close to three rivers and could move around.
Saturday came and Sharon put in her contacts and we found a sporting goods store where she acquired some polarized sun glasses (a must for fly fishing). We checked out the Twisp River. Initially we found some sweet holes, but with limited access and swift water at the only access point we found, we chose to move on.
Saying to each other, “We came; we saw…we heard our girlfriend’s voices say, “Oh no you don’t’.” We worked our way back up the Methow to the town of Winthrop. There under a bridge we discovered a very nice pool complete with a few deep runs. I knew this score held the allusive fish we were looking for.
Wading across the river, in 95 degree weather, we barely broke a sweat. Even wading in just our shorts felt comfortable. This would be something defiantly not recommended in the chilly coastal streams of our home waters). We worked the east bank of the river and in the deep runs, I Pulled out several respectable sized cut throats. One male was particularly bright for spawning. Sharon stood down river, and had the camera, so we missed that photo op. Dang.
Losing track of time, fishing, I eventually looked down river. Sharon now sat on the bank, so I worked my way down to check on her. She had gotten a few strikes but was just not having a good fishing day. We changed up her fly and decided to fish the spot for another hour or so and find a watering hole for lunch and a beer.
I told Sharon to go up and fish the spot I was in because I was having some luck there. I paused to make some adjustments to my leader. A few bad casts put some knots in my tippet I was not happy with. As I walked up the bank to a deep hole by a bridge support, I gazed at several very large fish milling around. Sharon was working her way back across the river when I pointed and held my hands about 20” apart to indicate the size of the fish I’d just spotted.
Working my way around to the other side of the pool, I drifted my fly through the current a few times. Nothing. I had to get the fly down deeper, faster. I put a few weights on my line about 18 inches above my fly, and on the next drift BAM! I hooked up with one of the big ones. For the next 10 minuets I played the fish. Sharon took up a perch on the bank to photograph the fight. It was at that point she decided to call herself my Wing-man because I was hookin’ ‘em.
And she wasn’t.
She was having her worst outing to date.
The fish fought hard; splashing and showing its size. I got too greedy. I wanted that photo op way too bad and in trying to work him into shallower water for my vanity, I gave him just enough slack. The fish gave a final head shake and he was gone. But what a rush!
He’d fought as hard as any Alaskan salmon.
We deserved a sandwich and cold beer after that and as a side note, if you are ever in Winthrop, “The Gathering place” has good micro brews, good sandwiches and friendly folks who don’t mind if you come in wearing your wet muddy wading boots.
After lunch, the plan was to get Sharon hooked up with one of the big ones. But locals had come down with their dogs and taken over the spot. I knew there would be nothing but nervous trout in there for the rest of the day. We headed back to camp to hang out for awhile and just fish there for the rest of the day.
Sunday, Sharon’s luck did improve. We hit the good hole early and while the really big fish did not want to play, she did hook up with a few good sized whitefish and got the feel for playing larger fish. We made a solemn promise to ourselves that this will become an annual outing for us.
Little did I know I was about to enter a mid life crisis…Lesbian style.
After Sharon returned from Montana, she and her partner Kathy went through some dramatic changes: The passing away of Kathy’s father and the fostering of an adorable baby girl. So as we summer faded and we fell into fall, Sharon was no longer able to fish with me. My partner Paula, originally comforted by the fact I had someone to go fishing with, no longer wanted me to fish alone. So I finished out ’07 fishing with Northwest Women’s Fly fishers.
In September I fished the Yakama and ended in November on the Naches.
Now several of the women in that group have small travel trailers. It did not go unnoticed by me that these women simply parked their trailers, unhooked their trucks, geared up and went fishing. A process that took much less time and energy than it did to pitch my tent and unpack my truck. By the time I got to the Naches River, the nights were getting cold enough that I rented a cabin for the weekend. I still had to unload the truck, while the trailer owners parked and fished.
In early November with the rains and winter blues setting in, I was surfing the web one day and decided to check out the web site for a group of women I had heard a lot about. “Sisters on the fly”. 600+ women from all over the country. Their motto is “we have more fun than anyone” A group that awards merit badges for things like cigar smoking and martini mixing. But the best part, they all fly fish and they caravan to the fishing holes in their vintage travel trailers they have redone in a cowgirl or fly-fishing theme.
I was feeling the first pains of “Trailer Envy”. But I drove a small Chevy Colorado. While it had a towing package, unless I was willing to take on another payment to get a new light weight trailer, the desire to have a travel trailer would just be something I’d have to live with.
For the first time in my life I, JEANETTE HILL was having size issues! I so wanted to hang out with fly flinging, trailer yankin’ women. What to do?
Well where there’s a lesbian there’s a way and here’s what to do (picture a light bulb above my head here). I thought, “I know! I’ll quit smoking and take the money I would save each month, add that to my current truck payment and I would be able to trade my Colorado for a Silverado!”
Yeah….that’s what I did. So cold-ass turkey, I broke up my well loved vice of 32 years.
About a month into it, it was time for my annual round of twat tickling and boob mashing at the doctors office.
For you men reading this, it’s always a joyful time. Think of it as a woman's "turn your head and cough time". But we women get the added joy of placing our breasts between to cold plates and letting a machine turn them into pancakes. Tim once named my breasts Groupie and Droopy and let me tell you, they went all flatly and patty. Now I hadn't been feeling all that great. Lot’s of bursting into tears for no reason; A lot of not sleeping; A lot of inability to concentrate. A lot of missing my dear “friends” of 32 years (smoking), and I struggled against a lot of feeling tired all the time. The blood test's came back with a lot of things out of whack.
But mainly my rotten thyroid was misbehaving again. So more test's were taken and anti-bodies were found that indicate that my body keeps attacking my thyroid and the high dose of medication I was already would not regulate this. So, that on top of the smoking cessation, I discovered that through the winter I became more than a wee bit cranky. I am surprised that Paula hasn't kicked my ass to the curb. She really is a saint.
I am seeing a specialist to treat the condition (Hashimoto's Disease). I am anxious to get this under control. I was getting worried that I would have to buy a 3/4 ton truck to haul my fat ass around from the weight gain of my really screwed up metabolism and the expected gain of stopping smoking. But the doc put me on an anti depressant that helped with the cravings. To keep my hands busy over the winter, I tied a ton of flies. Thank God I'm not substituting smoking for eating. I’m also no longer crying at the drop of a hat. I’ve regained a little energy and am in less pain every day from doing the physical therapy (Oh yeah....in the middle of everything I took a fall at work and messed up my back).
So you know where this is going right? What do most men do in a mid life crisis? Think small red and fast. What do most Lesbians do?
Viola! The Chevy dealer drive-by. I can still remember it-the one in which I spotted her. She's big and butch and blue. I call her Babe... Think Paul Bunyan; big blue OX. (I got a very dirty look when Paula didn't quite get it at first!) I look forward to only one more summer of pitching tents. I hope to have found the right trailer by this fall. The trailers renovation will be my “fishful thinking” project for next winter. I am looking for something mechanically sound that I can re do the interior of. Since the group I want to join also has quilting merit badges...Paula is getting inspired to get involved too. I so want to see her quilt again!! She has talked about coming along on the trips and doing her quilting while I am out fishing. So cool... a fore taste of Lesbian retirement!!!
Until retirement, maximized fishing time and less time wasted setting and breaking camp; Fishing gear and shelter always at the ready. And a really comfortable “dog house” The only question: Will this obsession finally push Paula over that proverbial edge?
Stay tuned.
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