When you spend nine out of the last fourteen days sleeping in the dirt alongside steelhead rivers somewhere in the PNW, you don't exactly stumble across a lot of wireless hotspots. So I apologize for the momentary lapse in blogramming. I don't apologize for going fishing.
The Salmon slowed down for us last weekend. It didn't help that I apparently felt the need to screw up most of the grabs I got on the swing. Fought a swung fish in to the shallows one evening before he spit the hook, and hooked another under the bobbercator that I also botched. Other than that, I don't think I even saw a tackle guy with a fish on the rest of the weekend. But my feet sure were cold, so that was nice.
Undeterred in our psychotic gluttony for punishment, we turned right around and left for the Grande Ronde the next day. Spent three days over on that gem of a river with Seth, where we found steelhead that would eat...they just wouldn't eat on the swing. After two days of slinging the long rods around, and seeing a couple of dead hatchery mutants hanging from the stringers of nymph fishermen, the bobbers came out.
Weird, steelhead eat nymphs. We got 'em on Frami (plural of Framus...I think) and black stonefly nymphs, and Seth got the steelhead monkey off his back. It was a big-ass monkey too, let me tell you.
What an awesome place...it's just gorgeous. I love it over there and feel even more strongly about the Ronde after this last trip. We had great weather (it didn't even get below freezing at night, meaning our wading boots were still in somewhat liquid form in the mornings), good company, and caught some bobs. Plans are in the works for another round over there on Turkey weekend with Jamie's Airstream in tow. But that's two weeks away...where are we going fishing tomorrow?