THIS TIME OF year brings back a lot of memories. These can be triggered by the smell of a driftwood fire on a river- bank, the sound of geese winding through the clouds or the frosty chill in the air that gets me thinking of the good old days when fishing was all that really mattered.
Fishing may not be as good as it used to be, but it’s probably better than it’s going to be.
This is the time of the fall salmon migration, when the biggest runs of the largest king and coho salmon return to the rivers they were born in.
It’s also the time when a gathering of fisher-folk return to the rivers we were born to fish. It’s a yearly migration and celebration of people and fish that come together on the rivers of the Olympic Peninsula for a supply of fish to preserve for the winter and share in the holidays with people who can’t get fish on their own. It is a tradition and a way of life that will continue as long as we allow the fish to survive.
My earliest memories of this tradition come from fishing with my father. I was just a kid, slow and small and clumsy. He took me anyway, because how else is a kid going to learn? I probably ruined a lot of fishing trips for him by being such a slowpoke, but he took me anyway.
The one I remember the most vividly is when I fell off a log over the Dungeness River. My career as a wilderness gossip columnist might have ended before it even started, but the old man yanked me out of the river and plunked me down on the beach before I got swept under a log jam.
It was winter. It was freezing. Somehow Dad started a fire and got me warmed up and dried out so we could head home. We didn’t get any fish because I fell in the river before he could catch one.
That was a close call. One of many I have experienced since then in a career of guiding on the rivers of the Olympic Peninsula.
Besides catching fish, it’s the people you take on fishing trips that makes guiding on our rivers so rewarding. Everyone has a story, and once you start catching fish, people are more than willing to share theirs.
All of which builds a kinship of sportsmanship, adventure and a camaraderie that is a privilege to share with the amazing people you meet on the river.
Still, I’m pretty sure any guide will tell you that the most important clients they’ll ever take fishing are their own kids. That’s when it becomes more than just a fishing trip. You are passing on a tradition that was passed on to you. Who knows? Maybe someday your kid will take you fishing.
That’s why it hurt so bad when Christian Akers and his 7-year-old son Wyatt were lost in the Bogachiel River last week along with Alfonso Graham, who is still missing as I write this. One man survived. The dog that was in the boat was found.
It was a bad day on the river.
The Bogachiel is supposed to be an easy river to float with slow pools and gentle rapids, but a tree fell into the river and changed everything.
When in doubt, scout the route. Get out and walk it before you try to row it.
Getting safely to the takeout is more important than any fish.
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Pat Neal is a Hoh River fishing and rafting guide and “wilderness gossip columnist” whose column appears here every Wednesday.
He can be reached at 360-683-9867 or by email via patnealproductions@gmail.com.