The opening weekend of deer season we were lucky at our hunting shack. The wind blew pretty hard and I think it set the bucks sailing into our shooting lanes. So with the deer tags full and two weeks of hunting I no longer needed to pursue, I thought I'd hang up the rifle.
The guys wanted to fill some doe tags for a second weekend but I got a phone call from a lady who was interested in some fall salmon fishing. Hunt with the boys or cash a check guiding made this an easy decision, and its not that often I fish with a woman.
When she arrived I went over her gear. The summer wading waders even with wool pants made me nervous but she was amply supplied with the new fangled boot and mitten warmers, wool socks and hat to match. She was dressed like a wool shirt commercial, but it looked a lot better on her than my manly deer hunting pals.
Her spinning rod was top notch but not gonna cut it. I rigged a spare fly rod and we were off. First she wanted to stop along the way for coffee. We got it to go. Then, with me driving she noticed things me and the boys typically raced right past. A small town Store front that had quilting classes, a closed down diner, and a sign that was offering "free kittens to good homes". Under my breath I wondered if someone gave kittens to bad homes.
It was a pleasant ride, no politics or bad economy chat. . The cab of my truck had a pleasant perfumed aroma that I really grew quite fond of. I kept trying to lead the conversation in the direction of how we would fish or what stream lies should produce. She wasn't being lead anywhere.
Not one argument from her, just simple agreement. At this point I wanted a cigar, most of the guys I fish with start to tell me how smart they are and we go over the bigger biggest fish. She wanted to find a ladies room before we hit the river. We all know what the brothers would have done.
Flowing down stream was cold water. The falling leaves from last month had been flushed out. I was hoping the salmon were stacked up like cord wood in the pool. My first sweep cast I was just offering advice on how to get the spawn sack on the bottom. I thought the tap I felt was my small split shot getting fouled on the bottom so I lifted the rod to clear it and a salmon took off. She smiled with a lilted nod.
I played the fish, waded in and netted it myself. She marveled at the deep colors of the fish gone dark in the river. She asked what type of salmon it was and I said it was a Coho. The name pleased her. A very patient demeanor, still very much in play. My buddies would have thrashed the water.
