by JD on September 30, 2001
It was late in October a couple years back and my mind, body and soul were dog tired. I’d been guiding salmon for five months straight and I was in desperate need of a vacation. One of my clients hooked and landed a nice 20-pound king at first light. Knowing full well that that the bite had been very tough the previous few days, I felt very good to have a fish on board right out of the chute.
While the guys exchanged high-fives in celebration of their good fortune, I slid the fish onto the stringer and tossed it over the side. The only problem was a few month’s worth of sleep depravation had my brain running on “energy conservation” mode and I forgot to do one teeny little thing before I threw the salmon into the water…um…tie the other end of the stringer to the boat.
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by JD on September 27, 2001
Sometimes you find paradise in the strangest places. If I could be anywhere this time of year, it would probably be on the Trinity River, with its surrounding hillsides ablaze with fall colors and its own crystalline flows blackened by wave upon wave of migrating salmon. However, my busy guiding schedule keeps me close to home in Autumn, and while I love being on the local rivers, I occasionally need to get away from it all.
One of the oddest sanctuaries I’ve found is a small waterway near Woodland called the Toe Drain. Considering the name sounds a lot like something you’d need to cure a foot infection, you’d think that this hidden body of water would be, well, less than scenic. And you’re absolutely right.
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by JD on September 11, 2001
Tuesday, while I was on the Sacramento River, people were dying and I didn’t even know.
While I was busy cursing my misfortune that a low-pressure front had slowed the salmon bite, people on airplanes were smashing into the sides of buildings where thousands of other people worked.
While I was feeling the sting of a beautiful king salmon lost boatside, people were being crushed by millions of tons of debris. While I was driving home from the river, feeling frustrated by a slow day of fishing for my customers, I turned on the radio and heard the news.
Immediately, I felt like a big, fat jerk. Most of the way home, I felt so ashamed and embarrassed for worrying about trivial things such as salmon fishing and the weather.
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