Today was a gorgeous September day in Seattle — and in North Bend, and in Ellensburg, and, most importantly, in the Yakima River Valley. Sunny, warm, and apparently good fishing conditions if one happened to be in a drift boat and fishing Baetis nymphs or emergers. Naturally, I was neither in a drift boat nor did I have the right bugs. Turns out the smart folks at Worley Bugger spent the day fishing, which meant my plan to raid their supply of #18 – #22 Baetis nymphs and emergers was met with a locked store front. The only thing missing was a “Gone Fishin’” sign, though one can make assumptions.
The reason this post is in the “Riding” category is because, ultimately, there was little fishing done. I tied a big ol’ muddler minnow onto my four-weight fly rod, then nymphed with that in water that was just not good. After I lost the thing on the bottom of the river, it occurred to me the minnow is a steelhead fly, and there was just no possible way I was going to catch a fish unless it died laughing. The travails of the novice. Also, I’d forgotten the Yak is tough to fish from the banks, even when it’s low. It’s not exactly high right now, but next time I do this, I’m getting a boat.
So, let’s talk instead about the ride.
I left Seattle on the old bike with more than a little hope — hope that I really had changed the oil successfully, hope that the clutch cable was still properly adjusted, hope that I wasn’t missing something glaringly obvious to a more experience rider, hope that I would judge my gas fill-ups correctly (not having a speedometer cable is a pain), and hope that I was up to the 350-mile round trip (at least, that’s how far I’m guessing it was — did I mention that not having a speedometer cable is a pain?). I wore all my armor, which happens to be for winter riding, but figured I would be comfortable for two hours at 70-80 mph, without the liner in my jacket, in early September over the pass, and there was no way I’d do that without armor. Glad I wore it. Riding temperatures were just right for all the gear over a t-shirt and jeans.
In an entry a few weeks ago, I mentioned that I’d been ignoring the broken tach and speedometer. Did I mention not having a speedometer cable can get you in trouble? Other than encountering both the issues mentioned in the prior post (oops), the ride was a great success. I stopped to rest when I needed to, I gassed up at the right times (North Bend and Cle Ellum on the way out; Cle Ellum on the way back), I was safe, had a great time, and got a sultry “How you doin’?” from a six-year-old.
Of course, my jacket and helmet are covered in dead bugs now (another great reason for head-to-toe armor!), and I’ll need to give the bike a thorough going-over before I get on for a long ride again, but what started as a cross-your-fingers trip to the middle of the state turned out great.
This was the first time I was able to get out and do what I intended when I had my friend Rob make me a four-piece four-weight rod. The fly rod, my boots, vest, and other essentials all fit nicely into the Air Force-issue duffel bag my brother Mike gave me for Christmas a few years ago. Unlike my dad’s old Army duffel, the Air Force version has backpack straps (oh, those innovative fly-boys). I’m pretty sure I could stuff in my fishing gear, a change of clothes, a sleeping bag, a tarp, enough food and water for an overnight trip, and an Evan Hill-style alcohol “stove” (the man is a genius of practicality), and still ride comfortably. My motorcycle camping trip is just around the corner — next year. September’s chilly for camping without a tent, in a sleeping bag that was good to 30 degrees 30 years ago.
Riding continues to be a balm. I may not have any chautauquas to share, and I have yet to achieve a non-dualistic outlook on life, but the last unofficial summer weekend was liberating, thoroughly enjoyable, and psychologically very healthy.