Springtime on the Columbia

By Cicada 

As the spring season grows on the Columbia I always look forward to time that the Cicada’s take flight. After forty years on the river I have a pretty good handle on when this day will be. The Tamaracks will have their new green feathers, wild asparagus will be pushing up the winter cover and the swallows will be paired up rebuilding their nests.

It has always been a tradition of sorts that this day should be spent at Big Slough Eddy a portion of the Columbia held in high regard. This section of river is known for its dramatic twist in direction and the rapid change in depth. The river here has the ability to rise a foot in a few seconds as it pours in from one hole into another spinning on its own personal axis.

As I set forth to begin another year something felt amiss I had all the fly gear, oars secured, gas tank full, life jacket on but still something was not right. The run down river is a quick 15 minutes just past the big gravel bars spring freshets cascade off the mountains. Youthful eyes can quickly pick out the small herd of goats that sun them self of the east side cliffs. But still I felt out of sync not quite ready for a day on the water.

There is not a soul on the river. But there is a pair of eagles posted on the Cottonwoods maybe they had human souls at one time. That is when it hits me or should I say that is when the emotions cut into me. I am alone for the first time on the Columbia fishing on my favorite hatch without my father beside me. This was our time, at time to start fresh, a time to catch the first fish, at time to hear life’s little stories. I literally had to stop and sit down. I knew there would be times that I would miss the old man, birthdays and such but I never thought any would be so gut wrenching as it was that day.

As I regain my composure I assemble a rod and tied on the 2006 version of my Cicada a few false casts and I present the fly. Not to any visible fish but to where the trout should be, setup on the folding seams that are collecting the insects that fall short on their virgin flights across the big water. A few more casts and the boat began a silent drift back up the river gently turning as if to give me a better angle to present my gift. Then there it is a light tap on the fly quickly followed by a very solid hook set. The fish is air born immediately hanging above the water for that moment of time as if he was choosing to go higher to touch the blue sky or return quickly into the jade green water.

Then I hear my father’s voice… get him on the reel I want to hear it scream I accomplish this quickly without the usual tangles and knots. I hear the voice again hey that‘s a nice fish hand me the rod…..but there is no hand reaching for the rod I am truly alone. The fish does a noble dance and comes to the net with out to much protest. I say to myself one for the fry pan Dad…no, no not today and never the first fish of the year.

We all fish for different reasons and each of us will find those special reasons as we learn the sport and as we grow older. Today was special and I could go on about the spiritual aspects of fly fishing and how we all have to gain the highest level of ability. But it was also a lot of fun as fun as fly fishing can get and that is what makes the Columbia what it is.