A few of the recent posts on funny fishing stories plus Bruce's saga jogged my memory. I thought I'd share with the Board my longest day and ask others to describe theirs as well.

This one goes back about four years. Buddy Slick and I are fishing in the Alaska wilderness to begin with, but after 5 days the crowds are building and we decide we need some solitude. We talk with the lodge owner and he comes up with a beaut: the first guys to float the upper river this year. Wow! Lewis and Clark, move over.

We are to drive to the end of the road, then hike 2:40-3:00 to the lake. He'll send a plane over and the crew will kick out a Zodiac plus ancillaries. We'll inflate the boat and float downstream. Bliss. (As you might imagine, we didn't need to set the alarm that night: it was being 6 years old on Christmas Eve all over again.)

Loaded down like Charlie Sheen in 'Platoon' we hike a breakneck speed. We then hit an alpine meadow and couldn't pick up the trail on the other side for 20 minutes. (We're city slickers, plus there was plenty of snow on the ground.) Eventually, we followed moose tracks to the lake. After all, the moose knows where he's going, right? Anyway, we're really running late for the plane as the pilot won't drop the boat w/o a visual on us. Completely out of breath, we just make it. The pilot finally spots us, drops down low and out come our parcels. Hallelujah!

Only problem, neither of us could figure out how to put the oars together for the longest time, and the pump for the boat was wheezy. But 40 agonising minutes later we were ready to go. Down the river we go till we hit a nice looking hole. It was unbelievable. Absolute steelhead suicide as the fish were stacked up till they looked like sockeye. Must of been 50 holding in 3-4 feet of water. We slaughtered them (metaphorically only: strictly C & R) on just about anything we threw at them. Finally, even this honey hole dried up. It was 2 p.m. and we'd travelled about a half mile in six hours. Uh oh.

Time to start paddling, boys! We did a little more fishing but basically we were in a Last of the Mohicans mode. I don't think I've ever paddled over more fish-holding holes without wetting a line. One of the places we did stop at was a minor honey hole. It was pissing down (as it usually is in Alaska when it's not snowing), and we dragged the boat up on the shore at an angle. After an hour there, we went to get back in the boat and noticed two things (a) our knapsacks had slid down to the stern and (b) the stern was full of water. I lost both a video and still camera. (Managed to save the video tape, but about 30 great photos went kaput.) [This is why I can't be bothered to try to save 5 cents on hooks. When you blow $1000+ on cameras in an afternoon, Gamakatsus don't seem so expensive after all.]

Downstream we go, and it's getting dark. About 6 p.m. we start meeting anglers who've walked up the river. If we'd have been on a steamboat on the Mississippi their eyes couldn't have been any bigger. 'How's the fishing?' they'd ask. We'd say 'Fan-taaassstick!' Then they'd smile and shake their heads.

About the third time this happened I said to Slick 'There must be some bad [Bleeeeep!] downstream or else those guys wouldn't keep pointing and giggling at us in the boat.' Move over, Albert Einstein. The last 3 miles was a workout that I've never seen the likes of. You all have been there and done that, so I won't bore you with the details of the portages, the branch bending and breaking and the near drownings. A couple of highlights though. One was deciding to submerge the Zodiac to get under a log. Bad idea. Worse idea: trying to haul the loaded boat about 5 feet out of the water over the top of a jam. Highlight: Slick up to his neck in water with bow rope in teeth trying to pull front of boat over some obstruction while I push and lift from the side and underneath.

How we made it to the takeout w/ gear and bones intact I don't know. It was the most tired I've ever been (up till then and since). The drive back was in a fog, but I do know that we got to lodge at 9:45 p.m., walked straight into the dining room with full gear on: waters, Gortex parkas, neoprene gloves, hats. We were so exhausted we ordered two spaghetti dinners each, plus a sixpack of Amber. I inhaled a beer before I even got my gloves off. The third beer was history before the bread hit the table.

Moral of Story: do not volunteer to be the first boat of the year down any part of any river w/o chainsaw and a lot more rivercraft than Slick and I have!