I set about hooking up my tackle but was so excited and nervous that everytime a fish jumped I messed up my knot. They were everywhere! Huge salmon jumping about and rolling up by the surface, flashing their fins like sharks in a feeding frenzy.
Let's just get one thing clear. These guys weren't eating. At this stage in their life, they are not hungry. They swim way up river from the ocean to spawn and to die. They do not want what's on the end of your line. They snap at it because they're irritated and want the thing out of their face. Like you swatting at a fly, except salmon don't have hands. So if something is whizzing around by their head, they eat it in hopes of making it stop.
Or they just have an instinctive reaction to whatever you're putting in front of them. Either way, no matter what I tried, no one wanted a piece of it. I tried jigs, lures, spoons, spinners, and every configuration I could think of (that was currently in my tackle box). These fish were jumping around right next to my line. Surely they could just take a second to look over and nip at my tackle. One guy surfaced a mere 4 inches from my line! The bastards! It was like they were laughing at me. Displaying how close they could get to me without me being able to do anything about it.
I changed locations along the river a few times. Salmon were everywhere. I tumbled down the bank into a new spot, looked around and saw something coming towards me in the river and thought "surely that is not a salmon sticking it's head out and watching me". No, it wasn't. It was a river otter! He gave me a nonchalant glance and slinked back in to the water....where he probably ate the fish that mocked my line. Good for him.
I had to pick up my meat from the ranch at 10am, so I gave up for the morning, vowing to be back later in the afternoon with a vengeance. As I was leaving, I took note of all the cars parked by the boat ramp. I wasn't sure if they were from boaters or not (who were launching their boats up river and drifting down...no power boats allowed). I walked down under the bridge where I met up with a fisherman who showed me his setup. He wasn't catching anything today, but a week ago he caught two on his two current set-ups. He was using roe and a three way swivel attached to a weight that allows the roe to go with the current but not go down river. I don't know why a salmon would want to eat salmon eggs, but whatever, I'll give it a try.
I drove home....took some amazing photos of Mt. Shasta along the way....picked up the meat, went into town to drop off my keys at the mechanic (clutch issues), went grocery shopping, ran 9 miles (that's right) showered, and went back to the river with my new tackle and roe.
The fish were still jumping and swimming about but not with the same frequency. Later, as it started to get dark, they got more active again.... but not a single one took my line. I was exhausted, so I headed home about an hour before sunset. Next weekend if they're still running, I'll head further up river toward the hatchery. If not, I'll head to Iron Gate Reservoir. I think I tend to do a little better with a hook on a worm. We'll seee.
So during my run, around mile 2, it occured to me that a 9 mile run was just over 1/3 of a marathon. That didn't seem that bad at all. All I had to do was run this route 3 times. My mind started to drift back to my last marathon and the training leading up to it. Oh man, what have I agreed to?
At about mile 3, I realized that 9 miles was a long way to go.
When I turned around at 4.5 miles, I squeezed my Lime Sublime GU in my mouth and chased it with some water. It was a long way home.
At mile 5, 4 miles didn't seem like such a bad deal.
At mile 6, 3 miles seemed like a piece of cake.
At mile 7, 2 miles felt like forever and I would've walked except that it would just take me longer to get home.
After I finished, I ate a pop-tart while sitting in a cold bath tub (to fight inflammation)...and of course 9 miles didn't seem that bad.
Ugh.
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