Not Again

A peaceful start to a beautiful morning.

Seems like every time I come here the last few years, a moose wants to kill me, either physically, or from a heart attack.  A couple years ago, two scared the bejesus out of me on the bank right above Loving Creek.  A summer ago, I heard a huge splash and turned to see one right behind me straight below the conservancy building on the cliff.  A few years back, a small herd moved straight across from me at the junction of Grove and Stalker creeks.  That was mutual respect. 

But this morning, a horny and aggressive bull comes tearing through the brush, head down, snorting and making all kinds of racket.  What the hell?  He's breaking through the willows with his antlers, chasing a cow, both ranting and raving like I've never heard.  He apparently doesn't appreciate me and two other fishermen in his creek, or around his woman, or that we even exist.  After coming straight to the bank directly in front of me, 40 or so feet away, I hunker low in some grass on the edge of an island behind me to make myself look small.  I am, compared to this bull.  I sure as hell aren't going to out run or out swim him standing waist deep in Silver Creek muck.  The cow is just downstream of me on the same bank, right between me and the downstream angler.

Then the bull runs straight down stream and turns toward the fisherman 150 feet below me.  The guy exits to the bank, and the bull splashes toward him.  Better him than me, but I thought he might be toast.  He did too.

I figure, might as well have documentation for next of kin.

After passing on that guy, the bull stomps back upstream again, passes me on the way to another fisherman just around the bend 150 feet upstream of me.  That guy backs off to the island I'm squatting next to, and then starts coming my way, with the bull following.  I guess the bull had enough, because he turned away mid-stream, and went back upstream to wherever he came from, in pursuit of the cow that has now also made her way up above all of us.

Him?  Her?  Me?  I'm screwed.  That's what he's probably thinking too.

He decided to go with the cow.

The wind had been up for about 30 minutes prior to all of this.  I found my way to the trail and decided to head back to camp for lunch and a change of drawers.  When I came back for the evening bite, the bull and his girlfriend were still on the little island I had last seen them on.  Ironically, its where the trails from both parking lots meet at the creek.  Both appeared to have settled down considerably from noon, so maybe they were all finished and having a cigarette.  I'll probably go further downstream tomorrow.

Oh, the fishing?  The hatch starts about when the wind comes up, and then I get out of there.  Once the wind stops around 4, the late afternoon and evening bite is decent.  I get a few eats from some nice fish but don't keep any hooked.  I think I'm in the right frame of mind now though, in a different game from the big rivers.  The fish are eating my #16 dark soft hackle well.  The actual food is blue wing olives with a dash of mahoganies and the odd callibaetis.  Not a heavy hatch, but enough.  The bigger fish are infrequent, but seem grateful for something suggestive on a perfect drift.  Carefully!

The warm autumn evening is simply beautiful.  The fish really did take a back seat to the splendor.

Love this little run

Easy walking here, not much muck.

No moose down here.

Perfect.