Ashley roused like a bear from a deep winter slumber, fresh drool running down her pale cheek as I applied the brakes of our gold sedan. We had arrived at our camping spot along 4th of July Creek in the Salmon River drainage at the base of the White Cloud mountains.

I got out of the car and stretched my legs as I walked over to observe the steep swiftly flowing stream. The campsite was a green oasis among burnt pine trees from a fire 2 years earlier. A good-sized fallen log lay over the stream from bank-to bank and about three feet above the rocky stream bed in the middle.

Standing on the end of the log, I spotted a large fish through my dollar store inherited, polarized sunglasses. The water was pure and clear but the sun was glaring off the water. I excitedly pointed out the fish to Ashley. It took her a while to see it.

Upon the occurrence of these events, I saw it prudent to first unpack my 9’ graphite fly rod. Ashley was kind enough to thread the fly line while I washed some recently obtained sap off my right hand.

I attached a sneall light homemade leader a tippett.

With fly rod ready, I stealthily approached the stream just upstream of the pool created by a large boulder where the large fish lay. I started casting and let the fly drift towards the fish. The fly passed closely to the fish, but were not successful. So I decided to try a new fly. I walked back to the trunk of the car for a new fly. I tied on another nymph, an old reliable pheasant tail. This time I tried casting from the fallen log, just downstream of “the monster” fish in Ashley’s words.

This nymph did not seem too entice the fish either. I also tried adding a small sinker to get it down close to where the fish was feeding; however, this was also unsuccessful.

I was beginning to lose hope, but I decided to try a dry fly, even though it seemed the fish was feeding on the bottom. Casting from the log, I dropped the No. 14 sized Adams in front of the fish and let it drift over him several times without any interest in it.

As the fly became wet it started sinking since it didn’t dry out because I was more dropping it in the water than traditional fly casting.

Finally “the monster” moved slightly to his left and up to intercept the scrumptious little fly with his mouth open. It was at this moment that I instinctively set the hook by raising the rod with my right hand and pulling down on the fly line with my left.

The fly rod bent over, assuring e that the hook was set. I yelled something to Ashley, probably, “I got him.” She looked surprised, having previously doubted my fishing prowess.

I stepped off the log and could clearly see the fist trying to shake the unpleasant hook out of his fish lips. He did not fight to hard until I pulled him close to shore. Suddenly he bolted downstream over and between rocks and over a log as my fly reel screamed as he took out line. I know I couldn’t reel him back over the logs and rocks without breaking the line so I turned my fly rod so it was pointing across the stream and low and ducked under the log from which I had been casting. I hopped on rocks downstream while pulling in line with my left hand in order to keep tension on the line, until I couldn’t go any farther down that side of the bank because of a pine tree. In a matter-of-fact tone I said to Ashley, “I have extra shoes so I’ll wade in after him.”

I waded slowly down the swift stream in knee-deep water until I was parallel with the fish. Once I feared that he had gotten away when I accidentally let go of the fly line with my left hand when I was reeling in excess line with my other.

I could tell “the monster” was tiring, but kept fighting fiercely when I tried to pull him onto the sandy shore. I knew I would need Ashley’s help to land him for a quick photo-op. We didn’t have a net and Ashley grabbing the fish was out of the question since I usually take fish off the hook for her.

I instructed Ashley to take the pole from me and hold the line with her left and the pole with the right. When I got the fish’s nose to the shore, we made the transfer quickly, and I jumped behind the fish and grabbed him with both hands as he tried to struggle free. I raised him out of the water and held him with two hands as Ashley readied the camera. He wiggled and slipped out of my hands. He came unhooked and landed near the water. I was able to get him before he could flop into the water. We quickly took a few pictures. I lowered him into the water and moved him back and forth for a few seconds, then he took off up the stream.

We estimate that “the monster” was about 24” long. We are not sure what species it was. He had a salmon like head and orange halos on his body. Further identification and photos are forth coming.