Rufus Woods

Lake Rufus Woods.

Some days you eat the fish and other days the fish eats you. Last week my wife decided that four months of remodeling our new home and working fulltime without a day off was wearing me down, and suggested that I take a day off and go fishing.

I committed myself; I was going fishing rain or shine, hurricane or typhoon. Nothing was going to stop me. I immediately began planning my Rufus Woods fishing trip. Weather report…check. Get boat and truck gas…check. Pre-rig five fishing rods…check. Sneek in a trip to the tackle shop to see if there was anything new that I didn’t have…check.

At 5:30 am Sunday morning I was welcomed to the highway by four inches of slush with heavy rain and snow falling. That was fine, I thought, I’ll just take it easy and things will be OK. I arrived at the boat launch behind Chief Joseph Dam at 7:00 am and was greeted by low overcast clouds and fog, 36.6 degree water that looked like glass, and no rain. I thought to myself 'Today is going to be a great day'. I launched my boat and excitedly headed the 36 miles upriver to the lower net pens. After arrival at the pens I trolled a black woolly bugger-wiggle fin combination for about an hour without success, so I decided to forge on upriver to the middle net pens. I spent another hour casting a black super rooster tail toward the shore below the pens, and again I was denied.

Then it happened. A mystical force came over me and I awoke at the upper net pens. I dropped anchor between the pens and the shore and began fly casting a black woolly bugger. Nothing. I switched over to 'my' version of a Rufus Woods Trout Pellet Fly and, after what seemed like hundreds of casts, was 'rewarded' with what I thought was a snag close to the shore. I let loose some anchor line hoping that I could free said snag, and surprisingly received a series of very large head shakes at the end of my fly rod! With my six weight fly rod in hand I commenced to do battle with the beast! He fought for what seemed like an eternity, and finally as he succumbed to my unparalleled skills as an angler he rolled onto his side, took one last breath, and gave up…or so I thought. Turns out he had a surprise in store for me. Just as I was lowering my net he gave a small twitch - causing me to misjudge my aim - and he was set free. He hesitated, turned toward me and winked, introducing himself as 'Mr. Fish'. He surely would have been my personal best on a fly rod for Rufus Woods as he easily weighed ten or eleven pounds.

That afteroon, as I was motoring toward the Corps boat launch, away from the scene of my heart break, I discovered that spitting my hook was not the last insult Mr. Fish would inflict upon me. It is my firm belief that about the same time Mr. Fish winked and introduced himself to me, he put a hex on my main boat motor. As I approached Lone Pine Island the clouds opened up with a downpour of freezing rain and my main motor died. I diligently checked everything, and no matter what I tried I couldn’t get it to restart. Uttering a few choice words, I fired up my 8hp kicker. Wounded, cold, and soaked to the bone, I made the last fifteen miles downriver, to the now empty boat launch, in just over two hours.

So, I say to you, Mr. Fish: You may have won the battle, but you didn’t win the war. I will be back…and next time I’m bringing witnesses.