Inside the box of a Deschutes master
-Darcy Bacha photo
to be four, five feet in diameter."
“Whelp” says Henry with a sigh, “I think our only choice is to go for it. I’ll pull the anchor and row like hell… see if I can ferry us across quick enough before we…"
It was obvious that if we didn’t make it back up the channel and across we would be sucked into the downed tree. The boat would be a goner, a relic at the bottom of the Hoh, and we would be swimming for our lives… in waders. Henry starts for the anchor line when Jim stops him.
“Hold on, hold on.” Jim says -pause- “Maybe we can get out here. Walk the boat upstream and across to the other channel.”
“We’re in the middle of the river, its too deep, you’ll never be able to touch the bottom” says Henry.
Jim steps out of the boat carefully, in to the murky glacial water while holding onto the boat. His foot comes to rest on the bottom with the water at the top of is thigh. “Oh” exclaims Henry. Henry hops out to help the two of them pull the boat across the river until we’re upstream of the alternate channel—skinny water but a path to safety. This is a typical dynamic between Jim & Henry-- so classic, it is laughable. Commonly, they talk about their partnership as the “gas and brake.” Both attitudes play a significant role in their relationship, and have helped them get through some pretty outrageous outings together. Night climbs that were not intended to be night climbs and epics in small sea craft come to mind. We run the little shoot and live to fish another run. My arms feel stiff as I twist the rod around; suddenly I find my hips swinging around in the same motion. My inner voice chimes in. Too much hip action Colt, you’re not a damned ribbon dancer. The line flows from the water in front of me and rolls out in a somewhat effective cast. Well… that kind of worked. I guess I’ll just have to cast while no one’s watching if I want to cast further than a couple of feet.