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Written by Mike Sandifer

I'm early.

My long time fishing buddies have not arrived yet so there is nothing better to do right now but sit and relax after a long drive. As I sit in the shade and enjoy the quite of the mountains, my body and senses slowly comes alive to my surroundings and I break out of my funk to a whole serenade of mountain sounds.

My intentions are to de-stress after a grueling drive so I close my eyes in hopes the volume will turn up. The river by my side sings to me in a way that all rivers sing to fly anglers everywhere. The song always changes, every pocket, every swirl and every tail-out produces a distinct note that has been perfected for over a million years. Slowly the tension and stress of everyday life leaves me and I feel myself mentally recharging for the next few days of fly fishing.

It's the last road trip of the year. The leaves are turning colors and the days are shorter accompanied by colder nights. The summer has been filled with many great fishing trips with good friends and grandiose fish stories. When Bill and John finally arrive I can see in their eyes the excitement and anticipation of another great road trip about to begin. I have fished with Bill for over thirty five years and with John for over seventeen so it's only appropriate that the last road trip of the year is spent with these two fine fly fishermen. As they arrive and settle in I can see each of them going through their own post driving rituals. All are pretty much the same as mine and all with their mind on what the river has in store for them.

Isnt' it amazing how all of our road trips start the same way. We usually, after setting up camp, sit around and talk for about an hour catching up on the latest news and current stories. Then one of us will get up and grab his waders and boots and walk back to the chair and casually sit down and continue talking. Then after about fifteen or twenty minutes slowly start putting on his waders. That usually starts the others stirring around looking for their waders and doing the same. It's not long before we all have our waders on and are back sitting around discussing where and how we're going to fish. Eventually a consensus is reached and the fishing can now proceed.

When we arrive at the agreed upon section of river to fish each of us go through our usual pre fishing rituals. Mine are always the same; I'll stand at the bank and strategize how I'm going to fish this section with two other anglers. Bill will do the same and usually find the best route to the best section of river. John is usually last and the most careful. Checking his flies and waiting to see what Bill and I are going to do and usually finds an opening far better than Bill or I. Each of us is careful not to have the same flies as the other for when victory is reached we all then change over to the winning fly. If I catch the first trout it becomes a communal affair where John will usually come up and help net the trout and Bill will be the cheerleader and photographer. Each of us has learned over the years to take as much pleasure out of watching the other catch a trout as we do catching our own.

 

The rest of the afternoon fishing continues on the same, each offering advice while helping the other with fly selection and netting duties. The three of us seem to flow as one, each in their own fishing world, consumed by the task at hand yet conscious of how and where the other is and how they are doing. Finally, after the evening hatch starts to wind down or the evening cold start to chill us, we slowly start to retreat back to where we started. There is no whistle that blows or a leader to call us in; we just somehow know its time. When we finally gather at the end of the evening fishing, it's a time to compare quick stream notes on how each of us has managed to shake the cob webs off and get back into the swing of things.

Back at camp the ritual starts all over except in reverse. After a quick dinner we always gather around the fire to confer on what we did right or wrong during the afternoon fishing. One of us has usually had enough success to share with the others on what combination of flies and skill proved effective for their victories on the river. Or if the afternoon had been a particularly difficult one for catching trout, we would discuss what we were doing wrong and what might we do the next day to improve our odds. Either way the conversation usually drifts to stories of road trips past. As it becomes dark and the evening begins to pass, old road trips we've taken together over the years bring out laughs and giggles as the old stories somehow grow bigger and funnier as they age. We talk about the good times and the not so good times. We talk about other anglers who couldn't make this trip but almost always find their way into our stories. And as the evening winds down it becomes clear to me that these evening discussions are always entertaining and are a strong reason we enjoy being on road trips together.

Each road trip takes on a life of its own. On one recent road trip I decided to travel to some of the more famous rivers in our area but had to do so by myself. I had planned to see quite a few rivers in a short span of time for the sake of photography and could not get anyone on late notice to travel with me. After a few uneventful days on the road I was beginning to feel starved for some conversation other than my own. After a particularly long day of driving I just wanted to reach my destination, put on my waders and fish off about ten hours of driving. My destination was Silver Creek, Idaho and I arrived late in the afternoon. There was a similar truck and camper shell like mine in the parking lot but, aside from that, the area was empty of people.

I fished for about an hour when I looked toward the bank and saw another angler working his way toward me. When he approached me I gathered my gear and asked "How's the fishing". After about forty five minutes of talking about the stream Craig and I decided to walk back to the truck. We had found we had a lot in common besides driving the same truck. Seems he was on a lonely road trip also and like me was spending the night in the back of his truck. It didn't take long before we were enjoying each other's company around the campfire that evening talking about important things like fly fishing and the merits of hundred dollar aged whiskey. By 3:00 in the morning I had quenched any thirst I had for other human conversation and felt comfortable in the knowledge that the fraternity of fly fishing goes beyond one's skill and practice and can present new bonds that might otherwise go unnoticed.

Another recent road trip found me again alone on a cast and blast trip to the South Fork Boise River in South West Idaho. I had planned to hunt all day and then meet up with my friend Randy up from Boise to fish the afternoon Baetis hatch. After hunting Hungarian Partridge through the morning without success I met up with Randy around mid afternoon. Randy in turn was to meet up with some of his friends from work whom I had not had the opportunity to meet. The plan was we would all meet around the evening and enjoy each other's company for the evening entertainment. As it turned out Don and his wife Holly and been on the river already for a few days and they were happy to meet up with us. Don, Randy and I quickly made plans to fish that evening along a good stretch of river known for its quality Baetis Mayfly hatch. Rook's Run as I call it, had just enough room for two anglers on each side of the river to fish it comfortably. So I opted to go ahead above river and leave the quality water to Don and Randy.

By the time I had worked my way up and almost across the river I looked across to see Don had already walked down river and crossed to a point where he was in position to start working the inside seam of the river. As I continued to carefully cross the top of the run I noticed not more than twelve inches from shore a big green back and tail fin show itself to me. I stopped right there and unstrung my rod with enough line to make a cast. After a few back casts, I managed to make a perfect cast and presentation one foot in front of the trout. He took the fly as it drifted over and quickly proceeded down river right in front of Don. I hated to ruin his water but had no choice. Don quickly saw the situation and put his own fly rod down to help me land a beautiful eighteen inch Rainbow. I could see Don was a lot like me in the fact that he had almost as much fun helping me catch that trout as he would if our roles were reversed. Don and I ended up fishing together that evening and I think we both learned a little more about fly fishing that we may have not had the chance had we not met.

Back at camp, my choice of bad chili and burnt ribs wasn't sitting to well when Holly offered me some of her freshly made fajitas. What started out as a lone road trip ended up being one of the best fishing trips of the year. I got to meet a wonderful fly fishing couple who was kind to me and spent the evening with an old fly fishing friend around the camp fire swapping even older fishing stories. In the end I was able to renew an old friendship and start a new fly fishing friendship all in the same weekend. As luck would have it I was back on the river a week later and met Don at the same spot and was able to share some river Information before I had to leave.

By far the best road trips sometimes don't even require good fishing. Some of the adventures you experience along the way prove to be the best campfire stories for later trips. Towing a drunken couple's truck off the mountain while waiting to float a river has nothing to do with fishing but can provide a few hours of hilarious memories. Or the time your best buddy fell out of the boat in the middle of winter without extra clothes. Sometimes it's the little things like forgetting your sleeping bag in early spring and having to suffer the night or forgetting you wading boots. Whatever it is each trip brings new memories and those memories will keep the fire going late on any future road trip.

I had the opportunity to spend my last road trip of the year with my old friends Bill and John. We spent the weekend fishing, camping and basically enjoying each other's company. When it was finally time to leave for home I think we each felt satisfied that our road trip together was a success and we each felt a little sorrow for we all knew it would be the last trip of the year. As I was driving home I started mentally planning some future road trips for the next season and wondering what new adventures I would experience. When I arrived home Martha was happy to see me and I filled her in on the news of the trip and tell her I much I enjoyed my last road trip of the year. Later that evening before going to bed I checked my e-mail just out of habit and noticed an e-mail from a fishing buddy in Salt Lake City. Sure enough he wanted to know if I could meet him on the South Snake River the next week for a two day float trip of fishing and fun. So much for my last road trip of the year.