Columbia river salmon fishing

[Quillback]

Caught this on the interwebz.  Makes me a bit homesick for the Pacific Northwest.

Outdoors | Late-September salmon fishing tales on the Columbia river

Blame my late start to the fall salmon season on high water temperature and late-arriving fish. Waiting for the river to cool down and salmon passage counts to build, I spent September afternoons floating on an air mattress in our backyard swimming pool. Pandora streamed uplifting music from my I-phone: Texas Blues; CS&N, Quicksilver Messenger Service.

 

I'd let the sun's radiant energy penetrate my arthritic bones and daydream about past trips for upriver bright Chinook salmon.

In one treasured remembrance, a good friend shared salmon were being caught be anglers who flat-lined pink Wee Warts near Beverly Bridge. Having little success with more traditional offerings at the time, I followed up his advice. The image of a tiny pink "wart" clenched in the hooked jaw of the 20-pound salmon has stuck with me for over 20 years.

It was the last day of Labor Day weekend. Nothing better to do than go fishing, I hauled my boat to the Wanapum launch. Back-trolling a sardine-wrapped Kwikfish off a 6-ounce lead ball in the middle of the channel led to me boating a pair of 18-pound salmon. Turned out one of two boats in the vicinity held a good friend. When I later inquired how his day went, he replied, "We didn't get any but we saw a guy land two."

"That guy was me," I said.

 

I reflected on a late-September afternoon near Taylor Flats where everywhere we looked, salmon rolled and splashed as if in a mad rush to reach upriver spawning grounds. And yes, all three of us limited out. All on the same lucky, battle-scarred K-16 "Double Trouble" Kwikfish.

 

When fishing is slow, the eyes of my fellow anglers light up, their speech quickens, and they wave their arms for emphasis. Stan reminds me of the time when "thirty- and forty-pound salmon" were common. Bob, during a year when he had only one day to give because of a compressed work schedule, recalls catching two salmon in his first hour of fishing. Then there's Geoff, who took a friend bass fishing near the mouth of the Yakima River. On a whim, he put out a line for salmon and pulled in a mint-bright 15-pounder. Repeated stories rarely fade from memory.

Reading through well-worn pages of my journals reminds of trips taken with dearly departed friends. Sharing these tales elevates my spirit and, for a brief moment in time, brings former fishing buddies back to life. On one fog-shrouded frosty morning, I served as net man for two salmon that Andy (aka Leroy) caught flat-lining a brand-new purple-and-chartreuse Wiggle-Wart. Disconsolate over my poor luck, I cast to the Hanford shoreline with a no. 5 gold Mepps spinner and hooked a big salmon. Thirty minutes later, I filled my tag with another salmon that struck the same lucky spinner.

There's a 60-foot hole off the mouth of Crab Creek where three of us fished from BT's boat on my 50 th birthday. Suspended targets showed on his sonar, so we anchored and dropped Kwikfish off a pair of downriggers to mid-depth. Our rod tips pulsed in a gentle current. Blue skies overhead. Not a whisper of wind. Nobody could sum up a great day on the water like BT.

According to his version of the day, we experienced 14 gnashes, 9 takedowns, 7 fish brought to the net, and 6 fish kept.

Before "Seedy" passed into the light, we often teamed up to fish for salmon out of my boat. Who can forget the year when one million fall Chinook salmon steamrolled up the Columbia River? On this memorable fall season, Seedy and I backtrolled golf ball-size roe during a steady drizzle. Action was fierce. One takedown after another preceded wild times with the net. After we both reached our 6-fish limit, I told him "We will never have another day like this."

One enduring personal memory spurs me to fire up my 115-horsepower Yamaha and motor upriver to where sand dunes populate the Hanford shoreline. The date was October 17 and the peak of the upriver bright run had long passed. Wispy clouds. Distant chortle of sandhill cranes. Fishing solo, I landed three Chinook salmon between 15 and 20-pounds. All three late- run fish exhibited silver flanks and orange flesh.

The comforting chirp of crickets in the night air. Hillsides filled with the golden glow of blooming rabbitbrush. Morning dew. The gathering of migrating ducks and geese. Reflecting on these orderly signs of autumn, the odds are good you will find me on the Reach trying for one more last Chinook salmon.

Dennis Dauble is the award-winning author of "Fishes of the Columbia Basin," three collections of short stories about fishing, a fishing memoir, and a recent book about 19 years of cabin life titled, "A Rustic Cabin." He can be contacted via his website, DennisDaubleBooks.com.