Dougsden followed the others down into the river, patted Hank on the back, “Go catch a big un Hank, I am going over to that fast water to see if I can Jig another ole toad”. Hank started to do the breast stroke, “ heck, if you see this old toad splashing around , floating down the currents, be careful with that jigger, I don’t want a size 4 attached to my butt”.
Willowhead, an encyclopaedia of music, waded ahead of the group, another tune just popped out. ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫
Jerimiah said his peace and fell back in the road
He was shot by Coulee Reese
Who they nick-named Jack The Toad
Just across his shoulder just a little to the……..
“Hey guys, Willow has some country in him, isn’t that a hoot”; laughed Hank.
Catching up on Willow, Dubbn led them upstream, staying close to the bank. Willow struggled a little; the water was quite deep here. “You trying to wear out this old showman, Dubby”, “there’s some fine shallow wading water out there”; Willow pointed midstream. “I know there is “said Dubby,” but if we go splashing up through the shallows the trout will bolt for cover and scare every trout upstream, you gotta think like a hunter Willow.”
“Sure can do “; laughed Willow, “ I ain’t done this hunting type fishing in years, met a fella at a conclave....
some years back, he even wore camouflage underwear,
chuckle, well if he didn’t go an buy one of them bright Hawaiian shirts once he got into conservation….1996 that was….
They call me the hunter, that's my name
A pretty woman like you, is my only game
I bought me a love gun, just the other day
And I aim to aim it your way………
“
“Never did really buy into the hunting thing myself, seemed a whole lot of effort to catch a few more trout, but when in Rome…”; Willow gave Dubby a mock salute; “you the man, Daniel Boone”
Dubby struggled to concentrate on the job at hand; Willowhead just grew on you with his infectious rambling and singing and was getting under his skin, in a good kind of way. Stopping at the tail of a long pool a half mile or so above Dougsden , Dubbn suggested that this was where William and Willow should start. Watch the edge of the flows and the slack water, see all those spent blue wings he said, cupping his hand and lifting a handful of water. Sure enough, the surface of the slack water was littered with thousands of spent fly. Just wait here , the trout will start feeding soon enough, pick your targets , one at a time, ignore any trout in the streamier water, they will likely be juveniles. William nodded, “ thanks Dubbn, this is sure going to be a whole lot of fun”
Taking Bill and Hank up to the next stretch, he gave them exact same instructions , with one addition, when you get sick of catching, come back down.
Dubbn waded back down below Willow and William, climbed out of the river and disappeared into the trees. Selecting some nice thin springy branches from a young tree, be proceeded breaking off a few of them and carried them back to the river. He took a few small packages and a knife from his backpack. Kneeling down he got to work, stripped the branches and cut them into various lengths. Opening one of the packages he withdrew a small neatly bundled strong nylon mesh net. He quickly inserted the cut branches into the net. Shaped like a bag , it narrowed to a neck formed by four very short lengths of branch. . He located a few small rocks, dropped them into the trap, ensuring the heaviest was held in a small bag of nylon cleverly formed just inside the neck. Locating his ball of strong string he tied it to the neck.
Satisfied with his work he dropped into the river, finding a nice deep spot with an undercut bank, he took the last remaining package. It was some left overs of smoked trout from the previous night wrapped in plastic. He stabbed the plastic a few ties with the knife and dropped it into the trap and the trap into the river, releasing string as it slowly sunk. He used his feet to push it as tight to the bank as possible and climbed back out of the river. He tied the string to his last piece of branch that he had stuck into the ground. Not the best time of the day for Crayfish trapping, but the scent of the smoked trout should entice a few inquisitive ones and the dark cover of the surrounding trees helps a bit as well.
Well pleased, Dubbn lay down, pulled his cap over his eyes and fell fast asleep.
A loud shout woke Dubbn, quickly getting to his feet he could see Willowhead stumbling, half floating, half dancing, his rod was bent over, reel singing. William was on the move, racing downstream. Dubbn reacted quickly, he knew that Willow would soon be out of his depth and likely to be swept downstream. Without thinking he leapt into the river, finding his footing he waded quickly across, getting slightly below willow and managed to grab hold of his hood and dragged him into shallower water. Willow hollered, “thanks pardner, there’s a mighty angry trout at the end of my line and if I have to follow him all the way to Australia I sure am gonna get me a picture of him.”.
One , two, three , four five.
Once I caught a fish alive.
Six, seven , eight, nine, ten
Then I let him…..
With all that singing , the trout tore upstream and Willow managed to regain control and eventually brought a fine trout over Dubbn’s waiting net.
William arrived , panting, out of breath , “Jeez Willow , I nearly crapped in my pant’s, that was some dance you did.”
Willow was still dancing midstream but they managed to escort him towards the bank, Dubbn holding the net, William holding onto Willow. All three looked at the trout as it twisted and turned in the net. Dubbn released the hook, held it for William to measure. William whistled, “32 inches”. Willow straightened his cap, taking the trout from Dubbn he stood there grinning, whistling some obscure jazz number. Take a few shots he ordered William, gonna do it up in a fancy frame
,,,,,and take it to the next conclave, sons of bitches
won’t believe old Willowhead caught it. Releasing the trout back into the stream, they watched it swim strongly away, becoming a shadow till it finally disappeared.
“Outta sight, but now forgotten, haven’t had a high like this in years, not since 82...., young and silly back then…. She had hips like
…..enough about that, Yeeee ha, Willowhead’s a fine trout hunter.”
“Too good “; said William to Dubbn; “ way too easy, it would spoil a man. They were sure hammering the CDC spinner’s.”.
“Must see if supper has been caught”; said Dubbn as he waded towards his trap. He pulled the string slowly , lifting the trap. “ What u got there “; Willow was peering over his shoulder, “ Hey William , Daniel Boone has been trapping some crayfish “ Carefully, Dubbn gathered up the net , took a plastic bag form his pocket and half filled it with water and climbed up to the clearing. There were five fine crayfish at the bottom of the net. He unhooked his landing net, placed the crayfish inside the plastic bag and placed the bag in the landing net.
Job done, he looked at the others, “Crayfish soup for dinner , got a few onions and carrots back in the car”.
“Man, this is turning into some trip….haven’t had crayfish since 1998, did a little club in in New Orleans, boy they knew how to deliver flavour in their crayfish….. “; Willows teeth were rattling at the thought of the soup. “William, give me a look at that picture of me holding that trout, Willow the trout Hunter…. If I dropped dead right now,,,,, man, I would die happy”
Bill and Hank arrived back, splashing their way downstream.
How was the fishing Hank asked Dubbn, did you catch a few.
Hank was grinning from ear to ear. Carefully he placed his rod against a tree and started an Indian war dance.
“High ya ya. Heihh yaa yaa, high yaa ya”, round and round he danced until so dizzy, he collapsed on the ground. Kicking his feet up in the ear , he started again. “High ya ya. Heihh yaa yaa, high yaa ya”.
With all his contortions some water started splashing out of the top of his waders.
“Yep”; said Bill, “ he took a little swim”.
Dubbn and William pounced on Hanks legs and lifted them straight up allowing a torrent of water to escape. All the time hank continued, “High ya ya. Heihh yaa yaa, high yaa ya………………..”
Willow could not control his laughing and christened Hank, “Hank Wet Arse , Son of Bald Eagle”.
The fishing was okay said Hank Wet Arse, “was it five or fifty five I caught” he asked Bill. “Closer to seventy “, said Bill, “would have been more if you didn’t stepped into in that hole”. “Missed a lot too”; Bill winked at Dubbn.
“Let’s be off” , Dubbn was eager to check on Dougsden. There was no sign of him in the distance, probably having a snooze after all the Jigging. Still over a hundred yards away, something midstream caught Dubbns attention, a liitle flash as something moved low over a boulder. He slowed down and kept his eye on the boulder, there it was again, almost imperceptible, but Dubbn had eyes like a hawk. Getting closer he gasped loudly as it all became clear. The others had not noticed anything yet, he pointed towards the boulder and motioned to the others to keep quiet, very quiet. Slowly they crept forward until finally all was revealed.
The boulder was none other than Dougsden, crouched, sitting on his knees, the water almost reaching his armpits. “Son of a bitch “; whispered Dubbn; “ that’s why the crafty old devil wears oversized waders.
They watched in awe as every cast seen a trout brought to an unseen hand, barely a splash from its struggle. Slowly the boulder inched its way upstream, a few yards of fly line floating out with each cast, the rod dancing in unison with the drifting flies, strike, trout released. All stood there, quiet , in awe of what they were witnessing. Slowly Willow opened his mouth and quietly spoke , “Man, now that’s a Trout Hunter”.
Finally Dougsden sensed their presence, turned and faced them. Under his hood they could just see the whites of his eyes, his face caked in mud. His hands too were black, carefully done with a black marker, his rod rings the same, his gold reel the same. Slowly he got too his feet, washed his face and greeted his friends. “ Boy that was fun, haven’t done that in a while”. Dubbns heart creaked with admiration, the rest simply stood there until Hank finally broke the silence “Well I be the son of a mule if that wasn’t the finest bit of trout tickling I ever did see”.
Bill and William looked at each other, both thinking the same thing. Yesterday morning they were the guides, eager to reveal some of the rivers treasures and good guides they were to. Dubbn , a fine trout hunter had superceeded them and revealed his own secrets. But standing before them, the most unassuming of men, this was a master hunter, this quiet man owned the river and they felt priveliged simply to stand in his company.
Trying to make light of it all, Dubbn shouted at Dougsden, “Cmon you grizzly old Frog Hunter ,its time to have some dinner with your friends. I’ve got some fine crayfish in my net and all your silly crawling around the river is only delaying us”.
With that he led them downstream and soon they were crossing near the inside riffle.
TBC
let's just hope tht she is more 'on' key than willowhead ... 
