Odd Times to Think of Fishing
Saturday, January 28 – As I write this post, I’m hungrily devouring about two dozen small pretzel rods. The pretzels are about the size and shape of a #8 mop worm. (It seems a little disturbing that I’m thinking of my food in terms of flies.) This is what constitutes a snack on airlines today.
I’m currently sitting in a jet soaring across the country for a much-needed vacation to enjoy one of my other passions… skiing.
It’s only 10am, but I’ve already been up and active for more than 8 hours. This morning I got up at 1:45am so that I could get onto a bus at 3am and drive 2 hours to get to Newark Airport. From there, I am flying to Seattle where I will hopefully find a better meal that does not make me think of flies before getting onto another plane to Vancouver. I’ll get onto another bus from the Vancouver Airport and ride two more hours to Whistler, British Columbia.
Believe it or not, this is not the farthest I’ve traveled to ski. (I did mention that it’s a passion of mine, right?) This is the part of every long ski trip where I wonder, “What the hell am I doing? We have perfectly good mountains and snow much closer to home.” I’m sure I will forget this question once I see the Canadian Coast Mountains, but right at this moment, it’s echoing pretty loudly in my brain pan. Must be a symptom of car/bus/jet lag compounded by very little sleep.
I have no idea what part of the country I’m flying over right now, but as I look out my tiny window, I see that it’s very flat, divided into large parcels like farmland, and it’s covered in snow. I see a large, twisty line cutting through the snow-covered landscape, like a scar. It’s obviously a stream or small river, and think, “oooh, I bet the fly fishing would be good there.”
Monday, January 30 – Today was my 2nd day of skiing at Whistler-Blackcomb. So far, my legs are holding up okay. Must be from all that wading I did during the off-season.
Yesterday we skied Blackcomb Mountain. Today we skied Whistler Mountain. Both are gorgeous and have incredible skiing.
While skiing Whistler today, we found ourselves gravitating toward one run with just the right combination of steeps, bumps, and trees to keep us all captivated.
This ski trail probably had a great name, like “Doom & Gloom”, “Grand Finale”, or “Gun Barrell”, but we just called it “Danger Creek.” It earned this name from these signs that were studiously placed all along the left side of the trail.
Now while I suspect this sign was meant to warn people away, I’m a fisherman, so of course I had to go check it out. After seeing the dramatic image on the sign, it was a bit of a letdown to see a small culvert running beside the trail. Maybe there was water flowing below the snow, but I certainly couldn’t see any. I imagine that it may be more impressive during the spring when all the snow is melting, but for now, the sign seems like overkill. And more importantly, it doesn’t look like a future fishing hole for me.
Thursday, February 2 – Today was our fourth day of skiing. The weather finally warmed up a little bit and the snow was a little softer. It was a great day of skiing… until it wasn’t. On our last run, we were heading down the mountain back to town when I felt a sharp pain in my right knee. It was a sadly familiar pain. A few years ago, I had a plateau fracture of my right tibia. This is almost exactly what it felt like. Damn!
As I ski to the side of the slope on one ski, a few things are going through my mind. 1. “Well, this sucks.” 2. “How can I get down the mountain? (I did a quick guesstimate and figured we were only about a third of the way down.)” 3. “I may have to miss our final day of skiing tomorrow.” 4. “This better not mess up my fishing season. (In all honesty, I may not have thought “mess up,” but this is a family blog.)”
Friday, February 3 – The knee hurt enough that I was not skiing Friday. Fortunately, I did have a knee brace with me just in case. (That was an item I just happened to pack on an impulse – glad I did.) Today I learned that ski poles aren’t the best canes, but they will do in a pinch.
Since I wasn’t skiing today, I loaded up my camera gear and hobbled onto a gondola to capture some gorgeous scenery pics.
I started with the Gondola to the top of Blackcomb Mountain. So glad I started there. It was really cold at the peak, but the sun was shining, and some ominous clouds added even more drama to the stunning panorama. I probably took 800 pictures while on top of Blackcomb.
One of the many amazing things about the Whistler-Backcomb Ski Resort is the Peak-2-Peak Gondola. As the name implies, this amazing feat of engineering literally goes from the Peak of Whistler Mountain to the Peak of Blackcomb Mountain.
My fellow geeks may like this next bit. Anyone else can skip to the next paragraph:
The Peak-2-Peak is:
- The World’s longest unsupported span for a lift of this kind
- World’s highest lift of its kind
- World’s longest continuous lift system
- Total Distance: 2.73 miles
- Length of unsupported span: 1.88 miles
- Highest Point: 1,427 feet
- The 28 gondola cabins travel 24.6 feet per second and have a passenger capacity of 4,100 per hour
- Crossing time is approximately 11 minutes
One of the gondola cabins is extra special because it has a glass bottom. Because there is only one, the line is always extra long for this cabin. Since I wasn’t in a hurry to get back to the ski slopes, I waited in line for the special cabin.
At the highest point on our traverse, I looked down to see a beautiful and partly frozen river meandering its way between the two mountains. I thought “Danger Creek” was a letdown, but this definitely looked like a good place to catch some trout.
So, why am I telling you this skiing story? Isn’t this supposed to be a fly-fishing blog? I guess I wrote all this because I repeatedly found myself thinking about fishing even on a trip that had absolutely nothing to do with fishing. Am I obsessed, passionate, or crazy (maybe a mix of all three)? I don’t know. How about you? Do you find yourself thinking about fishing at the weirdest of times? If so, tell us an example of a weird place you found yourself thinking about fishing.