I went fly fishing with my friends Jim and Bruce  and my good dog George this past weekend on a section of the Blue River below Green Mountain Reservoir in Colorado.  We had never floated this section of river but were enticed to go there based on rumors of 10 pound plus trout lurking on the private water owned by Paul Jones of the Blue Valley Ranch in Kremmling, CO.

We had also heard rumors of harassment of fly fisherman as they float through this section by private land owners such as Jones in an effort to dissuade people from floating through.  Colorado water law states that the water belongs to the people but the stream bottom belongs to the land owner and any contact with the stream bottom or structures in the stream constitutes criminal trespass, a misdemeanor with hefty fines and possible jail time.  We dont like the idea of going to jail for fly fishing so we approached the float with great trepidation.  After careful evaluation we decided that the reward of a giant rainbow trout on the fly,  outweighed the possibility of a night in the clinker!  Besides, when was the last time I ate a green bologna sandwich behind bars?  “What the hell”, I said.  Lets go!

We unhitched Bruce’s boat and  walked over to the edge of the “put in” and surveyed the situation. Meanwhile my dog George is surveying his own situation.  Rabbits!  Are they here?  Could I find one?  Where are the rabbits you told me about on the way up?  “Dad, I don’t see any rabbits?!”

“Holy Crap!”  Jim said.  “Thats got to be a 120 foot drop to the boat ramp!  Bruce chimed in.  “How are we going to get the boat down to the river?”  We looked down and saw another boat already at the bottom.  “How did they do that?”  I asked.  “Did they just push the boat over the cliff and hope for the best?  “I dont think so” Jim exclaimed.  “We need a rope!  A very very long rope.”  Bruce went back to his old Chevy Suburban and began rumaging around.  Bruce seems to always be prepared so I wasn’t too worried.  I think he probably has everything from a can opener to an expresso machine somewhere in that monster machine of his so a rope should be no problem.  Sure enough, he emerged with a rope.  But would it be long enough?

We attached the rope to the stern of the boat and worked it over to the edge.  Bruce positioned himself at the bow and stood below the boat on the top of the embankment.  “Seriously Bruce, what if that boat gets away and runs you over?”  I asked.  Bruce replied with his thin smile. Then tell my family that I love them.”  “Tell them that I died doing what I love.”  We all laughed, but more to diffuse the moment than out of sheer hilarity.  I really didn’t like the idea of a Bruce pancake sliding slowly to the bottom as the boat raced by on a course to destruction.  Besides, if Bruce dies then who would want a broken Clackacraft?

I stood first in line behind the drift boat followed by Jim as the anchor.  In retrospect it should have me as the anchor because of my considerable girth.  Jesus I need to lose some weight.  But the plan was literally put together in an instant as we were jonesing to go fishing.  ” OK  guys, let the line out slowly and I will guide it down.”   Bruce said.  ” Don’t let go of the rope ok? “  I could tell that Bruce was getting nervous.  “No problem Bruce,  we can hold it!”  I said.  I looked back at Jim.  “We can hold it right?  I asked Jim.  Jim looked up at me and shrugged his shoulders.  “I guess we’ll find out.”

So as a former actor and comedian I have this nervous habit of singing Broadway show tunes when I am nervous.  I broke in with a rousing rendition of “Ive never been in love before” from Guys and Dolls.  “So please forgive this helpless haze I’m in
I’ve really never been
In love before!

“Shut up Scott and hold the rope!”  Bruce was getting pissed.

The boat began to slowly inch over the slippery precipice.  “Please do not kill my friend, please do not kill my friend,”  I chanted softly to myself.  The drift boat, now heavily weighted with hundreds of pounds of gear dropped a full 4 feet before we even knew what was happening.  Then another 4 feet, then 6.  “Slow it down!” Bruce barked, clearly concerned more for his beautiful ride than his own safety.  Our hands clenched harder on the small nylon braid.  The boat slowed.  We gradually learned what tension to give the rope so as to ease it in a more steady fashion.

The Clackacraft was now about 70 feet down the embankment and Bruce was feeling good about the prospect of getting it down without a catastrophe.  I think the show tunes put us all at ease.  I glanced back to see Jim looking at the amount of rope that we had left and accessing the distance to the bottom.  Clearly, he saw trouble.  But the heavy craft  just kept descending.

It hit a stretch about 2/3 of the way down that got even steeper and all hell broke lose.  The line began racing through our fingers and  now, neither Jim nor I  could not stop it.  The rope was getting shorter and shorter and the little ship was moving faster and faster.  5 feet, 4 feet, 3 feet, 2 feet…Jim and I saw each other and knew this was not good.  “Bruce!”  I yelled.  “Get out of the way!”  “No more rope!!!”

And off to the races she went.  And where she would end nobody knew.

Now Bruce is a hell of an athlete.  He is in his early 50’s and runs and plays soccer.  He is also wiry and has a very determined way about him.  But a Drift boat is so much bigger and heavier and with all the accessories; the beer, the cooler, the gear, the beer, and the beer, it can really become an immovable object creating a irresitable force if you get my drift.  So this thing is now up to around 8 miles and hour and little 167 pound Bruce is running along side her and pushing with all his might to keep her from running into the trees on the left.  The battle raged on for about 3.5 seconds.  It seemed more like 30 to me.  Ill be danmed if he didnt give it just enough of a push to save the day.  The craft slowed at the very last and came to a creeping halt just before the river.

Silence.

We all looked at one another.  I could tell Bruce was shaking at the bottom.  “That went well!”  I said and launched into My Boy Bill from Carousel.

Bruce hollered up the hill, go, go!  I’m fine.

We had to shuttle a vehicle down to the take out 15 miles down river.  Bruce had me driving his Suburban, and Jim his Suv.  The conversation when we got to the river, which I did not remember because I already had fish on the brain and was preocupied with them went as follows…

Bruce.  Now Scott, I am giving you this key.  It is the key to the Suburban.  It is very important that you not misplace it.  It is our only key.  Please do not lose it.  The key is our ticket back here at the end of a long day.  Focus on the key…  Now listen carefully.  “Scott!  Are you listening to me?”  “Yeah, yeah.” I nodded.  “Ten pound plus fish?  Wow.”   I thought.  “I wonder if there is a twenty pounder in there somewhere.”  Bruce.  ” And you take the key back with you and we will put it in the boat and have it when we get done tonight.”  Me.  “Ill bet the fish are keying in on sculpins.  Big ones.  Maybe a mottled pattern fished right on the bottom.”

“Got it?”

“Got it.”

We arrive at the take out and I park the car.  I jump into Jim’s Toyota and say lets go!  I look over at Jim and say.  “Now Jim, I am putting the key here in your glove box so you and I both know where it is at, Ok?”  “Ok.”  Jim says and we head back upstream.  I will leave that key in the glovebox.  I will not have that key in the boat.  We will have no key.  And it is a long float through hell and back.

Tune in tommorow for more….

Scott