Worship

It wasn’t my original plan to go it solo; about four other fishing buddies were planning on going with me. But one by one each person had something preventing them from a day of prayer and worship in water of holiness.

I was up and getting ready to go at about 6:00 and I read a text from Colby, The Avatar, who is the last of the faithful, who was up all night with a sick kid. For better or worse, I become excited to go it alone, I can use a quiet drive unaccompanied, and if Mike Matheson is present there would be none of that, not only on the drive up and back, but all day on the river as well.

The weather is perfect, at about eight it’s almost at 40 degrees, clear blue skies. I always love the drive to Duchesne; it has such a variety of terrain. I fancy reaching Heber, with a view of the back side of Timp. Heber has grown over the years, but for the most part it has maintained a large portion of its farm land. Denial’s Canyon reaches its peak right before you get to Strawberry Reservoir, what I like to consider the gateway to a wonderland of Utah river paradise. The altitude drops some as you get to Starvation Reservoir and you get the classic Utah desert—sagebrush, Juniper and Pinion Pine.

Approaching the river I crossed both fingers, “please no parked vehicles” I really don’t want to run into other fisherman on my river, that’s right I said “MY RIVER,” because when you have fished a river for over 20 years and you have named every section, and a lot of the holes, you have earned certain rights to a river. My good luck only one truck—thank God. I decide to work up river toward the damn, and I immediately run into two fishermen. Good now I know where they are, I can work past them and be done with people. Okay two more guys, then 3 more, then 4 more—“what the hell is going on?” I work up far enough up river to see 8 vehicles parked; that’s right 8 more car loads.

I stopped and talked to a guy who told me some guy posted a lot of stuff on You-Tube and Facebook a few months back. Not to mention the Philistine who was showing video a few years back with details of location. Its official, what was once my river, my nearly personal, private river, is now everyone else’s temple to disgrace?

Jesus said “Come unto me,” he washed the sins of man with holy water. He wanted the poor, the whores and the dirty, stinky fishermen to be healed (and washed) by the waters of forgiveness.

But I am a far cry from Jesus, and I would rather see all those dirty sinners to go straight to Hell! Okay maybe that’s a bit extreme, I don’t necessarily want them to burn, but I don’t want them to receive absolution from the same waters of forgiveness that have cleansed my weary heart for almost a quarter of a century.

Can a temple be compared to a river? I don’t think so. Let me rephrase that, I don’t want to see a correlation between the two.  I can only think of a river that sat in quietness, mostly undisturbed, is becoming more like the Provo River, pressured daily, at every turn by the “unworthy,” trampled and discarded by those who have no reverence. I stand so pious and righteous casting judgment on all the others, while deeming myself worthy to cast line in these sacred waters. Maybe fishing is like earning a place in heaven, virtue equals redemption. ”I have a right to be here damn you all I have showed homage!”

But wait, what makes me more worthy than anyone else? Have I not taken many fishermen to its banks, and have I not flapped my gums, contributing to others knowing of its whereabouts, and its divine qualities. Perhaps I should look at myself as the scourge upon the river for bringing plague upon it? Holy Shit, I am Judas & Ramses rolled into one. But at this moment I just feel engulfed with self-righteous frustration-- I stand angry and somewhat sad about these changes.

In my exasperation, I decided to run back to the beginning, a section of the river I call “The Old Testament,” where I originally started fishing it. Its every bit as great as the new section, it just lacks some of the flair and style. Because of that I think it will be less known or at lease less fished. I am right, I see no one.

I try to clear my head, find that very thing we are all looking for: quiet solitude, and perhaps a few fish. Yes, if I can catch a few fish, perhaps I will find that holy feeling I long for. I will prey and pray in its waters.

I have a San Juan worm and an egg pattern, thinking they may still be working on the spawn, or at least on the tail end. I rarely use a strike indicator; instead I go with the “Czech Nymphing” style. It’s more effective to adjust to each hole, and you can vary to the depth with each cast. Additionally you can work your presentation a number of different ways. I get lost in the pursuit. I start getting focused on my technique. I notice my leader is too deep in the water, and just by bringing up my rod tip about 4 feet helps me read my line better. One small little thing like that can make a huge difference, and it does.

A hit, then two casts later, I hook up on a classic Holy Water Brown. It’s amazing how far catching a fish goes in an attitude adjustment; like an answer to a prayer. I always say fishing is not about catching fish, but there is nothing like going fishing and catching fish.

The pain and weariness is melting away. I get to a huge hole that is usually too deep and swirls with this vicious circle that makes me think, “Wow I know this hole has a lot of fish, but it’s just too hard to read.” But it looks very workable today. I hook up on a monster, oh my God; this thing feels like a mammoth something unreal. It’s a Carp, a huge Carp with these massive shining golden scales. I let him go, then regret not getting a pic to show Wilson—a little Carp fetish.

I can’t get even one more bite out of this unreal hole; I take off my pack, eat some Gummy Savers and relax for a bit, and let the holy temple do its magic on me. Just 20 feet down there is another great hole, so I just watch it for a minute. I work it for 5 minutes and again, I notice my leader is down too low, not allowing me to read my line. Just that small adjustment and there he is. I catch a handful of fish out of this hole. Little fisherman side note: all of them on an egg pattern, even the Carp ate the egg pattern.

I hook one that just won’t come in, it feels really big. It is, this guy is a monster. It has all the markings of a mature developed fish. His pectoral fins are enormous. At this point, I’m thinking, “this seems like the time to be done, it’s time to leave the temple.”


Walking back, I want to just be in the moment and not think about all the people I saw today. I have been cleansed in the waters of forgiveness, and my step is light and carefree. I don’t want to think about the stinky hoard of unclean wrapped in waders and toting their evil rod and staff; for that matter I don’t even want to think about the blood stains on my own hands. I just want to feel absolved—forget about tomorrow, forget about next time I come visit this river and I see its banks teeming with the ungrateful bastards. I am THE stinky unworthy Philistine, the biggest of them all, sucking the marrow from the bone down to the last drop; with no more wisdom then the grasshopper eating the last drop of corn.

 

Portneuf ID

As a family we have visited Lava too many times to count. I've always enjoyed it for an "over nighter" during any season. During winter months we stay the night and soak in the hot springs. During the summer we would camp for a few days and raft the river (ask me about butt pants some day).

The kids loved rafting the Portneuf because it's warmed from the water of the hot springs, so it's the perfect temp, not too cold. It also has rapids big enough to give the kids a little thrill, that don't kill.  The little town also has a fairly good share of restaurants and bars to choose from.  Pound for pound Lava is tough to beat for a cheap little get away.

Here's the rub: I have never fished the river. I have thought of it, and I have come close to fishing
the Portneuf , but it's just never happened.  This is simply a crime against fishing; and if you have fished the Portneuf you know what I mean.

I am punching myself in the face--hard for taking so long  to flick a fly in this water. I don't want to jump the gun on this one and over rate it , but what the hell I think this one is that good. For starters from Lava you take old hwy 30 up to Chesterfield, but I stopped not even 5 min from Lava.

I can't think of too many rivers that have some of the characteristics of the Portneuf . I most of it is slow moving and almost looks like a warm water fishery like a catfish or Bass river. But it has a lot of small waterfalls that provide an ideal trout environment.  The falls are beautiful and sure enough trout.

The water is rich with minerals,  and abit of a sulfur smell, but it fosters various spectacular underwater plant life. My favorite feature of the river was the depth of some of the holes. I think it's due to the lava rock river bed, but most of the river is about 2-3 feet deep but then these sections go what looks like 20-30 feet deep.

The water as well as the banks are teeming with life; again I suspect it's linked to the rich mineral content. I think this river clearly calls for the expertise of Mr. Wilson.  I have no bout he will be as giddy as a school girl at this sulfur scented aquatic serpent.

Did I mention that I just scratched the surface of this river. I can't wait to go again!