Fishing The Rogue River------Issues

There we were standing at waters edge preparing our lines to approach the half-pounder run of Steelhead on the Rogue River. It was mid day, which by most fisherman's estimates is like going to a night club in the morning, or attending a Supreme Court session thinking that they would make a decision to remove a corporation from being a "person".

Never the less, it was a absolutely gorgeous day there in southern Oregon, the water was clean and cold, eagles flew over head and the mighty forest of the coastal climate framed our setting with elegance and dignity.

We fisherman were dressed for the occasion, decked out in various costumes including vests, hemostats, large billed hats and wadding gear. Generally, we looked good but not over done. We all had fly rods and not cane poles, and a large can of glistening nightcrawlers. We were sportsmen full of intent and good wishes. Ann wanted us to be successful.

While I was having a small problem getting about due to various injuries accumulated doing some questionable activities, like playing basketball, football, and oh yes, there was those five years of rugby at Wisconsin, fishing was still obtainable and wondrous.

To top it off there were no other fishermen, none. Unlike the Root River near Milwaukee(actually in Milwaukee) where combat fishing is the call of the day---you know, handguns, knives and submerged mines. It was beautiful.

Only one problem. There were no fish on this particular day because they were off in the ocean having tea and biscuits. Did I really care? Oh ya, but not alot. I was on the Rogue, dude.


Then it happened. Coming straight up the pristine river was this thunderous roar, not unlike a jet. It was the sound of power, of size, of movement, of America. There it was a giant jet boat filled to the brim with grinning tourists out to see the Rogue River and the few stupid fishermen. For good folding money all of the participants could see the river in all its glory, they could burn up a hundred gallons of fossil fuel while sitting on their cans.

Why hell, for 3 dollars they could have floated in a canoe---and they would have seen the eagles all in peaceful quiet. Ya gotta love America.