Russian Fall

“I bet my heart would still flutter when I glanced up river to see you swinging your black and pink colored 8wt at unsuspecting Silvers. I bet I would be over the moon when that swing turns into a helical arc and an airborne fish, fighting to its last breath to spit your hook which, of course it wouldn’t because we tie on Gamakatsu.”

I bet the trail is littered with golden yellow and fiery orange diamond shaped leaves and the last of the Birch trees that are holding onto their color are standing taller than the pines. 

I bet the access ladders have been pulled in and, the bears have moved south into the course rock cliffs above the tree line. I bet the Ferry is stowed for the season and the campground is empty, except for one little white Toyota Carola parked down at Grayling, belonging to Ole’ Fly Bob; who I bet is tossing white Marabou tied on size 14 hooks under an indicator, out on the west bend of the “Log Run,” where the Coho stage before making the last, arduous push up to the falls. 

I bet the filet tables are put away and there at the confluence, where the crystal clear water of the Russian meets with the fiercely teal, glacial cascade dumping off Kenai Lake, the big bows and dollies are fishing for flesh chunks as they tumble downriver in the current. I bet the air is crisp and cold. So much so that the few Salmon carcasses still left in the shallow pockets hardly even smell anymore. I bet right now, there’s a bull moose crossing the river right where the tall banked river bend straightens and the shore butts up against the walking trail. 

I bet the huge bottle of Barefoot wine we used to pack around with us in the Fall would taste like a little piece of heaven right now. I bet my heart would still flutter when I glanced up river to see you swinging your black and pink colored 8wt at unsuspecting Silvers. I bet I would be over the moon when that swing turns into a helical arc and an airborne fish, fighting to its last breath to spit your hook which, of course it wouldn’t because we tie on Gamakatsu. 

I bet our friends would be ecstatic to see us and, on our way home, I bet the pizza and beer at the Moose’s Tooth would shadow the taste of the bottle of wine we killed on the river bank. I bet the wait staff and neighboring table of patrons would be as charismatic and conversational as always and, when the elation washes over our waiter at the sight of the unconventionally large tip I left him in the spirit of our tradition, I bet he’ll express his gratitude by using a portion of it to bring us a couple of cold glasses from the freezer and a complimentary pitcher of Raspberry Wheat. 

I bet the world would stop turning, for you and I, for just a little bit. I bet it would be nice to find our souls again. I bet that with just one more of these long winters of me busting my knuckles in the brutal Rocky Mountain negative wind chill under my belt, we could go back for another Fall expedition. 

In fact, I bet we will.

Author’s Note:

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this story and all the content associated with it. As an avid sportsman, I hope that this tale inspires you to get outside to enjoy the wild with the ones you love most. I write these stories as a supplement to my lifestyle as a sportsman and guide, and with them comes a certain accountability. The details of my stories are purely based on my recollection alone and in no particular way do they reflect a chronologically factual, indisputable timeline of events. They are in no way intended for official use or as a reference for official purposes. These are simply tall tales meant to entertain the tired mind; best served with a clear evening, a warm fire and, a strong whiskey.

All the photos and content featured in my tall tales are my own, unless expressly cited otherwise, and the unauthorized use or reproduction of them is strictly prohibited. That’s all for now, my friends. If you enjoyed this content and would like to see more like it, I can be found on Instagram by searching “Authentically Wild Out West” and on YouTube by searching the same phrase. Until the next campfire, stay safe out there and look after each other.

On another quick note: I’ve launched a new publication on Substack, specifically to showcase my serialized fiction and poetry! 

I hope you’ll join me there! Follow THIS LINK to have a look. 

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Come experience this prestigious place with me. 

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