The Watery Rave

It’s not often that I can look at a river and not know the right path to take, but as I stood on the banks of the Zhupanova River in western Kamchatka, I was at a loss to figure out what I should do. The rapid ahead was more of a riffle, while downstream I could see flat water that wrapped around the corner and out of sight. It was a kayaker’s Bunny Slope, yet I was feeling floundered, so I stayed glued to every word our guide was telling us.

“You see the water pouring over the gravel bar, and how it merges with the faster current? Right there is where you want to put your fly. Let it drift down in the fast water and I can almost guarantee you will get a hit.”

“Guarantee?” The only guarantee here was that my backcast was going to look as bad as my forward cast. I may be a class-5 river expert, but as a fly-fisherman I was a nymph. Luckily, I was on the Zhupanova River, where the resident trout population is that of a major tropical state and massive rainbow trout take umbrage with anything with fins, fur or feathers that crosses their view.

After two source-to-sea descents in Kamchatka, we got more into the biology of the rivers and spent time with legendary fly-fishing guide and Zen Caster Ryan Peterson of The Fly Shop for a five-day trip down the Zhupanova River. As kayakers we can typically look at a rapid and understand exactly where the water is moving and what our line should be through it. As a fly-fishing guide, Ryan could look at what to us appeared to be a still pool and see fish. Big ass fish. Fish hiding out of the current behind the boulders, sulking in the pools, and laying in ambush along the banks. Fish that once you knew were there, you noticed at every turn of the head.

While we approach rivers from the float atop the water, Ryan approaches them from all facets: atop, just under the surface, down deep, whatever, as long as your fly passes in front of the fish.

What I had always seen as a shallow gravel bar on a bend in the river, Ryan sees it as a spot that creates an eddy on the inside of the bend where fish called Dolly Varden like to wait in the shallow, fast-moving water for food to drop over the rocks. It was simple enough: the salad bar was at the little pool where the water drops down and carved roast beef rolled around to the back of the boulder.

As a fisherman, when you find a bar where Dolly’s are hanging out, you can belly up, grab a beer and catch 15-inch fish until your fingers cramp to form the letter “C.” Rainbows on the other hand, like faster water with big boulders that create mid-current eddies where they can sulk and cherry pick from the conveyor belt. Pink and Sockeye salmon hug the banks and ride the small eddies as they migrate upstream.

We floated the river trying to disengage from being above it and concentrate on what lies below the surface, something that had an attitude about wet flies. In the evenings, when it became obvious that fly fishing was not our best hunter/gatherer trait we ventured into the dark arts of spin casting in order to catch a dozen Dollies for dinner. It was more painful to Ryan than anyone else, as he tried to convince us that the process was more important than the catch—a tenet that was tough to swallow when your stomach is growling.

I’ve always understood the grasp of whitewater kayaking, but have wondered what would make someone leave the confines of their homes to stand in frigid water repetitively waving their fishing rods at empty water. Now I get it, more so than not.

On day two, Jeff came tight on a massive rainbow trout with shoulders like a linebacker. I tried to stifle my laugh as I watched him rock dance down river, soaking everything below his shoulders in a desperate attempt to hold a fish vertical for a hero shot. As I sat there, I began to see how the perfect rapid and the perfect fish could satisfy the same intrinsic desires of both kayakers and anglers.

We’re back in Kamchatka now, after our four-day trip on the Zhupanova River. Instead of plastic rocket floats our focus turned towards the abundance of fish on the Kamchatka peninsula. We even contributed to a Monster Fish show segment with host Zeb Hogan while there. The change was nice, and the humility palatable to the point of being humorous.

Less than a year ago we struck up our dialogue with Ryan Peterson about fishing the Zhupanova. He spoke of giant rainbow trout, tens of thousands of salmon, bears and a river ecosystem as pristine as it was 10,000 years ago. And he showed us nothing less.

Once we knew what we were looking for, we saw more fish that at any point in time in our lives. We saw five species of salmonids and paddled over thousands and thousands of fish working their way upstream. The sight has left us speechless. Knowing that a place this wild, healthy and pristine still exists was a cause for pause and a chance to reflect on the purpose of the expedition.

This afternoon, we’re taking advantage of good weather and getting on a heli to see the salmon and bears at Kuril Lake.