Walk in Water

Photo by Dave Merwin

I could see the seam on the other side of the current. It was as wide as a car and was spinning back on itself. The eddy created a column of water that trout could dip in and out of lazily and consume the insects that floated by. Big trout lived in that eddy. And I was in a big trout mood. So I stepped into the current. One step, then another. And on my third, I was no longer standing. Instead, I was bouncing off the rocks on my ass. Scrambling to gain a foothold, trying to not drop my rod or break my neck. Fifty yards later I stood. Soaked but intact. And now I could try the eddy from a different angle.

Fish live in water. And your compulsion will eventually force you to confront that fact. You have two options. Wet wading and with waders. As a kid, waders were something the grown men in my family had. I was growing like a bean stock and no pair of waders would fit me for more than a month. So buying waders made no sense. Plus, there was a feeling of not being ready yet. I hadn’t learned why I needed them in the first place yet. I hadn’t earned them.

So, I waded as God had made me with a pair of Converse and whatever shorts I had on. The Converse were key. Something about the soles that they have on them makes for idea wading shoes. The grip will grip without getting stuck and the rubber toe protects you from getting your toes smashed. The hightops protected your ankles from the inevitable scratches that came. And, they were cheap at the time. You were going to trash them. So replacing them for cheap was important.

Wading in current is a little bit like being in an old kungfu movie. You are constantly sliding one foot forward, looking for a foothold while the other is holding all your weight. Your lead foot snakes its way along the bottom. Looking for a solid resting place. In the streams on the east coast, this was a relatively straightforward task and you could move quickly from one pool to the next. However, on the freestone streams on the west coast, this is a much slower process. The currents are stronger, the stones are loose, and depending on the time of year, the rocks will be as slippery as snot on a slug.

One of the most freeing feelings I ever encountered was fishing the saltwater flats of Long Island sound in converse low tops. You were going to wade out and move freely amongst the waves casting for huge fish. In September the air is still warm and the water is the warmest it will be. It was heavenly. When the waves came up higher than you wanted them to, you’d just jump. And every once in a while, while jumping, the undertow would move your feet and you’d land in a different place. And not always stable. You’d jump to avoid the wave and end up swimming because you were now sideways.

On a river, the crossing is always done on an angle. You’re going to go at an angle because the current will push you downstream. And as you cross, you feel the strange feeling of the current getting stronger and you are lighter as you get deeper and you begin to float slightly. You will naturally begin to move with the current. This seems obvious, but if there is only one way out of the pool on the other side, this is a very important thing to keep in mind. If you don’t plan for it, you will swim. And surviving the swim is important if you want to continue to fish.

More than once, I’ve started a crossing only to end up with the rod handle gripped in my teeth while I try and climb out on a cliff so I don’t go over a waterfall or have to swim in a deep pool. 

Drowning does happen. Rivers are mean. They do not care who you are and if you disrespect them you will quickly learn that you were a fool to think you could get away with something. On the rivers I call home now, there are several drownings a year. They often involve stupid mistakes or alcohol. Tragic and avoidable. It’s pretty rare that a thoughtful and prepared person drowns. As a kid, I always heard that if you fall in, waders will drag you down when they fill. Or hold you upside down if they don’t fill. Neither is true. Panic and inexperience will kill you faster than anything. Stay calm and carry on. Swim with the river and keep your feet pointed downstream and you’ll come out all right. Humbled, but alright.

I know this because I have done it several times. Sometimes it was a calculated risk that got the best of me and sometimes it was simply time. As if the river had conspired to dunk me this day. One April afternoon, while moving to the head of a pool, I was doing the normal routine of plant and slide. Plant and slide. Before I could even think about it, I was on my ass, bouncing down the river, my gear being launched in all directions. There was the terrifying moment of being rag-dolled across the rocks, water everywhere it didn’t belong. Trying to hold onto my rod and a fly box or two. When I came to the shallow part of the pool and the water slowed, I could stand. I was soaked and had lost hundreds of dollars in gear. I walked back to the car not wanting to press my luck further.

When you stand in the river, and there is nothing between you and the cold, you feel time moving past you. The water that touches your skin started its journey somewhere away from here. Months ago. And it has made its way down the slopes of mountains, over, under, and around rocks. It has passed trout beyond count. It barely missed being drunk by deer, raccoons, and bears. Perhaps it powered a mill in a town. And then just now, it touches you. Time touches you as it moves past you. It always comes to teach you something. You may not always enjoy the lesson, but you will learn nonetheless.

I still wet wade when given the choice. The feeling of the water on my skin is something I long for. I long for it like some long for a friend. I miss it when I am gone too long and its absence makes me crabby. When I’m in the water, all else leaves. The current takes it from me and there is only that rising trout at the head of the pool. And with just a few more steps, I might be able to reach her.