1997 Fishing Trip on the Queets River

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Sunday afternoon I called fishing guide Jack, the guide who was leading our salmon fishing expedition scheduled for Tuesday, down one of the wild rivers on the west side of the Olympic Peninsula. Jack said that we would fish the Queets on Tuesday, and that we would meet at Jake’s Restaurant at 6:00 a.m. Tuesday morning.

I know Jake’s. My next door neighbor Jim Dreher and I have reconnoitered there on previous fishing trips led by Jack and his team of river guides. Jake’s has a sign that reads, “Spotted Owl tastes better than fried chicken.”

I called my brother Mike in Portland, who I had invited to go on this wilderness adventure, to let him know the time of departure from my house; 3:30 a.m. Tuesday morning. Mike works until midnight, and planned to leave for Olympia when he got off work.

Monday evening I stopped off at the Subway place and got tuna subs for lunch on Tuesday. I had hoped to get to bed early Monday night, but did not get to sleep until almost 11:00 p.m. I was up by 1:30 a.m. wondering about Mike’s drive through the fog to Olympia and generally excited about the day.

Mike rolled in a little before 3:00 a.m. We got our gear in hand and walked next door to meet up with neighbor Jim and his son Norman, who were going to occupy the second boat. The house was dark and I had to play reveille on the doorbell to roust them out of bed. Jim tossed me the keys to get his Cherokee started and we rolled out of Cougar Ridge a little after 3:30 a.m.

Mike and the boy dozed in the back seat while I listened to Jim banter. Norman wanted to stop at Denny’s in Aberdeen, about an hour down the road, where we stopped last year on our way to the Humptulips River. Last year, we got rained out, but the weather for this trip looked accommodating. There were patches of fog in low lying areas, but that would burn off.

I was sorry that Mike was going to miss a breakfast at Jake’s, but we enjoyed a hearty meal at Denny’s. The boy had a waffle with strawberries and whipped cream. I treated myself to chicken fried steak, eggs and hash browns. Mike and Jim had something.

Another hour on the road and we pulled into Jake’s parking lot where we met our guides for the day, Dale and Kirt, who claimed to be brothers. They each trailered a standard, curved, flat bottomed drift boat behind four wheel drive, off road vehicles. After exchanging names and greetings, they told us to follow them up Hwy 101 to the turnoff at the Queets. Which, we commenced to do. We soon ran into a fog bank and didn’t see the brothers for miles.

Arriving at the Queets Rivers, the guides had us park Jim’s vehicle at the take out spot. Mike and I paired up with Kirt, and Jim and the boy with Dale. We got in their four wheelers and drove miles up the river to the put in spot. Earlier, Mike had asked me about the docks where one ingresses and egresses from the river.

Since the drift boats draw no than two inches of water, the guides drive onto a rocky bar and back the trailers to the water. The boats easily slide off rollers into the water. The guides placed all the gear into the boats, including propane heaters, parked their vehicles, and we launched the day’s adventure.

The Dreher’s guide took them up river away and our guide set us on a course down stream. Kirt got our rods and reels prepped and dressed the lures. Using Mike’s gear, he showed us how to let the line out with thumbs on the reel so that the lure (“plug”) would dive below the water and shimmy for the salmon.

Mike and I were sitting in the “cat bird seats” in the bow of the boat. The idea was to place the rod on the gunnel so that Kirt could watch the action of the rod and line from his paddler seat behind us. The strategy was the he was really the one doing the fishing, and he played us like puppets. When he called one of us a Jerk, we were not supposed to look at each other in an attempt to figure out which one of us he was talking to, but for us both to set the hook. The one that had a false set was supposed to reel up the line to get it out of the way of the other who was supposed to have a fish on.

After getting Mike situated, he began to let my line out before handing me the rod. Before completing this task, a salmon grabbed the plug and Kirt, playing the part of the jerk, set the hook. Then he handed the rod to me saying that I had one on. Fortunately his effort to set the hook was poorly executed and I was able to shake the fish off without too much trouble. I didn’t want to use my salmon punch card on Kirt’s fish.

We settled in and waited for the excitement, as the propane heater between our legs tried to melt my rubber boots. Mike was thankful for the heater as he was a little under dressed for the cold weather. The sun was slow to burn off the fog, and the air was not without a nip.

“Jerk!” Mike looked at me and smiled as I began reeling in my line. He hooked up with a nice silver salmon. I got a picture of the action with my pocket camera. The silver played the line well, but Mike had set a solid hook. It was fresh and bright. He brought it to the boat and Kirt released it. This year’s regulations require silver cohos to be released.

A little later, BANG. Mike had another one on, and was able to set the hook before Kirt could call him a jerk. Kirt was in between a spit of some cherry flavored Skoal, and missed the opportunity. Less than a minute later, we were dodging a fishless plug that sling-shot though the air in our direction. Fish Off.

Still later, it was my turn. My rod went down, I came up setting the hook and the chalky water in front of us erupted in foam. A glint in the spray announced the arrival of a King Hen, the Kahuna of the hole! I knew immediately that it was the biggest fish I had ever had on line. She dove, and then ran toward the boat as I reeled in the slack. She turned, feinted and waggled off to the side of the boat. Kirt said to keep her head off to the side in the water; “don’t give her air to shake the hook.” I had the king to the side of the boat, as Kirt played the oars talking about a snag and telling me to play the fish to wear it out. “She’s a 40 pounder, plus,” he exclaimed.

I let a little line out and the fish snaked to the bow of the boat, out of range of the net. She circled, raised her head, side slipped and spit the plug. It was over. Mike says he got a picture of the fish.

Even later, while fishing and eating lunch, Mike had a quick hit. I jumped up to reel in. My tuna sub fell from my lap and I stepped on it. The hook didn’t hold and we settled back to finish what was left of our lunch. I had to toss part of my sub.

After lunch, it was my turn again. I set the hook twice into a nice frisky king salmon. Kirt couldn’t figure out what kind of fish it was until we put it almost into his lap. I had fun playing him. He turned out to be less than 20 inches and had to be released. Kirt complimented the way I set the hook.

It may seem that we had an action packed day. All of the preceding took up about thirty minutes of a good six hour float trip. Mike and I would doze off at times, unable to fight off heavy lids. The wilderness was beautiful, especially in the morning when the forest and bends of the rivers would partially become unveiled through the slow lifting fog. Mike pointed out a bald eagle in a tree which we passed under in the boat.

The Dreher boat brought back the only fish. The boy caught about a 28 pound king salmon the first five minutes on the river, and they were skunked the rest of the day. Jim had not even experienced a strike, although I suspect that Jim had a hand in securing that prize. He sure was a proud papa.

Mike and I were impressed with how their guide, when Norman had hook into a “keeper” with plenty of “table meat”, jumped in the water from their boat to help manage the fish. Our guide didn’t touch his net all day. This is the third time I’ve done this trip, and the first time the guide did not have net in hand when the fish got near enough to the boat to secure.

I’m disappointed about the one that got away, but I feel good about the day, the plays both Mike and I had with some big fish, and the chance to buddy up on drift trip down one of the wild rivers in the most isolated area of the Pacific Northwest. It was a grand experience.

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