Mike, JD, and Bob headed south this morning. Even though Bill and I stayed up late talking, we were up early to say our goodbyes. I’m glad I took the group shot last night, having learned that morning portraits are difficult to pull together on a departure day (plus we end up looking sleepy). Following Bill’s lead, I joined him on a workmanlike trek for perch in one of the small boats, starting at Little Joe Island. The outing was characterized by a lack of enthusiasm. We came back to Moscoe and spent time at the weed beds with little success. Bill caught a sunfish and keeper perch or two, but I got nothing except a bit more tan on my back… hasn’t been a good week for pan fish, but we sure tried.
I told Dana on the phone that maybe our fishing luck had run out, but the results of an evening run to Dolomite Bay were quite to the contrary—two nice Chinooks for Bill (10-1/2 and 13), and a nine-pounder for me. A lot went wrong because we weren’t used to a two-man trolling crew (snags and tangles during the salmon runs), but we managed to get each of our fish into the boat. It didn’t compare to the “Friday Night Orgasm” of 2004, when three of us hauled in 60 pounds of King in one twilight session, but it was an outing full of excitement and surprises. It gives us a good reason to resurrect Walt’s old smoker. The weather forecast for tomorrow looks like a rain-out.