“Are you ready for an adventure?” Cliff emerged from the shadows into the glow from the car lights. Now that’s how you begin a fishing trip! 6am and the city was still sleeping as we glided through the silence and the dark. Watching the world slowly wake added to our anticipation, Cliff seemed as excited as we were, three kids on an expedition to the Oregon coast. We reached the urban boundary, houses became fields and then forest. We curved along Highway 6, Cliff pointing out landslides, the delicacy of this ecosystem becoming apparent as we passed some heavy machinery logging trees. We weaved along and I began to doze in the back to the soothingly soft voices in the front.

My bobber dipped, I starred, I pulled, it resurfaced, maybe it just caressed the river bed. We began to haul anchor, and Cliff suggested I send it out one more time, then it dipped again, then the line began to fly. “My float went under!” Everyone started yelling at once, it was a fiesty one, it zoomed around, my rod bending under the effort, it fought and fought, once it surfaced right near the boat long enough for us to see it was a hatchery fish and a keeper, but ultimately it won the battle for its life courageously, yanking the hook clear off the line nymph and all when it sensed its moment as I passed the rod to Cliff to bring it in. Cliff was chastened, I ecstatic with adrenalin, Dylan happy to see there were Steelhead trout to be caught, possibly glad that he had a chance to be first to pull one in being a seasoned fisherman and I a first timer.

A patch of blue in the cloudy sky teased as we rounded the bend, moss covered trees arching branches and then Dylan’s float went under. His fish made for the rapids, the cheeky thing, but Dylan was a step ahead leaping for the bank and bringing him in. Cliff swooped the net and there he was, 11 pounds of hatchery beauty, nothing like Dylan has ever seen in the Grey River trickle back home. He was almost more astonished than proud at first. The best thing of all is that hatchery fish weaken the wild fish population when they breed with them so it wasn’t just a good meal, but a boon for the wild ecosystem of Wilson River. As Cliff explained, once upon a time they thought you could just breed fish in captivity and release them into the wild river, but they just weren’t as strong as the ones born free, and when they spawned their progeny were weak too. now it is thought better to capture wild eggs fertilise them by hand and release them into the rivers before their hatch, just to ensure a high hatch rate. Ah, the fiddling humans have to do when they begin meddling with nature, it would be amusing if it didn’t so often go horrible so wrong (I’m talking about you cane toad).

We did some wadding, Cliff allowed himself some flyfishing and the boots on my feet began to fall apart to add to the excitement of the day. Cliff with his surgical expertise tried tying them on with rope, the currant cleverly untied his knots, Dylan had a go and they were in a pile around my feet within the half hour. I made a rather hilarious with the foam flapping with every step, clown like strides to compensate, then I lost the foam entirely only for the sole to begin to unglue. By the end of the day they had a rather lovely streamlined look but were doomed for the great black plastic bag in the sky.

We reached the end of the final run, but decided there was time for just one more go so we drove back upstream and sent the boat swooshing on down again. We passed some old mates in a boat, I took the time to enjoy the scenery and Dylan hooked another trout. This one had a saltwater hitchhiker clinging to its scales, it hadn’t been here for long. When we finally disembarked a whole bunch of tourists crowded around our cooler to marvel at our catch, taking photos perhaps to claim as their own.

Then to top off a perfect day Cliff invited us home for a homecooked meal of barbecued trout which tasted all the better for being so fresh and so free. Sally also made us a delicious farro sidedish and an entre of cheese and some of the best bread we’d had in America. and not so secretly at all a highlight was their border collie Ranger who I got to give extra special attention to as he was recovering from surgery, I piled on all the love and pats that I had stored from missing our own border collie at home. Owls hooted as we left for home, so grateful to Cliff and Sally for gifting us this amazing day, perhaps the happiest of our whole trip.