To Chopaka and back again

Moon over Chopaka

ln recent years my brother Bill, and I have made an annual trip to fly fish at a lake called Chopaka.  Chopaka is a remote lake in the north central part of our state perched near the Canadian/US border. I have always enjoyed camping and fishing but this time I found myself wanting to back out as the time approached. Not going anywhere is an option that increasingly enters my mind when there is a choice.  Aging, feeling tired from Parkinson's and the drugs that go with it, may contribute to such feelings.  Thankfully I opted not to take the easier choice and managed to be enthusiastic and garnered the strength to make the trip to Chopaka with my brother.

The drive to and from Chopaka is lengthy and is in the end difficult and hazardous.  The good part is that brother Bill does the driving and I get to ride with a very good driver, enjoy the scenery and the company of one of the people I admire most.  After spending our first night in a motel, we followed highway 97 East and North to the town of Tonasket. From there the final 20 miles to the lake finishes with at least 10 miles of steep, rough and just plain nasty road.  This stretch of the road is in non maintained condition with no covering of gravel and which means it is down to driving on sharp bedrock.  Early on this portion of the road is very steep and to make things more difficult there is an assortment of rocks baseball size and larger that have fallen on the road after rain or livestock or wild life knocks them loose from the rocky and nearly vertical wall that rises on our left.  On the right it is a near vertical drop off with no guard rail.  Thankfully the road soon levels a bit and pine forest complete with grazing cattle filled in around us. The thrill of being in the mountains of the Okanagan country of Washington state has begun to settle in.  the theme from the classic 1956 western movie, "The Big Country" begins to play in my head.  No matter how old I become or whether Parkinson's is trying to take charge of my ambition being among mountains like this will always be a thrill.

Eventually the road forked and after some hesitation we took the left fork and climbed a bit more and from here got our first sight of the lake which now stretched out below us lying among green meadows and open forest of Ponderosa pine. It is always a site so grand that it sweeps away the fatigue of the long and difficult drive.   Bill descended this final stretch carefully with our tent trailer in tow, down to the Chopaka Lake campground. Cool weather and slower than normal fishing meant that there were plenty of sites to choose when we arrived, including our favorite site of previous years in the grass near the shallow end of the lake.  We carefully parked the truck and the tent trailer that was intended to be our mountain home for the next several days. Then we busied ourselves unloading gear and completing a variety of tasks needed to set up camp prior to putting on the fly fishing gear and hitting the water.

I have always enjoyed the birds of Chopaka and quickly spotted some old friends and maybe some new ones hanging about: redwing blackbirds, western tanagers, goldfinches, swallows,  bold and lovely robins and ducks with many babies trailing. I noticed that the June sun carried some heat as I walked rocky path to the pit toilet that would be our amenities for the next several days. Along the way a young and small snake earnestly slithered across my path holding his head high like a determined child and yet his appearance was a bit more sinister that the typical garter or gopher snake. I focused in on his triangular head and later identified him as a member of the Western rattlesnake family.  Still very young, he as yet had no rattles. I thought about the snake but we kept our eyes open and did not see him again, nor any more of his family.

Bill preps the rods

With an afternoon of fishing ahead I put on chest high, breathable and leaky waders. I also had a cap to protect my face from the sun and a pair of polarized sunglasses to protect my eyes. I finished preparations and selected my favorite rod. A rod I had finished myself from a blank made by a company simply known as Sage.  The rod remains a prize possession from years gone by when sans tremor I carefully wrapped and finished it myself.  Bill helped me pick out a fly and tied it on for me since my own ability to tie on flies and threading gear is sometimes both difficult and slow.   I access the lake via a float tube that surrounds me and keeps me above waterline. Nothing fancy but it works. I keep close in and fish for rainbow trout feeding on insects among the weeds.  It seems PD has had some effect on my legs ability to kick and propel.  Strangely my left leg wanted to drag. I stayed close in and got off the water when the wind picked up. That first day the wind increased and churned the water into whitecaps and I was driven off the water early and got no fish.

Among fly fishers there is constant talk of insect hatches and the impact they have on the feeding patterns of the rainbow trout that inhabit the lake.  The kinds of flies that are hatching dictates the pattern of fly chosen to trick the fish into thinking they are chomping on a natural snack.  I like to fish the reedy shoreline for trout feeding on the numerous insects that hatch among them. I make short casts that allow my fly to touch the water gently just in front of the reeds and occasionally is followed a flash of action and a quick tug at the end of my line that race the pulse like nothing else in the world.  On day two my luck turned a bit better and the following two days I got two fish a day.  Thank goodness PD tremors are resting tremors and I can bring fish in and retrieve line pretty good.  I have to be very careful when I hold my rod in my right hand and do not pay attention to the tremors.  That combination can produce some pretty mean snarls of leader, fly and line in an amazingly short period of time.

The nights were chilly, reaching down into the 40's but Bill kept the inside of his tent trailer quite warm. Three of the four days we were  out I slept poorly.  After going to sleep at 10 PM I would wake up before 1 AM and lie in the warmth of my sleeping bag and think about much but PD continues to be a dominant topic. I also wonder why elements of my faith gnaw at me during these nights and continue to raise questions that seemingly have no answers. Answers I do not have and underscore the need for faith. Trips outside were frequent during the night and were both annoying and inspiring.  Annoying in that a sense of urgency drives you out and into the cold of the high mountain night.  The inspiring part was stepping out into a crisp full moonlit night in the mountains with legions of frogs providing a full musical score.  

During the course of of nearly 4 days of fishing we were confronted with an assortment of weather and both the good and bad of insect life.  At times the wind blew up white caps on the water while I sat in my camp chair and sipped a brew.  There were times of 80 degree heat when I smeared on mosquito repellent to keep the pesky blood biters at bay.  There were also the periods of beauty and tranquility on the lake, when the callibaetis hatched and the the trout came up from somewhere in the depths and began to rise for a taste of this most natural snack.  Or the simple pleasure of basking in the sun and stretching out in comfort while again enjoying the taste of an ice cold ale.  I also recognize that if not for my brother and my decision to go in spite of the effort that Parkinson's presents that I would not have these memories.  Memories to savor while I sit at my desk dreaming of colorful rainbow trout and the elusive callibaetis and prepare these notes to share them with others.

Shaky in Coupeville

Good bye Chopaka for another year