In the afternoon of Wednesday we went with the guys fishing at the Underground pools about 30 kilometers from Conche. We walked in about a mile or so. They couldn’t actually fish right where the salmon disappear into this 500-foot cave, but we could watch the fish glide by, two-foot-long gray bodies pushing up stream to spawn.
The men trudged down to the pools below with their backpacks and rods. Watching them gracefully furl their lines under the the stately firs was enthralling, but no luck. Salmon jumped all around them, hurling themselves straight out of the gleaming water, two feet into the air, then belly flopping with mocking splashes no more than two feet from the men.
The day had turned hot, so the women all waded in the shallows, the baby pooped and promptly fell asleep. A magical place but the men couldn’t catch anything. I thought of wading deeper and clubbing the fish over the head with Tom’s net, but I was dissuaded from this barbarity. The men in our group had review their fishing spots and lures with a guide, Austin Towers, a neighbor of ours now who guides men to catches. Still no luck.