Cedar Proposition

wadin' boot

Donny, you're out of your element...
I've been looking forward all week to a post-work Cedar excursion. Tonight was that night. Tied up some new flies, a heavy headed gray bodied and black marabou tailed clouser, some stonefly emerger sort of things, a couple of lousy D-grade imitations of the dries lost in the fluorocarbon betrayal (still smarting from that one) this past weekend on the mighty Yak.

On the way out of Seattle convergence zone rains were heading south, slowly. It looked like I90 was about the boundary between a sorta wet south and a really wet north. So be it, I'd hope that zone would hold. I didn't pack any rain gear prior to leaving for work in the morning, so when I arrived at the river, with mild rain and threat of more, I looked through the way back where the spare tire is for the emergency wet-weather gear.

Fantastic. A women's poncho, see-through, with a print of a girl in a hoop skirt walking a dog. Some horrible chemicals or wet from the way back had caused my old WDFW regs books to stick to the poncho. When I peeled them off, primary layers of text remained, the net effect was to make it look like I was wearing a giant clear trash bag with newspapers in it. Perfect homeless camo for the cedar. What do I care what I look like anyways, my waders are about 1/3 aquaseal on the inside and patched prominently on one outside knee with dupont adhesive flashing...

Suffice it to say this won't be a fishing report. I did fine, the fish, ospreys, ducks, waxwings, swifts and great blue herons were there.

Given I had fished through the mile I wanted over the first two hours and it was still light out, I walked back up and went to fish a couple of the more productive spots. That's when I ran into the Cedar Playboy.

He was hanging beneath a bridge, rather aimlessly.
I greeted him with a "hey"
"What's up bro."
In general, unless it's Bhudda, I'll stick to the warning of "beware the dude who calls you bro"

Figuring that would be the end of it, I jumped in the river and started fishing.

"Show me ?"

I was sort of annoyed/surprised he'd followed me. I like fishing alone.

Nevertheless, I showed the kid the fly, figuring that's what he wanted to see. he was probably like 20 or so, sorta South East Asian, 5' 10, probably 170 lbs, a little stubble, wavy hair.

I worked my way downstream. Dude who called me bro paralleled me at every point. He was starting to creep me out, so I waded over to the other side of the river. Fished there, hooked up the third rainbow of a night mainly filled with cutts, let the fish go, next thing I know the kid is taking his shoes off and getting into the river.

It's maybe 58 degrees or so in and out of the water, raining, and this kid is getting into the river, barefoot, to come over and speak to me, the guy wearing a fucking trash bag who did not see merit to using the poncho hood. I look way more homeless than this kid, got the slick & flat lego hair look.

"Dude you are crazy, this water's cold, what are you doing?"

No answer. He's coming towards me with a zombie-like lurch over the cobble and mussel shelled river bed.

He's close now, holds out his hand, like he wants a formal greeting, or some support. I shake it. he doesn't hold on for support, nor does he try some move to throw me off balance. At this point I am not willing to turn my back to him.

"how's it going bro?"

I thought we had covered this. I asked the kid what he wanted, because the behavior was really weird, he didn't say anything. He wasn't there to watch the fishing.

"You should get back this water's cold."

Which apparently registered with the kid. He ducks under my line and heads towards the far bank, the seams and undercuts of which I was productively fishing. For trout, not dudes. Barefoot, he makes his way into the deeper water where the rip rap has channeled. It's slippery in there, and way deeper than where I am standing. The river looks placid to someone who doesn't fish, but you know the waters there are fast and deep. Overhanging branches are all around, he lunges for one, slips, and falls neck deep into the river, which carries him about five feet before he gets a purchase and scrambles up the bank, still holding his shoes. I am glad there was no need for a rescue.

"You're crazy. Are you Ok?"

He shakes his head, lifts his pant leg up and points to what appears to be a normal blood-free knee.

"You're crazy man, I'm moving on"

He says a word, I don't recognize it, I ask him to repeat it, he says it again, I still don't know what it is but it has the tone of a proposition when repeated several more times. The word's got a "CK" consonant in it. I shake my head and fish and walk downriver. Some 200 yards down there's a dude with a Speyrod, excepting maybe for the speyrod, he looks reasonably sane and rational, seems to be more practicing than anything, I move towards him, faster than I really want but not wishing any more interaction with this weird barely verbal, and now soaking wet kid.

As I am wading down, he's there again, this time walking barefoot atop a narrow wall, again 90 degrees to my position in the river, about ten yards away. The riprap trough and gentle berm of halfway there and just flowering blackberry bushes are between me and him. I decide to bail, walk down a hundred more yards, hoping to maybe talk with the spey dude about this weird kid, maybe warn him, but they Spey dude is moving every bit as fast as I am, perhaps because I am dressed like a homeless bum with a fly rod and maybe he's anticipating an uncomfortable low-holing.

I exit on the opposite side of the river, away from the kid, and make my way up to my car, which is not far from me, but 400 yards minimum from the kid, if he used the bridge. I moved pretty fast, not running or anything, but the goal was out ASAP.

I got out of my gear about as fast I ever had, threw everything in but just as I'm about to get my wallet and phone and keys in my pocket, there's the kid, like 5 yards away. I swear he must have sprinted, Usain Bolt fast, in his wet shoes and pants and stuff.

"What do you need, you need help? You need some money?"

He shook his head.

He says "Can I come with you?"


"What am I going to do?"

I shake my head. Shrug my shoulders, get in the car, lock the doors. He starts tapping on the window, not aggressive. He's still staring.

"You have a phone?"

I open the window a crack.


"Can I call someone?"

I shake my head. No way was I handing over my phone to a dude with judgement as lousy as his. Nor was I going to call anybody for him. As far as I was concerned, the guy had little understanding of boundaries and did not seem at all right in the head. Psychiatric not neurologic, and I'm not on call. He looked healthy and would not have met any admission criteria perhaps excepting a hostel bed. There was no crime, no need for authorities, just weirdness.

"I got to go." As though I needed to explain and be polite.

I shut the window, turned the car on and left.

Apart from that general weirdness, the fishing was fun and the birds spectacular. I did just fine with monofilament tippets, excepting I lost the clouser to a submerged blue raft or the branches it was wrapped around.
Can you say...Deliverance?

What time were you there? That's damn freaky; I'd almost prefer a full on assault to that kind of s$%t.

I was going to bring up the 'do you carry' question, but after a quick search I thought better of it :p


Indi "Ira" Jones
Another example of someone attempting to scare us away from the Cedar so they can just keep it to themselves. we get it now, the fishing is awesome and a few of you want to keep it all to yourselves. Well I say you can keep it, I prefer lakes anyway. That spey guy sounds way to scary to me, and that part I believe. :)


Active Member
"Hey bro".... A stranger is just a friend you haven't met yet... Looks like you made a new friend! Creepy but very amusing, great post.
Sounds like you made a new friend boot and one that did a fair job of tracking in the woods. I can't help thinking of him liked the dog that runs off while you're hunting in ID and is not found but somehow it shows up at your house in Tacoma two months later.............you may just wake up one morning and find your new friend standing in your front yard ;)

wadin' boot

Donny, you're out of your element...
That spey guy sounds way to scary to me, and that part I believe. :)
Yeah I wish I wasn't making this up, but it remains the weirdest time I've had on the cedar, even excepting the shirtless dude that climbed up, like a beaver, out of a logjam hole I was fishing one time. I didn't see him until the logs started moving and his head pops up. That guy began conversing with me about the fishing, took his shirt off and jumped right into the hole with tall boy in hand, and waded up so he could stand beside me and talk a little closer as one does when you live in a pile of logs, to be polite and all, so you don't have to shout over the sounds of running water and structural groans and snaps of dried and haphazard accumulations of river wood. Unlike last night, that guy made sense and was an adroit conversationalist, confiding in me the secrets he'd used to catch fish in the very same hole. You know kind of a rambling self referential loop of boasted and slurred tales of the river that only a seasoned alcoholic beaver-lodge dwelling dude could spin...

I still smell of spare tire, that poncho took on some confinement odors that have somehow transferred to me.

Chad Lewis

NEVER wonder what to do with your free time
Novice male prostitute? Probably not going to turn many tricks with fishermen on the Cedar. Should have given him a lift downtown.


Active Member
First time I LOL'd for real.

"When I peeled them off, primary layers of text remained, the net effect was to make it look like I was wearing a giant clear trash bag with newspapers in it. Perfect homeless camo for the cedar".
Same old shit, different day. Even up in Maple Valley, there are some creepers! I had one guy last year sit on the hood of my Honda Civic and won't move until I backed out, then he tried to round house my rig and fell over.

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