A good day fishing without catching a fish

The canyon was beginning to grow dark when I spotted movement and then a cream-colored spot on the ridge across the river. At first there was only one, then it soon was joined by another, and still another. Within a few minutes I had picked out nine or 10 such spots, but without my binoculars that was as good a count as I was going to get in the fading light.

Not long before that first white spot showed up, I had pointed to that very ridge and told Hyrum there was a good chance we might see some desert bighorn sheep before it was dark. And suddenly there they were, grazing between two rocky outcroppings just below the ridgeline. Whether they were ewes or rams didn’t matter. We were just glad to see them.

Hyrum is my youngest son. Some of you might remember him as The Wild Man, the well-earned moniker he grew up with in many of my columns. On one of our Lake Mead fishing trips, Hyrum quickly grew bored and began throwing rocks and jumping into the water while I remained quiet and maintained careful watch over my fishing rod. But it was The Wild Man who caught most of the fish. With him that was a typical outcome.

Our vantage point was the aluminum fishing pier located midway between the Willow Beach Marina and the National Fish Hatchery of the same name. Rather than the typical pier that juts straight out from the shoreline, the fishing pier at Willow Beach is more of a squared-off “U” shape with two walkways forming the legs of the U. Those walkways attach to the shoreline and make the pier easily accessible from two small parking areas.

There were already six anglers on the pier when we arrived late Saturday afternoon, but there was plenty of room for us and a few more. Like us they had come in search of striped bass in the cold waters of the Colorado River about 12 miles downstream from Hoover Dam. I had hoped to find the upstream corner of the pier open, but it was already taken so we took up a position in the middle of the pier and went to work.

Hyrum and I both baited up with cut anchovies and cast our offerings into the water. I was using a drop shot configuration in an attempt to keep my bait off the bottom and out of the weeds. Hyrum went with a Carolina rig. We cast toward the main river channel, but I found myself wishing I had another 10 yards on my cast or that the pier was set out that much farther into the river.

That thought made me chuckle because it brought back memories of childhood fishing trips and days when I just knew that a little more casting distance would have made the difference between catching the big one and going home empty-handed. Some things never change.

With our bait in the water, I took the opportunity to throw a crankbait. With winds gusting out of the south I had to pick my casting time carefully so the bait wouldn’t be blown into my neighbor’s fishing zone. After several casts without a strike I switched to a swimbait, but that didn’t bring the change in luck I was hoping for.

So I sat down next to Hyrum and took the opportunity to visit with him about life and the choices that come with growing up. It is interesting how fishing and wide-open spaces create the chance for such uninterrupted conversations.

While we got endless wind bites, the fish seemed totally disinterested in our anchovies. For some, that result would have made for a bad day, but for us all was good. And the bighorn sheep just kind of topped things off. That said I have to admit there were moments when I wished The Wild Man would start throwing rocks and jumping into the water so we would catch at least one fish before heading home.

Freelance writer Doug Nielsen is a conservation educator for the Nevada Department of Wildlife. His “In the Outdoors” column, published Thursday in the Las Vegas Review-Journal, is not affiliated with or endorsed by the NDOW. Any opinions he states in his column are his own. He can be reached at intheoutdoorslv@gmail.com.