Mmmm, mmmm Seattle

Can you ever go home?  A rather timeless question and I think highly personal.  No, Seattle is not my native home but I know that through my extensive travels it is the one urban place I could and I do call home.  Coming back to the pacific northwest after seven years is not without trials and tribulations.  For sure Seattle and the surrounding county has grown in population.

The traffic is more of a drag, especially when you factor in that there is a lot of water and that means bridges and that in turn means bottlenecks.  There is more honking and "Californicated" driving.  Apololgizes to anyone from Cali but this is just ones man's opinion so please don't lose sleep.  But, on the upside, Seattle has become more cosmopolitan and sophisticated, which is a nice change from sleepy New Hampshire.  Again, apologizes to my NH friends, but again this is one guys opinion and it's my blog.  You can always write your own.

The food scene here has really matured.  Where I live in Ballard, I am not for wanting almost any type of food.  It's all here.  Thai, Vietnamese, Japanese, Greek, Italian, English pub fare, Cuban, Mexican.  Plus, it has great homegrown pacific northwest fare that is heavy on fresh seafood infused with local produce, herbs and fruits.  It is simply, a gastronomic circus compared to what it was when I attended grad school here from 2000-2002.  By New York, LA or Chicago standards it probably takes a backstage but for those who have seen the transition first hand I think it represents a big step forward.

To me though, the best thing about living here is the fresh seafood and the late summer and fall means salmon!  If you have never had fresh, wild caught Pacific Salmon you really owe it to yourself to book a plane ticket, fly out here in September and poke around until you can find a fisherman selling a fresh catch right off the dock.  Then, take that somewhere where you can make a nice charcoal fire and cook that fish up just how you like it.  Maybe that means lemon, pepper and butter liberally tossed over that fish and wrapped in tinfoil or perhaps slathered in olive oil, balsamic vinegar and red pepper flakes and grilled right over that open flame.

The season is short for this bounty of freshness and so it is best to binge on it like a wino given a shopping spree in a liquor store.  intoxicate yourself on this stuff until your time here runs out and the they drag you kicking and screaming back to that airplane bound for home.  But fear not, for there will always be a next season.

As for me, I was out for a run when I saw that sign that simply said, "Coho, dock A" done up in duck tape on a piece of poster board and attached to a post.  It was all I needed.  I headed back later where I found "Coho Willy" sitting by a vast blue tub with a smattering of ice and a dozen freshly netted coho salmon laying inside.  He hauled out a 6lb bright buck that tucked neatly into my cooler and was soon on our cutting board to be filleted.

 I set aside a few pieces for the grill and then put the rest into baggies for the freezer.  Coated with olive oil, balsamic vinegar and a mix asian spices the fish went skin side down right onto the grill.  Once cooked, the fish just lifts off the skin and is a beautiful deep pink color.   Paired with grilled sweet potatoes, fresh green beans tossed with garlic and fresh crusty bread it is one of the best meals of my summer.

Idaho...it's not just potatoes.

Last week I packed up the Subaru with assorted camping gear, 3 fly rods, waders, and a mess of flies and pointed my car towards Idaho.  I had never fished in Idaho but from everything I had read it seemed a promising destination.  Full of a variety of water types ranging from lakes to freestone rivers as well as tailwaters it truly is a destination that flies under the radar given its proximity to Montana.

A good 7 hour drive from Seattle I arrived at the banks of the St Joe River in the panhandle a few hours from Coeur d'Alene.  The fifty miles along the river road from St Maries to Avery was incredibly scenic as the road hugged the river while it twisted through the valley bottom. By western WA standards I found the river and campgrounds relatively empty and I quickly had my camp set up so I could get onto the water as soon as possible.

With warm air temps and a low flow it was the perfect chance to wet wade and stay cool as I plied pools, runs and riffles looking for westslope cutthroat, a type of trout I had never caught.  It didn't take long to spot fish holding in the gin clear water of a deep pool.  I had read that as the season progressed these fish would often school up in anticipation of migrating downstream into Lake Coeur d'Alene.

Despite what some people say about the cutthroat trout being a gullible fish willing to wack at any fly pitched before them, I found they were rather selective and unwilling to take a poorly drifted fly.  This made for challenging but clearly more interesting angling.

Over those few days I caught lots of beautiful cutts, drank in the delicious smell of the douglas firs that clung to the steep walls of the river valley and ate my lunch watching the river flow by while I sat in the cool shade.  At night I would eat by campfire light, wolfing down sausages I had skewered onto a stick and stuck over the coals, all while drinking wine and meditating on life.  Overhead the stars lit up the inky black sky free of light pollution. 

Having remote, raw, wild places like the St Joe is like medicine for us all in this day of 24/7 technological bombardment.  No cell reception or Wifi means that your brain can "breathe."  And, the simple act of casting a fly rod and focusing on fooling my quarry creates a zen like haze into which I slip easily.  Time passes quickly and it seems like all to soon I am breaking camp and winding my way back toward Spokane and onto Rt 90.