The precipice

Dan and I went to look at the place about a month ago. Plus Rob and I had both found it separately on Google and had talked about it a lot. But standing there with Dan looking at the place it looked pretty much impossible. Usually there is always some way to get down to the water to fish. Some root you can hang on to or some slope slightly less steep than the rest you can shimmy down. But this was different. Dan and I studied it for a long time. A ten or twelve foot cliff ran all along the bank.  In the gin clear water the river looked bottomless. The bank dropping off into blackness with a big eddy flowing upstream to curl back upon itself. It was the best wintering hole I'd ever seen AND about a hundred yards upstream warm water poured out of a pipe into the river.
IF, if you could get down there it was possible to stand at the base of the cliff. Eyes probed the cliff. Not a chance it was vertical. No inching along the bank from upstream or down either. At each end of the hole the cliff went straight down into the bottomless hole out of sight.
Dan and I talked of shovels and ropes and pick axes for a bit and gave up and went up to the pipe for a bit. I think we caught a couple carp in the shallow water up there if I remember right.
House and I made vague  plans to launch his inflatable raft and storm the beach. Meanwhile the place ate at me. And I came up with a plan. I bought a rope. A 300lb test rope. And cut 15 foot long rungs out of wood. I then drilled holes in the ends of each and began the long process of knotting up my rope ladder.
Today was just right, the third or fourth warmer than average day in a row. But I only had a couple hours to fish. Enough I told myself to scout the place out and see if it's worth the effort of floating the river in winter in Rob's boat. So over the edge went the ladder tied at the top to the base of a clump of small trees. It took everything I had to go over that edge. I've always said I'm safe bowhunting because I'm mildly afraid of heights. I wasn't mildly afraid of this, I was scared. If I hadn't spent three hours making the stupid ladder I would have backed out.
I'd remembered last year reading of Mark Blauvelt catching carp from a warm water discharge in winter on a flyrod. Since it was mostly a scouting trip I dug the flyrod I keep in a tube behind the truck seat out and took that.
Up close the water looks even better. No room to backcast, I roll cast out a marabou nymph and let it set there slowly sinking. It began a slow tour of the eddy. Nothing. Ten minutes later a drift stopped. Nothing special it just stopped. I raised the rod and was fast into a fish. It actually fought pretty well and up eventually rolled a shovelhead. The first I've ever taken on a fly.
Then a long time with no action. Just watching the river and enjoying the day. And hoping the rope held on the way back up. Then something on the line, not really a strike just something. I raised the rod again and a fish was on. This one slowly began it's own tour of the hole before finally giving in. A nice carp but foul hooked. Then a few minutes later another fish. This time a big one. It pretty much had its way with the six weight rod. Bending into a deep D shape and pulling its way all over the hole before just coming off. Probably another carp or a big buffalo but that shovelhead makes me wonder. In one spot some concrete rubble was down in the water. I roll cast out in front of it and let the fly settle. It twitched and I set. The line zigged and zagged as a pretty smallmouth struggled on the end of my line. But it was now time to go to work. Sigh I left with the thought of big wintering smalljaws dancing in my head. Looks like we are going to have to make that wintertime float trip after all....