I never even knew what a whitefish was until I saw a post from BFT a couple years ago. Then when I read OldCoot's confident report from last Dec where both in his party limited, especially when it comes to fish of some size tugging at my line, I love numbers - so I endeavored to get on Coot's dance card early this year. If those 5 degree cold temps from last year didn't cause enough trepidation to my "California blood," the hour of departure sure did. Basically it meant wondering if my son and I should even bother go to bed at all…
But with a "we'll try most anything once" attitude, we considered it an adventure. Coot also went out the previous day and the conditions were rough, he said. It was a real white knuckler ride up the canyon, and cold and windy in the boat - rewarded with only about 10 fish between three fishermen, (which included a couple cutts).
Fortunately, our journey started out favorably with good roads. A few stops to walk around the boat in the brisk night air, along with an energy drink, invigorated our tired eyes. The canyon was simply gorgeous as lit only by headlight, in a “I'm really grateful for my warm home and electricity” kind of way.
We got to the East ramp just after dawn. Winds were calm, but temps in the low 20's were enough to warrant some hand warmers. 
Not far from the scout camp my son struck first with this small rainbow, in his "Your son is a real ringer" sort of way. (1/16th oz red/white and black tube jigs tipped with worms.)
Coot employed a specific presentation that consisted of a lot of short drops that I wasn't quite getting at first... And as a result of all the snags in the rocks, I resorted to longer pulls that proved quite effective as I caught the next few whitefish. (One was about 5 lbs.)
Then my son countered with 2 more, including another small bow. Coot was ever the gracious host and was genuinely happy with our success, and he certainly did catch up with us in numbers as the day progressed. (Varying retrieves were effective.)
We'd boated 23 fish by mid day and decided to change tactics and slow troll in the area in 55-60 feet of water. (Water temps of 41 if memory serves.) I'd been warned to have guarded expectations, so I was all the more happy and surprised to have a tug at my line! I set the hook at what I thought was the right time, but didn't feel the fish trying to get loose as I'd expect, but I had all this line sitting on top of the water afterward, so Coot said "set it again" and that woke the fish up and I felt it run. I recognized the familiar fight from Strawberry, and it was indeed a real nice 20+” Cutthroat.
Shortly following, Coots pole had an inquiry. The result of his skill was this mac that he said was “just a pup." But, in deference to what good dinner guests they are, it was released due to their limited numbers. (We commenced humming “Born Free.”)
There came a point when we took off our coats and gloves – and the water was a water skier’s dream most of the time with only light and brief winds. Talk about mama nature cooperating with us!! But some low clouds started to thicken and the snow started to fall, completely erasing the horizon. That was when we headed back to the ramp to prep for the journey home.
Coot used this window washing bucket so that the fish could lay flat efficiently. But the downside was that we filled the bucket and we had two flop out! One made it back to the freedom of the water... But, definitely the kind of problem that I don’t mind having.
The ramp was a little slippery, having more to do with sand than anything else. We all remarked at how much fun we'd had.
I asked Coot if he wanted me to take a picture of him and do one of my “Photoshop specials” and make one of the whites look as big as his boat, but he didn’t think that was such a cool idea. But with a guy like me whose tongue is crazy glued to the inside of my cheek, some things just can’t be avoided!
Th... Th... THAT'S ALL FOLKS!
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