So, believing if a person absolutely must embarrass our President by
pig-headedly continuing to swell the rolls of the unemployed, he might
as well do something satisfying in the meanwhile,

Last Friday,

I went to the Fall River, a small spring creek tributary of the mighty
Deschutes. Was astounded at the lack of snow on the way up. It’s been
a very warm, dry winter here in Central Oregon, which will mean low
water levels come summer, with no doubt reduced water releases over the
dams and predictably negative effects on migration of salmon and
steelhead smolts.

I visited a stretch I’d always done well on in spring and summer but
rarely fished in winter. Was chagrined to find it very much shallower
and clearer than I’d ever seen it, with many more trees fallen and an
air of total sterility about it that was unsettling. Large BWO duns
sailed eerily unmolested down long, long slow stretches and around a
wide lazy oxbow. I didn’t see a single rise or any sign of fish.
Climbed back in my rig to go further downstream.

Installed myself in a lovely small pool at the base of a tiny falls,
where I’d previously had very consistent winter BWO action.

1. http://tinyurl.com/5jln7

No hatch. Nymphed. Nothing. Climbed out to warm my feet. Fished
emergers submerged, then emergers emerging. Nothing. Emerged to warm
my feet. Fished dries; fished nymphs; fished emergers. Nothing. Sat
on a stump and watched the falls. Thought about social security,
droughts, Patrick O’Brian, growing old. Who was it said that growing
old results not in a decline but rather an increase in stamina, allowing
us to sit for ever longer periods without growing tired? Watched the
falls. Watched two squirrels squabbling. Stared at my feet. Thought
about fly fishing.

2. http://tinyurl.com/6zzs5

Watched a BWO hovering over the lovely small pool. Then another.
Whoops. Better get in there. Stood. Fished. Saw a rise in a slow
stretch down below the lovely small pool. Moved down. Fished over a
few risers who weren’t interested in much of anything I had to show
them. That’s all I got, fish. Saw a rise up in the lovely small pool.
Moved up. No more rises. *&%#*@. Very funny, fish. Just as I was
preparing to cast my next to last last cast of the day, a small but
sympathetic and gentlemanly rainbow trout impaled itself, perhaps
accidentally?, on my drowned and dragging comparadun. I didn’t land it,
but I still consider that noble fish—-and that sad fly-—to have saved
the day (catching-wise)....

3. http://tinyurl.com/6kdy3


Tuesday,

I returned to the Crooked River, a desert canyon stream, a tailwater
fishery.... and a tributary of the mighty Deschutes. Fished with three
fellows that hang out on the Westfly Oregon bulletin board.
Appreciable, if not entirely East-Coast levels of camaraderie were
easily detectable. There was also a steady mid-day hatch of BWOs and
everybody caught big bunches of bright fat trouts:

4. http://tinyurl.com/4n89v

An uncomplicated day, topped off by what I always find an enjoyable and
relaxing drive home (listening this time to Lucinda Williams’ first album).

5. http://tinyurl.com/3q5av


Yesterday,

I arrived mid-morning at the Metolius, a good-sized spring creek that
arises from the base of Black Butte on the eastern edge of the Cascades
(and, well, yes, yet another trib of the mighty mighty Deschutes).

The mid-day hatch was late, extremely light and sporadic (almost not a
"hatch" at all), and quite varied. There was a bug here and a bug there
from around noon til 2:30, a mixture of larger BWOs (#16 and even #14),
a few smaller BWOs (#18-20), and even some bigger (#12-14) tannish brown
mayflies that I took to be March Browns though I couldn't catch one to
be sure. March Browns are rare on this river... maybe it was a (big and
dark) Little Yellow Mayfly. Who knows? The usual smattering of midges
early and late and one or two tiny grey caddis. Only saw a dozen or so
rises all day, but they were big and splashy. Hard to tell which of the
various bugs they were taking. Without consistently rising fish in any
one place, I roamed over a lengthy stretch of the upper river.

6. http://tinyurl.com/5h4vz

That was OK with me, though, because it was a beautiful crisp
crystalline day, and walking was a joy. I saw only one other fisherman
the whole time, a dapper fellow who paddled through my run, wary but
cool and unhurried, surprisingly close to hand.

7. http://tinyurl.com/6o8u7

I only took three fish, but they were all excellent fine fishes—-each
one stack casted directly downstream to, following a rise. All were
taken on a #18 light olive BWO comparadun. The last two were good sized
fish too—-one 16" and one 17"—-and each fought well above its weight
class, with two or three long hard runs that made the Hardy sing.
Sorry, no pics, 'cause I was thinking they'd be tuckered out (I was
using light tippets), and I didn't want to muck about with one-handed
portraiture.... But, as it turns out, each one writhed and bucked
and bounded off like the proverbial shot as soon as given a chance.
Lord, how I love a broad-shouldered, big-hearted fish.

Back home I spent much of the evening in the company of Aubrey and
Maturin and the world’s best beer, which, whadda ya know, has on it the
image of a good-sized spring creek arising from the base of Black Butte....

8. http://tinyurl.com/5oema


JR