Party in the PNW
When I thought of Oregon I always pictured high, cascading waterfalls, lush rainforest and frigid water. I envisioned narrow creeks filled with native trout and salmonids. I imagined ferns of enormous size gently draping over moss-lined trails through temperate forests heavy with cool humidity. Recently though, I came to realize that Oregon occupies two very distinctive zones that are just barely separate from one another. Dry, dusty deserts dominate the state just a handful of miles from where those damp places from my imagination exist. It was incredible to me that, in one moment we were in bona fide rainforest, and seemingly seconds later we found ourselves on the high desert plateau that conjured up thoughts of the Colorado flatlands. Water everywhere and then, in the blink of an eye, nowhere at all! The diverse landscape appealed deeply to my companions and I. So distinct from our surroundings in the southeast, it was marvelous how quickly we could travel between two places that seemed so deeply opposed to each other. Maybe that was my key impression of the region; an area of severely juxtaposed biomes, politics and people all organized into our country’s 33rd state.
Fishing in Oregon posed a series of challenges to my companions and I. What were our priorities? Did we want to investigate the coast with its unique array of saltwater denizens? How about the anadromous steelhead of international fame, capable of migrating thousands of miles a year and of testing even the most seasoned of anglers? While these two options might have dominated the thoughts of other anglers we decided instead to pursue native Redband trout while holding out for the possibility of catching monster Bull trout at our final destination. To be fair, this was the situation that we were sort of forced into. Originally we had planned to stay near the coast where we could hope to catch some of the salty species. With covid’s never ending hurtles though, we weren’t able to find an Airbnb that would fit the three couples for the 5 days we would be there. As for why we didn’t fish for steelhead, they are known as the “fish of 10,000 casts”. And, speaking for myself, I’m a little too impatient to make thousands of casts in a strange place, for a fish I’m unfamiliar with all while wasting my finite time to explore a new area. Finally, the three couples on the trip were roughly divided among gender lines as to who wanted to spend time fishing. All of the women, patient and understanding though they are, wouldn’t be too amused if we spent more than half of our time fishing for species that we might never even catch sight of or in transit to the distant coast. All that said, hiking into remote creeks and catching native Redbands would be our best bet to hook some fish, see the state and not overly bore our lovely wives and fiancés.
In the Mt. Hood region where we were staying, water abounds and is found most frequently in the form of high altitude creeks and lakes. These streams would have been perfectly at home in the southern Appalachians and indeed, looked similar to the lairs of the East’s native Brook trout. After hiking a portion of the Pacific Crest Trail and touring famous Timberline lodge, we made our way back down the mountain towards civilization. Our route though was crisscrossed by small and midsize creeks which called to us anytime we drove within sight of them. Finally, we succumbed to the pressure and pulled off to explore the icy snowmelt of Mt. Hood. We fished for just over an hour on our first afternoon but we all managed to catch some small trout. We had no idea what to expect but we caught small Rainbows as well as the odd whitefish. A hopper dropper proved effective for us and a favorite nymph of mine, the CK, caught the first few fish of the trip. We had been concerned about the high temperatures this region has endured this summer but the water we were in was frigid and never exceeded a very healthy (for the trout) 55 degrees.
On day two we decided to go explore the Columbia river basin. This mighty river is fed by innumerable streams and tributaries, many of which create dazzling waterfalls as they descend from high altitudes into the lower reaches of the drainage. We parked at a hatchery close to where the creek we wanted to fish met the massive river. As we are prone to do though, he hit the trail and tried to get as far away from other fishermen as we could. Climbing several hundred vertical feet over the course of a 4 mile hike out, we found some solitude and river access that was to our liking and dipped our feet into the crystalline waters above a series of major waterfalls. The fishing in this large-ish creek was just what we had hoped to find in this more remote stretch. We tied on hopper dropper rigs and branched out to fish before even devouring our packed lunches that were loudly calling to us. On my first cast, a fish immediately slammed my hopper. On the second, it happened again. By the time I got my fifth bite I had realized that the small, aggressive fish attacking my foam concoction weren’t quite grabbing hold well enough before I set the hook. I waited a hair longer and was immediately rewarded with a stunning little Redband trout. These fish earned their names from the distinct red stripe that traces through their lateral lines. They are indeed closely related to Rainbow trout (they are a subspecies of them) and it does certainly show in their beautiful coloration.
As I reveled in my catch I realized that my companions were having just as easy a time of it as I was. At least a score of fish were caught and released in our first hour. It was genuinely one of those afternoons that I begin to feel slightly guilty about catching the fish, it was that easy! These are of course the days that anglers like us dream about and they can’t be squandered on the occasions when they do occur. After a lunch break the ladies all joined in with the fishing and began to put a hurting on the indigenous trout as well. They snatched up our fly rods and hooked many fish between them in the deeper pools just upstream of where we had stopped for our repast. Hoppers were most effective for Morgan, Chad and I and we clipped off all other droppers as they just weren’t necessary to catch fish. Occasionally we would receive enough short strikes to justify putting on a smaller fly but in general, large foam grasshopper patterns were the ticket. There isn’t much more fun you can have than hiking into a new stream, fishing a creek that has no fishing reports written about it, and catching dozens of native trout with some of your best friends while enjoying a spectacular summer day. The fishing was easy and the living was good. The trout we caught here ranged in size from 4 inches to maybe 10. Catching them on 3 and 4 weight fly rods allowed the trout to put up their quick, acrobatic fights all while not playing them excessively in the heat of the western summer. As we made our way back downstream to our rented tank (an enormous, loaded-out Ford Explorer) we stopped for a chilly swim in Punchbowl falls.
Before dawn the next morning we had left our Airbnb and were en route to Crater Lake National Park. It’s an ongoing mission of Mel’s and mine to eventually see every national park and Crater Lake was just within day trip range from where we were staying. Driving through the Free State of Jefferson we picked up breakfast from a covered wagon/food truck and rushed along to the park. We had been warned that smoke blown from the not-so-distant Dixie fire in California was likely to impede our views of the ancient volcano and its lake and that’s why we were in haste to make it while the morning was yet young. Fortunately for us, our plan had managed to work out well enough and we were treated to incredible views from the ring of the enormous caldera. When we first arrived we were able to see across the lake to the other side in all directions. The haze of the nearby fires though, made the 5-6 miles across seem even longer than they were. We were able to see Wizard island reasonably well though in the mid-morning sun. As we marveled at the view, a funny description of Crater Lake popped into my head that I had heard somewhere before; “a lake, on a volcano, inside of a lake, inside of a volcano”. Amazing really.
We hiked down to the water via the one accessible trailhead with rods in hand, peering over the steep switchbacks into the azure and turquoise waters below. This amazing view reminded me strongly of Cinque Terre on the Ligurian Sea, incredible cliffs dropping off into waters of amazing blues that seem almost too perfect to be real.
Luckily the weekday morning crowds were not so terrible and we managed to find a reasonably private stretch of rocky shoreline that was not inundated with swimmers. As we gazed into the gin-like waters of the pristine lake, life began to make itself apparent. First, a crayfish crawling among the lava rocks. Then, trout darting along the bottom in search of their next morsel. The longer we looked the more life we saw and the more eager we became. I don’t get too many opportunities to fish for trout in still water so when they are presented to me I am anxious with excitement. I had figured if we were even able to just witness some trout in the lake that might be our best case scenario. I was wrong though and the Rainbows continued to prowl the coastline within easy casting distance of me. Quickly, I rigged up a small, brown and grey Parachute Adams with an RS2 emerger tagged off on a 30 inch section of fluorocarbon below it. With the water as clear as it was I was fishing a 10 foot, 5X leader to my Adams. I had even attached a 2 foot section of 5X fluorocarbon to gently sink the leader so as not to create a disturbance in the film of the glassy water. I expected that stealth would be demanded and I was ready to lengthen that leader at a moments notice. The fish seemed to reward my expectations and I was getting hits almost immediately whenever I made a good presentation to cruisers moving among the rocks. They were coming up to eat bugs off of the surface and apparently I had struck a happy accord with the two flies I selected as both of them helped me catch some fish. One curious thing, I had more fish attempt to eat the Adams but the majority that I actually hooked and landed were on the small black RS2, a sparser and more subtle pattern. My strategy was this; to jump on the highest rocks nearest the water, hold my line and wait for either rising or cruising fish to make themselves known. When they did this I tried to predict the direction they were traveling and lead them by approximately 8 feet or so. Happily, this worked out pretty well! Many were smaller parr (juvenile trout) but I managed a dozen bites easily in my first half hour. Beginners luck or good strategy, I’m just happy that I was catching fish! My average fish was 6 to 7 inches and my largest that day was maybe 10.
When I checked on my companions I found them employing some different tactics than myself. Chad was throwing woolly buggers on a sinking line and Collin was going back and forth between dries and streamers as well. They had both had a few bites and hookups but unable to bring any to hand. I was only casting when I saw fish but they were blind casting in all directions. Today sight casting the dries was the better bet although I’m confident it would have been even better in the early or later parts of the day.
Fishing on our final day took place on the (in)famous Metolius river. The Met, as many locally call it, is known for wily fish that aren’t the easiest to catch. The river is home to native Redband trout as well as massive, piscivorous Bull trout. We honestly came to this river as much for the scenery as anything else. With its reputation for being such a difficult river to figure out we had very low expectations that we might actually catch fish in the very short few hours we had allocated after that day’s hikes and sightseeing. The day before we left for Oregon I had called a fly shop located on the Metolius river and asked for some local intel. At first, the shop worker on the other line gave me only the barest information and even that came with some hesitation. This isn’t an uncommon thing in the fly fishing community. Think of it from their perspective; some stranger from across the country is calling your small, local shop asking for your hard earned fishing knowledge in your home waters. A lot of times you have to think that these long-distance callers couldn’t have less interest in supporting that local business, they just want free advice. Don’t be that kind of person! I explained my position that I was a knowledgeable, ethical angler who was interested only in respecting the resource for the brief time I was going to be there. I wanted to only get a rough idea as to what I should pack so that I could purchase flies and other miscellany directly from the store who’s time I was taking up. I talked to the outfitter on the other end of the line and, without being proud or overbearing, wanted to make it clear that I wasn’t some yahoo who had no respect for the help that was being provided to me. Thankfully, this must have come across as Rick now opened up to me and seemed much more interested in having a conversation with this stranger from the American South. We talked fishing, gear, hatches and the like before we ended our conversation on the promise that I would see him in the shop in a few days.
Fast forward to our final day in Oregon and we did of course, go to the Camp Sherman store for supplies and some local purchases. Rick wasn’t there but I had at least made good on my word to go to the shop and buy locally. We fished our way downstream for the next two hours and honestly didn’t have much luck. I had a couple of bumps on some dries I was throwing but Chad and Collin didn’t seem to be moving any fish on their big streamer rigs. See, I was hoping for Redbands but they both wanted the apex predators of the system, the Bull trout. We worked downstream in this massive spring creek and encountered an incredible variety of different water types. Gentle, grassy pools were followed by gravel runs, narrow canyons and wide riffles. Eventually we hit deep water in a very narrow gorge with some of the clearest water I had ever seen. We could see some 20+ feet down in places and we realized that there was a local fishbum downstream of us already thoroughly working the water. We all stopped to chat and the friendly stranger was happy to share some tips with us clueless visitors. He pointed out some trout to me while showing Chad and Collin directly where a large pod of Bull trout were anchored on the bottom just downstream. He was employing a long leader Euronymphing method that we were unprepared for. What he was doing was pretty simple. He had a few size 20 nymphs tied on 7X tags with several split shot to sink them. He would drift them downstream, dangle them in the current and lob them back up. Fairly simple but just something we weren’t armed for and didn’t have time to re-tie our systems for. This method though is apparently extremely effective out here as he showed us pictures of some remarkable catches he had already made that day. Suffice it to say, we all became fast friends through our shared passion and friendly, positive dispositions. The stranger offered us a ride back to meet the gals and while on the way, it finally clicked for me who this was. “Rick”, I asked, “didn’t we speak on the phone at the Camp Sherman general store on Friday morning?” He was the same Rick of course and we all shared a great moment, laughing and thinking about how we were all fated to meet at some point one way or the other. Life is like that sometimes and fishing is but a microcosm of the greater scene. We weren’t to catch the fish that day but we did meet a stranger who became a friend who gave us perspective that we wouldn’t otherwise have been aware of. Thanks, Rick.
