You had a Sage in the safe this whole time? (September 2009)

Many years have passed from where my last post took place. It is now 2009 and I am finishing up college at THE University of Oregon in Eugene. Go Ducks. My fishing adventures were limited to that sacred spot on the Upper Rogue on family trips to the cabin. You might think that I was an idiot for not taking advantage of the Lower Rogue and the fantastic steelhead and half pounders that frequent the section. Well looking back, I was an idiot. But, to be honest I was way into golf at the time so that’s pretty much all I was concerned with. Living in Grants Pass though I passed up on a great opportunity to fish in a prime spot. In my defense, I had no idea what my dad was keeping in the safe.

Out of the blue I talked to my dad about getting into fly-fishing. Living in Eugene I figured I might as well take advantage of the pristine and beautiful McKenzie River that is known for its trout fishing. I wasn’t about to make the same mistake I did living in Grants Pass. He proceeds to tell me that he has a couple fly rods in the safe that I can use. I figure sure, that would be cool. So he goes to the safe and pulls out a 7 weight Sage and a Pflueger reel. Are you kidding me? I was like, “Dad why didn’t you tell me you had a Sage earlier?” Better late than never I guess. I hadn’t been into fly-fishing that long but I did know what a Sage was. I was pumped!

School was about to start up again and I had a week to play in Eugene. I decided to go to a fly shop and get some line on my reel and give this whole fly-fishing thing a shot. The Caddis Fly Shop got me all set up. They run a great shop there and I encourage anyone who is going to be fishing in or around Eugene to stop by. Not to mention they give away free coffee in the morning, and free beer from Ninkasi in the afternoon. Just saying.

At the time I didn’t have enough money for waders so I strapped on my Chaco sandals and threw on a pair of hiking shorts. Excited to start I jumped into the McKenzie near Armitage Park and started nymphing. There is a nice riffle there and I ended up taking quite a few that day. I’ll never forget that first trout. I little cutthroat that felt like a small guppy at the end of my 7 weight. I caught most of the fish that day with a possie bugger. None were big enough to write home about, but I was fly-fishing and enjoying every second of it. The last fish of the day though was a decent sized rainbow that solidified my desire to progress in the sport.

I continued fishing near Armitage Park late into November. One particular day convinced me that I need some waders if I want to really get into the sport. People thought I was crazy (they had a valid point) to go fishing without waders in November. In summation I was a little crazy. But I was feeding the addiction and I couldn't help it. However, I thought my hiking shorts, cold gear compression long johns, and my Chaco’s would suffice. I was wrong. I was just so eager to be out there fishing. Can you blame me? After about an hour in the river, which was much higher and colder, I decided it wasn’t exactly the smartest thing to be out where I was. My legs were numb and the fishing conditions weren't exactly ideal. As much as I didn’t want to hang up the rod for the rest of the year, I didn’t really have a choice. Needless to say, I got some waders for next spring…

Where it all began (1990 something)

I wake up to my dad shaking my shoulder. It’s still dark out, but I get up immediately in childish anticipation. I know that we are going fishing. I am about 5 or 6 years old and we are at our family cabin, my favorite place on earth. Rambler’s Roost is its name. Built by my great grandfather in 1933, our family has been enjoying it generation after generation. The roost is located just 30 yards from the Upper Rogue River near Shady Cove. It’s a simple cabin with few amenities, but that just adds to its character. Shoot, there is no running water and we have to go get it out of the Rogue in pales that are older than I am. Oh and the outhouse’s light doesn’t always work and the seat is always cold. No complaints here though.

We get dressed, and man, we are lookin’ gooo-oood. I’ve got my big red puffy coat with black and white racing stripes down the arms, and my Osh-Kosh overalls to boot. My Power Ranger shoes that light up with each step are hanging on for dear life by a pair of Velcro straps. Dad has on his denim suit and a pair of white Chuck Taylor’s that he got in the late 70’s. (You’re probably thinking gross! But, he has kept really good care of them and hardly ever wears them.) He still has those classic Chuck T’s and I want them. I’ve tried convincing him to give them to me, failing each time. I don’t know what it is about them but they’re just way cool, and he knows it as much as I do. I digress. I take the spin rod and my dad grabs the tackle box. The rod is a fifteen-dollar Wal-Mart special. I still have it to this day and have never had any issues with it. Don’t get me wrong. I am a fly fisherman now, but I didn’t exactly start out that way. Nonetheless I was a trout bum in the making. With a fresh can of fireballs in the tackle box we head out.

The trail goes along the Rogue and it is absolutely beautiful. Even as a young child I remember appreciating how pretty it was and still is. It takes us about ten minutes to get to our sacred spot where I still pretend that I am the only one that really knows about it. When we get there it is fish on! We end up catching our limit of hatchery rainbows and I couldn’t be happier. On the way back I secretly hope that we run into a bunch of people so they can see all the fish that we caught.

I’ll never forget this one particular outing. It’s what triggered the fishing addiction that I can’t suppress. I am not looking to suppress it, only enhance it with more and more adventures. And so it begins. The chronicles of a trout bum…