Awake My Soul (San Juan River, September 2012)

It was getting to the point where I couldn’t stand it any longer. I had to figure a way to hook a fish, and quick. Work had been crazy, and was only going to become even more insane. So, I made a phone call that would change my life and feed the addiction of fly fishing even more. Pretty dramatic I know, but true. It was Friday morning and I was hoping to go on a guided trip down the famous San Juan River near Farmington, New Mexico. This river is well known and can get very crowded. The fact that I was able to book a trip on a Friday morning for Sunday was, well…awesome!

Right now I’m reading John Gierach’s, “Fool’s Paradise.” Great read. He mentions that fishing trips aren’t always about the fish. They’re about the journey. I agree, but also disagree. It depends on how good the fishing is. In this case, it was a little bit of both for me. Although, the fishing definitely played a large role.

This journey was about three hours long through the desert. For the most part it was pretty dull and uneventful. However, I had a lot of time to just think. Like I said work has been crazy, and for some reason I have been super irritated with people. I know this may be frowned upon, but everything from traffic to politics was just getting to me. I find it sad that so many invest so much in things that to me, are futile and unimportant. This election has been getting to me as well. I hate politics anyways, so when I feel like all I have to choose from is a smooth talking socialist, and a money grubbing politician, it frustrates me. This country is better than that, and I feel as if we, as Americans, are investing in the wrong things. I feel as if we have become lazy, too dependent on the government and not ourselves, and entitled to have everything our way. Rise up America. Okay enough of that. As Forest Gump would say, “That is all I have to say about that.”

Like an intriguing question to an awkward silence in a conversation came Mumford and Sons’ “Awake My Soul” from my IPod.  

“In these bodies we will live.

In these bodies we will die.

And where you invest your love.

You invest your life.

Awake my soul.

Awake my soul.

Awake my soul.

For you were meant to meet your maker.”

I’m a simple man, and it doesn’t take much for me to be content in life. Knowing that my maker is in control and faithful to love all of us is very comforting. For the rest of the trip I took shelter in that and decided to enjoy every bit of the journey. Life is too short not to.

When I arrived at the Fisheads Lodge on the San Juan I was excited to get on the water and see what this river was all about. After a quick session at the fly shop

I checked in to my room and then headed out to the river.

What I found most fascinating about the San Juan was the contrast of the surrounding area. There I was in a desert with rocky cliffs and sparse brush. But there in the midst ran the San Juan like an artery full of life and color. I’m not exaggerating when I say that the upper San Juan in what is known as the quality water section is like fishing at a hatchery. And this hatchery is stocked with nothing but brood stock, aka BIG fish. I couldn’t believe it. If you move your feet at all and disturb the sandy bottom, pretty soon there will be about five fish feeding within two feet of you. At first this was completely foreign to me. I didn’t exactly know how to react. There I was looking at five of the biggest rainbows I had seen just feeding right by me. My first inclination was to cast to them, but this is actually illegal on the San Juan. It is known as the San Juan shuffle. See when you move your feet and disturb the river bottom, it stirs up a lot of food that the fish love to feed on. It doesn’t take long to figure out that with all those fish there feeding in murky water you have a better chance at them taking your fly under tough visible conditions. Because, let me tell you, these fish see a lot of artificial flies and they are not stupid. So like any quality fishing section of a river a group of people decided that the San Juan shuffle should be illegal and spoil all the easy catching, In all fairness to the fish though, they’re not that dumb. The shuffle isn’t full proof as I witnessed the next day.

The San Juan is a unique river. For one thing it is a river with a substantial flow of water. This is very rare for New Mexico, as I have discovered since living here. It’s water flows right from under Navajo Lake. As a result, the water is cold and clear and enables a substantial amount of bugs to flourish. Unfortunately for fly fishers, these bugs happen to be tiny. Tiny flies results in very picky fish. Very picky fish frustrate anglers who are trying to tie these flies on very thin line in order to fool the picky fish. Do you see where I am going with this?

I discovered this first hand when I attempted to catch these very large and picky rainbows the first afternoon I was out there. After getting used to the fact that the biggest trout I’ve ever been in the vicinity of while not at a hatchery weren’t exactly catchable at my feet, I tried my luck out in the main current. I didn’t get skunked, but I wasn’t exactly catching any fish of significant size. There was a gentleman however who was downstream from me.

Earl was from Maine. I don’t know exactly how they fish in Maine, but he was doing quite well in New Mexico. The first fish Earl caught wasn’t of any significant size, but he was just warming up. The second fish he hooked I could tell was large due to the intoxicating sound of a reel being stripped of line. As I looked downstream I could tell this was a big fish. Earl had been playing the trout for a few minutes and almost had him to the net. That’s when I decided to walk over and see what he had. I was almost as excited as he was. Although he had the big fish shakes which is what happens to a man when you travel some few thousand miles and decide to rent all of your fly fishing equipment on a whim because your son was playing a soccer game and you have been reading about the San Juan for years and all of a sudden you have a very large, 20” rainbow in your net. (Run on sentence for drama purposes.) So that’s why he was shaking. I knew this was a memorable moment for Earl so I offered to take his picture. You see, I could empathize with him because if I were in his position I sure would have wanted a picture, and it’s tough to take a quality one with one hand when you have a 2-3lb. 20” inch fish and your shaking like you’ve got hypothermia or seen Sasquatch in the middle of the desert. Needless to say Earl and I had a good time. He got to work on his catching while I got to work on my photography skills with an IPhone. He caught a few more after that one too. So Earl and I shared the experience and he was able to walk away not only with a story, but also with a few pictures to prove it. I enjoyed it very much as did he. You see, that’s one part about fishing that I really enjoy. The camaraderie between two anglers who can appreciate the experience together makes the sport of fly-fishing that much more enjoyable. I would have done it regardless, but I must say, I think I earned some good fortune from helping out Earl because the next day was just as good, and I wasn’t the one taking the pictures.

When I got back to my room there was a note on the door from my guide, Phil. He wanted to get out on the river early and give him a call to confirm the time and place. This was good news to me since I’m not one to waste daylight fishing. It turns out we were the first boat on the river the next morning. A good start.

I read a lot about the San Juan before making the trek. One thing the articles all had in common was Texas Hole. This particular hole only held the majority of fish, and big ones at that. So, when Phil said that we are going to skip it and head down river I was a little apprehensive. Then he said where we were going. We were going to spend some quality time in the “Land of the Giants” and Alligator Alley. Hearing that made me feel a little better. I brought my 5-weight with me, but Phil already had a 6-weight rigged up with a 14-foot leader with some lead, a bunny leach and tiny size 24 red larvae. The fact that it was a 6-weight made me feel even better.

I’m struggling to put into words the experience I had that morning. I hooked and landed large fish after large fish. They were all bigger than any other fish I had previously caught. What I can say is that it did not get old. The first fish I caught was what Phil described as cute. Needless to say I didn’t get a picture with that one even though I secretly wanted one. That was the fish that got the ball rolling though. After that one they only got bigger and more fun. What makes these fish difficult to catch isn’t necessarily that they are picky, I mean they like to eat, it’s that the takes are so subtle that I probably missed as many as I landed. This time of the year there wasn’t much bug activity on the surface so we stuck to nymphing. If the indicator so much as stops, or tilts to one side, you have to set the hook. I was amazed because a few times Phil would say set, and if it wasn’t for him I wouldn’t have caught the fish simply because I wasn’t keen to the type of take these fish give you. I had some practice though and managed to do all right.

After Alligator Alley we moved down to Baetis Bend where I landed a nice Brown and some more Bows. One fish in particular was quite large. I was actually able to see him go for the fly and set the hook right on cue. He was hanging in about three feet of water off a little shelf. Since I was fishing to him, and able to see his every move and reaction, it added to the appeal of the take and enjoyment of landing the fish.

 

The most memorable trout was unfortunately the one that got away. After an eventful morning with many quality fish, we moved further down river. The river’s characteristics change the farther down you go. We eventually got into some faster moving water with more riffles and runs. It reminded me of the McKenzie River somewhat, minus the giant green trees of course, but there were quite a few large boulders and small pockets where fish would hang out. This part of the river has a different bug population, although they didn’t get any bigger. The upper part is mostly comprised of midges whereas this particular section comprised of mayflies. Also, the fish taper off in size and numbers. This did not detract from the experience. The first fish I hooked in this section was hanging out right where Phil said he would be in front of a boulder. He was a nice fish probably pushing 18 inches. It took a long time to land him since he got into the main current and was stubborn to the point he would just not get near the boat without taking off on another run. After a while and a sore forearm we finally netted him. The next fish however was the most memorable.

I named him Phil’s fish simply because he told me going in that he had never had anybody hook him let alone land him. We spotted this 20 inch hog from the shore and made our approach. He was in between two boulders that were offset of each other making a nice eddy for him to hang out in. He was feeding and so we figured our chances were as good as any. What made this fish so difficult was his position. If I cast too far, the current would drag my fly through his lie like O.J.’s Bronco. Not very appealing for a fish looking for naturally drifting bugs for him to slurp up. If I didn’t cast far enough, the same thing would happen. I had to get the cast just right. Once I did that though, I had to mend like crazy to keep a drag free drift going. After like six casts I finally got everything right.

All day Phil had told me to “set”. Set. Fish on. Set. Fish on. This fish was different though. When I finally had the fly drifting through right in his lane, we saw him make his move. Right as I set the hook, Phil didn’t say set, he yelled, YES!! Fish on! We started laughing simply because we had hooked the un-hookable and the anticipation of the take, and the rush of actually hooking him made for a dramatic moment. It didn’t last though. You see this fish just wasn’t meant to be caught. The trickster lulled me to sleep thinking that I could just drag him to the boat and net him, take my picture, and tell everyone that I hooked and landed him. Wrong! When he got to about ten feet of the boat, he decided to go for his one and only run. What I was unaware of was that in the process of stripping line in to land him, my foot had moved onto the line. When he went out, the line got tight, and the sensation of pressure on the line under my foot was the cue for his exit. Before I could react the line broke and he took the fly with him.

After that, Phil and I looked at each other and just laughed. That’s all we could do. He gave me an atta boy and I just had to sit there for a bit and take it all in. Although it was frustrating not to have landed the fish it almost makes for a better story. That’s what I have to tell myself at least. At that time I couldn’t help but just enjoy the moment and revile in the exhilaration of the chase and work that we put in to try and land the fish. Unfortunately, Phil’s fish now has a little jewelry to show the rest of his friends, but we have a memorable experience. And, my soul was awakened.

I Wonder If There’s a Water Fountain (Rio San Antonio, May 2012)

Fishing with dries is a rush. It’s the challenge of making an accurate cast. It’s the anticipation before the strike. It’s the connection with a wild fish that you convinced to take your fly. The fish has a choice, and you get to see it first hand. Nymphing is effective and enjoyable in its own right, but you aren’t able to witness the fish’s decision. Rio San Antonio is a great place for fishing dries. It’s also the location of where I would catch my first New Mexico trout.

After a beautiful drive up Highway 4, and a scenic hike on the East Fork of the Jemez, I sat at Ridgeback Café planning my next move. You see unfortunately, the East Fork was unproductive. The scenery was stunning, but there were no fish. Last summer a large fire devastated the area. Evidence clearly showed that the fish population had been wiped out. My spirits were a little low but were on the rise due to the help of a delicious green chile cheeseburger and my guidebook describing the Rio San Antonio. I hadn’t actually planned on fishing this piece of water. It went into detail of the brown trout and Special Trout Water. The STW is restricted to barbless hooks and is catch and release only. This sounded like a great recipe for some quality fishing. If only I knew ALL that I was getting myself into.

What the guidebook didn’t inform me about was that FR 376 was closed and that it was going to take about an hour and a half hike to get there. No worries, I was equipped with half a bottle of Gatorade and a full stomach right? About 45 minutes into the hike I crossed paths with a few different people. The first pair seemed very tired and looked like they had camped for the weekend. I asked how much further the creek was and they said I had about an hour to go. The next pair I came across was an older couple fitted with fly rods and gear. My kind of people. We were obviously after the same thing so I was encouraged to see them coming back. After talking to them they apparently never made it to the creek. They turned back because they said they didn’t have enough water and that it was just too far. Not exactly what I wanted to hear. After this conversation, the sweet aroma of vanilla from the Ponderosas suddenly didn’t seem so special. Thoughts of turning back were running through my mind. The turkey vulture circling overhead wasn’t exactly an encouraging sign either. My Gatorade bottle was less than a third full by this point. I wasn’t about to give up and pressed on.

Finally I made it to my destination. All of a sudden the steep terrain and tall trees flattened out and gave way to a grassy meadow with wild flowers colored in purple and yellow. It was a refreshing sight after about 5 miles of wondering whether or not the Rio San Antonio would show up. It did, and I was ready to fish. Like an excited kid after the last day of school I hurried down to the creek.

Eager as I was, I didn’t just start huckin’ flies. I like to take a few minutes to evaluate the river, the wind, bug activity, and any sign of fish that may make my fly selection easier. Many people I witness jump right into rivers without hesitation. Most of the time they end up disrupting what could have been a great day of fishing into a guessing game.

The water was a little muddy, wind was fairly strong, and I didn’t see any bug activity or active fish. Knowing this, I figured I would start with a small stimulator to locate fish and go from there. What I soon learned with these particular fish is that strike one, and you’re out. Rarely did I ever have a strike and then get another one in the same section. I had the best success fishing just below a downed log or other obstruction where there was some turbidity in the water. This creates oxygen and usually has some deeper water, which is ideal for holding trout. The first fish I landed was a feisty 4 or 5 inches and took my size 16 yellow/orange stimulator as if it were his last meal. How I was able to hook this guy with the size fly I was using was beyond me. I wasn’t complaining though. After that guy I had a hard time finding fish. That’s when I went with some heavier artillery. There were plenty of hoppers flying around the tall grass as I walked upriver, so I decided to tie one on for kicks. Sure enough, the first cast had a hungry brown attacking it with force. My hope was to draw a larger fish to the surface with this pattern. Sure enough I did. Another larger brown rolled on it, but I wasn’t able to get a good set. After the frustration of missed strike after missed strike I concluded that the pattern was too big and I was unable to get a solid hook set. Time for something new.

I decided to tie on a size 16 Royal Wulff and went back to a pool where I saw a larger fish rise earlier. Like I said, you only get one strike with these guys. I earned strike one but wanted to try it again. It had been about thirty minutes since I had been to this particular spot. It was a shallow riffle, which dumped into a larger pool and narrowed just a few yards downstream creating some nice holding water. Like I said I had failed to hook any fish earlier and so I knew a few trout were residing there. I didn’t want to screw it up again.

The wind had not let up all day and was gusty here and there. I waited patiently for the best moment to make my cast. It finally died down and I made my move. My fly landed right where I wanted it. I made a slight mend in the line for a nice drag free drift and sure enough after about 2 feet into the drift my anticipation was interrupted by a larger brown. I made a good set and landed him. Maybe it was because I was dehydrated, or maybe it was because I had been catching 5-7 inchers all day, but this brown was one of the most rewarding fish I’ve caught. Granted, this fish was no trophy, but the satisfaction of fooling a skittish trout made up for it. I made an accurate cast. My anticipation was rewarded with a strike and I was able to connect with a fish that made a choice. I was glad to be a part of that decision.  

On the way back I realized just how many fish there were in the San Antonio. Since I was finished fishing I didn’t walk with any caution, and every few yards I could see a shadow shoot upstream or downstream as if to say, “you can’t fool us all.” But that’s the beauty of fishing, there’s always one more fish to try and fool.

Equipment:

·      8’ 4” 3-weight

·      Double taper line

·      7-9 foot tapered 5X leader

·      Size 14 Hopper

·      Size 16 Yellow/Orange Stimulator

·      Size 16 Royal Wulff

On to the Land Of Enchantment

Well I made it to New Mexico. Needless to say it is much, much different from my beloved Oregon. I am determined to take advantage of all it has to offer. Luckily for me, New Mexico actually has some good fly-fishing. Ever heard of the San Juan? Yeah, I’m going to be spending some time there. The San Juan is one of the best tailwater fisheries that can be fished year round. Known for its abundant and large rainbows and browns, I’m eager to get up there. Unfortunately, most places to fish are about 2 to 3 hours from Albuquerque. No worries though. Another downer…the beer. I haven’t been acquainted with all the local breweries here so far, but lets just say that my pallet was spoiled while living in Bend. It’s probably better for my health. 

Something New Mexico does have that Oregon doesn’t…Northern Pike and Tiger Muskies. They’re no Steelhead, but I heard they put up a pretty good fight. So no more Deschutes, Rogue, or Metolius. Now it's onto the San Juan, Rio Grande, Pecos, and many more. Green Butt Skunks, Freight Trains, and Purple Hazes have been replaced with San Juan Worms, size 24 midges, and baitfish patterns. Works for me. Let the chronicles of New Mexico begin.

Holy Waters (Upper Rogue River, February 2012)

Grants Pass is where I was born. I spent many summer vacations there away from New Mexico where I grew up and went to school. You could also say it is where I spent many years ignoring or was simply oblivious to the Rogue River and all the fantastic fishing it had to offer. Granted, I was more into golf and draining birdies than worrying about a drag free drift or slaying steel. If only I knew then what I know now. I have a feeling things would have been a little different. I definitely wouldn’t have had a one handicap, and I probably would have landed a lot more steelhead and half pounders. But, I digress. My life was in a transition stage and I just so happened to be staying in GP for a few weeks. While there, my intent was to get to know the Rogue a little better.

Winter had set up camp and wasn’t going anywhere. It was cold, wet, and the, “It’s The Climate” banner that GP prides itself on hung in irony downtown. One Sunday, out of the blue the weather shifted into being sunny and warm. The section around GP was pretty high and murky, so I decided to let my spey rod rest and try something new. No luck with the steelhead thus far. It takes about a thousand casts between each one, and I think I was only up to like 400. So I took my 3-weight and headed out to what is known as “Holy Waters.” Holy Waters flows right out from under Lost Creek Lake Reservoir. This is where the Rogue River more or less begins. Its headwaters are actually above Union Creek. I knew the water up there would be a good temperature, and clear. I had been allured by stories of husky rainbows in this particular section of the Rogue. Off I went to find out if the stories were true.   

Taking highway 62, I headed towards the fish hatchery. Above the hatchery dam is where I intended to try my luck. As I made my way up the road a man made barrier of large boulders hindered me from traveling any further. I got out and like every time before getting all my gear I scared myself into thinking I forgot a necessary item. Not this time. Through the scattered blackberry bushes and scrub oak I went down to the river. It was no special section of the river. To me, it wasn’t really ideal for fishing unless there was a major hatch with rising fish. Which actually in the summer/early fall there is a prolific salmonfly hatch that occurs there. At this point though there was no hatch and the river was flat and lifeless. So far, I was not impressed. I scoped it out for a while and tried fishing to a couple of large guppies that were sad excuses for rainbows. Of course the water was barely moving and about two feet deep and they knew I was there the whole time. Slightly frustrated, I began to search the river for another spot that looked more promising. I looked upstream a ways and suddenly I saw the reflection of the sun off of what looked like a good riffle. Seduced by the water I headed up river.

 

Upon reaching the upper section I came to the conclusion that this is where I needed to spend some quality time. It was an ideal section. There was a large riffle with some speed that tapered off into a deep pool. There was also a seam in between the main current and the stagnant frog water. If those husky rainbows did exist, this was the spot they would be lurking. Not to miss anything I started up at the top of the riffle. No dice. Finally I got to the seam where I thought there would be some action. My strike indicator suddenly shifted and I set the hook. Sure enough it was what felt like a nice size fish. After it took out about 15 yards of line I knew it was no 9 incher. This one rolled a time or two and revealed it had some shoulders. Nice fish. After playing the fish for a bit I got it into the shallows and attempted to land him. Then, just like that, no fish. My barbless, size 20 midge decided it couldn’t hang on any longer. Dang. So I did what any fisherman in my situation would do, I cast out to the same spot. Sure enough two casts later I hooked another one! I swear it was the same fish. This time I got the better of him. It was a beautiful 16” rainbow. After a brief moment of satisfaction, I was eager for more. About 4 casts later, it was fish on again. At first I thought this fish was stupid because it felt like the same one. This one proved that it was most definitely not the same fish. This one was a hog and fought with a pugnacious vigor. It was the nicest rainbow I’ve ever caught. After one more nice fish from the same hole, I decided that I had had enough. Plus, my 3-weight was a little tired. It had gotten used to the Crooked River and 9 inch trout.

Holy waters proved to be worthy of all the stories, and now I have my own story to tell. Like I said earlier, my life was in a transition stage. Now its off to New Mexico where the story, and the chronicles continue…

Equipment:

• 8' 4" 3-weight
• Double taper floating line
• Tapered 5X fluorocarbon leader/tippet
• Size 16 Morrish's Anato May
• Size 20 Copper Brassie midge

Bullying the Met (Metolius River Winter 2011-2012)

My first summer in Bend was a young fly fishers dream. Working at Orvis only spurred on the sickness. I compare it to a bunch of drunks hanging out at the bar every day and night…yet never getting a hangover. It was bliss. We went on many excursions on the Lower D, Metolius, Crooked, and Fall River. We caught a few fish, nothing too exciting. Unfortunately I only hooked one steelhead. Needless to say I needed another fix, and I was hoping the Metolius River could provide that.

The Metolius is located just outside of Sisters. Known for its gin clear water and picky trout, it’s is a tough place to catch fish. In fact, I describe it as the prettiest river to go get skunked at. Like I said it isn’t easy. Throughout the summer I went there and got skunked a few times. All right, many times. I landed a few trout and hooked some nicer ones. Not a great resume on the Met. While working in the shop though, I kept hearing about these Bull trout. Guys would come in talking about hooking up with five or six, the biggest being around 30 inches. Whaaaat? I had to get in on this.

One cold Central Oregon morning, the Orvis crew got together to try our luck on the Met in hopes for some Bull trout action. Tye, Jeeem (aka Jim), and myself set out with our 6 and 7-weight rods and some big ol’ flies. These flies we were using were small trout imitations. One of them known as the Dahli Lama is around 8 inches and has strips of bunny that has a tantalizing action to it in the water. One of the most productive ways to catch Bull trout is to throw these large streamers and swing it across the current and then strip in, in hopes of encouraging the Bull to strike. This tactic seems to work best because bullies are both territorial and aggressive fish, hence their name. Once you hook them all you have to do is hang on! Yeah, it’s that easy.

Before our trip, we had been talking to some other friends who had fished the Metolius for Bulls and they informed us of some good spots to try. Not your typical fisherman huh? Telling us where to fish and what not, well they are pretty good friends. At the end of the day, Tye would be very thankful for that. We headed for this one spot that sounded encouraging. It was a very cold morning. Snow was covering the ground, and it felt like we were in the wrong place at the wrong time to be fishing. However, the Metolius is characterized as a spring creek with consistent flows and water temperatures. These conditions allow it to be fishable year round.

All of us tried the first spot with no luck. In fact one of Tye’s Dahli Lama’s decided to befriend a large log in the middle of the river and didn’t want to leave it. Touching story. So we went downriver to another spot that looked promising. There was a strong current in the middle of the river and a long deep pool from it to the bank. An ideal place for these fish to be hanging out. And sure enough they were there. Tye hooked up with one first, and then the hook came out. Dang! Not ten minutes later I hooked one. I didn’t even know it was a fish at first. I thought I was stuck on a log. Then the “log” moved and it was fish on! The fish surfaced and I could tell it was a big one. Of course this fish wanted nothing to do with being caught. It shook its head twice and said, “No thanks.” Oh man that was frustrating. I looked upriver to Tye and said something my mother would have been disappointed with only to see Tye pointing in the direction of where I hooked the fish. Apparently just as I turned around to say something creative to Tye, the Bull jumped out of the water. Tye confirmed what I had thought; it was a very large Bull. Shucks.

Moving on, we went to a spot that would become famous. It was a good drift with a bend around a large log at the end of it. The water got deeper around the log as well. After a solid effort I was ready to try another spot. I had tried my luck so I went over to bs with Jeeem on the bank. All of sudden Tye started making funny noises. FISH on! Yeah it was a big one. Tye’s 6-weight was being put to the test. After admiring him struggling with his fish, he said he was going to need some help landing this thing. I was gung ho. I hopped into the river and made my way downstream towards Tye. Coming up to him I realized just how big this sucker was. It was a good 28-30 inch Bull. A trophy for sure. I ended up tailing the fish and took some pics that I still look at today in amazement. It was Tye’s first Bull trout. This was a celebratory occasion. Tye enjoys some of the finer things in life, and is a generous man as well, so we enjoyed a quality cigar on the bank re-living the epic catch of the day. Good times.

Needless to say, I did not land any Bulls on this trip. But, I was hooked and determined to before they migrated back out of the Met. I went back two more times after Tye had landed his trophy with nothing to show for it. The chase continued.

About a month and a half later, I was moving from Bend. An opportunity that I couldn’t pass up came about and so I only had a couple weeks left. I was determined on hooking and landing a Bull before I had to leave. So one Saturday my buddy Brad and I set out, again, to give it one last college try. It was freezing that morning. I had to chew the ice off of my snake guides in order to get line out a few times. Just a part of winter fishing. I hooked one small Bull in one spot above where Brad and I had fished previously, but no dice, it came off. Ugh.

Around noon though our other buddy Paul joined us with a barley pop in hand and his dog Sunny. We told him the usual stories of being in the right spots and making great casts and blah blah blah. He had an idea. Paul told us of a spot up river where the river narrowed into a deeper canyon, and where he had seen Bulls stack up before. This sounded promising so we headed out. This spot was off the road a ways and after muddying up the tires we were there. It was just as Paul described, and sure enough there was a large Bull in the middle of the canyon. What was so cool about this spot is that you had to sight fish. Paul and Brad were kind enough to let “the boy” go first, and I’m glad they did. In order to get to this fish I had to climb down the canyon and stand on a ledge about the size of a coffee table. Paul and Brad stayed up top and directed me towards the fish. The first cast went outside the big Bull. The next cast was a little better. As I remember, the conversation went as so, “Alright man good cast. Strip. Strip. Let it sit. Uh, uh you went past him. Strip. Wait. Whoa!” Then all of a sudden I felt a grab and I set the hook. Fish on! It wasn’t the large one that we were fishing to, but another one that was hiding under the bank. This one was determined to make my day. It came from about 15 feet at full speed and slammed my fly. My 7-weight spey handled the fish easily. Like I said it wasn’t a hog but I was stoked to have landed my first Bull. Finally!

 

That night ended with a few brewsers at 10 Barrel and what turned into my roast with the Orvis crew. It was my going away dinner. And it didn’t disappoint. I realized that fishing for me, is not just about fish. It’s about sharing experiences with people, and enjoying the outdoors that by God’s grace we are able to cherish. I don’t ever want to take that for granted.

Equipment

• 13' 7-weight Spey
• Skagit line with 10' section of T-14
• Maxima 20# leader and 15# tippet
• Large baitfish streamer

Ooo-la-lallie. (Late Spring 2011)

After a long and rainy winter/spring in Eugene, fishing season left me unsatisfied. The McKenzie was hit or miss, and I was ready to get into some fish. When my Uncle Mark called and said he wanted to take my cousin Mitch and I on a trip I asked where he was thinking. He mentioned the Lower D, which don’t get me wrong is one of my all time faves, but when he mentioned some random lake I had not heard of, ice-off, and hungry fish, I was convinced that was the ticket for my fix. Sorry D. Olallie Lake was the name, and we were in for a real treat.

Ollalie Lake is located just west of Mt. Jefferson, and it is one of the prettiest lakes I’ve had the privilege to fish. Getting there though, took some luck and help from my sleep deprived cousin. The beautiful drive up the picturesque Clackamas River and into Olallie Lake seemed to cause his eyelids to become heavy enough to stay shut through every curve and sudden “brake checks.” I was enjoying the scenery a little more than I should have which resulted in a sudden realization that I may not have a drift boat on its correct side through the curve if I didn’t slow down. The luck part came when I just so happened to see a barely visible and faded “O” on some pavement. That “O” stood for “Olallie Lake This Way”. Who’da thunk? As I mentioned earlier, I needed my cousin’s help. That came when I misunderstood which road to take to get to the lake. Oh that’s right, there were no signs, and multiple roads! No big deal. I got up one road that was too narrow to turn around in with the boat. So I woke up the sleep deprived teenager and told him we had to un-hook the boat and turn around. He was happy to help and we had a few laughs. I managed to guess the right road (after two or three forks I might add) and we arrived at the campground eager to get to the lake. After a recap of the trip up, a few more laughs, and some grub, we were set.

It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining and the grandeur of Mt. Jefferson was incredible. My uncle was confident the fishing would be good; he was unaware just how good it would be. See, we just happened to get there after ice-off, and the campground had just opened. It was closed the week prior due to snow. My aunt Lisa dropped us off and said she would be back to pick us up in about an hour or so. We hopped in the drift boat and started trolling around. Each of us tied on some version of a woolly bugger and cast out with high hopes. Those hopes turned to doubt after about 30 minutes of a whole lot of nothing. But we kept rowing and finally reached the other end of the lake. That’s where the fun really began.

Mitch was the first one to hook a fish. It was about 9-10 inches. Nice fish. Then I hooked one. Similar size. Then Mitch hooked one. Then I hooked one. Then Mitch hooked another. Then I hooked another. Mark was laughing the entire time because we could not, NOT catch a fish! We ended up calling this stretch the gauntlet because every time Mark rowed through on the edge of this shelf, Mitch and I successfully hooked (there were plenty of missed hook sets which fueled Mark’s laughter) probably 3 or 4 fish each time we ran the gauntlet. Pretty soon we remembered that we had to go meet Lisa at the boat dock. Not ready to leave, we did. We met up with her and she asked how the fishing was. We said it was just ok. There were many people on the bank and we didn’t want to give up our spot or cause any mass exodus to where we had found what seemed to be every fish in the lake. We told Lisa, who is an avid fisherlady herself, to get in the boat. She wasn’t real eager. This was probably because we downplayed the fishing. She caught on though when we told here she HAD to get in the boat. We went right to the same spot. A few runs through the gauntlet, and quite a few more fish and we were all laughing just how good it was!

Mark was nice enough to row for us most of the time, but I told him I would row for a bit so he could join in on the fun. I didn’t know he would catch the biggest trout in the lake! Right after I had started rowing Mark hooked a HOG! It was awesome. The fish was a beautiful rainbow that was about 26 inches. I couldn’t help but give Mark a hard time and tell him I was happy to work on my trophy trout photography skills. Honestly though, I was glad to do it. After all that excitement we headed back and had a good ol’ fish fry for dinner.

The next day we hit the same side of the lake just off of a shelf. The fish didn’t miss a beat. We probably hooked about 50 fish apiece that weekend. Obviously we didn’t keep them all. Then I got to work on my trophy trout photography…again! Mitch hooked another impressive rainbow and ended the fishing trip on a high note.

Unfortunately I didn’t hook any trophies. However, the trip was a memorable one and I was happy to capture it. In fact, a couple pictures appeared in the Spring 2012 issue of Fly Fisher and Tyer Journal. So I got that going for me.