Farewell and it’s been swell

Well, I certainly have dropped the ball lately on blogging my fishing adventures….. but in my defense, I’ve been too busy fishing. Dad and I finished up our trip in Oregon with the Fall River and the headwaters of the Rogue River. We only spent a few hours on the Fall River, but it was beautiful and chalk full of fish; one day soon, I will be back to spend more time here.

The headwaters of the Rogue was a special place. Back in the wilderness near Crater Lake, it’s hard to believe that these waters will draw thousands of steelies further downstream. I have always wanted to fish this river for steelhead. I actually had no idea that the headwaters were such an excellent fishery for wild brooks, bows and browns. Both nymphing and dries caught us abundant fish back in the wild beauty and cold waters of this river.

 

A little brookie

A little brookie Dad caught

Since we were in the area, we checked out Crater Lake; unfortunately a fire near the Deschutes made for a pretty hazy view. Regardless, the grandeur was stunning, and the brilliant blue water reminded me a little bit of the waters of home; Lake Tahoe. I really want to come back here and fish. When we were leaving the park, we saw a guy heading down with some conventional fishing gear. Apparently there are rainbow trout and Kokanee in the lake. Fish were stocked there in the 1850’s and they are trying to return the lake to its natural fishless habitat; so if you do catch a fish here, you are required to keep it. Not a fishing reg you stumble upon every day. I love catching fish amid gorgeous vistas, its one of the many allures of fly fishing. Crater Lake would be a great place to bring lunch, a good camera, fishing gear and spend a day soaking in the scenery.

 

A view from the top of Crater Lake

A view from the top of Crater Lake

Reminds me of home!

Reminds me of home!

 

That evening we make the last campfire of the trip and enjoy a game of cards. I can tell by the content smiles upon our faces that this has been a trip that neither of us will forget; and will take again for years to come. Coming up…. Idaho, Wyoming and Montana!

A picturesque end to a perfect trip.

A picturesque end to a perfect trip.

 

Never a dull moment…

Just as I suspected I might, all these days on the road have made me to lose track of time. I’m not quite sure what day it is, or how many days consecutively I have spent fishing. And I couldn’t be happier.

Days 12-16 Metolious River, OR

This river has been one of the places I have been anxious and ridiculously excited to fish. It is the first river I have fished that has bull trout. We set up camp next to the river; its about mid-day, and as soon as the tent is pitched and site is deemed livable, I grab my rod and rush to the river. For being a spring creek, this river sure does have some power and it’s icy cold. After my time at this river, I will later decide to describe the Metolious as an ice queen with a heart of gold. We have a complicated relationship.

The view from the head of the Metolious River

The head of the Metolious River

As I walk the path of the river in search of a nice deep pool to throw my streamer (courtesy of Fly Fisher’s Place fly shop in Sisters, OR); I am lost in the gorgeous surroundings. Trees and meadows with a hint of snow capped mountains in the background, deep pools surrounded by jutting canyons. Gorgeous. This first day, I am fishing just downstream from Camp Sherman in the riffles, pools and undercuts.  And both Dad and I get skunked. Not what I had in mind.

Wet wading past the gorge, despite the icy cold water.

Wet wading past the gorge, despite the icy cold water.

The next morning, after dreams of catching and fighting a glorious bull trout, we decide to head downriver to 99 bridge. This place looks exactly like where I would catch a nice fiesty bully; a deep, swirling, aquamarine pool. I start hucking a giant double bunny streamer with a ton of split shot to get it down (I will later find that the right tools for the right job would have indeed come in handy), and to my excitement a fish comes and looks at my fly. But I set too soon and miss the fish. The anticipation of catching a bull is giving me twitchy hands.

I continue to huck away with my trusty #5 Red Truck Diesel, giving it a work out with the weighty load at the end, until I hook into something meaty. Myself. Yep, damn. I look at my right arm and see the hook is deeply embedded. I try multiple times to yank it out, to no avail. I did debarb this sucker, but it’s looking like I did a pretty crappy job. This thing is in there good.

Caught one!

Caught one!

I walk up to the car where my dad is switching to a sinking line (smart!), and ask him try the mono trick. It usually never fails. Usually. Down pressure on the bottom of the hook with a hard yank up with the line tends to do the trick when this sort of thing happens. But it doesn’t work this time; and Dad insists on heading to the doctor. It really doesn’t even hurt and I kinda want to just keep fishing, but Dad wins and I drive us to the doctor.

Check out the new piercing.

Check out the new piercing. So trendy!

The doctor tries the same trick a few times with floss and some hemostats, and still it doesn’t come out. Eventually after many attempts at wrenching it out (thank god the area was numbed) he just pushes it through and cuts off the tip… There is a bit a lag time while he sends the nurse to the store for wire cutters, since the hook is too big for normal tools. Had I known we were going to do it that way, I would have just grabbed a bottle of Jameson, taken a big pull and done it myself (not exactly Dad approved). I might have also saved a ginormous bruise.

Is it over? Can I go fishing now?!

Is it over? Can I go fishing now?!

Just a scratch. Back to the river!

Just a scratch. Back to the river!

The next day, we head back to the river and dad catches a few red band rainbows, and I catch none. Now I am pissed. There is no way I am walking away from this river having myself being the only thing I catch. That afternoon, we take a brief intermission from the Metolious and head to the Santiam River. Off the beaten path, this stream has some great fishing. Both dad and I catch red bands into the double digits. Just what I needed to bolster my mood; but I’m not done with the Metolious yet, not by a long shot.

We were hauling 'em in all afternoon on the Santiam!

We were hauling ’em in all afternoon on the Santiam!

After breaking camp the next morning, we head back to the Metolious, at my insistence. I will catch a fish here. The Metolious fishing gods finally smile upon me. After a few casts, I hook up on what looks to be a brown, but upon landing it, turns out to be a white fish. I then go on to land a beautiful red band, and hook into two more. Ahh, finally. Not the bull trout I was lusting after, but there’s always next time.

White fish!

White fish!

Finally!!

Finally!!

The Mccloud River

Days 3-5

After a day of working on Monday, the car gets packed up and pops and I head on out to our next location, the lower Mccoud river. The drive is stunning; thickly forested mountains and  Mt. Shasta surging majestically upwards into a blue bird sky. The road around Mccloud Lake impresses, the water a bright emerald green. While a bit of a rough ride (I hear this road is notorious for doling out flats), the way down the canyon to AH-DI-NA campground is scenic and full of wildlife. In fact, as we’re driving into this deep ravine, Dad mentions this is Bigfoot country. After a sideways glance, I realize he’s serious. Oh man.

Lake Mccloud

Lake Mccloud

Its early evening when we arrive at our query. My Dad, ever the friendly guy, goes up and chats to our   neighbors, the only other people staying at the campground. Yet another funny coincidence; he had just talked to the guy earlier in the morning at the Ted Fay Fly Shop in Dunsmuir. It turns out Mike has been fishing this river for years, and is taking his son Ben on his first fly fishing trip. Gotta love that, taking a kid fishing! I also spot some wet suits in the back ground by their tent, it turns out these guys surf too. Bonus points! We wish them good evening and tight lines, then head out to the river.

Tight lines!

Tight lines!

The wading is tough and slippery (dad and I will both end up going for a “swim”), but there is a ton of pocket water and plenty of fish to make it worth it. While waiting for the dries to start popping, we high stick some nymphs. BAM!! I hook the first fish of the evening in some fast water. I look at the bend in my favorite rod, a Red Truck Diesel #5, and I know this fish has some heft to it. I wrangle in a gorgeous 18″ wild rainbow. I am entranced; this river is not only gorgeous but also full of strong, spirited fish.

Fish on!

Fish on! This beauty was camera shy and bolted  as soon I removed the #10 PT flashback from his snout.

The late evenings turn out to be the most product time to fish; that PMD emerger I learned to tie at the Upper Sac turns out to be quite the hot fly. Fish are slurping this fly like a little kid pops skittles! The only downside to this river is that at times it can be difficult to cast. I caught a few trees, in and out of the stream.

Whoops. Glad Dad got a picture of this instead of all the fish I was catching.

Whoops. Thanks for getting a picture of this Dad.

Until next time...

Until next time…

As we pack up the last day, I’m sad to be leaving, but I know I’ll be back. I’m glad we stopped at a few rivers in Northern California before we headed up to Oregon. I can’t wait to head back and fish these rivers for years to come.

We made it!

We made it!

We take pit stop in Klamath Falls for a couple of days, I take care of work (sigh) and Dad gets to hang out with an old college buddy and play some golf at the Running Y. Coming up next? Perhaps the Williamson River for the hex hatch, or up to the Cascade Lakes Basin to use the float tubes that have been blocking the rear view in my car. Or the upper Deschutes, the Crooked River, the Metolius River…. They’re all on the list, and I can’t wait to fish them all.

Sunset over Klamath Lake

Sunset over Klamath Lake