Of all the fishing goals I have, the one that rises to the top is the goal of landing a 40 inch wild steelhead. I recently returned from a four day steelhead trip to a coastal river that can produce fish of that caliber. It was supposed to be a six day trip, but the combination of mediocre fishing, missing my wife, and the majority of my bedding and clothes getting soaking wet, I decided to cut the trip short and return some other time. I think it was the right decision, but the funny thing is I feel like I’ve failed somehow. Like only fishing four days instead of six is admitting that I’m not really as tough as I’d like to think I am, or maybe it is saying that I’m not as dedicated to these fish as I’d like to think. But the reality is I think most people would just be happy to have a comfortable and dry bed to sleep in, whereas I am still questioning my decision to leave the river two days early.

The river is special. Hatchery fish have never contaminated the gene pool, a rarity in Oregon. It is a wild and remote stream that flows in a way that can only be described as “downhill,” cascading from one pool to the next with a desperate fury. The river is known, by the few that know it, to have an irregularly large strain of steelhead, and that definitely adds to the draw of the river. This is the seventh year that I’ve fished the river, and it has changed drastically in that time. Up until three years ago it was fairly popular, though no one talked out loud about it, but you would here whispers of it from the old-timers, and good friends might give up their secret after much persuasion, and under the stipulation that you’d guard the secret with your life. In 2007 a massive flood ripped through the drainage. Aided by widespread clear cuts at the headwaters, the flood cut the river to its rock bed, completely destroying the majority of spawning and holding water. Consequently, the fishing has declined. I don’t know the exact numbers, but I think I could make an educated guess that the fishery is a third of what it once was.

When I first visited the river it was like finding steelhead heaven. The pools were clearly defined and perfect, the fish aggressive and plentiful. If there was a drawback, a few too many people knew about the “secret.” A Saturday during peak season would find the parking area filled with a dozen or more cars, but if you walked far enough you could put the crowds behind. Even then, people seemed to have an innate realization that this place was special, and you shouldn’t ruin it by crowding someone else’s space; so nobody every occupied the same run as you. Now, the fish are a shadow of their former selves, but there are just enough there to make it worth your while. The fish you do hook are larger than most other places, and in my opinion they fight harder than any other steelhead in the Lower 48. The rewards are worth the effort, it’s just that the rewards are few and far between. On the other hand, competing fishermen are a rarity. On my latest trip I visually saw the exact same number of fish as I saw fishermen; for steelhead fishing that is a staggering number over a four day period.

There is a train track that follows the length of the river. It is no longer in use as the flood in 2007 caused mass destruction to the railroad itself, but it serves as a trail of sorts to access the river. Hiking the railroad day in and day out is tough on the knees and ankles, and the trails that used to go down to the river from the tracks are all overgrown, making the going rather difficult. It is truly rugged and remote fishing. This is part of the toll one must pay to fish the river. Over the years I’ve hooked three fish that I am sure were over 40 inches, and landed one that I measured at 38 inches, and one that I would guess would go 36 inches. And maybe that is why I still feel like I failed by returning two days early. This time, while fishing for four days, I only hooked two fish, both of which promptly broke me off, and maybe if I’d have been willing to stay the final two days I would have hooked one or two more fish, and maybe one of those would have gone 40 inches. That’s a lot of maybes to hang your hat on when you are facing down loneliness, fatigue, and bone chilling cold, but it is the price one has to be willing to pay in order to reap the rewards that this river has to offer. Next time I hope I stay the full six days, or however many days I can commit to, because that is the kind of commitment a 40 inch fish deserves. At least that is what I am going to tell myself the next time I am skunked, lonely, and freezing.

Summer steelhead are a special fish in the Gorge. As fishermen we have access to these fish nearly year round. There is a common misconception out there that the names summer and winter when applied to steelhead only describes when the fish are in a given river system. The reality is that summer and winter steelhead have very different life cycles. Summer steelhead typically enter fresh water between April and September; then they stay in fresh water until the next March or April when they spawn. Winter steelhead, on the other hand, typically enter fresh water between November and February and spawn that same April.

For this reason summer steelhead can be caught all winter long. This means in river systems like the Deschutes, John Day, Grande Ronde, and the Wallowa where there aren’t runs of winter steelhead, we can still target steelhead during the winter. For the outdoorsman this is a nice bonus. With big-game hunting seasons over, trout fishing difficult, bass fishing basically obsolete, and all the crowds gone, steelhead fishing in the winter is one of the best outdoor activities to participate in.

There are some drawbacks to fishing in the winter. With colder weather comes colder water temperatures, making steelhead less aggressive. During the hedge months of November and December it is a great idea to have a thermometer on hand to measure the water temperature. Water above 48 degrees requires summer steelhead tactics; water below 48 degrees requires a different mindset altogether. To counteract colder water temperatures we have to use methods similar to those used for winter steelhead.

Under normal summer steelhead conditions we like to say that steelhead will gravitate toward flows that are a walking speed and 3 – 6 ft. deep. This changes slightly when the water gets colder; often steelhead will seek out slightly slower and deeper water as things cool down. Look for fish on soft inside seams, slower pools, and tail-outs. Not to say steelhead won’t be in their usual haunts, but they will start to spread into that slower deeper water as well.

For gear guys, less invasive tactics like using a float and jig, or drift fishing will typically be more effective than throwing spinners and spoons. During unusually bright days, however, the flash of a spinner or spoon can be just the ticket to aggravating an aggressive fish. Another effective method is to cast plugs across the current, and then let the current naturally “dive” your plug back to shore. Be ready for strikes to be more subtle than you would typically expect from summer steelhead.

For fly fishermen, tactics change drastically with falling water temperatures. Under ideal summer and fall conditions many fly fishermen choose to utilize the wet fly swing, where their fly is presented on a tight, floating line just beneath the surface. As fish become less aggressive they will be less apt to chase a fly just sub-surface, for this reason fishermen need to get their flies down deeper in the water column. The wet fly swing can still be utilized, but you will want to use a sink-tip to help your fly get down. Larger profile flies, leech style flies, and intruder style flies are often effective. When selecting fly color remember the old adage: bright with bright, dark with dark. That is to say under bright skies fish colors like pink, orange, and red; during overcast days fish colors like black, blue, and maybe most importantly purple.

Another very effective tactic for fly fishermen is nymph fishing. The longer steelhead are in fresh water, the more likely they are to start eating again. That doesn’t mean they eat all the time like a trout, but they will start to take the occasional bug to keep their energy up so they can make it until April. For this reason, it is often effective to nymph with natural imitations like Stone Flies, Green Rock Worms, and Pheasant Tails. When nymphing, make sure your fly is getting deep enough, you should be ticking the bottom every couple of casts.

The Deschutes will produce fish throughout the winter; the other rivers mentioned above will produce fish until they freeze over. However, the Wallowa is known to be a very good March fishery after ice-out.

When fishing this time of year, be sure to dress in layers. Fleece and Wool provide good insulation, even when they are wet. Also, be sure not to take risks when wading during the winter, it can be a very dangerous time of year to take a swim.

Questions, Comments, Opinions? Send Nate and email at: nate@flyfishingdeschutes.com

  Like steelhead, your first elk is usually the toughest; at least that is what the old-timers say. I’m not talking about private land hunting where you shoot an elk in a hay field, which is really just target practice for the sake of management, I’m talking about serious, hard-core back-country hunting where you have to earn your trophy. Public land elk hunting can be extremely difficult with elk frantic from the sudden intrusion of man on their territory; it can also be one of the most rewarding experiences a hunter can have in the outdoors.

2010 was just such a rewarding experience for my family and me.

Dad and my younger brother Caleb went to camp four days early for some scouting and chucker hunting with two of my uncles. Dad turned sixty this year and had never shot an elk, though in his defense he hadn’t spent much time in pursuit either. With quality tags in our pockets, the Morris clan was hoping this was the year dad finally achieved his goal of shooting a bull elk, although truth be told none of us had ever shot an elk so success by any of us was going to be cause for celebration.

My older brother Ben and I drove up on the day before the season opener. The report from dad was that they had been seeing a lot of elk, albeit mostly on private land, but it still got our blood pumping. Ben and I had never seen the country we were hunting in the light of day, so we were relying on the reports of dad and the knowledge of our uncles who had hunted the area for 25 years.

Opening morning was filled with promise and frustration. Ben closed within 150 yards of a group of elk he could hear moving through the woods with the grace and silence of a bulldozer, only to have another hunter fifty yards from him take a poor shot and miss. I ran up just in time to see the elk disappear over the ridge. With hunters directly in front of us, Ben and I decided to hunt another direction. Turns out, the woods in that area were the equivalent of Fifth Avenue at lunch time. At one time I could see six other hunters within a two hundred yard radius, and as far as I could tell none of them were in the same party.

Discouraged, I hurried off the ridge to the road and checked in on the radio. “Dad got one!” Ben yelled on the radio, and instantly frustration turned into elation. Our hunt was already a success. Dad’s elk turned out to be a nice 5x5. It was our first experience dealing with an elk down in the woods, and all three of us were glad the other two were there. The pack out was short, but steep; by the end of it we all had satisfied, exhausted smiles plastered on our faces. Dad had the bull down at 9:30, and we were back at camp by 3:30. Six hours might not be a record time, but for three newbies taking care of our first elk I think we did alright.

After a quick bite to eat, Ben and I were ready to head out for an evening drive to see the area when we got a call that Caleb had an elk down. Caleb’s first elk was a dandy spike that just so happened to go down in about the easiest place possible for a pack out.

Day two found Ben and me chasing elk across a canyon, only to have them disappear like the ghosts of the forest that they are. It turned out to be a pretty physically demanding hunt with our legs still burning from the day before. At some point during the morning my uncle Bob downed a spike to bring the camp’s tally to three elk down.

On day three Ben and I hunted an area based on my uncle’s suggestion; it turned out to be the right decision. I was hunting the western ridge, Ben was going down the bottom of the canyon, and my uncle Bob was guiding a young man on the eastern ridge. An hour into the hunt, I spotted a cow elk feeding up the opposite ridge. Ten minutes of impatient glassing and a good branch antlered bull emerged out of the trees. The shot was long, but I felt rock steady when I squeezed the trigger, and he dropped like a rock. If you’ve never witnessed a herd of elk run through the woods, it sounds a little like an avalanche, and this avalanche was headed right for Ben, who had no recourse but to shoot a spike out of self-defense. Well not quite, but close enough.

Twenty seconds after my shot, we’re blindly yelling across the canyon, celebrating our elk together. My elk kept raising its head, but I didn’t have a shot, “I think mine is going to go.” I yelled. Five minutes later it had its feet under him and I yelled out “Uh-OH!” as he started running left to right through the trees. Three shots later and he went down for good. Turned out he was a decent 6x6.

There’s nothing quite like walking up on a hard earned trophy, especially when the experience is shared by family and friends. With two elk down and nearly a two mile hike to the truck, the pack out was long, hard, and heavy, but with the help of friends and family we were able to do it in a single trip. It was an experience none of us will ever forget.

For those of you counting, that’s four newbies, four elk down. Maybe we should all go buy lottery tickets, because I’m not sure we’ll ever repeat that feat.

Questions, Comments, Opinions? Send Nate an email at nate@flyfishingdeschutes.com

Steve - I hope you have fun striped bass fishing, that is something I’ve always wanted to do…so I’m a little jealous. I hope you can make your way back out here some day, I’d love to spend another day on the water with you.

As fishermen, we develop relationships with the rivers we fish.  Case in point, I would say I have a live-in, albeit open, relationship with my home river the Deschutes.  I have a friend, however, who has a completely monogamous relationship with the Deschutes.  In fact, up until we met, he hadn’t cheated on her in probably five years.  Maybe I’ve been a poor influence, but then again, neither of us took an oath.

There’s a creek in Washington State, an oasis in the middle of the desert, that is chock full of big rainbow trout.   The hatches are prolific, and consequently the fish are as discriminating as a French viticulturist at an international wine tasting convention.  The water itself is a spring creek, crystal clear, with waving fronds of green clinging to the clay bottom.  One of the most heavily regulated fisheries in Washington, in order to protect the delicate substrate, wading is prohibited.  It is fly fishing only - eliminating the chuck-and-duckers of most tail waters and freestone rivers.  As for the fish themselves, it is rare to see a fish less than 16 inches.  And “see” is appropriate as it is mostly a sight fishery.  The biggest trout of my life was pulled from among a pod of close to a dozen feeders.  26 inches.  9 pounds.  Sight fishing.  And it ran all over the pool with brain-imprinting jumps, tail-walks, and 5x straining head shakes. 

                It’s like a strip club – perfect in most men’s southerly-brained thinking.

                But like all perfect places, this one isn’t.  It’s fake.  Chock full of more implanted fun than a Las Vegas show girl.  And while a stripper may not say “yes” to going on a date with you, we both know that has less to do with her lofty taste in men, and a whole lot more to do with her being asked out on a dozen dates a night.  And sure the fish are discriminating, but not so much due to the fact that your size 24 midge has size 22 hackle, but more so due to the fact that each fish has been stuck more times than a voodoo doll on Halloween.  And like most strippers with implant scars, smoker’s skin, and eighties hair that is only partially covered by poor lighting and over applied makeup, the majority of these fish are kind of ugly if you take too close of a look. 

                Once, when I was ten, my Dad took me to a state run hatchery.  This was early in my fly-fishing career, and seeing all of those giant trout lazily suspended like Sumo Wrestlers relaxing on the couch forever changed the way I saw trout.  Up to that point I had no clue that they could become much larger than the ten incher (a fish that to that point was twice as big as every other fish I had landed) I had proudly pulled from the thirty inch wide irrigation ditch that ran in front of our house.  And let’s be honest, it doesn’t matter how long you’ve been fishing, or at what stage you supposedly are at as a fisherman, size matters.  And it was these grotesquely huge fish in the artificially oxygenated pens that stuck in my mind for the next twelve years, but I didn’t think that fish of that caliber could be caught by just anybody.  I figured the only way I would ever get a chance at fish like that was to either break into a hatchery under cover of night, or become rich and travel the world, and do the whole pay-to-play deal.  The discovery of this Washington spring creek gave me the hope and realization that a blue-collar fly-fisherman, who chooses to spend triple-digit days on the water every year rather than make any real money, has a chance at a trophy trout.  Every time I walk up to this creek, I feel a little dirty – like maybe I’m sneaking into a hatchery, or walking into a strip club.  And I definitely don’t want anybody I know to see me there.  Every time I leave, the afterglow is bittersweet, like I’ve just experienced something amazing, and at the same time cheated on every wild trout I’ve ever caught.

                And yet, if I spend enough time away, I feel a burning desire to return… and I always do.

                Like dating a stripper, who might just look real nice hanging from your arm, and might even make a lot of men jealous until they find out she’s a stripper; That 9 pound trout is going to look real good in its frame on my wall, I’ll just have to lie about where I caught her.

Thanks for the feedback…I really appreciate it.

Steelhead fishing has always been a relatively solitary experience for me. When I first started chasing chrome I was attending a small Christian college with perhaps three fishermen counting myself. The other two were either too busy or not committed enough to become fishing partners, so I became a one man show touring most of the North Oregon Coast for winter steelhead. Let’s be honest, I didn’t catch a whole lot of steelhead early on…in fact, it took me a year of pretty solid effort before I landed my first.

There was an awful lot of trial and error in those early days. Winter steelheading is a brutal way to cut your teeth and I was too shy and stubborn to simply walk into the local fly shop and ask for help. Often I would show up on some random coastal stream in the pre-dawn darkness only to find with the light came the frustrating realization that the stream was running less like chocolate milk and more like hot chocolate with some coffee mixed in. I would always fish the river anyways, and twice I was rewarded with fish (literally resting behind trees) - the rest of the time it was a lost cause.

Eventually, the Internet became my friend. Not for message boards, fishing reports, and forums, but from actually useful information like weather forecasts and hydrology predictors. I learned that when one river was at 8ft and blown out, another river right next to it was fishing perfect. I never waited for perfect conditions, I didn’t have enough time, I simply fished when the opportunity arose.

Not too much has changed in the last few years, I still feel almost desperate to get out on a river on my days off…and I’ll go regardless of the conditions. Sometimes this results in going fishless, and I’ve gotten to the point that I’m okay with that. Listen, I like catching steelhead as much as the next guy (actually, probably a whole lot more than most guys) but the thing that makes steelhead so special is the fact that you don’t catch one every single time you go out. The fish that stick with you are the slump busters. Nobody remembers the fourth fish out of a seven fish day unless that fourth fish was a true giant. Everybody remembers the first hatchery dink after going fishless for three days.

The native above will forever be ingrained in my memory; partly because it was perfect, large, and strong, but mostly because it was a slump-buster. It came after two days of head scratching, second guessing, and being low-holed. I will always remember it, not for all the things it was, but for all the things the two previous days were not.

The point is, enjoy the good days, and enjoy the fishless days; enjoy the good years, and the down years. It’s the not catching that makes the catching so special.

Absolute solace

The whispers of Scotland in the clink

Of ice

Shy away from the subjects of extinction

Of death

Instead they speak of the exotics

Of beauty

Beyond the eye of the beholder

Of history

They whisper of Jock Scott

Of Parson

At the pew and giving all I have to this vise

Speaking to the ancients

Listening for their guidance

And knee deep in this holy sanctuary

I feel the beating heart of God

And the soft kiss of words spoken

In the forgotten language of water

Thanks for the kind words, Miguel, it is nice to have some feedback and I always appreciate the encouragement. I look forward to seeing you in the shop, and hopefully out on the river.

Nate

September is a month of caffeine and melted snickers bars. It is thirty days of desperate attempts to capture all that it offers. Sleep and food are essential to your enjoyment of the outdoors, and your health, but it sometimes feels like you are wasting time on both. Turns out your body can go a long ways on coffee and snickers bars. There isn’t time for TV, except maybe the occasional football game, let alone time to sit down and eat.

 August may be the doldrums of the outdoor world, with hot temperatures and short nights, but all that changes in September.

If you are an outdoorsman September may be the perfect month. For the hunter there is archery hunting for high country mule deer and big bugling bull elk. Archery hunting is a different experience than rifle hunting. The weather is crisp and cool in the morning, but by mid-day it can get into the 90’s. Of course, I’ve also gotten snowed on in September at high elevations, so you really need to be prepared for any kind of weather. Rifle season is punctuated by rifle shots throughout the day; archery hunting is quiet, peaceful, nearly transcendent. In fact, the only sound that seems to explode in the woods during archery season is that of a bugling bull, and that can hardly be described as disruptive. For many, September, and the coinciding archery season, is the culmination of eleven months of planning; it is a serious endeavor requiring preparation, hard work, and commitment. For others, archery season is an excuse to spend some time out in the woods with friends and family; it is camping with the occasional animal seen. Both sides of the coin have a valid reason for being out there.

For fishermen September is a perfect storm of angling activity. The gear guys with boats have excellent trolling for steelhead at the mouths of the Klickitat, Wind, White Salmon, Little White Salmon (Drano Lake), and Deschutes Rivers. Additionally, if they want to travel, September is the month to be trolling for Fall Chinook salmon at Buoy 10 and Tillamook Bay. Shore-bound steelhead fishermen can ply the Deschutes from the mouth on up past Maupin. September is the month when things really start to get consistent on the big D. Trout fishing on the Deschutes picks back up as well with the longer nights and cooler days. In fact, trout fishing everywhere seems to pick up. Many experts in the Central Oregon area consider September to be primetime for Crane Prairie Reservoir, Wickiup Reservoir, Hosmer Lake, and East Lake.

Unfortunately, this is just a list of pursuits that I would consider to be “right around the corner,” it doesn’t include such iconic September destinations like the North Umpqua River, or British Columbia for steelhead. Both are endeavors I plan on pursuing at some point, but I need to figure out how to make September ninety days instead of thirty first. And of course, archery hunting across the West is very good in September, but who has the time for a road trip? You’re better off keeping your trips within a day’s worth of travelling; that way you don’t waste too much time that could be spent steel-heading or otherwise.

I sat down to write with the intention of making your September more productive, to help you make the most of the month’s possibilities. But I realize now that I might not be the best person to give such advice. The reality is I’ll spend 20-25 days guiding on the Deschutes, and my five or ten days off I’ll have a really hard time leaving the Deschutes and its steelhead to pursue something else. In fact, the most variety I’ll probably have is glassing the canyon walls for mule-deer while fishing for steelhead. Before I started guiding, my September was a frantic sprint of steelhead-elk-deer-trout and back again. Work was mixed in their somewhere, but it was more of an afterthought. Now, my September is essentially a Deschutes marathon, and I’m not sure which is better; the sprint or the marathon, the hare or the tortoise. With both you finish the month looking back and thinking it went by awfully fast.

So maybe the best advice I can give for this September is pick your passion and pursue it with abandon.

With September bright in the headlights, and August squarely in the rearview mirror, it’s time to plan those weekends, take those vacation days, or maybe even have a month-long cold, if you know what I mean. Just make sure you get out there this September, thirty days isn’t enough and it will be here and gone before you know it.