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The end of a trip always brings mixed emotions: sadness that the trip is over but happiness to be home. But soft; I wax poetic.
This is about the big D: central Oregon's Deschutes River, baby!
We got off the river yesterday afternoon after having put in on Tuesday evening. It was a great trip, punctuated by a few cool rainy nights for the first few days. Our patience was finally rewarded when it seemed as if the water temps had risen to the point where the bite thermostat suddenly clicked on.
For the first few days, despite the hundred of stone flies in the grass on the banks, we couldn't coax many rises, and so nymphed exclusively. Like everyone we met on the river, we found the fishing pretty slow - one or two fish each day. My buddy was fairly dubious as to whether I had over-sold the merits of the river until Friday evening when he realized that he had started to expect a strike every three casts - - and for good reason. He caught and released 6 fish in a bit over an hour. (I swear I heard Morpheus' voice asking "Now do you believe?") Once it began, the dry fishing stayed hot.
Evidently this was the first really nice weather on the river, and the crowds on Saturday was evidence of pent-up demand. I've never seen so many cars (real traffic, actually) on the road beyond the locked gate. It looked like the Deschutes' version of combat fishing, with anglers every 200' of bank.
I was a bit nervous about rowing through Whitehorse Rapid. I've been through it three times before, but neve on the oars. Fortunately we came though without incident; no doubt the high water helped. (No drift boats were seen wrapped around the Can Opener!)
I picked up on some finer points about sun angles when fishing with dry flies, and about the pecking order of fish in any one prime holding seam. This is a great sport in that there's always more to learn, always ways to refine technique and (hopefully) always the chance to see these big, strong, healthy native fish.
The Deschutes canyon may be the most beautiful place I've ever had the privilege to fish. It's a hallowed place, and seems well respected by all who float it. Kudos to everyone involved in keeping this a well-run, successfully managed fishery.
Next year I think we'll wait a week later, and may even stretch the trip a few days. (Some day I'll learn how to fish and take pix at the same time!)
This is about the big D: central Oregon's Deschutes River, baby!
We got off the river yesterday afternoon after having put in on Tuesday evening. It was a great trip, punctuated by a few cool rainy nights for the first few days. Our patience was finally rewarded when it seemed as if the water temps had risen to the point where the bite thermostat suddenly clicked on.
For the first few days, despite the hundred of stone flies in the grass on the banks, we couldn't coax many rises, and so nymphed exclusively. Like everyone we met on the river, we found the fishing pretty slow - one or two fish each day. My buddy was fairly dubious as to whether I had over-sold the merits of the river until Friday evening when he realized that he had started to expect a strike every three casts - - and for good reason. He caught and released 6 fish in a bit over an hour. (I swear I heard Morpheus' voice asking "Now do you believe?") Once it began, the dry fishing stayed hot.
Evidently this was the first really nice weather on the river, and the crowds on Saturday was evidence of pent-up demand. I've never seen so many cars (real traffic, actually) on the road beyond the locked gate. It looked like the Deschutes' version of combat fishing, with anglers every 200' of bank.
I was a bit nervous about rowing through Whitehorse Rapid. I've been through it three times before, but neve on the oars. Fortunately we came though without incident; no doubt the high water helped. (No drift boats were seen wrapped around the Can Opener!)
I picked up on some finer points about sun angles when fishing with dry flies, and about the pecking order of fish in any one prime holding seam. This is a great sport in that there's always more to learn, always ways to refine technique and (hopefully) always the chance to see these big, strong, healthy native fish.
The Deschutes canyon may be the most beautiful place I've ever had the privilege to fish. It's a hallowed place, and seems well respected by all who float it. Kudos to everyone involved in keeping this a well-run, successfully managed fishery.
Next year I think we'll wait a week later, and may even stretch the trip a few days. (Some day I'll learn how to fish and take pix at the same time!)
