My First Mt. Hood Memories

Everyone has a favorite place to fish, a place they call their home water. Most people, especially other fishermen, may not realize the merit of the home waters of other people, especially if they are places not known for unusual sizes or numbers of fish. Many times, people choose their home waters, deliberately buying houses in areas such as the Snake River in Wyoming or the Kenai in Alaska. Others accidentally buy houses in amazing areas such as these, and as a result inadvertently seal their fate concerning their home waters. And yet, there are the people who try and fish the places nobody ever fishes, places with very few results under Google or in fishing books, but discover these lakes, rivers, streams, or even oceans have more than meets the eye. I am the third type of person. I stumbled across the fishing in the Mt. Hood area after many years of living in it, and have been enjoying the fishing ever since.

One thing that led to me discovering the Mt. Hood area is my parents initially buying a vacation home in Government Camp. The interesting thing was that they were considering numerous other places, also with great fishing. Buying rental houses in those places could have easily changed my fishing experiences and home waters tenfold. For instance, one house they considered was in Bend, not far from the Deschutes River. Another was on the Oregon Coast. Both places would have easily influenced my fishing. For instance, instead of fishing alpine lakes and streams for wild trout, I could be fishing for Redsides or surf fishing. Although both sound initially better, and I have done both, I still love the Mt. Hood fishing and would not trade it for any other experience.

When my parents first bought a house here in 2006, I was seven and had nothing to do with fishing. Instead, I spent my first years exploring the local lakes by raft, including Timothy, Frog, and Trilium. Of course, with no fishing rod. I would see trout swimming around within an arm's reach of the boat, but I would be more interested in watching the beautiful fish disappear into the depths than rigging up my rod as quickly as I could. 

One of my first "adventures" was on Frog Lake, with my cousins and grandparents for a regular picnic. By that point, I had explored every inch of Frog Lake, so I knew the best places to look for frogs, snakes, crayfish, or Kingfishers capturing small minnows. This time was so long ago that my grandparents were able to row across the entire lake and back faster than my cousins and I combined.

Well, maybe not faster. But they were still pretty decent. The highlight of that day was going on for one big exploration with my cousins. We linked our rafts together, donned our lifejackets (save me, of course) and headed out onto the lake with the air of seafaring explorers. Of course, it didn't end that way. About a minute out onto the boat, a powerful gust of wind flipped over the back raft, sending one of my cousins flying into the water. Then, my other cousin dropped the oar. We started drifting towards the sharp rocks at the Frog Lake cove, and we were barely able to make it back to shore. Of course, "barely" is not a very strong word in this situation. However, both of my cousins lost their shoes in the bottom mud, and it is safe to say that they are still in the lake today.

 Another fix of that time period was wildlife. I had never regularly been in such a wild place with so many creatures constantly running or flying around. From the thousands of little frogs that hatch every year at frog lake, to the brown and orange newts in Trilium, to the Garter Snakes I would find nearly everywhere, the amazing wildlife still interests me to this day.

Also part of the wildlife, the bird watching was amazing. One would look at the dense trees of the Mt. Hood forest and think it would be stupid and pointless to stare at them for hours in the hope of seeing a bird the size of a sparrow, but I loved it. In addition, I would take my camera out and try to take photographs. Some turned out okay, although most were blurry and out of focus. Below are some photos of the favorite birds I would find, compared with ones from real photographers. You probably will be able to tell which are which.














I know, pretty dismal. Fortunately, the whole nature photography thing ended when I took the camera out into a hailstorm in the hope of getting a "crisp" shot at a Wilson's warbler. Long story short, the lens was ruined, and the other lens could not even capture a Mallard properly. Besides, my parents confiscated the camera. While trying to find something else to do while floating around on a raft in Timothy Lake, I saw something glint on the bottom of the lake. I was still at the age where I could jump out of my raft without capsizing it, and I swam to the bottom. Of course, it was also at the age where I couldn't yet dive 30 feet to the bottom, so it was fortunate the lake wasn't too deep. After grabbing the item, I discovered it to be a fishing lure, one I would later call a Rooster tail. Of course, I didn't know the specific brand name then, but I wanted to try to catch something with it. Timothy Lake is littered with discarded fishing line, so I was able to use a stick to fashion a primitive rod. Throwing my line out, I almost immediately got hung up and was introduced to the wonderful world of snags. Breaking my lure off, I was extremely disappointed. Talking to my parents about it, we immediately started driving off to the nearby Thriftway, where my parents bought me a nice, reasonably priced spinning rod. It was one of those cheap ones that came with bobbers, sinkers, and an assortment of hooks, but my parents weren't sure if I was going to stay interested very long. The next day, we headed off to Timothy again, and I tried my luck off a secluded cove. Things started rough, with numerous tangles, snags, and screams of frustration, but eventually......

And that's pretty much how it started.