I know that many, if not all of my posts have given very rosy views of fishing. It's like that with any fishing blog or magazine on the internet. Everyone always catches nice fish, cloudy, freezing weather magically clears, and the only real problems of note are the comical quirks of a fishing partner. However, it's important to remember that fishing is fishing. It sometimes frustrates you, infuriates you, and makes you want to scream, shout, and throw your rod across the river. Yesterday was almost one of those days.
It all started yesterday when I decided to give fishing the Crooked River a shot. The weather's been warm lately and insects have been hatching steadily, and I had good luck the last time I was there. It seemed like I was going to catch a ton of fish. As we drove from Government Camp over the pass, it was very cold and foggy, but it cleared up once we reached Prineville.
Now very excited, we began to drive along the river and I excitedly scouted the water. I was immediately crestfallen. It seemed the entire Oregon community of fly fishermen was there this very day. Every riffle and stretch of water had at least three guys in it, all beating the water to a froth with their casts. I was irritated, to say the least. You see, I am used to fishing in the secluded Mt. Hood area, where crowds are rarely, if ever, a problem. Even other rivers I fish regularly like the Deschutes are at least big enough to escape crowds. Even smaller rivers like the John Day are so easy to fish that I don't even mind crowds. However, the Crooked River is not as easy to fish as the John Day and much smaller than the Deschutes. So crowds are more intolerable than usual. Grumbling, I tied on a midge cripple and headed for the river.
And so it began. I immediately noticed fish rising, and cast to them. But of course, they mysteriously disappeared as soon as my fly reached the spot they were at. Giving that spot up, I headed to another section of the river I had always had good luck in and found five other anglers in that area. Cursing and muttering the virtues of concealed weapons under my breath, I found a decent spot and spent some time casting to it. Again, nothing. I switched flies to a Purple Haze, and waited for the five guys to move on before diving in their spot and trying again. Once again, nothing. I swear, I would see these trout going nuts for these Blue Winged Olives the exact same size as my Purple Haze, and I would then cast over the same water with nothing. I even saw trout come up, look at the fly, and move on. And they weren't even trophy trout, either! They were the eight inch hot dogs that were supposed to be easy to catch! Cursing and muttering with indignation, I looked over and saw some other guy catch one in the spot I was just in. On a Purple Haze. Now furious, I cast repeatedly and even had one take an honest swing at my fly, but of course I missed. Not giving a sh*t anymore, I tromped back across the river to the shore and headed upstream.
This section was a great looking pool draining out of a flat riffle, and had foam everywhere. Trout were rising steadily, and I cast out my Purple Haze, hoping for anything. However, I could barely see it in all the foam, so I pretty much set my hook at every rise. Eventually, a solid twelve incher hit, and I had a fish on for the first and only time of the trip. Of course, he had to wriggle free before I could take a photo, but that's how it goes. I left soon after, and although the day was, all in all, pretty disappointing, many of the people I talked to did even worse. And that's what's really important to me!
Now, I am sorry there wasn't any fish porn in this post, so I included a picture of a Deschutes fish I caught last Salmonfly hatch. It's the same species, so it should count. Until next time, then!
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