Missed it Again: Fishing the Deschutes River May 23-24, 2015

Many people who know me or fish with me are aware of my continual status as the butt of a series of long-running jokes or misfortunes. Despite my best efforts and intentions, I cannot seem to avoid having certain events occur with an alarming degree of regularity over the years. These include catching ridiculously small fish no matter the circumstances or species, falling in/at/around/beside every river I go near, and looking like a ridiculous, unprofessional clown whenever I try to do anything to make me look "cool." However, there are exceptions to these fates that all too often befall me. I have caught large fish among the multitudes of smaller ones (especially since I picked up sturgeon fishing), gone entire days without doing a face plant in a pile of pricker bushes, and on rare occasion looked -dare I say it- "cool." However, there is one fate that I have simply been unable to avoid in all my years of fishing, and that is missing the annual Deschutes River salmonfly hatch. 

This picture would have been me if I had scheduled the trip a week earlier.

To many anglers in the state and even across the world, the Deschutes salmonfly hatch is an event beyond conventional imagination. Flies as long as your fingers buzz around in dense swarms, giant trout work themselves up into a feeding frenzy, and anglers return home with pictures of giant fish caught in an amazing setting. It's one of the greatest fisheries a person can experience. 

Think about how horrible it would be if these things had stingers.

Or so I've heard. I've fished the Deschutes since I first picked up a fly rod, and in all those years I've never experienced the hatch. Granted, I've caught lots of fish out of that river, but the Deschutes River and I have had an interesting relationship over the years. The closest Blue-Ribbon trout river to the Mt. Hood, it had always been a looming presence in the local fly fishing community. 

"Why fish for those little Brookies in that swamp behind your house when you could be catching big Redsides in the Deschutes just down the road?"

"Because I have a blog about fishing in that swamp, Mark! That's why!"

Personal deadlines aside, my early years of fishing the Deschutes were rife with frustration and unrestrained anger (read here, but don't laugh). My few successes were limited to deep-hooking embarrassingly tiny steelhead smolts and fishing under "tarpon rules" to assuage the letdown of losing multiple fish in a row. Now my relationship with the Deschutes has changed. I've really figured out how to catch fish there over the course of the last few years, and it's been a while since I've been skunked there. I've learned about good spots and holding water, and that the fish aren't actually that difficult once you figure out how to target them. My most recent float trip was this last Memorial Day weekend in hopes of finally experiencing the hatch.

My scenery shots consist of randomly pointing my camera at whatever's in front of me.

I missed it again. Like the six years preceding this one, something went wrong with the timing and I was left with meager hatches of small Caddises and Mayflies. Nothing to complain about, as fish still have to eat even if the big hatch is over, but still somewhat of a letdown. I had been hearing reports all week from people who had been having epic days catching huge trout on giant dry flies, and now had to fish with a ratty little nymph the size of a rice grain. Despite this setback, I was able to nymph successfully and ended up catching well over a dozen medium sized redsides in the day I was there.  

People are weird about dry fly fishing vs. nymphing. It's no secret that the angling community is immensely passionate about casting dry flies, myself included. There's nothing quite like watching a trout crush a surface imitation, and I would definitely prefer dries in situations where they would be effective. In the "magic hour" before nighttime I definitely use them in the riffles and areas under trees. However, I also like to catch fish. I like catching fish more than I like fishing exclusively with dry flies, so as a result much of my fishing (especially during the middle of the day) tends to be done with nymphs and other subsurface imitations. This is always difficult at fly shops, as my queries on which patterns are currently effective are usually met with the guy behind the desk giving me ten or twelve dries of numerous sizes and patterns.

"What about nymphs?" I ask upon looking at the $20 worth of flies sitting in front of me that will probably end up in a tree somewhere.

"Uh...pretty much anything'll work," the guy says.

"Anything specific?" 

He grabs one out of the tray nearest to him.

"This one'll do."

The very same fly after repeated abuse at the hands of dozens of trout.

Like I said earlier, the fish aren't unusually difficult to catch in this river. However, the counter intuitive nature of the fishery can make it challenging for the uninitiated. I came into this river accustomed to fishing small streams, and while the sheer size of the river made it a daunting process, I soon learned to fish this place almost like a small stream. Instead of trying to fish the entire expanse of river, I would focus my attention on smaller portions of holding water. Although the 4,000 fish per mile crap theorizes that there should conceivably be fish everywhere in the river, I like to focus my attention on riffles and pocket water, especially when flowing along the shoreline or underneath overhanging trees. 

The fish themselves are also unique. Sure, you can find the same strain of rainbow trout just about everywhere in Central Oregon, but the Deschutes fish seem to have more fight and vigor than even their neighbors over in the Crooked. They could definitely out pull any hatchery trout, and if there was ever a trout whose fighting abilities came close to those of a Smallmouth Bass (arguably pound-for-pound the hardest fighting freshwater gamefish in North America), it would be one of these. Each individual fish is unique as well, both in appearance and in temperment. For instance, I had a decent sized redside come up and completely clobber my strike indicator and the nymph trailing it on two subsequent casts. Later in the day, a different fish immediately took off downstream about 25 yards upon being hooked, burning drag and jumping. If I hadn't seen the fish strike to begin with, I would have imagined the size of the frisky fourteen incher to be significantly larger. Each fish fights slightly differently from the last and has a uniqueness that hatchery fish lack, furthering the excitement that one has fishing for these already exciting fish.

It's also worth noting that the river is filled with steelhead parr at around this time of year. Although there's no actual way to determine the identity of these fish (as opposed to small stream resident trout), I found that my nymphs would get continually bombarded by small fish in nearly every spot I went to. Although there's nothing wrong with small fish (as this entire blog has proven time and time again), these fish are different from the ones that you catch in the Mt. Hood streams and ponds. Whereas the latter are fully-grown, albeit tiny, fish, the little parr you catch are juveniles and represent a future population of steelhead and native redsides. I also caught a juvenile Chinook Salmon, which represents an even more fragile and important native species. By moving away from stretches of river where the juveniles are abundant, you can help preserve native fish populations. In addition, you're more likely to catch a decent trout in an area where your fly isn't getting pounced on every drift by a tiny fish.

A terrible picture of a steelhead parr.

This river is also unique in its status as one of the only rivers in Oregon where fishing from a floating device is prohibited. Although I have expressed discontent towards this rule numerous times (usually in the form of a profanity-laden rant while bushwhacking through thick shoreline vegetation), there are numerous positives to this in my mind. Although I don't believe that fishing from a boat actually damages trout populations, the rule does reward adventerous anglers willing to find creative ways to access holding water. Of course, fighting through shoreline vegetation, wood piles, spiders, bugs, rattlesnakes, and abandoned camping equipment doesn't always end in a fish. Instead, you usually realize that somewhere along the way you lost your fly box or something else important. It is for this reason that the Deschutes is the only place I feel wary bringing my camera. Although I'll take fish pictures in many instances, some of the spots I fish are simply too risky for me to bring a valuable camera to.

This is what it looks like when you take a picture with your camera after dropping it in the water.

Rafting is also a major deal here. Although I've always thought of it as just another way to get to the good fishing spots, whitewater rafting encompasses a far greater number of tourists, businesses, and locals than any fishing activities. During the summer, the notorious "splash and giggle" crowds arrive in droves, gleefully drifting right over water that I spent the better part of an hour situating myself over. They also take up camping spaces like you wouldn't believe, and imagine my irritation when I drive up to the Buckhollow boat launch before our float and see this:

At least three of those people will be in the news by the end of this weekend.

All the people above were part of one big group. We figured it would be a simple matter of waiting a few minutes for them to leave until we realized that they hadn't even blown up most of their rafts yet. More than a little irritable, I snuck my raft in a little corner off to the side and quickly and quietly launched while they were still breathing through their mouths and throwing rocks in the water. Although the relentless crowds of the river can be annoying, especially when they consist of other fishermen, they're a fact of life in one of the most popular rivers in the state. However, the best thing about the Deschutes is its size. Sure, it can make the river intimidating and difficult to fish, but it also ensures that I will be always able to find a good fishing area amongst the crowds. The number of rafters is also regulated, so any people enjoying the river can guarantee themselves at least a little privacy from the outside world. This river also offers camping, wildlife watching, hiking, hunting, whitewater kayaking, and of course, fishing. The fish are still the reason I come here, and I will continue to fish for these trout for many years. Even if I keep missing the hatch.



Until the Next Hatch,

Kamran Walsh