Two-A-Days

So, since I've been totally slacking in the fly tying department this year, I've made a commitment:  two flies every night I'm home.  Trout, Steelhead, anything.  Last night was Night 1:

BLUE HOLE

Every year, on the fourth Saturday in May -- which falls on the 28th this year -- the headwaters of the Deschutes River become open to fishing.  I've always referred to this section as "Blue Hole", although the actual Blue Hole is really only one part of it.  This year is the first year that I missed the opener since we found this wonderful piece of river.

Josh and I first discovered this amazing place through our friend T.J. who heard about it while eavesdropping at a local fly shop.  Can't thank T.J. enough for that move!  We found it pretty easily, and found the big honey hole of Brook Trout after a hike downstream through a trail of downed lodgepole pine.  We were awed at  how many fish were stacked-up in there.  Before even making a cast, it seemed we would just be able to throw a fly in the water and one of these fish would hammer it every time.  We quickly realized this was not the case.  Not even close, in fact.  

I barely remember those first couple visits there.  I know I didn't catch fish at first, and I also remember the mosquitoes could be horrendous.  Since then, I've caught loads of fish - not only in that Brookie hole, but upstream in the Blue Hole as well.  

A monster lives there.

The Blue Hole is more lake-like;  better fished from a float tube or boat.  It gets pretty deep in spots.  I would have to estimate 20-25' at its deepest, but that is a complete guess.  The techniques used here are many:  woolly buggers or other streamers cast as far as you can throw and stripped in;  nymphs on a sinking line or on a floating line under a strike indicator (both close to the banks and out in the depths);  and dry flies.  When the timing is right and all the stars line up and you hit a good hatch, it can be the absolute best fishing I've ever come across.  A few years ago, we took a friend up there who had never even so much as held a fly rod before.  The Blue-Winged Olive hatch that day was that of dreams!  Our friend hooked a few fish and even landed a couple.  I landed at least a dozen big Rainbows that day and missed or lost at least that many more.

As I said, I don't really remember the first trips up there.  However, I remember just about every other one like it was yesterday... I remember Josh hooking a monster of a Rainbow in the Brookie hole, and when I tried to land it, the fish swam in towards the bank, the leader crossed my chest and broke off.  I felt so bad I went back to the truck to sleep.  While I was gone, Josh hooked that same fish again and this time landed it with the help of a couple friendly fly fishermen...

I remember taking my float tube into the "lagoon" just upstream of the Brookie hole and catching a very solid, strong Brookie on a white woolly bugger.  It was a great fight!  After releasing this fish I got out of my float tube and ran downstream to tell Troy what happened.  I gave him my set-up and he jumped into that float tube -- first cast (I believe) hooked a torpedo that ran hard.  And then ... gone.  Would have loved to see that fish.

When I cast a big olive Woolley as far as I could throw, and hooked and landed a 24" rainbow from my boat.  What a fish that was!

The time Drew and I were in my little drift boat and lost an oar that slipped out of its locks during a frantic beginning to a classic BWO hatch.  I had to row around for the entire next day with a single oar.

So many good times up there....

Fish camp '08

'08 - Had to dig my way in for opening weekend.

Last fish of 2010 - 09/26/10

It's a truly special place.  And one that is the venue of a lot of my fishing memories.  I can't wait to fish it again!

Bullied

Today ended my longest drought between fishing days in recent memory.  My last time out was late December, I think the 28th.  Drew and I headed out to the Metolius River around 6:30 a.m.  I'll immediately spare the suspense - I caught nothing.  And Drew, well close to nothing.  I attribute the skunking to the lack of an "Inducer" (sausage & egg McMuffin) on the way out.  And the fact that we didn't get beer.  Fishing and no beer.  What the hell kind of fishing trip is this??

I did get to swing with my spey rod in one of my favorite pieces of water ever - the Dolly Hole.  We were chucking huge, 5-6" whitefish imitations, certain that we'd land some monster Bull Trout.  Just as we started talking about moving on to the next spot, Drew hooked up.  And it was big!

At some point during the fight, we think, this fish had spit the barbless hook and got re-hooked on the side near its dorsal fin.  Drew then had to literally drag the fish in the rest of the way.  The fly popped out  just as I was rolling up my sleeves to land it.  I'm glad I didn't have to stick my arms in the frigid water.

We barely got another sniff the rest of the day.  Even up at Allingham bridge where a whitefish hook-up is almost required.  The water at Allingham has changed since our last visit here in October.  I believe there was a blow-out in the river in early January that pushed the tip of the "New Snag" downstream.

The large Ponderosa in the river used to be almost perpendicular with the far bank.

Also, one of my other favorite holes is still changing.  An alder that had fallen straight into the middle of the sweet spot has slowly started to uproot more and will soon be swept downstream:

Overall, it was a slow, but beautiful day on The Metolius, as most days are here.  I got out and that's about all I can ask for these days.  Some more photos:

Drew working the bridge hole

The fly we used to target the Bull Trout

An important but underused part of my quiver: Winston Vapor #8

Looking upstream at Allingham Bridge

Oregon's Imperial (IPA) Empire

Hops.  Give me hops.  And then give me more.  Drown me in hops.  Well, there's probably a limit somewhere but I love my hops.  I used to be a porter and stout guy and it's probably been the 10+ years of living in the northwest that has turned me into a hop-head.  If you make an IPA and I haven't tried it yet, I'm gonna get it sooner rather than later.  My first pint of Bend Brewing Co.'s Elk Lake IPA more than a decade ago grabbed me.  What a beautiful beer.  And for years it, to me, was the perfect beer - and definitely sits somewhere in my top-five favorite ales.

Then, BBC came out with their HopHead Imperial IPA.  It was a game-changer.  Every chance I got, like many many other hop-heads in Bend, I found myself at the bar down on Brooks St. either drinking the stuff or asking when the next batch was coming out with a fist-full of regular old Elk Lake like a bunch of spoiled children.  Poor us.  And if they were pouring HopHead, it was (is) best to limit yourself to two, maybe three and only if you were having dinner there and either had a ride home or a bike.  Today I try to stop myself at one of these 9% ABV beasts.  It's better for everyone.

HopHead ruled my taste buds forever, with it's floral, citrusy, hoppy, 100 IBU ... gloriousness...

In the last few years, there's been some new dogs in town.  In particular, Ninkasi, which is actually out of Eugene.  They make, among others:  Oatis, an incredible Oatmeal Stout;  Total Domination IPA, a very good NW IPA;  and Tricerahops Double IPA, like HopHead, a 100 IBU monster.  Tricerahops blew me away when I first tried it.  I immediately thought that this was my new love.  It's very different from Hophead - not nearly the hoppy, bitter flavor that HopHead brings.  But well rounded, smooth, and not as strong tasting as the 8.8% ABV might suggest.  One of these days I have to get over to Eugene and try one of these on draught.  As far as I know the only way to enjoy this in Bend is in 22 oz. bottles.

It's been a little while since I've had a pint of HopHead at the pub, but lucky for us fans, they now sell 22s of it.  I bought one the other day, came home and popped it.  Oh yeah, it's still king.  It's just that much better than Tricerahops, and it's actually not even close.  As far as I'm concerned this is the IPA to which all others are compared.  And Elk Lake after that.  Which is to say a lot because there are some really great IPAs around.  Bridgeport's Hop Czar Imperial IPA (as well as their original IPA), Deschutes' Red Chair NWPA, Lagunitas Maximus, just to name a few.

It's good to be a hop-head! Cheers!

SLOW and LOW

Most recently - inspired by my brother, mother, and memories of my grandfather - I've been making a lot of chicken stock.  It's nice having it around and in the freezer.  It can be used in so much.  One of my favorites that in the past I've done with store bought broth, is slow-cooking a pork shoulder roast in the stock.  Very simple, and also with this, there is a ton you can do.  And now looking through my photos I realize I deleted the ones of the roast going into the oven .... oh well, here are some others:

The latest batch

Spicy Pork tacos w/ onion, lime, & cilantro
 

L: White bean & Pork chili   R: White bean & Chicken

White bean & Pork chili

Killin' Time

This is a little video I made back in late November while getting ready for some December steelheading on the Deschutes.  I actually touched a few fish with this guy, and landed one.

Spring Hope

March is upon us.  The first day of Spring in less than three weeks away.  Here in Central Oregon this doesn't mean much as far as weather is concerned.  We could still see a lot of winter in the next few months.  You just never know.  Yet I feel hopeful.  While my winter steelhead season ended before it even began, I still have my sights set on some fisheries closer to home:  The Metolius, for instance, a river in which I haven't wet a line for months and months.  And the lower Deschutes trout season at the end of April.  My annual trip to the upper Deschutes at the end of May.

Mott Bridge, North Umpqua River

Oregon is known, at least in the fishing world, for having an endless season.  One could essentially catch a steelhead somewhere in this state in every month of the year.  Winter used to be "my" season.  Now I just look forward to it being over.  I guess as the years go by, standing in 30-something degree water in leaky waders loses its appeal.  As if it really ever had any.  The appeal, perhaps, was having the river to myself.  There aren't that many more knuckleheads out there - or not enough to crowd a river in a driving cold rain.   And if you're camping - UGH!  Not only are you thinking about the skunking you're likely to suffer, but your mind keeps going back to camp and hoping that there isn't two inches of water sitting in your tent.  Or if the firewood stayed dry.  Just because it's covered doesn't mean much.

Oh, but Spring ... The days getting longer.  A little more sun on the water, well, if it's not still raining!  Beer tastes better, and isn't so freaking cold in your hand anymore.  Overall, there just seems to be more hope.  Is there?  Depends on where you are and what you're after.  Spring has a light at the end of its tunnel.  There's the actual possibility of it being warm out.  Sure, you felt "hardcore" during those harsh days of winter.  But "stupid" probably explains it more closely.

                                                            ____________________

It's also time to start thinking about the garden.  My veggie garden didn't do so well last year.  One tomato plant survived a late-June frost and actually produced some great fruit.  It left me impressed with the Oregon Spring Bush variety, which are great for shorter growing seasons.  With some better planning and preparation this coming season, I'm hoping for a huge yield.  While you're not going to enjoy the fruits of your Spring labor for quite some time, the thoughts of a big vat of fresh tomato sauce or fresh garden salad give you a lot to look forward to.

Lessons learned from last year:  Keep an eye on the weather report and no matter how hopped up you are on vicodin, you MUST get out and cover the garden when the overnight low is going to be 28º;  you probably don't need 40 leeks;  you probably don't need 40 onions;  keep the dog and cat out of the thing;  cover the garden when it's gonna be 28º!


                                                            _____________________

One thing we started to do last spring/summer before we found out my wife was pregnant, was make more trips to the Oregon coast so she can get some surfing in.  Part of the beauty of this idea is to hit wine country on the way.  This year if we decide to try this again, I'm definitely going to do more crabbing.  I always say I could eat dungeness crab only for the rest of my life and be very happy (who wouldn't!).  Pair this with some nice Oregon Pinot Noir and I'm in heaven.  This is why I love Oregon -- a trip to the coast in a weekend can bring fishing, wine tasting, surfing, crabbing, camping ... and well yes, rain.

Yep, Spring is in the air and Summer is just around the bend - even if there's still a foot of snow on the ground.  Technically, it is one of the four seasons.  But it really feels like a fight between Winter and Summer.  I'm rooting hard for Summer to win in the early rounds.

PINOT

I fell in love with Pinot Noir in 1999 as a 20-year-old when I had the opportunity to work at a Pinot tasting. The bottle that did it, I believe, was a '96 Domaine Serene Evenstad Reserve.  At the time, I was working at a Massachusetts wine shop.  I was a beer drinker back then and hadn't drank a whole lot of wine.  I knew I liked Cabernet, although I still didn't have the appreciation for it that I do today --around that same time, some friends and I guzzled a '94 Heitz Martha's Vineyard right out of the bottle without a clue of what we were drinking.

At the tasting, there were many different Pinots being poured.  Wines from California, Burgundy and Oregon.  As I recall, the OR Pinots really surprised a lot of people.  I remember being a little surprised by the fact that they actually made wine in Oregon.  One of my brothers had recently moved there but I was clueless about the state being a producer of this fine grape - or any grapes for that matter.  The memory of that first sip of the Dom. Serene is still so clear to me today.  I knew I wanted more of this wine.

Then reality set in the next day back at the shop when I looked at the price tags on the Pinots we carried. The CA and OR labels were steep, and the Burgundy was absolutely outrageous.  What 20-year-old could afford this stuff?  So I put a bottle aside for myself, saved my pennies for a few weeks and finally bought it.  I'm pretty sure I popped and drank it as soon as I got home - and, man, was it perfect!  That was the only bottle of that particular wine that I purchased.

Pinot Noir vines at Archery Summit

Fast-forward to today.  I am now lucky enough to live in Oregon, and also lucky to have a wife that loves Pinot as well.  We make several trips to Willamette Valley a year and get to taste a lot of outstanding wines right at the source.  My love for Pinot Noir continues to put a dent in my wallet.  With each sip of this great juice, I still think it's worth it.

My first apartment in my new town was close to the best wine store around.  I quickly bought (and quickly drank) several bottles from the top shelf of the Pinot rack - Archery Summit, Dom. Serene, Panther Creek, Domaine Drouhin.  For some reason, I've always tended to stick to OR Pinots.  Maybe I'm just a homer.  When I drank Archery Summit for the first time I thought "WOW! Now this is Pinot Noir!"  We have since joined their mailing list and cannot resist the fine wines they continue to produce, even in the poorest of vintages.  There are, however, a plethora of great producers around, and we have much to explore in future visits to wine country.


At the end of the day, a great bottle of wine made from this great grape is as good as it gets, in my opinion.  One that is well made has everything, and can be paired with just about any food.  I crave it.  I always want more.  A lot has changed in my life over the past 12 or so years.  I've come a long way since that young dumb kid, and I'm pretty positive I've had many better bottles of wine than that '96 Domaine Serene.  But that will always be etched in my memory as the one that hooked me.  Cheers!

Cold Is The Water

12/2010:
I head down the trail looking at myself, thinking I look like I'm about to rob a bank.  Dressed in black: jacket, gloves, glasses and hat.  At least I remembered my jacket this time.  And gloves.


Trudging through snow, ice, mud.  When it's snow, it sticks to the boots and builds up.  When it's ice, I'm likely to fall on my ass with the lack of traction.  When it's mud, well, I'm even more likely to fall on my ass!  There's a strange wheel of thoughts turning in my head.  My eyes turn to the river.  This beautiful, big flow of water holding some amazing fish.  I'm on a mission to get to this one run, knowing that I won't be the first one to cast there.  But I am confident, and hopeful as I play my game of placing the vehicles in the parking lot with the fishermen I pass on my trek.


Among the spinning in my mind, first and foremost, is the anticipation of my future little fishing buddy on the way.  Already imagining the days when I can bring my son to these rivers and show him what I know in this sport.  He'll be a lucky boy to grow up fishing these waters that I have come to know and love.  Each river holds some very special memories for me.  And I can remember the friends that shared those particular days with me.  I can recall the events as if they just happened yesterday. 

That was a couple months ago.  Haven't been fishing since.  My little buddy is now with us, and he is the light of my life.  Now the visions of the future are stronger, and more real.  I hope he grows up with an appreciation for the beautiful natural world that surrounds him.


Now my hands aren't used so much for tying flies and knots, but more for holding bottles and changing poopy diapers.  I remember how proud I was, standing in the North Umpqua river alone, holding my first Steelhead.  That fish was big, about 12 pounds.  But not nearly as proud as I was when I held my greatest catch of all for the first time.  All 8 pounds 10 ounces of him.


My 70-day fishing years are now gone and that's quite okay.  Maybe I'll cherish each day I get to spend on the water even more.