Chester Allen's Watery Planet

Sea-Run Cutthroat Seminar, Book Signing and Deschutes River Caddis

 

This nice Deschutes River Redsides Rainbow trout sipped a tiny X-Caddis drifted inches from the bank.

 It's always cool to see a river -- and the trout -- shift gears, and I got to see that happen a couple days ago on Oregon's Deschutes River.

Early summer is a weird time for the trout on the lower Deschutes. The stumbling, bumbling swarms of salmonflies and golden stoneflies are history, with only a few dried-out nymphal husks remaining in the bankside brush and trees.

All those huge bugs got the trout looking up, but the river suddenly shifts to the smaller hatches, such as Pale Morning Dun and Pale Evening Dun mayflies, craneflies, midges and swarms and swarms of many different types of caddis.

Most Deschutes anglers will tell you that the river is a caddis river, and it's hard to argue with that on the still summer evenings where clouds of caddis hatch or return to the river to lay eggs. And I fish caddis nymphs, dries and emergers -- lots of emergers -- all summer long.

I suspect that trout struggle a bit during the change from mega-meal stonefiles to smaller bugs, although the fish happily eat big, dark stonefly nymphs all year long.

Anyway, fishing was a bit slow when I got to the river a few days ago. Some fish rose to a sputtering Pale Morning Dun hatch, but I didn't see many fish up tipping and sipping -- not even in the backeddies.

I loped along the bank for several miles, just checking out particular spots and trying to find a good bunch of feeding fish. That was tough to do until late in the afternoon. I was sitting on the bank drinking water and wondering if I would see a good rise of fish that day.

Then I started watching the ripply, bouncy water just downstream of an overhanging alder tree. Trout were quietly rising -- without any splashes or swirls. The fish were just casually nosing into the surface film. I crept closer and settled down to watch some more. Bugs -- dark, size 20 microcaddis, larger tan caddis and craneflies -- were falling from the branches at a pretty good clip, and the trout were grazing away.

I tied on a size 20 X-Caddis and let the upstream breeze help the fly line waft the fly to the edge of the branches. The trout were interested right away, and I hooked and released three fish before I bungled the cast and spooked out the pod.

It seemed like a good idea to creep upstream and carefully check out the water below each tree. Not every tree held a pod of willing trout. I noticed that the good spots all had moderate current, were at least knee deep, had an appealing foam line -- and were all close to deep water. Trees are bug -- and trout -- magnets on many rivers, and it's fun to watch the insects skitter around in the cool, dark caves between the branches and the water.

Most of the rising fish were 12 inches or so, and I wondered where the bigger fish were lurking. I never found them during the three or so late-afternoon hours of tree-hopping. I will never complain about an afternoon spent hooking foot-long wild trout, but the Deschutes has plenty of bigger fish.

It turned out that the bigger fish were waiting for the evening caddis emergence. I went back to the first tree and ate crackers while waiting for the long shadows to creep over the river. I could have rigged up a wet fly and swung it downstream in riffly water to hook a few fish, but I wanted to cast a floating fly.

So, I waited it out. A family of raccoons ambled over the rocks on the far side of the river, and I watched them until swallows began banking over the water. Trout began to rise out in the current, and I wondered whether I should leave my tree and chase risers. Choices like this can make or break an evening's fishing, as I love to find bank risers, but there are usually more fish rising out in the current seams.

Evening bank risers also tend to be big and picky on the Deschutes, and I have frittered away a few fishless evenings over the past 20-odd years casting to tough fish while other anglers hooked plenty of fish in the riffle seams.

A trout -- in the form of a subtle, bulging rise downstream of the tree and inches from the reed canary grass along the bank -- made the decision easy. I cast my tiny X-Caddis, and the fish rippled the water -- but did not eat -- as the fly floated over the lie.

I changed to an Iris Caddis -- the excellent, shaggy, messy emerger that the trout masterminds at West Yellowstone's Blue Ribbon Flies invented a few years ago. The trout didn't move for this fly. It was starting to look like another evening wasted on one picky fish.

Then one of the larger, tan caddis rode the current to the fish, and it vanished in a rise. I tied on a size 16 tan X-Caddis, waited a couple of minutes, and then cast. The fish poked its nose out of the water and ate the fly.

I set, and the fish zipped out to the middle of the river in less time than it takes to read this sentence. And then, right then, it was summer on Oregon's Lower Deschutes River.

I'm heading to Spokane, Washington and the big Federation of Fly Fishers Fly Fishing Fair on July 13 and 14, and I'm going to sign my book, Fly Fishing for Sea-Run Cutthroat, at the author's booth from noon to 2 pm on Friday, July 13. If you don't have a copy, I'll happily sell you one on the spot.

Earlier that day, I will present a seminar -- Fly Fishing for Sea-Run Cutthroat Trout in Puget Sound and Fresh Water -- from 9 am to 10 am. I'll also sign books before or after my presentation.

Both of my events are scheduled for the Spokane Convention Center. If you want to get together sometime during July 13 or 14, I'll be wandering around the fair. Send me an email, and I'll be happy to meet you.

I'm heading for Yellowstone National Park and other nearby waters for the week after the fair, and I can't wait to fish in my favorite place on the planet....

Deschutes Salmonflies, Weird Behavior and Big Redsides Rainbow Trout

 
Why we drive to the Deschutes and brave the crowds every spring.

 

 The peak of the Deschutes River Salmonfly Madness was long gone when I hiked along the Warm Springs to Trout Creek stretch on June 2.

I had fished the water a week before -- and found dense, seething swarms of golden stoneflies and salmonflies in the bankside alders, canary grass and wild roses. I also found dense, seething swarms of eager fly anglers, but that's how it is when the big stonefly nymphs lumber from the water, split their backs and emerge into giant, winged insects the size of my thumb.

And, yes, the wonderful Deschutes River redsides trout notice all that juicy food flopping all over the place. They also notice all the anglers flopping all over the place. All this makes the trout act kind of funny -- and how we don't expect them to behave.

We expect them to line up in soft current seams and gobble down all the dumb protein flopping and splashing downstream. After all, that would be the most efficient way to do this, and that's how these very same trout often behave during an evening caddis hatch in July.

But salmonflies and golden stoneflies freak out the fish. Lots of good anglers are on the river, and many of these fish -- especially the big ones -- have bad memories connected to big flies in late May and early June. Those memories are all about scarfing down a juicy-looking bug that suddenly bites back and then drags them around the river before some weird, clammy hand lets them go.

Some people will tell you that fish are dumb, but those tiny, pea-sized brains are paranoid, and the trout change their behavoir when the big bugs arrive.

Sure, you'll find big redsides acting silly and reckless during this hatch, but we don't usually see it, as these fish are under the water's surface and scarfing down on the giant nymphs lumbering along on the migration towards shore. Fishing a big stonefly nymph along the bank seams before the big hatch starts is the easiest route to Salmonfly Trout-O-Rama.

I have seen all-out blitzes on the surface, but they don't last long -- and they never seem to happen at the same place the next day.

But we all really want to catch these big trout, and especially see a big head poke out of the water and hoover down our big battleship of a dry fly.  Salmonfly time -- along with October Caddis in the fall -- is when the really big redsides rainbow trout come out of the deep seams and eat dry flies. But these fish are cagy, paranoid and picky.

They're also not usually out in open spots where it is easy to wade and easy to cast. These fish find spots where most fly anglers will not go. The big, smart trout are usually close to the bank, but they're also often under trees, in little buckets along rocky banks, near snaggy logs or anyplace that has deep water nearby and tough wading along the bank.

So, when I got to the Deschutes, I immediately headed away from the clumps and clusters of other anglers and looked for the painful water. I found a spot where the bank had caved away during high water. Young willow and alder trees were sprouting along the bank. I watched two anglers walk along this mini cliff and flip casts down into the water -- but they didn't bother to find a way down to the edge -- where they could sneak upstream and poke casts right along the bank -- or into the slot between an overhanging willow tree and a bleached-out log sticking out of the current.

So, I walked downstream and found a way to get to the water -- and then I started slowly, slowly, slowly wading upstream and firing my Chubby Chernobyl -- this year's hot dry fly for salmonflies and golden stonefiles -- along the bank and right under the overhanging willow branches. My favorite pattern for Deschutes redsides during salmonflies is the fabulous Norm Woods Special, but it really pays to carry two or three different patterns -- just to give the fish a choice. This is important.

So, this year I'm carrying the fashionable Chubby Chernobyl, the Norm Woods and the classic Clark's Stone, which often works when the trout reject the other two flies. If you're fishing on the Deschutes and a trout comes up -- but does not eat your fly -- change to a different fly right away. If you show that picky fish the same fly again, it will probably just ease away and vanish into that nearby deep water.

Amy Hazel, longtime river guide and co-owner, along with John Hazel, of the terrific Deschutes Angler fly shop in Maupin, Oregon, tells anglers this all year. Amy and John fish the river all of the time, and they know what they're talking about.

I also carry these flies in larger, orangish versions for the bigger salmonflies and slightly smaller, more golden versions for the small golden stoneflies. Sometimes the fish decide they like golden stones more than salmonflies.

I didn't get any strikes for the first 100 feet or so on this bank, and it felt dicey to wade along the shallow ledge right next to deep, fast water. But I knew the fish were around, and I really wanted to drop some casts into that slot between the bank and the bleached-out log. So, I slowly worked my way up to the spot in a cast, cast, step rhythm.

I got within casting distance of that little slot, and I managed to hit the spot on the first cast  -- probably because I got about 50 practice casts before that money cast.

I got lucky, and the trout walloped the fly as it bobbed on the surface between the steep willow bank and the log. My heart jacked into high gear.

 

The fish vaulted out of the water, but he was too portly to jump very high. Then he slid into the fast water and burned downstream into my backing. I have a time-tested system for coping with big fish. Here's how it works:

First, I tell myself that it's great to hook the fish -- especially if it is a nice fish from a tough spot.

Then I tell myself I just want to get a good look at the fish before it gets off the hook.

Then, in the rare case when things are going pretty well and I've gotten a good look at the fish, I tell myself to stay calm and just enjoy the excitement.

So, even if the fish slips the hook, my knot fails or some other catastrophe happens, I feel pretty good about the whole deal.

Trouble is, I really wanted to land this fish and take a photo or two. This kind of greed is a part of being human, but I sometimes get disappointed with myself.

Anyway, the hook held, and I worked the fish back to me -- only to see it rip downstream again. I like to land my trout as fast as possible, as the best moment is the actual hookup and I don't want to stress the fish too much. I use 1X and 2X tippet during salmonfly time, but I was worried that the barbless hook would work free. Luckily for me, Paul Di Napoli arrived on the scene and deftly netted the fish. Paul, who is a cool guy, also grabbed my camera and took a few photos.

"Nice fish!" Paul said, and I basked in glow of catching a big trout in front of other anglers. Why is it that I try to avoid other anglers on the river, but I'm so glad to have them nearby when I catch a nice fish? I think this trait lives in the same section of my brain as the greedy part.

We talked for a bit after the fish darted away into deeper water, and I gave Paul a few flies. I hope to fish an evening caddis hatch or two with him in July or August.

Then it was back to creeping upstream and poking casts into rugged spots along the bank. I kept a wary eye out for poison oak and rattlesnakes, which are both abundant on the Deschutes, but I mostly savored some solitude. Every now and then, a fish would rise to one of my flies, but I got more rejections than hookups. That's how it is late in the yearly Deschutes Salmonfly Madness, as the fish have gotten a lot of pressure from a lot of very good fly anglers. I also bungled a couple of fish. Sometimes I get excited and set the hook too fast.

You know, this kind of fishing is a lot like fishing grasshopper flies in summer. You slowly, quietly work your way along the bank and drop big flies into tight spots. Every now and then you snag the fly on a tree branch, grass or shrub, and you spook a fish as you creep upstream to free the fly. The fishing is rarely fast, but you're happy with a nice trout every 45 minutes or so. There are slower patches when nothing much happens for more than an hour, but you keep casting, mostly because it's fun -- and you know the fish are there, and it's all about finding another biter.

  The last fish of the day was a little bit of a surprise. I stumbled, crawled and waded through a very rugged stretch of overhanging trees, thickets of bankside roses and blackberry vines and lots of downed logs. Yet, I'm pretty sure a few other jungle-exploring anglers had been through the maze, as fish after fish rejected my flies in flashes, short strikes and boils

Jungle water is full of pain, but it also is full of pleasure

I found a slot between two trees, and there wasn't room for a backcast. When this happens, I use a little trick my friend Jeff Perin showed me more than 20 years ago. You flip the fly out into the current and mend line downstream until the fly floats under the branches of the downstream tree. One of two things can happen: A fish will strike or the fly will drag and go underwater.

If a fish doesn't strike, quickly strip the line until it is tight and then use a sidearm lob to tuck the fly under the branches of the upstream tree. This is just like the water haul nymph anglers sometimes use to flip their flies back upstream. You have to be quick, as you don't want the dry fly to get waterlogged under the downstream tree.

This method, along with creative mending, allows the careful angler to fish under both trees, even if there is no room for conventional casting. 

It took about five of these lob-and-drift casts to finally tuck my Chubby Chernobyl into the sweet spot -- a bubble line coming off a little seam under the upstream tree. A nice redsides porpoised on the fly in a head-and-tail rise that you'd expect to see during a mayfly hatch.

A few minutes and one run into the backing later, the last fish of the day came to my hand. I didn't set the river on fire during the long afternoon, and more trout rejected my flies than ate my flies. But I got a little bit of Deschutes Salmonfly Madness out of the day.

The big flies hang out in the trees and bankside brush through the first week or two of June, and a few nice fish keep looking for them. Looking for those fish is a lot of fun, but don't forget to also carry Yellow Sally stoneflies, Pale Morning Dun dries and spinners -- and lots of different caddis patterns, as you'll often find fish rising to these hatches as the salmonflies fade into the memory of the trout -- and the anglers -- for another year.