#sickdays: Paying Dues On The Deschutes

For the second year in a row I made the trek up to Maupin to see if I couldn’t stick some Deschutes River Chrome on the swing. My dad & I loaded up with the pup and dragged his drift boat (driftwood) up the slow roads from Tahoe to North-Central Oregon. We spent our first two days with Mike Boyd & Deschutes River Outfitters and were able to re-aquaint ourselves with the lay of the land as he set us up for a few days on our own.

Driftwood, the low-sided, wood drift boat isn’t the best tool for the ‘bigger' water up on the Deschutes, but we made do. Sneaking dry lines wherever we could, doing our best to keep her afloat. Fishing was slow over the 8 days we had on the river. My dad was lucky to get a trophy, native buck, fresh with his fall coat, early in the trip. At 32 inches it was about as big of a steelhead as a you can expect from the Deschutes. Another decent one and a couple of bumps here and there kept him happy. I managed to break off on two fish – one that was a beast & on a screaming Hardy reel – and wasn’t able to convert a handful of bumps into fish to hand. Day four rolled into day five, rolled into day six, and I was feeling the punishment of what I call slow-reward fishing. Steelheading is a fickle bitch in that there are maybe a small number of them in the river, and as it turns out they aren’t even here to eat. If you are lucky enough to put your fly in front of a grabby fish, you aren’t even suppose to set the hook – which is an incredibly difficult reaction to temper for a trout fisherman – just let them take and run. And if you do get one of these magnificent, ocean-running fish on the line, hold on & enjoy the tug for what could be your only fish for the next thousand casts. With several opportunities lost I was at an all time chrome-low, and on day 6, on my last cast in the promising signal light run, 16 strips off my reel and tits deep on my tippy toes, I hooked into a hot little chromer. She was a hatchery hen and as steelhead go, not that impressive in size, but I worked so hard for that fish that she will no doubt be remembered as I continue my humble, two-hand chrome education.

On our final two days the weather turned a bit, and the crowds diminished. We welcomed a mild cold front with cloudy skies and the slump turned around a bit. I hooked into the hottest fish I’ve ever stuck, but it was short lived – an epic run & a giant jump before he snapped me off. Got into another one but he spit the hook on his tenth time in flight. Dad ended up hooking and lading another 30”+ native. The front was followed by a significant wind event and that was the end of our game.

When you walk away from an 8 day trip with just 4 fish in and 4 lost, it makes you wonder: is it all really worth it? And in reflection on the past few days, there is no doubt that this trip, like the many others before it, and hopefully many to come are nothing short of fantastic. I’m not going to concede that it’s not about the fish – but big fish or little fish, it’s hard to beat a week, slowly drifting down a river, with your dog and your dad. After all, how many 33 year olds get to regularly have that sort of time with their fathers. This week as with many, I am a lucky man indeed.