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Showing posts with label Oregon. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Oregon. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Traveling
Somehow, despite what might be our best snow year ever, I still can't get fish off my brain. Ridiculous.
Monday, November 15, 2010
Chum!
It must be going off in Oregon. Last week Josh sent me pictures of a fat hen steelhead; this week it's chum. If you're in the Pacific northwest and you aren't on a river, you're missing out.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
A blitzkrieg attack on the [redacted]
After spending all fall making my brother jealous with stories of toad rainbow, Josh seems to have found a bit of redemption. While I'm freezing my cojones off, he's getting chrome missiles:
Perhaps I need to take a trip home for Thanksgiving after all. . .
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Back in Alaska
Both my camera and The Wife are out of town for the week. I meant to download some pictures from last week and do a trip report of sorts from my recent trip back to Oregon, but forgot. Suffice it to say that small stream fishing in a high desert ponderosa forest is every bit as awesome as it's cracked up to be. The Wife being gone sucks though.
Back in Alaska, the fish are in--pinks out the wazoo, coho, chums. . . Karta found a giant Chinook carcass yesterday. Maybe 40 pounds. There's something about bushwhacking along the salmon-lined banks of a deafening river in griz country that makes you feel alive. Stepping around heaping piles of bear shit when you can't see or hear past your nose makes you keep your trigger finger at the ready, if nothing else. I think I'll wait until I have a more responsible companion than Karta before going back there again. You know, someone who carries their own bear deterrent instead of acting as an attractant.
Back in Alaska, the fish are in--pinks out the wazoo, coho, chums. . . Karta found a giant Chinook carcass yesterday. Maybe 40 pounds. There's something about bushwhacking along the salmon-lined banks of a deafening river in griz country that makes you feel alive. Stepping around heaping piles of bear shit when you can't see or hear past your nose makes you keep your trigger finger at the ready, if nothing else. I think I'll wait until I have a more responsible companion than Karta before going back there again. You know, someone who carries their own bear deterrent instead of acting as an attractant.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Otis bugs and leaky waders
The Wife and I have been on a whirlwind tour of Oregon over the past week. We took a red-eye into PDX on Tuesday-Wednesday of last week, spent Wednesday through Sunday at PIELC taking in all that the world of environmental law has to offer while catching up with old friends, and then traveled down to the Medford area to catch up with my parents and chase a few steelhead. After getting our PIELC on for a few days--which really deserves it own blog post--I was pretty beat. I can only handle so many days of wake-up-at-7:30-after-partying-until-2:00 before things starts to wear thin. As The Wife gently reminded me last Friday, "you're not 20 anymore."
On to the fishing . . .
My dad and The Wife and I got out on the water for a few hours on Monday afternoon. What we lacked in caught fish I made up for in leaky waders. Note to self, look elsewhere when your brother says the waders you're about to borrow have "a few slow leaks." Thanks, Josh.
The Wife and I floated the Rogue yesterday, enjoying a sunny day with exceptionally low flows. The fishing was slow, but, if you're going to have a fishless day on the river, you might as well be in a drift boat. Short of more agreeable fish, not much could have been better.
Having struck out yesterday, I decided to give it one last go 'round for an hour or so this morning before needing to head back into town. Yesterday's sun and low flows gave way to colder weather, rain, and a slightly off-color water clarity. Dad and I went out first thing this morning and by the second cast I had outdone our entire prior day's efforts.
Nothing too big, but it was a start.
We were fishing the head of a run right below a long riffled bend. I had fished this exact spot many times over the years, having caught perhaps half of all the steelhead I've ever landed here. The river bottom is mostly cobbles, coagulated into a concrete-like substrate creating a significant underwater ledge and a series of slots and seams that fish like to hide within. So long as you can avoid snagging a shallow spot or wading off the ledge, it can be phenomenal fishing.
After fishing for another half-hour or so, I saw a big fish roll along a seam in the current. Taking another few steps out away from shore, I placed six or eight casts into the seam before my line made an abrupt stop and gave a few telltale head shakes.
After a few decent runs and two leaps from the water, I was able to move the fish in close, get him over the rock ledge, and beach him on the cobble shore.
It was a wild male, just a hair over 29 inches. He took an otis bug and made for a fine start to the day.
. . . and using a different pair of waders, I even managed to stay dry.
On to the fishing . . .
My dad and The Wife and I got out on the water for a few hours on Monday afternoon. What we lacked in caught fish I made up for in leaky waders. Note to self, look elsewhere when your brother says the waders you're about to borrow have "a few slow leaks." Thanks, Josh.
The Wife and I floated the Rogue yesterday, enjoying a sunny day with exceptionally low flows. The fishing was slow, but, if you're going to have a fishless day on the river, you might as well be in a drift boat. Short of more agreeable fish, not much could have been better.
Having struck out yesterday, I decided to give it one last go 'round for an hour or so this morning before needing to head back into town. Yesterday's sun and low flows gave way to colder weather, rain, and a slightly off-color water clarity. Dad and I went out first thing this morning and by the second cast I had outdone our entire prior day's efforts.
We were fishing the head of a run right below a long riffled bend. I had fished this exact spot many times over the years, having caught perhaps half of all the steelhead I've ever landed here. The river bottom is mostly cobbles, coagulated into a concrete-like substrate creating a significant underwater ledge and a series of slots and seams that fish like to hide within. So long as you can avoid snagging a shallow spot or wading off the ledge, it can be phenomenal fishing.
After fishing for another half-hour or so, I saw a big fish roll along a seam in the current. Taking another few steps out away from shore, I placed six or eight casts into the seam before my line made an abrupt stop and gave a few telltale head shakes.
. . . and using a different pair of waders, I even managed to stay dry.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
As seen by an ODFW coho surveyor
My brother, Josh, has been working for ODFW for the past few months. I used to work for IDFG. Few things make a person feel more alive, or do more for the soul, than chasing a career chasing fish. I recommend everyone give it a go for a while.
. . . and my apologies to the guides, but that doesn't count.
Josh has been on the Oregon coast on the trail of coho for the past bit and recently sent these pictures my way. Enjoy!
. . . and my apologies to the guides, but that doesn't count.
Josh has been on the Oregon coast on the trail of coho for the past bit and recently sent these pictures my way. Enjoy!
So, how many fish do you count in those pictures?
Monday, October 5, 2009
Cannon Beach
Location: Somewhere over New Mexico (I think) en route to Austin, TX.
I spent the past weekend in Portland and Cannon Beach visiting friends and attending Leia and Tyler's wedding. The wedding was beautiful and it's always a blast to get the crew together. We partied until 3:30am, long after the wedding reception site kicked us out and the bars closed. Although it really was too late to call The Wife and blather through a marginally coherent conversation, the vodka tonics and rich Oregon beer didn't let me think twice about the time.
It was great to see all my Oregon friends. I really need to get better at keeping in touch with everyone. There really is no excuse.
On another topic, airports and airplanes are great people-watching venues, and my flight last Friday from Anchorage to Seattle delivered. Fortunately, the only empty seat on the flight happened to be the middle seat in my row. Otherwise, there's no telling where the man occupying the aisle seat would have put his rental video player and the cheeseburger, assorted snack pack and three bloody maries (mary's?) he ordered from the stewardess--not to mention the soda and pretzels that everyone got for free. The stewardess didn't bat and eye when he placed his order and looked like she'd seen this sort of thing before. I, however, couldn't decide what was more impressive, the line of beverages, the fact that the same pretzel remained suspended in the man's mustache through two-and-a-half bloodies, or the fact that the man finished everything without having to hit the head once during the three-and-a-half hour flight.
On to Austin . . .
I spent the past weekend in Portland and Cannon Beach visiting friends and attending Leia and Tyler's wedding. The wedding was beautiful and it's always a blast to get the crew together. We partied until 3:30am, long after the wedding reception site kicked us out and the bars closed. Although it really was too late to call The Wife and blather through a marginally coherent conversation, the vodka tonics and rich Oregon beer didn't let me think twice about the time.
It was great to see all my Oregon friends. I really need to get better at keeping in touch with everyone. There really is no excuse.
On another topic, airports and airplanes are great people-watching venues, and my flight last Friday from Anchorage to Seattle delivered. Fortunately, the only empty seat on the flight happened to be the middle seat in my row. Otherwise, there's no telling where the man occupying the aisle seat would have put his rental video player and the cheeseburger, assorted snack pack and three bloody maries (mary's?) he ordered from the stewardess--not to mention the soda and pretzels that everyone got for free. The stewardess didn't bat and eye when he placed his order and looked like she'd seen this sort of thing before. I, however, couldn't decide what was more impressive, the line of beverages, the fact that the same pretzel remained suspended in the man's mustache through two-and-a-half bloodies, or the fact that the man finished everything without having to hit the head once during the three-and-a-half hour flight.
On to Austin . . .
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