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.

Getting ready for Oregon

Work is taking me to Oregon at the end of this month and, since The Wife and I haven't visited my family in what seems like an eternity, we'll be spending a few days down in Medford visiting the folks.  With the Rogue so close and my dad's drift boat spending far too much time out of the water, I plan to chase steelhead at least a couple days. 

My best days on the Rogue have always been in the fall so I'm not sure what to expect on the fishing front.  However, I'm doing my best to load the fly boxes and it'd be a shame not to get on the water.  After all, it's hard to beat a float even if the fishing's slow.

In other news, backcountry skiing is shut down.  It's raining at lower elevations and the warm weather and new snow/rain has made backcountry skiing on anything but the flattest slopes dicy, at best.  The slope I skied in the prior post has slid and three people (two snowmobilers and a skier) died in avalanches on Saturday.  All the reason I need to stay home and tie flies.

Dawn patrol

As far as I can tell, the key to getting through Alaskan winters is to stay busy and not be dissuaded by the lack of daylight and colder weather.  While it's easy to sit back and slurp beers through the dark days of winter, it takes a lot more effort to get off your arse and do something active.

With sunrise around 9:00 and the days getting light enough long enough to get outside a bit during the week, my friend Derek and I decided to head out for a quick ski before work this past Friday.  Our plan was to hit the trailhead at 7:30, skin up Peak 3 until about 8:30, and point the tips down just as it got light enough to see.  The faint blue arrow points to our destination:

After meeting up at Derek's house and making the short drive up to the trailhead, we started our skin right on schedule.

By 8:30, it was light enough to see and, although we had agreed to turn back by then, we gave it another 15 minutes hoping to get a little closer to the top.  Having skinned about 1500 vertical feet, with about 500 to go until the top, we hit our 8:45 deadline and reluctantly turned back toward the truck (and work).

Derek, most of the way back to the truck and looking back at the peak:

We were back at the truck by 9:15 and I was in my office at my desk by 10:15.  All in all, not a bad way to start the day.  Next time, we'll leave 20 minutes earlier and make it all the way to the peak.

Sunsets

One of my co-workers is a semi-professional photographer on the side and managed to catch a few great sunset photographs this past Saturday.  This one is especially amazing:

There's more at his website, Carl Johnson Photography.

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!

So, how many fish do you count in those pictures?