I'm only trout fishing.

The whole place had burned. It had been 9 years since I fished this river. In that time a lot had happened. Evidently, not much of it had been good. An older guy from town who I enjoy having lunch with, warned me to prepare myself for what I would find. I could see why. The whole place was toast. Instead of driving through a forest of densely packed firs, I was moving through a landscape I barely recognized. Burnt snags as far as the eye could see. Only a handful of trees still survived. Campsites and day use sites previously hidden from view could now clearly be seen from the road. It sucked. The river was much more visible as well. At least that still looked good.

There’s never any Steelhead up here this early in the Spring, except that sometimes there are. That didn’t matter to me though. For both monetary and ethical reasons, I had failed to secure the proper licenses for Steelhead and Salmon fishing. I’m not really interested in loading this river with hatchery turds, nor am I interested in murdering sea lions. So, for legal reasons, I was only trout fishing. This was fine of course; I enjoy trout fishing. And hey, if a guy should happen to catch a Steelhead by accident while trout fishing, I hardly think he should be blamed for it. In fact, I’m sure it happens all the time.

I fished a tailout that I remembered enjoying back when I was a Steelheader. The casting was rusty, but passable. I was swinging a green muddler and hoping for the best. I stood there looking up at the burnt trees spread out on the hillside above me. What a drag. I threw another cast, and watched it swing. Repeat. The sound of water gurgling past the rocks on the opposite side of the river mixed with the sound of the white water crashing just below was all that could be heard. It was a little after 7am, and there was a slight breeze that made a jacket necessary. I was standing on a rock with deep water all around me, throwing cack-handed snap-Ts and expecting to catch nothing. I was back. After I had covered the tailout, I moved up and fished the run above it where I caught an 8” rainbow. Trout fishing.

I drove up the road, trying to remember what I was doing. I used to know a fair amount about where to go and what to do, but I was having trouble accessing those files now. Plus, I was still blown away by just how much of the river was visible now. It was throwing me off. I recalled all the time I had spent desperately trying to see the river through the trees as I drove by at 45mph while simultaneously trying not to drive off the cliff. So, this is what I’ve been missing, I thought. Most of the newly exposed sections were inaccessible due to the steep inclines between them and the road. Still, it was interesting to see. Not interesting enough that I wouldn’t have preferred to still have unburnt woods, of course.

I pulled in at a boat launch named after a box of rocks. When I fished with Lee Spencer, many years ago, he brought me here. I seemed to remember not thinking much of it at the time, but I figured, what the hell? Turned out that it wasn’t too bad. The cast was doable, the water looked good, and I could totally imagine a fish being in there. A trout, of course. As I was finishing up a guy who looked pretty strung out pulled up in an Acura. He asked me if I knew any spots that were easy to fly fish. I told him we don’t really do “easy spots” here, but that he should try some “campy water” just downstream.  If this guy was fly fishing, then I was looking for a parking spot on the moon. I figured he would have the best chance of being spotted throwing gear where I sent him, and hey, if he actually was fly fishing, that stretch is pretty low key. Either way, I told him the right answer. He went on to let me know that he had just come from the Molalla where he had been catching monster brown trout. He made this clear to me by holding up his hands so that they were about 4 feet apart. “Sounds exciting” I said.  I wished him luck and drove away. I briefly considered heading straight to the Molalla for some of that epic brown trout action but then thought better of it. I figured 4-foot brown trout were probably more than my switch rod could handle.

I drove down to a spot where a giant yellow rock rises out of the river. I’ve heard this spot called the “California Hole” because there is almost always a rig with CA plates parked there. When I got down there, I remembered why I hated it, and it didn’t have anything to do with Californians, although they can be annoying. A beautiful tail out with rocks positioned perfectly so that a decent swing is not possible from any casting position. Those Californians must be pretty good at fishing if they can manage this, I thought. I walked up and fished the run above. This was nice water, as well. Plus, it was possible to complete a swing. Bonus. I thought about my old fishing buddy, Lurker Dan. Specifically, how he had seen a video in which Scott Howell was swinging a skater through heavy water. Allegedly, he had managed to catch at least one Steelhead this way, and this was enough to cause my buddy to become obsessed with fishing the very top of every run we fished together. This was fine with me, of course, as it left the tail out (where the fish actually were) for me. It had been a long time since I had seen Lurker Dan. I didn’t expect that I ever would again.

Just then, something took my muddler. I started stripping line. The fish was strong. It wasn’t as easy as I was expecting to bring it in, but eventually it was there. A nice rainbow trout of maybe 13”.  A magnificent specimen. Definitely not from the ocean though, which was good. I would have hated to be in violation of the rules. I removed the muddler and it was on its way. I turned around and some guy had pulled his pickup off the road and was watching me. He had probably seen the bent rod and thought it was going down Steelhead style. If he had known I was only trout fishing he probably would not have stopped. As I turned back to the water, I raised my hand in a half hearted “How do you do?” sort of way. The guy drove off.

Before leaving, I stopped at the falls to see if there were any Salmon jumping. To my delight, there were! Every time one of them sprang from the white water at the base of the falls I let out a whoop. There is nothing like knowing that anadromous fish are close. My eyes were tearing up. I was carrying on like an idiot, despite the relatively low amount of fish present. I didn’t care, there were some in there, and today, some was enough. I stood there for a while waiting for the next one, and then the next. Eventually, some other people showed up on the other side, and I figured it was time to go. I climbed back up to the road, got in the car, and headed home.