Fishing Report: The Grande Ronde

On October 9 my brother John, from Maine, my brother Pete, from San Francisco, and I converged on the Grande Ronde in southeast Washington for a few days of steelhead fishing.

Home base was Tamarack cabin in Fields Spring State Park.

Early planning had us in a tent, but John booked the cabin, for which we are eternally grateful. Turns out an arctic air mass settled into the area just when we did. It was cold.

The cold temperatures broke hundred-year-old records. Most reports had low temps in the high teens, so this little thermometer might not be the most precise of instruments. But then again, who's to say it wasn't really 10 degrees ouside the cabin?



But along with the cold and frost came high, clear skies.

And we had come to fish, so fish we did.

After each day on the water, with feet like half-thawed steaks, we looked forward to a fire in the evening. The park provided plenty of wood and a maul for our use.

Turns out Pete, the city boy, is a pretty mean fire builder.

My kids wanted to know if we had anything to eat way down there in the wilds. Yep. Pete and I had stocked up on a few basics at a grocery store in Spokane when we passed a Costco, one of Pete's favorite places. So we stopped and Pete warmed up his Costco card and got the good stuff.

So between shore lunches and cooking over the propane stove or on the fire we ate plenty good.

We even went out to eat--breakfast at Boggan's on the river. The boys tucked in while I was still waiting for my order.

Mainly, though, we fished. We covered a lot of water and used a lot of different flies.

We went down into the canyon via Shumaker Road and explored it to its end.

All too soon Pete had to catch his flight, so we took a morning and drove him back to the airport in Spokane.

John and I were back on the river in early afternoon. By then the weather was moderating; it was still chilly, but clouds and rain moved in.

We fished that afternoon and most of the next day, our last day, in rain.

In late afternoon on that last day the sun began breaking through the clouds.

John geared up to fish one last run and then took off for the airport.

I stayed a little longer and watched the day close with one more display of beauty, then climbed out of the gorge and started for home.

And what about the fish, you ask? Well, we caught a few of these...

And lots more of these.

They were beautiful little trout, cold and hard and lively, like holding a squirming popsicle in your hand.

But the steelhead eluded us. The cold had dropped the water temperature 10 degrees in a day, and the river was running at 40 degrees. The steelhead were deep and off the bite. A few guys were catching some on bait, but we couldn't get any to come to a fly--any fly, fished in every conceivable way.

Such is steelheading.

But was it a great trip anyway?

Yep.

Tuesday Fishing Report: Salmon Are Here

I had checked the river on Monday and found no big fish. I went back Tuesday and they were there.

I waded upstream to the deep run and a big fish rose with a cloop in the middle of the channel. I wondered....

Looking back downstream the truth dawned on me: the salmon were back. That whole section of river surged with them.

These pictures don't do justice to their overwhelming presence: the wide, fast wakes; the big swirls; the broad heads breaking the water and going back down with a sucking sound; the large bodies rising up out of nowhere, planing for a second on their bellies and then slipping back out of sight. I had two do that within six feet of me.

Each time I put the camera back in my pocket something amazing would happen until I took it out again.

I threw a succession of big flies and enjoyed the show. No hookups. There is always the chance for steelhead following the salmon, but I had nothing in that department either.

I went back downstream and fished my original run, just in case.

But no contact. Yet.

I can hardly wait to fish the Ronde. But I'm actually looking forward to getting back.

Monday Fishing Report: River Check

I went to the river this evening. Just checking.
Still no big fish in this section. But it was good to stretch those wading muscles and flex that big rod some more before the trip to the Ronde.
OK, and it did cross my mind that it would be cool to get a jump on the brothers and catch a steelhead today.
Maybe I'll check again tomorrow.

Football Report: Jeremiah's Game Two

It was a heartbreaker. Jeremiah had a few chances for timely receptions, but wasn't able to come up with the ball. He says one time the defender stepped on his foot.
We held the opponent to one touchdown, and then we were driving inside the five yard line when time ran out.
Here's Jeremiah in action. The sound quality is not good; there was a cold wind howling out of the north.

Football Report: Isaiah's Game Four

It was a rematch of the rematch. This time our team held them to a touchdown, and got a score of their own. But we lost by an extra point kick.
Lidia made it to the game this time, to add one more to the cheering section. Here's some action from the game. Isaiah made some good tackles in addition to some good runs.

Hope on a Hook

I leave in four days for the Grande Ronde. So I'm making a list and checking it twice, getting set for a few days with my brothers, John and Pete, catching steelhead.
The steelhead counts are way up this year, so it bodes well for us--and the hundreds of others who will be there, too, I'm sure.
I'm hoping for a steelhead or two. I did well last year, hooking four and landing two. But I'm also hoping we can put my brother Pete onto his first one.
All that hope went into the flies I tied up last night. The Ronde is famous for steelhead that can be caught on the surface, so waking and skating flies are the order of the day.
These muddlers aren't as pretty as the ones John is tying up I'll bet, but they may fill the bill. I also tied up a couple more light stone nymphs. That was my lucky fly last year.
Will these work? What will be the lucky fly this year?
I'll be sure to let you know.

Football Report: Isaiah's Game Three

It was a rematch with their opponents from game two. Hopes were high.
They played well and hard, but it was not to be. The score was much more respectable than last time, though.
Isaiah did well. He's number 35.

Football Report: Jeremiah's Game One

Our boys played hard, but they were outsized by their opponents and lost the game.
The scoreboard tells the tale.
Some Sandhill Cranes flew over during the game. I think I heard them croaking "Nevermore!"
Jeremiah was disappointed, but he wasn't discouraged.
Here is some action from the game. Jeremiah is number 23.

Football Report: Isaiah's Game Two

Alas, unexpected delays kept me in Wenatchee longer than I had hoped and I missed the game. So no pictures.
It was a loss.
Back to the drawing board.

Tuesday Fishing Report: An Exceptional Day

It was a long, glorious day of exceptional beauty and exceptional fishing.
It wasn't dawn to dusk--I still hope to do that before the season closes at the end of October--but it was almost ten hours on the water.
It started clear and reasonably warm, and I was comfortable in shirtsleeves. Then the clouds began to build, and as they gradually swallowed the sun the temperature began to drop. I put on my rainjacket. Then a swirling wind began to blow, and it got downright cold. So I took a break in midafternoon and went to the truck for my fleece.
There was rain to the north and rain to the south, but not a drop on the lake. So I sat in the middle of it all and watched the beauty unfold across the September sky.

And there were fish. It was a day of non-stop action.

I stayed on top all day. There was never a sustained rise; all the fish came up out of nowhere. I stripped the fly fast or slow, let it sit, or drifted it slowly behind the float tube. I saw every kind of rise, from gentle little sips, to porpoising engulfments, to slashing hits.

I began with the hopper, fishing along the weedbeds on the shoreline, and caught two heavy rainbows in a row, both pushing 18 inches. Other fish followed. Later, the hopper soaked and bedraggled, and the action along the shoreline slackening, I switched to a light muddler with a gold body and fished the choppy water out in the middle. The fish were there, and I caught more. At dusk I tied on a black muddler with a silver body and caught even more. And I lost a few in the weeds, and had many, many strikes without hooking up.

I took pictures of all those I caught except for the two smallest ones.

I won't be so crass as to mention a number, but it was my best day ever on the lake.