River Report: The Salmon Return, and It's Time for a Steel Comb

The salmon season on the river (sockeye and chinook) has been closed since July 18 because of low water and high temperatures. Still, I'm hoping that some salmon make it up to spawn. October is usually when I first see them, but I went early to see how things looked--and to see what else I might catch while there.

The Bridge Run is still long and wide and waist deep. Not bad, considering the low flows. But that's a good news, bad news thing for me. There's a leak in the crotch of my waders that always gets me wet at the lake. I thought with the river so low I'd stay dry this time. But no.

There have been midges swarming in our yard for the last few weeks, and they were much in evidence on the river. I also saw a mix of mayflies and caddis. I watched for October caddis but didn't see any yet.

The Bridge Run usually gives up a trout or two, or a couple of smallmouth.

This time the best I could do was one whitefish. 

It was an easy wade across. I made my way upstream to the Glide. It was good to be on the river again.

The Glide, too, is waist deep. I walked all the way to the upstream end and began to fish my way down. Back at the tail out a big fish splashed and swirled. A few minutes later I saw the unmistakable dorsal and tail of a chinook. That's the last I saw or heard, but at least one salmon has made it this far.

I worked the Glide twice, once with a big deceiver-type fly and once with a bead head nymph. I didn't get a bump. There were rises at the downstream end, and I tied on a caddis dry and had fun with that for awhile. I got many hits and one hookup, but didn't bring anything in. I'm pretty sure they were whitefish.

If there are salmon there's a good chance there are some steelhead, too. So far there are no restrictions on steelhead. The day time temps are now mostly in the 70's and night time temps are dipping into the 40's--and last Sunday some folks were registering in the mid-30's when they got up. So the water will be cooling down and conditions will be improving. I'll be back to work those deep runs with a fine-toothed steel comb.

River Report: The Whitefish Curse

I had another good time at the river Monday afternoon and evening. It was one more cool, wet day in a long string of them. We have been hoping that March would go out like a lamb, but it looks like it will remain leonine for the foreseeable future.

Still, it was a beautiful Spring day. I fished the Bridge Run, and once again found fish.

Unfortunately, they were Whitefish. I know I said I like to catch them, but not to the exclusion of other species. I couldn't seem to avoid them, and it began to feel like I was the victim of a Whitefish curse: for the rest of my life the only fish I would ever catch would be Whiteys. (Shudder...)

But I don't believe in curses, and, let's face it, Whitefish have their own kind of weird beauty. And these were good, heavy fish.

That snout of theirs looks rubbery on the outside, but it's bony on the inside, and it's not any too easy to extract the fly.

I decided to go in search of other fish--any kind other than Whitefish--and waded across under the bridge and fished the run behind the pylon on that side. In other years I've seen Steelhead jump in there, and I caught a nice trout up at the tail one year, but I found no fish of any kind today.

Except for this one. My guess is that it's an Eagle kill. It's good to be reminded that Whitefish are an essential part of the riverine ecosystem, and that they're helping sustain a healthy population of Eagles and other predators and scavengers.

I wandered upstream to the head of the island.

I fished both directions where the river splits around the island, paying particular attention to The Glide, but the low water has rendered that stretch too shallow to be much good.

So I spent most of my time looking up. The sky was full of Violet Green Swallows. I love those birds and their joyous flight.

I have recently posted photos of deep space with its myriad stars and galaxies, but this photo of a whole galaxy of Swallows over the river is just as awesome to me.

 I took one more pass through the Bridge Run before wading out, and hooked a little Smallmouth. I had tied on a classic Muddler and, small as he was, and big as the fly was, he hit it with everything he had. He came off before I could hoist him out of the current and get a photo.

But, thank goodness, he broke the Whitefish curse.

River Report: Liked, Loved and Lost

The river ran clear, cold, and low on Friday.

I worked the Bridge Run and found some fish right away. I had a strong hunch what I was dealing with by the way they pecked at the swung fly. Rainbows and Smallmouths take the fly and hook themselves. You usually have to work a little and set the hook yourself when you're dealing with Whitefish.

I was taught as a kid in Idaho to consider Whitefish--and Squawfish, and Chiselmouths--as "trash fish," and we routinely tossed them up on the bank when we caught one. I never stopped to think that I was raised by Trout Snobs, but there you go. I suppose that has a lot to do with why I have zero interest in "Golden Bones" today.

And what is a Chiselmouth?  Here's a pic:

 

These days I actually like Whitefish, or at least like catching them. And I released this one. Whitefish like this one, and the couple of others I hooked and lost, require some finesse to get on the end of the line, and they give a good account of themselves. I've found pods of them feeding on top, and they'll readily take a dry, providing lots of fun, and--the way I, a Trout Snob, look at it--good practice for the real fish.

Like the one I hooked next. Way at the end of the run I finally had a solid take. The fish came straight up and cartwheeled high above the water. When it hit with a big splash it was gone. I'm pretty sure it wasn't a Steelhead, but it would have been the best Rainbow I've ever caught out of this river.

I loved that. And, as they say, better to have loved and lost....

I rested the run for awhile and let the sun go down behind the ridge before wading in and giving it another go.

But the fish were gone, or my finesse was--or my luck. But that second time through always feels good. You feel acclimated to the water and the wading by then, and you stumble less and cast more efficiently. You feel like a fisherman, and, if it has to be, that's reward enough.

It was almost 8:00 when I got home, and I had been on the river for five hours. Now that--finally!--is fishing.