The North
The North Umpqua is well steeped in the traditions and history of the swung fly. Known as the "graduate school" of steelheading, it has drawn anglers from all over the world to its unique emerald green pools, runs, and tailouts that flow over vast ledge rocks. The river is flanked by tall pines and volcanic features that add to its overall beauty and appeal. Old school legends like Zane Grey and Jack Hemingway, and more modern ones like Lee Spencer and Frank Moore, have all waxed poetic about the river over the years and have done a lot to protect it. Almost forty miles of the river is a "fly only" section that requires anglers to basically only fish a dry line. That is highly appropriate for the surface oriented summer steelhead that call the water home. It also provides them a catch and release "sanctuary" of sorts as they wait out the high water of the fall. These fish are special, and like others in the region, are threatened by a host of natural and human variables, including the god awful Winchester Dam. The North's beautiful wild steelhead hold in deep waters along ledge rock, their surface orientation and preference for a skated fly produces a moment in fly fishing that is hard to replicate elsewhere. Combining that moment with the surrounding beauty is what creates the vast appeal and continually brings anglers back each season.
Renowned PNW guide, Rich Zellman, once said that the North Umpqua has a habit of providing a "gift" to anglers plying its waters for the first time. I was a recipient of one such gift, as I had a beautiful hen smash my skated muddler in the tailout of Log Pool about 90 minutes into my first ever session on the river in 2021. That moment left an indelible impression upon the direction of my future fly fishing pursuits. That summer on the North produced only 400 or so summer steelhead on the river due to high temperatures, drought, and intense fires that took out most of the Umpqua's surrounding forests. It forced me to heavily self-reflect on my angling pursuits and the value of a single fish. I've been back a few times since, but was never able to bring another steelhead to hand like I had on that early day one dawn. I've had several chances, but never sealed the deal. The river and its silver kept calling me back. On the morning of my 39th birthday, I found myself driving to the river. The only gift I wanted was a dry fly chrome steelhead out of the confines of this iconic river...
After a day of respite and birthday celebrations, I left Austin and Jen's house in Bend, Oregon and made the drive to the Rogue-Umpqua highway. Along the way, I stopped for some camping supplies and to buy new Korker's soles. I arrived in the early afternoon and immediately went to the famed Steamboat Inn for an early dinner, a beer, and some birthday pie. For some odd reason, I decided to sit inside and while I waited for my food, I took in the artwork and images on display from the Inn's history. One particular photo was of the Moore family and it was flanked by some well tied steelhead flies. Flipping through the menu, I found a passage I had never seen before. I thought it apt for my birthday plan and my intended pursuit over the next few days...
"Pilgrim, heed these words as you pass.
You move across this threshold into the authentic hospitality that is Steamboat.
Enjoy the River waters and the silver creatures they hold, the food and the drink.
Gather in the peace that is this place for you may take it with you as you travel on."
-The Innkeepers
Although I had no plans of staying at the Steamboat Inn, it's still a mandatory stop for me whenever I'm on the North. It serves good food, better pie, and if you want to mingle with other fishermen and trade hero stories, you most likely can. I preferred to take in the establishment's vibes by myself and take a walk out back before heading to the river for an evening session. For nostalgic purposes, I instinctively went to the location of the only steelhead I've landed on the North. My intimacy with the spot afforded me the opportunity to also gauge the river's water level. Could I make it out onto the bar and get the angle for that tailout swing? I could not, which let me know that I was going to be fishing slightly higher water than I was accustomed to on previous trips. It also gave me a chance to take the water temp during the height of the afternoon air temperatures. A perfect 61 degrees. As darkness fell, I realized that I hadn't found a place to stay yet. Online booking wouldn't allow me to reserve any spots and all campgrounds appeared to be full. I drove upriver and into the darkness of of a camping loop, found an open spot, and filled out a form with some cash. I crawled onto my sleeping pad in the bed of the truck and fell asleep under the stars, a meteor shower, and the sound of the Umpqua flowing a few yards away.
In the morning, I went to one of the most popular runs on the entire river. As I awaited first light on the bank, I watched the bats dance above the surface eating insects. The sound of logging trucks passing on the highway was the only thing that disturbed the immaculate vibes. Soon, I was casting leader and working a hitched muddler across the surface. As I approached the tailout, where the fish predominately hold, I began popping my muddler in the hopes of locating a fish. The tactic worked as a large boil that pushed my fly out of the way. Subsequent swings, fly changes, angle changes, and passes never brought the fish back so I changed locations to a micro spot. On my first pass, I fish revealed itself by breaching the surface as if to say, "who goes there?". I've found this particular behavior mostly unique to the North and it reminded me of what Atlantic Salmon do on the upper Bonaventure on the Gaspe Peninsula. With a fish located, I was able to fine tune my approach. This time, the fish ate my hitched muddler on the next pass. It was a beautiful hen exhibiting all of the traits of an Umpqua steelhead. I was pretty stoked and decided to spend the rest of my morning and afternoon sessions exploring new water and hiking into spots I had not yet explored. In between, I found an available campsite at Susan Creek and took a little siesta.
The following morning, I did something I'd yet to do on the North, fish the famed "Camp Water". Below Mott Bridge down to the Steamboat Inn is probably the most fished section of the river and that is the predominant reason I never hiked down there before. I found the hike in still untouched by the fires and the water an odd mixture of micro buckets/slots and a broad expansive run known simply as "The Boat". A few fish breached in this section of water, but I didn't move a fish until I reached the far end of the water. At this point, I had hiked out and entered on the highway side. It didn't take me long to realize that I was on the wrong side of the river because of the angle of the flow, the crazy wading, and the difficulty of getting a good swing. Nonetheless, I found myself working the extreme tailout of the last slot that I believe is called, "Gorden". Here, the cast was long and my target was a bathtub sized pocket between two boulders that any moving steelhead would find respite in. I had heavy current in front of me, I was balanced on slippery spine of ledge rock, and I was trying to skate a slow pocket on the outside seam of that. A tricky proposition that gave a very brief window for a steelhead to take. I was fishing a ska-hopper variation that produced a large boil zeroing me further in on my target. I switched over to a hitched greaseliner that I let dead drift in that pocket. This time, the steelhead attempted to eat the fly like a trout, but my line never came tight. I kept the greaseliner on this time, decided to allow it to skate. After a few attempts, the swirl occurred, I waited, and my line came tight to weight signally to set the hook. A large jump occurred in the tailout before the steelhead dug deep into the current. I weathered the storm and had the fish tight directly in front of me. I felt the cards tilting in my favor when suddenly my line went slack. I squatted to my knees, but rose with an aura of newly found confidence at what just occurred. My morning on the Camp Water came to a close and I hiked back to the truck thinking about a siesta or a big move downriver.
The idea of continuing to fish won out over taking a nap at the campground. In more ways than one, that decision proved fruitful. I drove all the way down to Glide to get some iced coffee and then back to Idleyld for gas and a breakfast burrito. On my way back in, the clouds were gone, having been replaced by a bluebird sky and intense heat. I pulled over on the river and once again debated internally between taking a nap and continuing to fish. It was hot out, so I took my waders off and decided to wet wade. When I got to the river, I immediately took the water temperature to see what I was dealing with. It was 59 degrees. Any concerns I had about fishing in higher temperatures were completely gone. I studied the water in front of me, a place a I had never swung and game planned my approach.
My plan entailed walking upriver well above the head of the run I intended to swing. I waded out into some heavy flow. I wanted to get the proper angle to swing a slot at the head of the run below me so I went out as far as I safely could go, which is farther than most. On my third cast my hitched muddler was hunting somewhere in the white frothy water as it came broadside through the seam when my line came to a complete stop. There was no weight, just a peculiar oddity signaling that something happened with my swing. So, I set the hook into some serious weight. This fish peeled line off my reel and went far down the long run. The ensuing battle drew some attention from the highway. Cars and trucks were honking and people pulled over. I regained my line and kept the angle of the rod tight and low. Upon first sight of the steelhead, I got that weakness in the knees that should tell you all you need to know about the generated vibes. I turned the Go Pro on and set it on a nearby rock to capture the moment I tailed, and admired, a beautiful North Umpqua wild steelhead. At this point, it is one of my favorite fish I've ever caught. For it to have occurred on the North, during my birthday, and all the other jazz, it was the proverbial icing on my birthday cake...
I retreated to the campground to call it a day, take my siesta, and read a book. I drove by the entrance twice. Was I lost? Did I pass it? I eventually realized that the gate was locked, so I parked at the entrance and walked in. Susan Creek Campground was a barren wasteland. No cars, no people, no camping items, there was no one there. I walked to my campsite to find it also empty. My limited camping items were gone. It was an episode of the Twilight Zone. I found the campsite host and knocked on her RV door. It took awhile for her to answer and she appeared startled. Apparently, there was a health scare and most of the campers had gotten violently ill overnight. The campsite was shut down. I asked a lot of probing questions to which she had no answers. I guess one of the benefits of being a steelhead bum is that you don't necessarily partake in the act of showering, drinking camp water, and spending copious amounts of time around other campers. You wake up before everyone else and don't come back until its dark, skipping everything in between. I considered myself safe and never ended up getting sick. I ended up driving back to the Deschutes, my solo birthday venture coming to a close...
No comments:
Post a Comment