Here are the Visitor's Tales for Heritage Landing (Deschutes).
Late October, 2001. This year the salmon and steelhead are running in packs so large they practically swell the volume of the Columbia!
My sister, Ginnie, got in touch with her friend Pete, a fishing guide, who proposed a jetboat trip up the mouth of the Deschutes. After much preparation (collecting our gear, making sure our fleece pants actually FIT under our waders), the day finally came!
But it came early. Yesterday, Ginnie and I met at 4am, picked up her friend Barb at 4:30, and were on the way to the mouth of the Deschutes. We had time to stop for breakfast in The Dalles. "Hi, cousins!", chirped the waitress as we were waiting to be seated. She was sweeter than the blue packet powder I put in my tea. Eggs over easy, biscuits and gravy, a side order of bacon, hashbrowns done extra crispy... and we were ready to float without neoprene.
It's dark at Heritage Landing, and we find Pete by his description of his pretty boat. We throw our gear aboard, fling on our extra clothing, and off we go! Pete has a jet boat, and, when going fast, it has a freeboard of 3 inches. We roar up the river to the tune of the brightening sky... and golly! We need every bit of speed to get light enough to go over the huge chutes right at the mouth of the river. We're lucky we have a windshield- we would have gotten drenched before sunup!
We go about 4 miles upriver before we stop for our first try at catching steelhead. It's pretty warm outside- about 60 degs- and despite the rains of the week the Deschutes is running clear. At this time of year, you can't fish from the boat and the river is closed to all but fly fisherman. It's pretty, it's quiet, and the sage stings our noses as Pete explains what a steelhead will do to our line.
We look like sausages in our waders, but man! I sure appreciate mine as I splash into the river. Pete wants me to use his Spey rod. I've read about Spey fishing, but that's it! A spey rod is around 14 feet long, and its heavy line is meant to be cast with two hands. Pete gave me a five minute tutorial on how to do a "circle and roll" cast, and waded off to help Barb. Ginnie went 'way downriver, and fished a ripple with her regular fly rod.
Spey fishing is not hard, but it takes some getting used to. I wrap the line around the pole and sometimes around me as I get used to the long line. With each cast, I wait wait wait until the line drifts directly down stream of me, take three steps downstream, and try again. Steelhead apparently chase the fly, grab it when it stops, then hook themselves as they take off to go back to their spot. It takes patience... but, with every cast, I get out 60 ft or so. Speying is fun!
Whoop! Ginnie has a fish on! She yells for a time but then walks dejectedly out of the river. When I talked with her later, she says she'd hooked a big one but didn't let it run. I guess holding onto the reel (or the line, like you'd do with a trout) is not a good strategy with these big fish. Note to self...
I look upsteam and Barb has something splashing on the end of her line...but it shakes the hook and we all go back to casting, waiting, stepping, and casting again. I'm not sure I'd know what it'd be like to CATCH a fish on a fly rod! I've gone fly fishing three times and not felt a bite.
We leave that spot and go upstream to a little trout hole Pete knows. I rig up with a egg pattern drifted beneath a stonefly nymph but no luck for any of us. We go up to another steelhead spot, and I grab the Spey and head downstream. Barb switches from Spey to fly rod, and, while Pete shows her how to cast he foul hooks a 17 inch rainbow! Whew! They shake him off, and, at Barb's first cast, she catches a 12 incher! And I just cast, wait, step, and cast again.
Pete now makes me his project. I'm casting well by now, and present the fly the way it should be. No takers! I'm mostly in water past my waist, and feel light on my feet. Unfortunately, I'm not light enough to rise over a rock that trips me... and I go under nearly shoulder deep. Remember my sausage-like waders? Well, they're not tight enough to stop the cold worms of water that seep their way down into my long underwear. I take off my upper layers and wring them out, but there's no getting to my lower layers without serious risk of exposure.
The day passes. I feel a few bumps, but nothing takes my fly. This is a beautiful spot. The desert is covered with sage that smells like cedar. There are layer cakes of basalt stacked above us, and sometimes the basalt is capped with a black lava flow that looks like it's full of airbubbles. The sky is mostly overcast, which is GOOD for steelheading- it means the fish feel more comfortable on top of the water. Most of the riverside is public land, thank goodness. You can tell the private bits because the river- and hillsides- are trashed by cattle. I wade, cast, see fish jump, watch heron work, and mentally climb the cliffs around me.
Here I am, having a great time, when WHAM! Yes, you CAN tell when a steelhead hooks itself. I am wading in a very soft spot in the river bed, and, while the water is up at my waist, I'm up to my knees in mud. No running around in this battle! I remind myself of Ginnie, and when the fish pulls hard I let him run. I lift and reel, left and reel, keeping the line tight as he swims up river. I get almost to the tippet knot, when I realize I have no idea how to reach a fish that's on the other end of a 14ft pole! I yell for Pete, who jumps in his boat and comes across the river. With Pete's help, I land a bright rainbow steelhead, and keep it just long enough for Pete to take a picture. Pete estimated its weight at 8 lbs, and it was about 26 inches long. I read that long fights can sometimes kill fish, but this native male zips off so fast he is invisible. Ah, so THIS is why people flyfish!
We fish a while longer without any more hookups. Ginnie falls into the river, Barb keeps wrapping her line around herself, and I stand for a long time in a slick with fat 6 inch rainbows jumping all around me. One jumped up and hit my vest! The sun is low as we pack up for the ride back down river. Ginnie and I, with our wet clothes, are doubly thankful for the windshield as we drop down the rapids back down to the mouth. Once we've helped Pete pull the boat out, we rush into our cozy spare clothes. The Heritage Landing restrooms are clean! Within 5 minutes, we're warm, dry, and getting stiff already. Time to head for Mexican, beers, and a couple of hours of bragging.
What a great day!
windriverfamily
Return to Visitor Tales for Central Oregon
