We are currently fishing the Nestucca, Siletz, McKenzie, Sandy and Clackamas. Give us a call at 503.515.3533 or Email us to book a Summer Steelhead and/or trout fishing trip.

This year was different…. I should have known when everyone I talked to in Bristol Bay said, “It’s been pretty wet this Summer.”

I thought, “Ahhh, that was last week, it’s almost August, it can’t be that bad.” Put a big old check mark in the “WRONG” column on that one. On the day we were to fly to the lake we woke up to dense fog, drizzle and 50 degrees. After 8 hours in standby mode, some overpriced burgers and a few cigars the weather lifted, we climbed in a Beaver and were off to the lake. The lake was beautiful and I got that same warm fuzzy feeling I always get when the plane takes off and leaves you in a wilderness so immense, untouched and gorgeous.

We pushed on into the river and I immediately took note of the water level. It was at least 6″ higher than I had ever seen it, but running clear and the fish were cooperating. We caught some chrome sockeyes, huge grayling and a couple nice rainbows on our way to the first camp. As we set up camp, a bear wandered down the other side of the river eating berries and enjoying the day. I too was enjoying the day and soon forgot the 36 hours of travel it took to get there.

The next day was nice, fishing was a little slower than usual, but we still caught a bunch of fish including some 20-22″ bows, trophy grayling and the odd salmon. Still looking good. Then as we set up camp #2 it sprinkled, lightly at first, and then stopped. Soon the showers became more frequent and by noon the next day, the wind had increased, temperature had dropped into the mid-forties and it was raining. Ugh… but alas, this can’t last longer than a day… can it? Four and a half days later we were still wishing it would stop raining. For the rest of the week we had a 5 minute and 10 minute break in the rain, total. The river blew out by the fourth day, but luckily we were in salmon country and the slough fishing was fantastic.

Despite the weather, we did our best to keep spirits up. We ate well, fished hard and tried to keep at least our sleeping bags and pads dry. That mostly worked. I’ve never been in a situation that tested my gear that sternly, but I can say without question that Patagonia makes good rain gear, MSR makes one heck of a parawing shelter and beavers do a good job of collecting and curing firewood. I was disappointed in one North Face tent that leaked badly by the second day and a few of the dry bags were suspect, but all in all it was a good trip. The fishing was great as usual, one angler in the group completed the week with a super grand slam, all five species of Pacific Salmon, grayling, rainbow trout, dolly varden, lake trout and whitefish. I was lucky enough to land the five salmon grand slam in a single hole, with one fly, in less than a hour, without moving my feet. Needless to say, I retired that fly.

In the end, we came out unscathed and felt like real men, although I was still shaking the water out of my ears in Anchorage. I’m chalking this trip up in the “experiences I’ll never forget” column. Next time, I’ll make sure to bring more industrial garbage bags and more fuel for the fire.

This nice SW Alaska leopard rainbow found a big pink salmon bugger in dirty water

Doubles on Dolly Varden were a regular occurrence, we even had a quadruple hookup on salmon in the lower river.

An abandoned seagull nest with a lone unhatched egg frames a soggy gravel bar campsite.

Most anglers choose to fish graphite these days for obvious reasons, it is lighter, stronger and considerably cheaper than bamboo for a quality fly rod. Still, like the desire for classic cars and aged wine, a small passionate marketplace still exists for high-end, handcrafted bamboo rods. The reasons are simple; bamboo rods are beautiful, unique, functional pieces of art.

Last week we had the opportunity to spend a day with bamboo rod maker J. Douglas Blair fishing native cutthroats on the Oregon Coast. It was a pleasure to watch Doug toss fluffy dries with a 6 foot, 3 weight cane rod and swing streamers with a 7 foot, 5/6 weight. The slower rhythm of cane suggests a leisurely pace to a fishing day. A chance to step back, breath deeply and take in the tall trees, sunny sky, gurgling stream, the slurping sound of brilliantly colored cutts and remember what fly fishing is really about.

To view J. Douglas Blair’s bamboo art or inquire about a custom made bamboo fly rod please visit his website Old Trout Rodworks

To book a guided fly fishing trip this Summer or Fall contact Small Stream Outfitters at 503.515.3533 or Email Us.

Doug with a beautiful coastal cutthroat he took on his custom 6′ 3wt. cane rod.

Cane rod, constantly bent by native cutthroats under warm sunny skies, not a bad way to spend a day!

My son is not yet a year old and feels that a life jacket is just too constricting when you’re learning to walk, so I had to find another angling partner. I had hoped that the Mickey Mouse pole would be a hit, but not so much. Next time…. Lucky for me, my father in law is an avid angler from Indiana and an expert on capturing and frying bluegills. I hadn’t caught one of those either, why not try.

We fished for a couple hours each morning, sipping our cups of coffee and casting dry flies from a pontoon style party barge, coaxing sunfish of all varieties out from around grass beds to sip dries. There were a few Hexagenia limbata (Hex) around at random times and plenty of mosquitos, which seemed to be a favorite of the little guys. I fished hopper dropper style with a 3wt for the sunfish and had those little buggers dialed in no time. I fished a large mayfly imitation on top and a small red serendipity below, they loved it. The bluegill and other sunfish varieties would only come up to feed when the lake was dead still, early morning and late evening, so once a breeze rippled the water each day, I switched to bass.

I experimented with different streamers and poppers throughout the week and had the most success on deep water clousers. I caught a few bass each morning session, from really small up to a pound or so, but nothing big. It was fun and they pulled well on a 4wt, but still no big ones. I know they live there, I’ve seen the shows, Jimmy and Joe-Bob can do it, why can’t I? Not that I felt any pressure, I wasn’t guiding, I was on vacation, fishing a lake in shorts and tee-shirt, casting a fly rod. Still it would be nice to get a good one.

On the very last morning of fishing we drifted over a weed bed not fished by use before. It was about 8-10 feet deep and I could just make out the tops of the weed piles under the broken surface of the water. I fan casted a #4 chartreuse and white clouser as we drifted slowly with the wind. I stripped once and felt the weight. I lifted and the fish immediately jumped, ahhh, a good one! Now I see why millions of people fish for these buggers. They pull on a 4wt. Still not a steelhead or salmon, but great fun just the same. I took me a minute or so to get him boat side, as he attempted to bury himself in the weeds a few times and jumped once more before coming to hand.

That did it, my trip was made. A change of pace, change of scenery and change of species was the perfect break in my Summer guiding schedule. As I boarded the plane to come home, I kept thinking, only two weeks to sea-run cutthroats. I’m refreshed and ready!

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Tight Lines,
Small Stream Outfitters

I got up at 4 AM on a cold Friday in February, had breakfast and pulled two duffle bags of fishing gear out on the porch. One bag had two rods, two reels and my fishing vest. Unlike golfers who have a caddy or a cart to carry a dozen sticks, fishermen only take two and hope no more than one breaks. In a dozen years of serious fishing I have broken a rod or a reel on the average of one a year. My family insists I am clumsier than the average fisherman but I’ve never met a serious fly fisherman who goes out with less than two rods and reels. The other bag had my waders, wading shoes, wading staff, and most important of all, my heavy-duty rain jacket.

Jesse showed up promptly at 5AM and by 7:30 we were wading in the upper reaches of a stream in the Northern Coastal Range of Oregon. Jesse is only 32 but has been fly-fishing since he was four. Jesse has caught more fish between Mexico and Alaska than I have caught even in my dreams.

When I was exactly Jesse’s age I did geologic mapping in the same general area and didn’t think about steep canyons and seemingly impenetrable paths obstructed by deadfall and sticker bushes. But that was in the summer and I was wearing hiking boots, and that was 36 years ago when I could still lift my knees and I didn’t have what feel like stumps for feet. And then I wasn’t wearing what I call my Mickey Mouse costume: clumsy waders and floppy wading shoes. There are old fishermen and there are careless fishermen but there are no old careless fishermen. The first trail we took down to the river was so steep I didn’t think I could make it, but Jesse pulled a rope out of the brush that some one had tied to a tree for the purpose of keeping old men on the trail. That’s one of the things guides do: bring old men home.

The other thing guides do is catch fish. Jesse rigged up for the day with quarter inch diameter plastic bead two inches above the hook, then attached a small nymph below the hook on a nine inch piece of leader, then three quarter inch lead shot 24 inches up the leader and then a half inch plastic indicator at the top of a 9 foot leader. Even if you don’t know anything about fly-fishing you can figure that’s a lot of crap to cast. Especially when there is a high bank in the back with over hanging branches on each side of the river.

We fished 70 feet of water, then climbed up out of the canyon and went down and fished another 70 feet. The reason for all the trips up and down is because we fish the quiet water between the rapids. After four rigs lost in the bushes and half a dozen trips up and down it was 11AM. It all seemed like a wasted effort but Jesse said the next hole, only a half mile up the road, is one of the best in the river. It wasn’t any better but Jesse had another hole just a bit farther up that he promised was almost as good.

I hooked what Jesse judged a 15 pound steelhead. The fish was sluggish and I didn’t set the hook hard enough and it got away after a couple minutes. I met a guide in Wyoming who also fished steelhead who asked me how many steelhead I landed. I said I landed about one for every three I hook. The Wyoming guide said that’s about the same for me. Jesse says he lands half, but I knew I should never have lost that fish even if I only normally land a third. In the same hole I hooked another fish, almost as big as the first but this time I set the hook much harder and I landed it and we got a picture. The first two fish seemed confused and didn’t fight much but the third, the same size as the second, was more stubborn. We got that fish to the bank but it got away before Jesse could get a picture. We don’t use a landing net; we try to get the fish to swim up onto a shallow bar. These are all native fish and we have to release them unharmed, anyway. We counted the second as a caught fish.

The water’s warming up, Jesse said. The fish are getting more active. Jesse got up on the high bank and told me where to cast on the next run. Oh My Gosh, did you see that! That one tried to take the indicator! No, I didn’t I said, I’m down here trying to keep the drag out of the line. Make the same cast. There he is! Jesse could see the fish flash but all I could see was the indicator move. I set the hook and started getting the slack line off the water. He’s coming right at you! I reeled furiously but couldn’t keep up with the fish. The fish came around my right leg, made a U-turn and went back past my left leg. I raised my rod over my head and swung it behind my head and over my left shoulder and the fish took off. It went over the rapids into the pool below. The reel handle was spinning too fast to stop. Gotta get down steam! Jesse grabbed me by the nape of my heavy-duty rain jacket and pulled me down stream. I kept both hands on the rod and reel, trying to reel whenever I could get any line back. With Jesse keeping me from being washed away I stumbled and waddled 20 yards downstream to the next pool. By the time we got there the fish had crossed the rapids and was down in a third pool. Jesse estimated the fish pulled out between 80-100 yards of line. By the time I got the line back there was no fish. The fish had wrapped the line around a rock and went home. That’s what happens, Jesse said, when the water warms up. When it’s cold the fish are lethargic but when the water reaches the right temperature they become torpedoes.

I landed two out of four should have landed three but I will have to become a much better fisherman to land a fish like the fourth one. It’s not the size of the fish that counts. Some big fish are sissies and some small fish are tigers. All the steelheaders I have talked to say it’s impossible to stop a running steelhead in the rapids. Once they get in the fast water all you can do is chase them downstream until you get to quiet water. The trick is to keep them in the pool you hook them in. I did that for the first three and thought I had the fourth one cornered until he got behind me and took off.

Jesse and I are scheduled got back and try again in March. I don’t know what will happen but I know for certain my heavy-duty rain jacket is coming with us.

For pictures associated with this article please visit our Photo Gallery.