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MAR/APR 2019
FISHING|
WINTER: MEASUREMENT
BY EDMUND WADESON
When it comes to trout fishermen I have
found they can be largely defined by two
camps. There are the “Size” folks and there
are the “Numbers” folks.Size folks are all
about the size of the trout, either in inches
long or in pounds of weight. They only go
for the big boys as the measure of their
success. Numbers folks are all about how
many they caught, mostly regardless of
weight. This is the measure of their suc-
cess. Occasionally I run into a fisherman
who is a combination of these two camps,
and who seems bound and determined to
belong to both so that, whatever discus-
sion is taking place among fisherman, he
can compete.
I personally buck these trends and eschew
the bias towards either size or numbers,
although in truth I do love to catch big
trout and also to catch numbers of trout.
However, I can be satisfied if I only catch
one or two, and they don’t even have to be
big to make the time rewarding or a day
good. The measure of a day is the province
of things far beyond actual the catching of
the fish, at least for me.
Late last year I had a rare opportunity to stay out in the Oregon Coast Range for a few
days. I rounded up a few willing friends who, like me, felt that a change of pace would be
a good thing.
The first full day of our stay found us hiking along a narrow, rocky canyon that contained
a small creek. Arriving at the creek it took me about ten seconds to suspect that there
were trout
concealed
in the lenses
plunge with
pools beneath waterfalls concealed amidst the
Anders
Korman
in brown
ledges and boulders. I ran back to the truck, flung on my fly vest, grabbed my
a scattered
brown trout.
favorite
4 weight
rod, and jogged back to where my friends patiently waited.
P:
George
Vanderpool
The dry summer had shrunk the watershed down to small runs between boulders with
occasional deep pools, and the creek was waiting for the seasonal rains to fill it again.
What struck me about this creek was that the pools were a deep viridian green, almost
black in color, something I had never seen before. The dark water, the overhanging trees
and the moss gave the canyon an eerie, primeval quality that added a sense of mystery to
the place. The place fairly reeked of suspense, the plunge pools begged for a fly.
I surmised that the fish here would not be large, perhaps no bigger than 8 or 9 inches
long, and that they would come fast to the fly, both of which proved to be correct. I
found a long pool and shot a cast up to where a small waterfall dumped into it. After a
few quick strips the line came taught and a small fish splashed and tugged across the
surface towards me.
The first fish from new water is always a surprise as you never know what actually
resides there until you have proof in hand. You can read the book, watch the video, take
the class and talk to others, but until you are there for yourself you really don’t know. This
rings true in many circumstances in life, for example getting married or having your first
baby. You can only really fully understand it in the doing of the thing.
So it was with a sense of surprise that I scooped up the small fish with the fly in its jaw
to find a mysterious-looking trout of a species I didn’t immediately recognize. It was much
darker than any trout I had caught before, although the pink and purple colors along
its flanks reflected the same gorgeous iridescence so typical of trout everywhere. The
orange slash mark under its jaw identified it clearly as a resident cutthroat trout, and
an unexpected find. This creek flows into one of the west slope Oregon Coastal rivers
known for its population of sea run cutthroat trout. These trout ply those inland waters
influenced by both the tides and rivers, where the water is both salt and fresh. They typi-
cally choose the many mountain streams for spawning, and it is there that their fry have
the chance to grow in protected habitats before they too take their place in the ebb and
flow of the brackish water zone.
The half day we explored the canyon showed us many beautiful sights and sounds, all
contained within a palette of boulder strewn creek bed, dark pools, small quick waterfalls,
green moss and a continuous canopy of mossy branches with light filtering through green
leaves. Casting into the various pools along the creek with small bead head olive and
black woolly worm patterns, I caught maybe 15 hand sized trout and a similar number of
smaller juveniles, with one even breaking the tape at a blistering 2 ¼”.
The cutthroat trout in the small canyon
that afternoon all attacked the fly with an
aggression typical of fish that don’t get to
see many large food items passing by. Ev-
erywhere I expected a trout to be holding
there they were, willing and eager. Show-
ing those trout to my non fly fishing friends
elicited a similar response from them all.
“OMG, What a beautiful fish” or “Holy Cow,
S-weet”, or words to that effect. Watching
me dance, leap and otherwise stumble
from rock to rock with an occasional wet
foot as a reward for not watching my step,
brought laughs later on as we sat round
a fire in the living room, adding a glaze
of humor to the time we shared. These
friends elaborated for good measure and
humorous effect in describing some of
what they claim were my antics. All in good
fun I suppose, no offense intended and
none taken.
In retrospect, I measure that day as I
measure any day on the water, through
the lens of the all-encompassing nature of
the experience. The unexpected find of a
small creek with willing trout. The success
of catching then releasing some beauti-
ful, albeit small, examples of a species
infrequently caught. The company of good
friends and a beautiful natural environ-
ment. These are the kinds of things that
define the experience and are how I have
come quite naturally to measure any day
that I can get out on the water with the
fly rod. I acknowledge it may be hard to
quantify, and probably different for every-
one, but it is the measurement that means
everything to this fly fisherman.
Edmund Wadeson lives, fishes and
introduces others to fly fishing in Central
Oregon. Find him at Edmundwadeson@
gmail.com
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