The Metolius maintains its reputation, and I mine

Got a river tour with our kind host on Monday. He pointed out stretches that he traditionally fished, up which sides of the banks, which time of day, etc. He even took me to some private land with some beautiful stretches of fly fishing water. It was just after the heat of the day, so not the best time to be fly fishing. I wasn't exactly expecting to catch anything under these conditions, on this river, and sure enough I didn't.

It's well known amongst my group of fishing friends, that the Metolius in fact may not have any fish in it whatsoever. Our normal invitation to go fish it is, "Hey, want to go get our asses kicked at the Metolius?" We can see the fish at times, always monsters, but we sure as hell can't seem to catch them. The grand majority of the time we just fish and fish, mezmerized by the beauty of the river and the potential of all these hides and spots we're casting to, and go fishless. (Before they jump on and defend themselves, I will qualify that a few fish have been caught here by my fishing cadre, but it sure as hell isn't the norm).

My history with this river has been solidified -- I can only catch fish here by cheating. My very first day here, years ago, I rigged up a pretty standard deepwater nymphing outfit like I'd use on the Deschutes -- two flies, plenty of lead, strike indicator. That day, I caught two big beautiful trout, and was thinking "hey, this place isn't as hard as everyone says it is," right about when one of my fishing buddies walked up and said "Uh, you aren't allowed external weights on your line here. Better get them off before you get a ticket." Whups.

On this trip, I've caught a few fish. But I've caught them all at a spot that our gracious host deems so easy as to be unsportsmanlike, and calls The Kiddie Pool. It is the spillway for the little dam they have on their property. There is a small phalanx of young, gullible trout that hang out in the bubbles there. Once I figured out that this was the notorious "kiddie pool" I had to try a few casts, and sure enough I missed a few strikes and hooked a small rainbow. My host insists that if I mention having caught fish on this trip, I announce where. I'm not ashamed, at least I caught a few.

Enjoy getting your ass kicked,

Bp

Note to self -- fish for Golden Trout with a flyrod before I die

Just a reminder to myself lest I forget. Whether by foot or on horseback, or with pack goats or llamas -- BP, get thyself to the high sierra with flyrods in tow so you can catch (and of course release) some Golden Trout before you kick the bucket.

Been too long since I was in the High Sierra anyway.

Enjoy those pursuits that demand you venture into beautiful wilderness,

Bp

Most beautiful bird in the world: Impeyan Pheasant

Hows that for a provocative post title. I'm serious, however, these birds are otherworldly. The colors you see on the male here are completely liquid and iridescent. I really wished I could find video of them so you could see this aspect of the bird's plumage in action, it's just outlandishly gorgeous.

The bird is known as a Himalayn Monal, or Lophophorus impejanus. Its range includes some of the more conflicted parts of the globe currently; Afghanistan, Pakistan, and Tibet -- as well as Bhutan and NW India.

Like most pheasants, it likes temperate to even cold temperatures, and what prompted this post was seeing a gorgeous specimen in an outside aviary in downtown Walla Walla. He was strutting around just fine in the still 27-degree weather. There were other exotic pheasants there, and they too weren't in protected greenhouses, just penned and open to the weather. It's amazing to me that something so outrageously colored lives in a cooler climate, something in me just expects to hear that it's Tropical/Equatorial.

Fancy salmon flies sometimes utilize Impeyan feathers in their patterns, which is another reason I was thinking about this particular bird recently. I know this guy, see, who ties very classy salmon/steelhead flies.

Here and here are a few other links to sites with more info and pictures. They're worth a browse.

[Hey! Now the post is even Spell Checked, like a REAL POST -- just can't get used to these set up options at Stu's house darnit.]

Enjoy the extravagant beauty,

Bp

Unscheduled time

You know your life is running at too high a rev when you finally get unscheduled time, completely free time, and it kinda stresses you out. Is that stupid or what?

Owning a home, there is always a list of things to do. But now that the sink is in, there are no barn burners. Just stuff to get to whenever. I'm not sure it's that list that's getting to me.

I don't know what's getting to me, except possibly lack of sun. I've had a day or two of very self-directed, "work" free days. I did a bodywork trade with a friend of mine, she worked on me on Thursday and I her yesterday. That's always a good thing, it feels good for me to keep my skills up even though it's been many moons since I did that for a living.

My Qi Gong brother Matthew came over and we did some training together. He's at a stage in the abdominal training that requires a partner, so he comes over a couple times a week for me to train him, or train on him, or whatever you'd call that. It's a wild practice, and still very effective for both of us.

Today, I'm going over to a Redwind Elder's (she's going to kill me for calling her that) house to be an electrician for a few hours. It's a great thing to be able to offer the family. Although I expect I'll never work full time for a company again, it sure is a fantastic skill to have.

I have a few chores to do around the house, but otherwise I'm free. Free to do whatever I want with most of my day. And, just typing that tightens my shoulders... isn't that ridiculous?

Getting out to Stud Farmhand's place in Walla Walla is well timed it seems. I leave Monday. You know a trip is going to be good when fly fishing equipment is required, as well as hot tubbing equipment. Looks like I will get some coaching on how to shoot the shotguns I inherited from my Grandpa as well -- perfect. Hoping there will be some blazing sun to reset my Pineal gland, and this cabin fever will be a thing of the past.

Pootie just brought in a slimy section of root from the yard. He's warbling like he's caught something alive. I think he thinks it's a worm. He's a big worm hunter, and eater, out of the compost pile. Apparently the season is getting to him as well.

Enjoy your random seasonal moods,

Bp

Biologically friendly eats: Crooked River Whitefish

Letle and I went to the Crooked River today for some fly fishing. We were targeting Whitefish specifically, destined for the smoker.

I've had this plan, see. The Crooked River has tons of trout, from 3,000 - 4,000 per mile, depending on who you talk to or what year the report you are reading was written in. They are native, and naturally reproducing, and amazingly -- people are allowed to kill them. Only two per person per day, but any native trout to my mind needs to be protected no matter what -- stockers are for killing. That's a different matter though, I digress.

Back to The plan -- Whitefish in the Crooked River are extremely abundant; enormously abundant; rabidly abundant. They outnumber the trout 10:1, and compete with the trout for food. They are natives as well, but not as popular for food so although there is no size or bag limit for them, few are killed by fishermen. The more whitefish removed from the Crooked River, the bigger and healthier the trout will become. I bought myself a smoker (the best way to cook whitefish) and plan to catch and eat as many as I can over the course of my life to help out these lovely little trout. This is wild food, "free" (I know, gas and tackle etc, but you know what I mean), and ecologically sound.

I've had some of my favorite fly fishing experiences on the Crooked river, when fishing catch and release for trout. I can't count the times I've made the drive just to do that type of fishing. This plan takes the same trip and adds bonuses to it, for me and for the river. It's great to use something I enjoy recreationally in this manner. A fly rod is a perfect tool for the selective removal of one fish species while not harming others. Trout caught are released immediately, though there is enough difference in the favored habitats for trout and whitefish that very few, if any, trout are hooked at all. Today, I didn't bring a single trout to hand, but landed probably 14 whitefish (losing so many more I'm loathe to publish an estimate).

I have to go look up a good brine recipe for the fish so I can get them prepped for smoking tomorrow.

Enjoy your systems thinking,

Bp

Report from the road, now in Medford (was near Reedsport)

Just woke up, the news is playing on a small TV in the kitchen, and there are uncles about. Two of them to be exact. It's always a trip to be around blood family, as The Wife will attest -- we all laugh alike. We just have a similar "vibe." Despite all the differences in lifestyle and worldview, our bones are the same.

Yesterday and the day before we spent on a beautiful piece of land on the Smith River near Reedsport Oregon. Uncle Terry and I were visitng The Luddite and his fiance, soon to be Mrs. Luddite. They live on 200+ acres on a river bend with Elk, Black Bear, and meelions of frogs for neighbors. We had a fantastic time, and I did snap a few pictures. I will have to get my computer and my camera to set aside their differences and communicate when I get home, come hell or high water.

Today -- we fish. Uncle Terry and I are now visiting Uncle Tom in Medford Oregon (no literary reference intended). He is a fisherman, and asked that I invoke my inner fisherman when I visited. We will ply Uncle Terry into joining our inner fishermen with beer and make a day out of it. There will be bass and probably sunburns to come.

Enjoy your blood relatives (remarkably, they age when unattended),

Bp

Another trip to Secret Creek -- author spotted!

Another beautiful day up on Secret Creek (tm) with Letlee.












This pool was one of our destinations, it's depth apparent in the beautiful turquoise green color of the water. The water in this creek is so clean this time of year (no glacial melt) that anything less than 3' deep is just clear -- no color at all.

The fish in this creek aren't large -- back up, let me rephrase that. The few larger fish (11"+) in this creek are very hard to catch. I have in years past caught them, but so far on these trips we've just had them rise and we missed the strike, or we hooked them only long enough for a patented LDR (Long Distance Release). The LDR is a technique patented by my good friend Stud Farmhand (I'll have to do a portrait of him soon so ya'll know who he is) to release fish without ever having them come to hand or net -- very very ecologically friendly. Letlee and I practiced a whole lot of LDR's on both of our trips to Secret Creek this year.

You will notice a decided lack of Luna the Dog this time. By the end of the last trip Luna had the lowdown on these wriggley, intensely interesting things we were pulling out of the water. They looked *tastey* too. One of us would have to hold the dog while the other brought in a fish, or I fear there would have been an incident. So -- Luna stayed home on this trip for the Trouts' protection.














Here I am being mysteriously cordial with my little trout friends -- "would sir like a little bit of fuzzy fur and feathers that looks like a big juicy stonefly?" They often obliged, a testament in this heathen day and age to the power of courtesy. I have no idea what the hand-behind-the-back move is here actually, maybe to help my balance or concentration. I'm not used to being photographed while fishing, and don't know the standard poses. Fly fishing is just too engaging to stop and "look good" for a photograph, I tell you.

I'm holding this little cutthroat trout (none of these fish were out of the water more than 10 seconds) in such a way that you can see the red markings under its gills and nice orange-with-white-tipped bottom fins [click on the picture to get a closer look]. He looks a little snakey and long for his age, which tells me Secret Creek isn't crawling with food. That is typical for mountain streams, the fish hold on best they can and have good years and bad years. The water slows down in the flats at lower elevations and gets fertile and food-rich, and the fish generally get fatter and fatter. All the other trout we caught were well proportioned, but none of them were the tubby football shape that trout take on when the food supply is extra abundant. These are scrappy little survivors, and we love em.

Flyfishing trip -- Undisclosed location in the Oregon Cascades

This is probably my favorite trout creek in Oregon. Definitely within reasonable single-day trip distance from Portland. Letlee, Luna and I headed up there to explore a bit and cast over small, precious cutthroats, rainbows and cutbow hybrids.












Luna was surprisingly well mannered during the trip, only on the first pool did she go in and get a drink in the middle of a perfect trout lie. After that, a few words from Mom and she would stay put while we worked the water. Words from me, however, had NO effect whatsoever. Not even a head turn -- nothing. "Mom is Mom, you are some strange monkey with Mom who doesn't count in the least."

Letlee caught her first fish on one of the H & L Variants she tied at our house the day before -- always a proud moment. We each caught a few fish, and missed or LDR'd (Long Distance Release) plenty more.

The fish in this creek, typical of mountain streams, weren't large. But large wasn't what we were shooting for. We wanted beautiful surroundings, big trees, gorgeous water, and ready fish. We got all that in spades. This area is of course catch and release, though I always fret about how well others treat it. I know I only fish it once or twice a season, just to make sure it never gets too much pressure.

I just love this place, and normally fish here when it's stinking hot in Portland. The big trees keep the water clean, and stream restoration efforts create beautiful little plunge pools and logjams that agree with both my aesthetics and the trouts' needs. It's just a wonderful place.

Letlee and I only made it 1/2 way through the section I like to fish, so we will be going back and working upstream from there, resting the fish in the first section for next year. We packed some garbage out, and I even gathered a bit of cedar on the walk out from limbs off a downed tree in the road. That will be a special smudge once it's dried and cleaned.

Enjoy each day,

Bp

ps: New photo up on The 17 Gardens of the Outer Nethers tonight as well.

Crafty day -- tying flies and dying quills

Our dear friend Letle (pronounced Let - Lee) came over today for some fly tying lessons. I picked a pattern we may find some use for in small mountain streams (fingers crossed for a few high-altitude hike-in fishing trips this summer) as well as one difficult technique it can teach. I decided on the H & L Variant. Great attractor fly for naieve little mountain stream fish, easy to see and fish, floats like a cork, and you learn how to deal with hair -- both the wing and the tail. We wrestled through a few and by the 4th or 5th Letle was on her way to producing these with aplomb. While she and I worked our way through tying lessons, The Wife was working with porcupine quills.

Quillwork preceded beadwork in North America for obvious reasons -- glass means technology. See some beautiful work and a brief description Here. It seems The Wife and I are stricken by a similar aesthetic problem, we like archaic forms of arts and crafts. Beadwork on leather isn't cool enough, she's got to go Quillwork. Like for me, archery isn't enough I have to make my own wooden bow with hand tools. Don't know what the deal is, but it sure keeps things interesting. None of these techniques and skills are particularly easy, so we sweat through learning new skills all the time.

In a move the total opposite of archaic, The Wife used Kool Aid to dye her quills today. It is well known for great bright colors by fly tiers who dye their own feathers, and it turned out to be great for the quills too. The red and orange colors she achieved really popped, and the purple turned out to be a deep, rich mahogany color that looks great though wasn't what she originally planned. She has to find an alternative dye for green though, because there isn't any green Kool Aid. Go figure.

So fantastic day in The Crazy House as Criddle calls it. Lounging around making messes in the living room and chatting. Perfect summer vacation.

And tomorrow, I fish. I may faint from excitement.

Bp

Night off, a student's paradise

Getting toward the season where my non-student friends start rolling their eyes and making snarky comments about not being "so dam serious" about school -- finals are coming around. Hanging out with non-students this time of year can be taxing. It's like sports fans dealing with non-sport derision during the playoffs, or new parents getting asked out for beers by their non-parent friends who just don't get the fact that there is a toddler involved. Somehow, I think a lot of adults got all the way through school and never lost the attitude of "oh it's just school, who cares." No reasonable person would encourage their friends to blow off work deadlines when they have a performance review coming up -- but I still get this kind of flack from otherwise perfectly reasonable adults regarding my schoolwork.

To start off the finals season, I took a night off. I got off school, dropped my backpack on the living room floor and didn't think about it or academia again the whole night through. I didn't do my normal routine of a little cleaning and housework or bill paying , a snack, and probably a nap before leaving again in a few hours to go study til the wee hours of the morning with The Crew. Instead, I walked down the street and hung out with the neighbors as they were building a stone retaining wall, walked the garden a bit and talked to T. about the goings-on there, stared at flowers and bees in the yard for exceedingly long periods of time, shuffled uselessly around the house a bit, and hit the sack early. Actually got to lounge around and chat about nothing in particular with The Wife as well. At this point in the school year, that's a description of heaven for me.

I don't need to be casting over a nice hatch of Pale Morning Duns off a gravel bar on the lower Deschutes, or hunting spring Morels on the slopes of the Cascade range -- just hanging out around our wonderful house works for me. It's a sanctuary for us -- a colorful sanctuary full of books and good food, and beautiful art. A place where we can put up road-weary friends and keep the cats in a matter to which they are accustomed. A little urban oasis surrounded on all sides by flowers, trees and veggies. It pays back in spades the work we put into it.

Now that I mention it, some fly-fishing and knocking-about in the woods would be quite fantastic too. Note to self: get the hell out of dodge this summer as much as humanly possible before school starts up again.

First Book Post

Oh how many books will I read while trying to finish the one book my wife suggested I read, the one bookthat she said changed her life in college. [I've just decided, this book will remain a link reference and shall be not be named in these profane pages, to hide my shame] Our lives are easily changed in college, granted, but the dam thing has importance for her and I need to finish reading it. We don't have the collective time or communal patience here in this little post to confront all the book titles I've polished off in the process of working through this one book. But, I will mention tonight's conquest.

Just finished reading Fishing the Northwest, which was lent to me by a good friend of mine who will be known as Stud Farmhand (there is a story here for another time). Stud has a phenomenal collection of fishing books, and I grabbed some before I left his house on my last visit. My outings have been few and far between since this newest bout of school, and some armchair fishing trips were in order.

I liked the book because I've fished some of these places, and read some of these authors before. I like anthologies because you get a smattering taste of many different styles and sometimes pick up a new name that might be worth investigating further. Mostly though, my last fishing trip was the first in many many months, and wasn't necessarily so hot for all it cost me in driving time and frozen fingers. It did, however, stoke the fire in me to get outdoors again and more often. A couple nicely written fishing stories are just the ticket to keep me on the straight and narrow, in college and in control, until summer.