I know of no other freshwater fish that will stretch a fly line to the breaking point like a Steelhead, fresh from the ocean.  This is a story of a sea-going monster that lived up to that reputation and more.

For the record, I simply love fly fishing.  Like many of us, I learn something new every time I go out, and I make no claims about being any better at it than I am.  In a way fly fishing is that rare opportunity to better connect with the raw outdoors.  It is as much about being there, as it is about catching fish.  For a rookie Steelheader from far away Kansas, fishing on the Deschutes this time of year was like having my cake and eating it too.

I arrived in Maupin, Oregon the last day in August ready to put my new spey rod and matching large arbor reel to the test on the Lower Deschutes.  It had already been a long summer spent fishing for Rainbows, Cuts, and Browns throughout the western mountainous states.  I could not wait  to begin stringing up some heavier tackle to go after the chrome beasts of fall.  The summer Steelhead were beginning to leave their resting places at the mouth of the Columbia, once again turning left into the waters of the Lower Deschutes as temperatures cooled and the days of summer evaporated into fall.   Although not in the record numbers of the previous summer, above average counts of Steelhead had already been recorded entering the Columbia River system.   The fishing had not turned on yet, and the area fly shops were not making any promises.  Steelhead fishing had been a little skinny at best with the water in the Columbia just a tad on the warm side of summer.  Never the less, I was in Maupin, miles away from the flat lands of Kansas, and a wee bit anxious to fish.  There was a Steelhead out there somewhere with my name on it.

I checked into a small room at the Imperial River Company; no television, no telephone, just the raw necessities for a warm night’s sleep before hitting the water and a long day of serious Steelheading.  I looked around the room and found an alarm clock that would insure that I awakened in time for a 4:30 appointment with my fishing guide, Evan Unti, of Deschutes Angler.   After doing a quick inventory of the gear I would need the next morning, I settled into bed.  I needed to be “wadered up” and waiting when Evan arrived an hour and a half before sunrise.

Anticipation filled the room.  I tossed and turned much of the night and my alarm clock never had a chance to go off.  After a quick shower to get the blood running, I dressed in my waders and stepped out to an unusually cool August morning.  A sharp chill bit at the air as the faint perfume of high desert junipers floated on the breeze.  At half past the hour, Evan drove up like clockwork pulling a Clackacraft behind a silver SUV already loaded for bear.   Without any further pomp and circumstance I loaded in my own gear and we were off on our trip down river to launch at Pine Tree landing. Thirty minutes out of Maupin, we were floating gently on the water under the faint light of a quarter moon and a thousand pin-pointed stars guiding us on our way.

Evan, dressed for a cold day in August, in a brown down hooded jacket.  Who would have thunk it?

A good fishing guide will make you comfortable from the get-go. A warm cup of coffee and general conversation told me most of what I really wanted to know about Evan.  If we were not already best buddies, we might feel like it by the end of the day.  Fishing brings out the best in all of us, and a good guide is there make your trip a memorable one.  I will take that one step further.  A good guide is also a good teacher.  These guys are on, and around the water, most of the year, and they have already forgotten more than most of us will ever learn about the art of casting a fly or landing a big fish in a lifetime of fishing adventures.  I try to never let pride get in the way of improving my skills or taking full advantage of being around a professional guide.  Hell, I can’t afford to; and I was not about to miss getting the best for my nickel.  Before casting the first serious fly, Evan found a shallow run where we rehearsed and polished my spey casting skills I had learned the previous year.  After a quick refresher course, we were off to stalk Steelhead.

The hillsides are almost devoid of any hint of foliage.  The river runs through deep seated canyon walls and alongside rounded hills.

The Deschutes is one of the finest trout streams in the lower forty-eight.  Football-shaped redside Rainbows fill the banks, but we were hunting bigger game.  Beginning in August, the summer Steelhead run becomes the major focus of anglers as these sea-going cousins to the Rainbow begin migrating upstream from the Pacific Ocean to spawn in the river’s upper reaches.  It remains a mystery where these fish actually go in the ocean  after being born in fresh water.  It is just as much an enigma why it is that they return to the exact same stream to spawn as mature adults.  These are sea-run Rainbows, bright chrome in color, and every bit as strong and mean as the reputation that precedes them.

My first fly fishing experience with Steelhead had come on the Deschutes one year earlier.  That gave me the bug and I was just itching to get my own gear.  I found a matched setup that had been used as a demonstrating model at a fly shop in Michigan.  I am a big fan of both Able reels and Sage rods and already had a stash of both in my fishing closet. When this setup became available, I could not resist.  The rod was the length that I was looking for and the reel was the proper size and weight for the rod.

My Sage TCX Spey setup with Abel Reel.

My setup included a 12.5 foot Sage TCX seven weight spey rod and an Able Super 11 large arbor  reel loaded with 200 yards of 30 pound test backing, a Rio shooting line with an Airflo floating skagit head.  This combination measures 100 feet of shooting line plus a 35 foot head.  A fifteen foot 10 pound test leader was added to the head.  Most of our fishing on the Deschutes was done using the fifty foot combined length of the skagit head and leader to swing the fly.  My guide, Evan Unti, felt like my rod might be a little heavy for the Deschutes since most fish average five to eight pounds.  All of this is personal taste, and Evan prefers a six weight of similar length to my own.  In fact, he commented before the day began that my so-called Sage seven weight would be a Chinook Machine on the same river.  Spey rods come in all weights and sizes and fourteen foot sticks are not unheard of even on a medium sized stream like the Deschutes.  Each to his own.  Find what works and feels comfortable, because you will be swinging it all day long.  Fishing for Steelhead is stalking “the fish of a thousand casts.”

My Abel Super 11 in Steelhead finish.

By the time that we reached the first run, a hint of daylight was on the horizon and a spit of rain was in the wind.  Gray clouds began moving over the mountains to the east, blocking what little sun might later hit the water as night morphed into day.  It was perfect weather for hunting Steelhead.  Normally, Steelhead shy away from bright sunny days.  The best fishing is generally early morning and late evening shadow. We had gotten lucky.  Without direct sun on the water our chances were greatly improved for a good day’s fishing.

There is considerable beauty to be found even on the grayest of days.  The rocks and hillsides are almost nude of anything green.  In fact, I felt like I was almost as likely to see a bighorn sheep as I was likely to see trees in any numbers on the hillsides.

The Deschutes contains a variety of types of water from fast moving whitewater rapids to long evenly rolling runs of oxygenated water where the Steelhead rest before journeying further upstream.  The natural typography of rounded desert mountain hills and canyons cut from volcanic basalt, are typical of the high desert found in central Oregon.  Trees are sparse with only the rare juniper tree spotting the landscape high upon the hillside.  Most of the foliage is found close to water’s edge. The nice thing about using a spey rod, is that all of your casting is on the water in front of you.  You can actually go all day long without losing a single fly.

Wildlife abounds on the Deschutes.  We saw kingfishers, ospreys, and eagles along our way.  Bighorn sheep grazed in good numbers on the hillside above us as we ate lunch.

The best Steelhead runs have many rocks of varying sizes strung along  the bottom of a stream bed topped by several feet of evenly flowing water.  Occasionally, there are flat ledges formed by ancient lava flows that step down into the deeper holes below the water’s surface.  Although most runs are safe for the experienced angler, it pays to watch where one steps when fishing the Deschutes.  A wading staff may come in handy and don’t be surprised if you find yourself straddling a rather large boulder as you do the Steelhead two-step down river.   The Steelhead rest in front of submerged rocks and boulders throughout the runs.  The idea is to cast a fly approximately forty-five degrees downstream using fifty feet of line, allowing it to swing in an even arc until it is directly below where you are standing.  After each cast, the fisherman takes two steps downstream and repeats the process while attempting to cover all of the ground in the run.  I call this the Steelhead two-step.  When executed correctly,  you present your fly to any resting fish within reach while encouraging the fish to boil on your fly.

There are differences in opinion about why the fish eat the fly.  Some say that the fish do not feed during their journey upstream and they bite at the fly as it simply irritates them by entering their space.  Others claim that it is instinctive behavior, learned at an earlier age when insects in the river made up much of their diet.  Whatever the reason, the take on the fly will never fail to excite. These fish grab the fly and take off downstream as if powered by rocket fuel.  This is usually followed by an explosion at the surface and the bright shine of chrome against the landscape, followed by tail walking that even the best dance choreographer would envy.  Hold on for dear life and let the fish run.  Hold your rod high and angle it into the bank away from the faster current. With luck, the fish will tire before you do, and your backing knot will hold.  That is Steelheading.

Steelhead flies do not imitate anything in real life.  They seem to appeal mostly to the fishermen who fish them.  This fly is named a “Streetwalker” for obvious reasons.  The best fly is the fly that you have tied on.  Whatever the fly, the fisherman must have confidence in his or her chosen fly and fish each cast as if it is going to catch fish.

Steelhead can drive you mad.  I am told that it is easy to go all day without catching a single fish.  I had kept my expectations low, but that did not dampen my intentions.  I was on the Deschutes to catch Steelhead and the stars were beginning to align in such a way for that perfect day.  Evan had tied on a purple fly with a hint on shining tinsel to catch any early morning light. It is called a Streetwalker, and the name properly describes this gaudily colored fly. We were about three-quarters through the initial run when the first fish hit.  I kept my rod low and resisted the temptation to lift the rod and set the hook.  Line screamed out of my rod tip as the shooting line disappeared rapidly downstream.  As the fish exploded on the surface, I raised my rod and knew that the hook was set.  Before I could react, the Steelhead had changed directions and was coming straight at me.  I desperately cranked the large arbor in an attempt to gather line and remove any slack.  I was cranking with my left hand and holding the rod high with my right.  Evan reminded me to keep the rod angled into the shore and apply pressure to the fish.  Larger reels often come with a right hand retrieve, but I had changed my Abel for use with the left hand.  Call it personal preference. Whichever side of the reel you retrieve on, it will take all that you can muster to land a Steelhead with the taste of metal in his mouth.   We would not land them all that day.  After a ten minute battle, a nice Steelhead was brought to hand without using a net.  Evan took a quick picture.  We admired the fish and revived him in the current before sending him back on his way.  Chalk one up to success.  We would not be skunked.

The first fish of the day, caught on a purple Streetwalker.

I was dressed in Simms chest waders with long quick drying pants underneath.  If I had known that the cool weather was moving in, I would have worn fleece under my waders. My Simms boiled wool sweater came in very handy.  I never go anywhere without it.  My face was windburned and my hair frazzled.  Despite the cold, the wind, and a spit of rain, I was not uncomfortable.  The fishing was too intense to take notice.

We fished a few other runs before all hell broke loose. Evan had tied on a new fly. It is often said that the best fly is the one that you are fishing with. My new fly was called an Undertaker, a Steelhead pattern that has been around for the last century.  Whatever fly you choose, have total confidence in it.  Your whole world can change at any moment when you are fishing for Steelhead.  There is no telling when a Steelhead will grab your fly and take off for the next county.

The Undertaker is an old time favorite and tops my recently formed personal list of favorite steelhead flies.

We were fishing a very long run of even water filled with a scattering of large rocks and boulders that had tumbled down from the neighboring hillside. Evan had told me to actually step three steps after every cast instead of the usual two.  I remember him telling me if I did not keep on the move, we would be there all day. The run was just that long.  It would have been easy to let my guard down, but I paid attention and stayed intense on what it was that I was doing.  Three-quarters down the length of the run, my reel screamed as line smoked out the end of the rod.  My rod was down parallel to the water and I allowed the fish to run a moment before setting steel to the roof of his mouth.  He rocketed out of the water like a house on fire, burning line while racing down stream at a record pace.  When he first showed his head, he was already over a hundred feet out and still stripping line.  Evan screamed, “Damn, that’s a big fish.”  I adjusted my drag and kept up the pressure, but let him run.  My running line had long since disappeared, and I was well into my bright orange backing line.  The fish was perhaps a hundred-eighty feet downstream and still smoking. This was one strong fish and he was really pissed. He did not like the bite of steel in his mouth. I began reeling in line only to have it stripped out again.  I was beginning to wonder if I would actually be able to land this monster without breaking a leader or losing a knot.  At least my backing knot was good for the moment.  Evan told me to reel, but every time that I began to gain ground, the fish simply turned south and went on another run.  That is when Evan declared that, “this may just take a while.”   The fish was way in the distance jumping and twisting like he had just swallowed acid, and wanted to get it out of his mouth.  I began to feel that if the fish ever did come close enough to actually see me holding the rod it would be because fate, should I land the fish.  Evan gave me encouragement by telling me that I was doing everything right and simply not to get in a hurry.  I had already determined that I would let the battle play out without rushing into things.  Able reels brag about their drag systems.  We were putting it to the test.  Looking back, I can truthfully say that I began to wonder if we could actually land the fish.  There are guys out there that handle these monsters everyday, but I was not one of them.  This was the biggest Steelhead that I had yet to experience, and he was giving me a real run for my money.   Steelhead trips are not in expensive, but I had already gotten more than my nickel’s worth on this trip.

After much give and take, the big beast came close enough to see us before taking off again.  Evan said, “look at the size of that tail,” as bright chrome powered downstream trailing the blue skagit floating head right along with him. He was now within sixty feet of us and beginning to show the first signs of fatigue.  I used the rod to angle him over in the direction where Evan was standing.  I was up to my waist in fairly fast moving water, but had good traction on the bottom.  This allowed me to put enough pressure on the fish to actually begin to move him in Evan’s direction.  All the fight was still not out of him and he definitely did not like the looks of Evan.  These guides do not use nets, and the game is never over until the large fish is brought to hand.  By pinching the spinal column and belly side of the tail, a good guide can secure the fish without the use of a net.  Minutes later, Evan had secured the fish and he had given in to defeat.

My guide estimated this fish at 34 inches in length and 13 to 14 pounds. Who knows the actual size, but the fight was real.  The photograph was taken without arms extended while wedging my fly rod and reel to my chest.

Evan holding the fish momentarily after he brought it to hand.

I hooked two other fish that day and landed neither.   Simply hooking into a Steelhead is enough to get your heart pumping.  I lost my third fish as I applied too much pressure when the fish bolted and bucked.  Chalk it up to a loss in concentration.  You have to bring your A game if you plan to land Steelhead. The leader broke at the knot and our only Undertaker was on its way down river with a really angry fish.   A few casts later, another fish in the same run boiled on my fly.  If I had been fishing for trout, the entire area would have been devoid of fish after the initial battle with the first fish.   The fish boiled a second time and Evan decided to change the fly.  After the change, I stepped several steps down river and casted again.  The fish charged the fly and ran off downstream with the hook firmly set.  That was fish number four.  He was much smaller than the first three, but he threw the hook back at me and went on his way after a short time on the line.  Never, take anything for granted.  The fish won fifty percent of the time that day.  All were well hooked; two were landed.

Summary.

We took out at Beavertail after a full day of fishing under cloudy skies.  Normally, fishing is done during the morning and late evening hours with a nap in between.  The lack of direct sun on the water allowed us to fish on through and take off the water about five that evening.  Still, it was a long day on the water.  These guides work very hard at what they do.  There are few promises when stalking Steelhead.  I could have easily fished just as hard and have come up empty.  Evan called me “Lucky Larry”.  Frankly, I was lucky.  Skill plays its part when both paying attention and when landing the fish.  My casting skills were not a thing of beauty, but they were much improved over last year.  I give Evan much of the credit for his persistence and patience in teaching me the ropes.  I will specifically ask for him by name should I fish the Deschutes next year.  That is my plan.

If you ever find yourself in Maupin, Oregon, and want to try your hand at fly fishing for Steelhead, take a little time and look up Evan Unti.  At thirty years old, he has found his passion.  You won’t be disappointed.

I had planned to stay and fish for a while longer on the lower Deschutes.  But when I got back to Maupin that evening, I got into my van and headed for home.  No way I could top that day on the river with Evan and Deschutes Angler.  I had not seen my wife, Sheryl, in weeks of being out West, and I missed my dogs, Dude and Lexi.  Home was calling.

Four days later I was sitting out back of my home in Kansas and the dogs were retrieving in the lake.  This is Dude, all grown up and ready to celebrate his first birthday later this month.  When I left for the Pacific Northwest, he was still a puppy.  When I returned home, Dude had become a full grown dog.

P.S. I just could not resist a half day fishing on the Green on my way home from Oregon.  This nice Rainbow was taken on a dry fly on the Green River below Flaming Gorge in Eastern Utah.

About the Author:

Larry Stephenson is a professional artist and illustrator making his home in Andover, Kansas.  He is best known for his whimsical watercolor paintings using juxtaposed items and situations.  His interest in fly fishing and his love for the Oregon wilderness has led him to work with the Deschutes River Conservancy on a series of artworks for future use in marketing and promoting the fund raising for the conservancy.

Tight Lines!

My friends, Dennis and Caroline, showed up after Sun Valley the previous weekend, to sell their hand-crafted silver jewelry in the mountain town of Jackson, nestled at the foot of the Tetons.   I was there and had reasonably good sales, but the real reason that I had come to Jackson was to fish with my old friend and fly fishing guide, Mark Fuller.  I had planned things this way and looked forward to getting out in a boat with Mark.  If we do it again, I will get Dennis out in the boat with us.  Dennis, you missed a great adventure on the Salt!

Dennis and Caroline at the show.

Fly fishing seldom gets better.  I have certainly caught bigger fish, but being in Wyoming and fishing with Mark Fuller is always a memorable experience.

I often say that life is all about priorities.   One of the reasons that I love what I do is that I can arrange a schedule that allows me time in between shows to do the things that I love most while on the road.  This trip was no exception, and my favorite fishing guide did not disappoint.  Mark Fuller planned a special day for us on the Salt River, a small and gently meandering stream, full of hungry trout.

Sheryl and I began fishing with Mark some years back.  It really was Mark who first taught me to cast a fly, and helped create this love that I have for fly fishing.  Since then Sheryl and I have become repeat customers.  Although, Sheryl was not with me this year, Mark and I ventured out to a new stream for me.  We usually fish the Snake, but this year Mark took me an hour away to a much smaller, meandering stream with all kinds of holes and pockets strung out throughout the river.

The day was a bluebird day without a cloud in the sky.  The weather had grown a little cooler and the fish were late to turn on.  Mark promised me that there really were fish in the river.  Boy, were there.  It just took a while for them to show up in droves.

The day began as Mark launched his boat, a low profile craft, designed to float low on the water without attracting the attention of the fish.

Mark holding a typical native cutthroat trout that I took on a dry fly.  We were using rather big foamy terrestrials.

The fishing was really great once the fish turned on.  Mark got me into the fish, and I would have done even better had I been on my game when it came to setting the hook.

I have always felt that each of us have our gifts.  Mine is painting.  Mark’s is fishing.  Mark is a great guide and teacher.  I asked Mark not to hesitate to help me with my casting or advise on how to help improve my fishing technique.  Earlier this spring I was fishing on the Green River in Utah and my guide very hesitantly offered up some advice.  I told him that any professional advice is welcome when I am paying the bill.  He remarked that many of his clients get upset if anyone questions their fly fishing prowess.  Let’s get real here.  These guides have seen it all.  They take out clients 50- 200 times a year and work with people of all kinds of abilities and experience.  You would never hire a golf pro and refuse to have him analyze your swing, so why act like you know it all when it comes to hitting the river.  I would be an embarrassment if I ever saw myself on film, but each year I improve as I fly fish more and more.  And I remember what my guides tell me, even if it is not immediate gratification that day on the water.   Hey, Mark; it’s like a hammer.  ”Pull it straight up.  Not to the side, when you set the hook.”  Better days and a better job of setting the hook are in my future.  Just wait until next year!

Mark netted a nice 17 inch Cutthroat that I took from under an overhanging bank.

Check out that grin on my face.  This is a nice native cutthroat that we returned to the river to fight another day.  Mark tells me that he has a photographic mind, and that he will remember the day and place that I caught this 17 inch cut. I really don’t know if Mark will remember or not, but I will.  Life is good.

If you are ever in Jackson, and want to experience a great day of fishing, there are few better guides around than Mark Fuller with Jack Dennis Outfitters. When it comes to fishing in and around Jackson Hole, Jack Dennis is the things of legend.  Their guides, are; simply put, the very best.  It just does not get any better than that.

Until next year………..

A bull moose in Teton National Park north of Jackson.

The mountains rocket skyward from the valley floor of Jackson Hole.

Detail of the 17 inch Cutthroat on the Salt.  Thanks for the memories Mark!

(I left Jackson and drove west, once again, to Bend, Oregon.   The art fair in Bend would be my last on my tour out west.  In Bend, I would stay with good friends, Tom & Martha Marple, and Martha’s sister, Jeanne.   But that is another story.)  To be continued….

I seldom have computer troubles, but my lap top crashed while in Sun Valley, Idaho.  I suspect that it is the start up software for the operating system and that nothing was lost.   Fingers are crossed, because many pictures from my time in and around Bend are in there.

After Sun Valley I traveled to art fairs in Jackson Hole and back in Bend, Oregon.  I will post small blogs about the fishing in between.  I had two incredible fishing experiences that cannot go without mention.

For those who wonder, all three art fairs had rather small attendance as is more typical with mountain shows.  Both the Sun Valley and Jackson art fairs proved quite profitable, although the Jackson show pretty well put me to sleep because it was so ill attended.  The Bend art fair is certainly nothing to write home about where sales are concerned.  It was a much better quality show than Jackson, but people seemed so attached to their purse strings that their billfolds never wanted to open.  My hat goes off to the organizers of the Bend show.  It came off as a very professional event.  It was even the most well attended of the final trio of shows that I did out West.

Thank you Tom and Martha for hosting me in your home during the Bend show.  Martha’s cooking, alone, made the trip worth while.  It is always fun to see good friends and catch up on old times.

Sun Valley, Idaho

August 11

I am sitting in my motel room in Twin Falls, Idaho this morning.  In a few hours I will drive the 80 remaining miles to Ketchum, outside of Sun Valley.  There, I will meet up with Dennis and Caroline Viene.  We have a condo rented for next week during the show.   After the show, Dennis and I hope to do a little fly fishing in the area. Caroline is a Jeweler from Eugene, Oregon who makes beautiful contemporary jewelry.  When in Seattle, my wife, Sheryl, purchased a bracelet and ear rings from  Caroline that she did not take off for a week.  She loved them!  I look forward to a good time with friends in Sun Valley.

On my Soap Box.

I have had time to contemplate a discussion that I had with a friend and fellow artist last week in Park City, Utah.  There is no denying the pain of the current economic recession that we are living through.  These are difficult times for artists, because art is a purchase that anyone can do without.   This reality hits hard for those of us who have come to rely totally on selling our art as a means of making a living.  Like many Americans who are feeling the pains of the current recession, changing jobs or finding employment is not easy for anyone over fifty.  Employers are hesitant invest in hiring and training older workers.  Few options exist for artists who have been on this circuit while selling art for a living the last several decades.  It is what these same artists have been doing for the last thirty years.  With retirement and social security around the corner, many of these same artists would like to put off full retirement on the government dole, for as long as possible.  Reality bites.  Some find that Social Security is not the answer even if they are age 65.  The high cost of medical insurance, coupled with continued living costs, means that artists need to find optional employment elsewhere if they can no longer sell their art for a living.  Before I get out the violins, please allow me to state that artists are not the only ones finding themselves in this predicament.  There are many suffering or unemployed Americans feeling the bite of the recession.

I am one of the lucky ones.  My artwork continues to sell, though not at the rate that it once did.  I still etch out a reasonable living and continue to enjoy the fruits of my labor.  Because of whatever economic planing that my wife and I made long ago, we have the means to survive this.  Sheryl has a good job and is secure in her position with a large corporation. We are lucky enough to have good healthcare.  Our three sons are, for the most part, grown and out on their own.  Our youngest will graduate this next fall.  All three of our boys are hard workers and thrifty in their own right.

It saddens me greatly to see what is happening to some of my friends and acquaintances inside the art industry.  I wish that I could give some kind of helpful advice to those in need.  But words come cheap, and the pain of the current changes that these people find themselves in is real. I have always hated the terminology applied to craftsmen when called “starving artists.” In thirty years of doing this for a living, I have never known starving as a reality.  Yet, in this day and age, I see more and more of my friends finding themselves at the brink of economic disaster.  I think, If not by the grace of God, there go I.

There is a flip side to all of this woeful sorrow.  I know plenty of fellow artists who have done quite well for themselves over the years.  They invested in real estate and own property.  The artists lifestyle has been good to many of us.  Art fairs are an American phenomenon, and in the early boom of the 70’s & 80’s, art fairs brought reasonable wealth for some.  I do not wish to paint any of this with too broad a brush.  Yet, there is no denying the pain for many during the current economic downturn.  Being over fifty and finding that you can no longer make a living at the only thing you know how to do, is a bitter pill to swallow.  It is painful to watch, when these people are good friends and even better people.

As Americans, we are waking up to the fact that citizens are living longer, as our dollars are growing shorter.  The middle class seems to be disappearing as jobs are currently shipped overseas or simply eliminated.  America was once the greatest industrial nation on earth.  Today, we build little and most of what we import is foreign crude to squelch our insatiable thirst for oil.   We continue to waste energy like there is no tomorrow.  Like Bob Dylan once put it, “The times, they are a changin.” I ask, can we change with them?

From an artist’s perspective, most of us from the Boomer generation did not go to school in the computer age.  Any artist today who has not yet embraced the computer as a creative tool, or refuses to use the internet to market product, puts him or herself at a definite disadvantage.  It should be as obvious as the nose on our faces that anyone in the employment pool today needs to remain flexible enough to change with the times.  That includes the most basic creative people that I know.  Nothing stands still for very long.

August 12, Condo in Sun Valley

SUN VALLEY CONDO.

I arrived last night at the condominium that Dennis Veine, his wife, Caroline, and I rented for our week’s stay in Ketchum, Idaho.  Nestled in the mountains surrounding Sun Valley, this two bedroom chalet will be the perfect place to kick back and enjoy each other’s company in the evenings after show hours.  Dennis and I sat up until late in the night discussing plans for a relaxing two days of fly fishing after the show on Monday and Tuesday of next week.  Each of us will be off again on Wednesday, traveling to the next art fair in Jackson Hole, Wyoming.

I will begin set up for the show this afternoon with a high between 65 and 69 degrees.   Tempetures in my home town of Wichita, should reach 105 degrees today.  That is a difference of some 40 degrees.  Wow!

(As luck would have it, my computer crashed and the operating software would not boot up.  It is almost a month later and the summary of my trip will follow in the next blog that I will begin posting today, September 4, 2010.  What follows next are a few pics from Sun Valley.)

Dennis and I traveled up into the mountains above Sun Valley to do a little fly fishing.

After our art show in Sun Valley, Dennis and I found a little time to spend together testing our skills with a fly rod.  We fished several mountain streams above town, as well as the Woods River in town, and the renowned Silver Creek an hour South of Sun Valley.  These were good times, because it gave Dennis and I a chance to get to know each other a little better.  I found Dennis to be a great guy to be around at a personal level, well read, and full of interesting knowledge on the kinds of things that many of us never think about.  In this way, fishing brings out the best in friends; a camaraderie that only comes when submerged in nature.  We had left the hassles and troubles of urban life far behind us.

Typical of the 12 inch fish that Dennis and I caught and released on the Woods.  I caught most of these fish using a variety of dry flies.  One was caught using a San Juan worm trailing behind a yellow stimulator.

Dennis catching a fish on Silver Creek. Silver creek is a highly technical stream.  We fished using  only the very smallest of flies and 7x leaders.  Frankly, we did not catch many fish, but the scenery was breath-taking and the spring-fed creek crystal clear. We were not skunked.  Each of us caught fish.  I managed a nice brown that, for whatever reason, I failed to take a picture of.  The stream is in a very flat meadow and meanders in tight s-curves across a willow covered landscape. We fished the Silver Creek Preserve, a beautiful tract of land that has been bought through private and corporate donations.

On the road again -
Just can’t wait to get on the road again.
The life I love is making music with my friends

And I can’t wait to get on the road again.
On the road again

Goin’ places that I’ve never been.
Seein’ things that I may never see again.

I broke into the art business over 30 years ago.  It was around 1980, that I traveled West with my artist friend, Jerry Ellis.  We played Willie Nelson’s Red Headed Stranger as we traversed much of Colorado and New Mexico.  Willie’s classic tune, On the Road Again, was our theme song.   I can remember catching trout and roasting them over a stream-side camp fire as the smoke got into my eyes.  It just does not get any better than that.  A lot of water has crossed under the bridge since then, but I am still traveling, painting, and selling my artwork.  I meet new friends everywhere that I go.

Next stop is Park City, Utah and the crazy art fair that they have up in the mountains above Salt Lake.  The crowds of people in the  street will flow like a river with bodies moving in rapid succession up and down main street looking at the artwork. Talk about huge crowds, lots of suds, and a good time.  Not to mention that sales can be pretty darn good.  My good friend,  Brian Keller, of Denver,  will show up with his beautiful landscapes, and a we will tip a beer or two after the show.  It will be a good time.

Sheryl and I are in Boise, Idaho, at the moment.  I have a few orders to ship and a bit of paperwork to get behind me before sliding over to Salt Lake where Sheryl boards a plane for home.

August 4  Park City, Utah

I fly fished the Provo River outside of Heber City yesterday.  Fishing was okay for drys, but would have been better fishing using nymphs.  Nymph fishing is really not my thing.  I like to see the trout eat the fly.  I may get fewer fish, but the trill is twice as big for me, personally.  I am here for a few days prior to my show in downtown Park City.  I will fish the Provo again this evening.  Heber City is only a short hop from P.C.

What a change of scenery from last week.  The Provo River does not have large conifers lining its banks like the rivers in Oregon.   The water is also considerably warmer.  I wet waded in my shorts and wading boots with gravel guards.   There was little need for chest waders.  I took this photo of a woman down stream who was nymph fishing.

I equate fly fishing to other gentlemanly sports such as golf.   It simply goes unsaid, that another fisherman will not step out of the woods and attempt to fish the same hole that you are already in.  Imagine sharing a green with another foursome.  Yet, that is exactly what happened to me yesterday.   I was standing in the middle of the river, casting upstream into a deep hole, when another fisherman crowded in next to me  on the near bank fishing a nymph.  I was quietly casting dry flies as he began splashing around and stringing out his line into the stream beside me..  Moments later the woman in the picture above, politely asked if I minded if she fished downriver from my current location.  I told her that I had no problem with that at all since we were light years apart.   I cannot help but wonder; with all of the water available, why did the first fellow need to stand so close to me?

August 5

I caught this and other small browns on dry flies in the mid afternoon while PMDs hatched along the river.  Now, back to the river, little guy.

They are not giants, but they are quick as lightning, and fun to catch.  I know that bigger fish are lurking in the current just waiting to test my skills.   I will fish again today and spend tomorrow setting up for the show in Park City.

Some people may wonder why I choose to travel such great distances while doing art fairs to make my living. For me, it is a no brainer.  I love dealing directly with my fans, rather than selling exclusively through galleries.  I also love traveling and seeing new things along the way.  I ask, how cool is this.  I get to do what I love and fly fish the finest locations in the West in between art fairs.  That really marries a couple of passions for me.  It all becomes a part of the job.  The only down side is that Sheryl cannot always be here with me.

Fly Fish Utah You can order this, and other license plates on the web site.

Saturday, August 7

The Park City Art Festival opened to large crowds last night.  Today, tens of thousands of people will stroll up and down Main Street looking at the art.

Each year I set up in front of the No Name Saloon, a Park City landmark.  The street is on a steep hill, but people don’t mind traversing the landscape.  My location is about in the middle of the show.  If people wish to think over making a purchase before committing to buy, they can always catch me on their way back down the hill.

Monday, August 9

The show is over until next year.  I will be off to Idaho, and Sun Valley in another day.

I had a solid show in Park City this year.  There is little doubt that the economy continues to be a bit of a drag, but things are on the rebound.   Best of all, people let their hair down and had fun at the show.  It was a great time this year for patrons and artists alike.

People find their own way of celebrating and having fun at the art festival. This was a weekend of reveling in the clean mountain air and soaking up the artwork.

August 10, 2010 Ready to hit the road once again.  Next stop is Sun Valley, Idaho.  Continued in Road Trip part four.

This is the second part of  a continuing story.  It began, mid July, when I left the land of OZ in my home state of Kansas to experience the Pacific Northwest and far Western Mountain States. Fly fishing along the way, I am doing a series of art fairs interlinked with my travels.  Fly rod in hand, I live to fish another day.  When I arrive home sometime in early September, I hope to translate my experiences into watercolor paintings. I cannot wait to get back into the studio, leaving this beautiful scenery behind me. (If you believe that, I have a bridge in Brooklyn that I want to sell you.)

July 27.  Working with the Deschutes River Conservancy.

Beauty is where you find it.

We met Bea Armstrong, and she was everything that I imagined.  Bea is a high energy multitasking person who is quick to step up to the plate.  I can see right away that her job is not an easy one.  Organizing and marketing events for such a large operation requires juggling many balls in the air with one hand, while herding cats with the other. I won’t get into all the details about what the Deschutes River Conservancy actually does, but it requires that a percentage of their money comes from the private sector before receiving a rather large amount of funds from federal grants.  This money is used in part for construction projects that help prevent water loss into porous lava rock while diverting it for irrigation projects.  In the Western United States, water is king, and water rights date back for many decades.  When you begin to really think about it, there are enough rightfully owned water rights to actually drain the rivers without conservation.  Farmers, Wildlife, and Recreation Enthusiasts must all share the same water in order to mutually benefit from the natural resources that the Deschutes River Basin has to offer.  I will be working with Bea to design future artwork that will be used in promoting her projects.  This will be easy for me because Bea has a way of making things fun.

Matt Shinderman

Yesterday evening we fished Fall River and the Upper Deschutes with Matt Shinderman.  Matt is a PH.D, who teaches Forest Resources for Oregon State University at the Cascades branch in Bend, Oregon.  In his spare time he is also a licensed fishing guide.  When not guiding or teaching students, Matt is taking care of priority number one.  Matt and his wife, a surgical nurse, have a four year old son.  I find it rather remarkable that busy people, such as Matt, are so willing to give of their valuable time to take someone like me into the Cascades.  They would not do so, if the Deschutes River Conservancy did not play such an important role throughout the entire Deschutes River Basin.  Matt drove us far up into the Cascades where we experienced the head waters of the Deschutes River.

If you look closely, Matt and I are standing on the opposite side of the river in the upper left.  Thank you Sheryl, for your creative photography.

Fishing was followed with a delightful meal beside a glacial fed lake.  Snacking on chips, we sat at a picnic table eating Caesar Chicken wraps, that Bea had thoughtfully sent with us.  A ground squirrel played at our feet looking for hand outs.  We stared out at a million dollar view that no five start restaurant could offer.  As I took in the broad landscape, I began to understand why Matt, and others like him, are so anxious to protect the basin that they have come to love.  One of a trio of snow covered mountains, Oregonians call the three sisters, rose high above the crystal clear lake at our feet.  It’s awesome beauty was almost a religious experience few words can describe. Sometimes I think that many of us get so caught up in the indulgences of city life that we forget the simplest of things that nature has to offer.

Bon Appetit. Dining with a view that money cannot buy.

As we drove back to Camp Sherman for a night’s rest, Sheryl and I looked out the window at a glorious sunset reflecting pink light into the skies over the Three Sisters.

Driving out of Bend toward Sisters, Oregon.

July 28.  A Day on the Metolius River

Textures of the Metolius

The Metolius is a very special river to Central Oregonians.  It springs full force from a rock spring and begins its travels for the next 28 mile journey into lake Billy Chinook.  I will fish the river tomorrow with a volunteer from the Deschutes River Conservancy.

Today, is my 60th birthday.  We will celebrate with two of our very best friends, Tom & Martha Marple.   Tom and Martha moved to Bend last November.  This is very special for both Sheryl and me with lots of catching up to do.  The Marples moved from Wichita to Washington, DC over ten years ago when Tom was a ranking administrator for OSHA. I have an idea that a gourmet meal is in the planning for our night’s entertainment at the cabin. Martha is a fantastic cook and cooking is a shared form of entertainment for all of us.

Birthday Dinner

It is simply too much fun getting together with the best of old friends.  Martha, Tom, and Sheryl with her eyes closed.

We had steaks and fresh salmon cooked with a hint of applewood smoke on the outside grill.  Martha and Tom brought fixings for the entire meal along with a couple of bottles of a fine California old vine Zinfandel.  The food, including dessert was over the top; but the company of friends was the best!

July 29

The morning came to life as a rather large group of deer passed in the early fog outside the kitchen window.  Hummingbirds buzzed in and out among the aspen leaves as the faintest hints of sunlight played high across the pines.

This is the cabin in Camp Sherman that we temporarily call home.

It is through the efforts of many unselfish volunteers and supporters that the Deschutes River Conservancy manages to further its mission.  I wish to personally thank John Regan for providing me a place to stay while I am in the area working on future artworks to be used in marketing the DRC.  The cabin is absolutely lovely.  Located only steps away from the Metolius River, it is a perfect staging area for my work.

Bea Armstrong has outlined an itinerary for my time in and around Bend.  Today,I will meet with Jeff Perin, owner of The Fly Fisher’s Place in Sisters, Oregon.  Jeff is an expert on the Metolius River and he will show me the lay of the land.

Jeff Perin, owner of the Fly Fisherman’s Place in Sisters, works with me on my roll cast as we attempt to stay clear of the bushes behind us.  His Golden, Paloma, swims in the water as we work the pool in front of us.  Jeff was kind enough to show me the Metolius.  Jeff has literally fly fished all over the world, yet has never grown tired of the river he calls home.  Jeff fishes the Metolius several times a week, generally after working hours in the evening.  His fly fishing business in Sisters, Oregon, is very demanding, but he always finds time to donate to the Deschutes River Conservancy.  It is easy for me to see why Jeff and others like him find the efforts of the DRC so very important.  The Metolius is one of the most cherished jewels in all of Oregon, if not the entire Pacific Northwest.

Icy cold waters rush over rocks in a blue hole in the river.

Beauty is around every turn as we hike along side the river.

Wearing waders, I can step out into water up to my knees, but the bluish holes are cut deep into the rock.  Some of these holes are better than twenty feet deep.

I have often said that inspiration is where you find it.  An artist learns to see with his eyes.  I mean really see.  Clouds take shape and reflect the colors of the earth below.  Water reflects sky and timber as it moves rapidly through eroded basalt.  Experiencing these things first hand leave an indelible thumbprint on the mind. I cannot explain it all that well in layman’s terms, but actually breathing the air at riverside, and seeing the movement of the water as it reflects the colors in the surrounding rock and sky above, will define the artwork that I create for this project.

The Metolious is one of the most beautiful places in all of Oregon.

I grew up in Oklahoma, where Sooner football rules the land and boys learn to fish in any water big enough to wet a line.  Most of the fishing memories from my youth include threading worms onto a hook or catching grasshoppers in an effort to tempt bluegills in the farm ponds where I fished with my grandfather. Bass fishing was a bit out of  reach for me. Our family did not own a boat, and my dad was never inclined to take up the sport of fishing himself.  Any bass that I caught were found on the pages of a book until I grew a bit older.  As a kid, I read every article on sport fishing that I could lay my hands on.  I did not pick up a fly rod until I was in my fifties.  Today, I am almost as passionate about fly fishing as I am about my art.

Paloma stands alert as Jeff watches over Sheryl’s shoulder.  Anyone who loves animals the way that Jeff loves his dog, is king in my book.

I used to dream of stepping outside my door onto beachfront property, or making my nest in a cabin perched high on an aspen-covered mountaintop overlooking a glacier fed lake below.  Maybe we’ve  shared some sort of dream before being jerked back into reality. Others actually live it.  Life has a way of moving forward even if childhood dreams seem to pass.  For most of us, being close to nature is what you make of it.  My neighbor takes the camper to the lake on holidays while his wife pulls the boat behind him. For me it means leaving the plains of Kansas as I make tracks for the mountains, fly rod in hand.  This is not exactly a step out the front door, but it works for me.  Trips like this excursion to Oregon are very special to me.

Occasionally, people seem a bit puzzled how I came to embrace the sport of fly fishing while hailing from a state that is better known for its waving wheat than bubbling brooks.  Perhaps it is because I never had a crystal clear mountain stream within a stone’s throw of where I grew up.  Our rivers tend to run a bit muddy and wide.  Just laying eyes on a river as purely beautiful as the Metolius, can only be described in words more often suited for a religious experience. Having the natural resources that Oregon has been so generously given is a treasure not to be taken for granted.

Here fishy fishy. (it should be so easy) This evening the hatch failed to appear and few trout could be scene rising on the water.

The occasional white water rushes over rocks.

The Metolius River is banked by Ponderosa Pines.

Good times and even better friends.  Tom & Martha meet  up with up Jeff Perin and his dog, Paloma,  along a hiking trail that parallels the Metolius River.

August 1, 2010

I sometimes wonder who reads these blogs anyway.  This is a diary of sorts, that I can reflect back on with fond memories of this adventure.  Along the way, Sheryl and I have met some really wonderful people, that I am not soon to forget.  People like our fishing guide, Matt Shinderman,Deep Canyon Outfitters; a funny guy when you get to know him.  You might not know it at first, but Matt is a very serious scientist, with his pulse on everything in the forest.  Jeff Perin, owner of The Fly Fisher’s Place in Sisters, has a truly dry wit, somewhat drier than the hackled flies that he chooses to fish with.  Jeff’s dog, Paloma, stole our hearts.  Our guide up on the Cascade Lakes, Scott Cook, owner of Fly & Field in Bend, is one of the nicest people that you will ever hope to meet.  Bea Armstrong, organizer supreme, managed to somehow cram in an eighty hour work week, while seeing to it that we had a good time and an educational experience in and around Bend.  Bea, if you read this, Thank you. You are a very special person.

We leave today, but first a little about yesterday’s adventures on the Crane Prairie Reservoir.

Crane Prairie Reservoir

Crain Prairie is beautiful at first light.

If you are looking for a bit more relaxing twist on fly fishing using nymphs and an indicator in nine to twelve feet of water, a good guide with a boat can get you there.  Big rainbows in the 18 to 20 inch size abound in the Cascade mountain lakes such as Crane Prairie.  There is so much food in the water that the trout grow big and lazy, seldom hitting the surface of the water where enorous hatches are clouding the air only inches above the water line.  These fish feed most of the year with little effort, some growing to enormous size.

Bea Armstrong, Marketing and Communications director of the Deschutes River Conservancy with a nice Rainbow on Crane Prairie Reservoir.

Scott Cook showed us around the reservoir on a guided fishing trip.

Like all of the guides that we experienced while in Bend, Scott donated his time to the DRC while showing us around.  There is a wonderful community of fishermen and naturalists anxious to give of their time and support their chosen sport of fly fishing.  The Deschutes River Conservancy does great work enhancing and protecting the very environment where these guides earn their living on a daily basis.

Next Stop continued in Part Three.  Park City Utah.

Fish averaging 16-18 inches are commonly caught from drift boats on the Green River.

I arrived in Dutch John, Utah the third weekend in June, looking for Big Daddy Brown and friends in the fabled tail waters of the Green River below Flaming Gorge Reservoir.  After leaving the flat lands of central Kansas in my rearview mirror, I drove hard for thirteen hours while crossing three states on a 935-mile marathon.  Catching a catnap in a truck stop, I showed up in Dutch John at sunup the following morning.

Located near the three corners of Wyoming, Colorado, and Utah, Dutch John would most likely cease to exist if not for a constant stream of vacationers using the lake, and an army of fly fishermen testing their skills below Flaming Gorge Reservoir.  Little bigger than two gas stations and a red light, Dutch John is a small isolated village, so remote, that you had best be going to Dutch John with an exacting purpose to ever want to end up there. It is the jumping off place for fly fisherman wanting to experience the crystal clear waters of the fabled Green.

Utah’s Green River is a Mecca for those who worship the dry fly. Okay. Okay. For those who wish to bounce a nymph, we won’t kick you out of the club, just yet. The Green will rightfully tempt you to become a fully initiated member of those among us, who fish hard and fish dry.  Seeing a mammoth brown slowly rise to the surface, opening his mouth and twisting his neck to devour your fly, puts a charge into your pants that you cannot get any other way.  Did I just say that fishing a dry fly on the Green is better than sex?  Almost.

What embodies the Green as such a storied tail water, is the incredible number of fish per mile and the absurd growth rates of these wild browns inhabiting the river.  This is due to the large amount of aquatic hatches and food available along its banks.  If you are ever lucky enough to fish the Green, don’t be surprised if most of the fish that stretch your line average sixteen inches or better.

That is why every summer throngs of fly fishermen, decked out in their fancy fishing duds, stand in the parking lot at Trout Creek Flies to talk shop before heading down to the water. If clothes could actually catch fish, Dutch John would be the place for a casual observer to write a book about it.  As if on command, a daily parade of noteworthy guides, towing drift boats, begin pulling into the parking lot of Trout Creek Flies, pausing just long enough to pick up these expectant anglers, who have been dreaming about monster browns in their sleep since before last Christmas.

Should you choose to fish and wade, without the advantage of a drift boat and the aid of a trained guide, the fellows inside Trout Creek Flies will tell you what flies the guides say are “hot,” and also give you the latest tips for catching fish.  There is easy access along the river while walking any of the six miles up the river trail from Little Hole to the dam. For those fishermen a bit more adventurous, this hike up the canyon offers a bit more solitude and waters less fished.  You can also take a left turn from the boat ramp at Little Hole and head down river to fish the B section of the river.  Either option offers a menu of incredible fishing.  Much further downstream from the B section, lies the most remote portion of the river, accessible primarily by drift boat.  The C-section of the river carries with it all the lore of days gone by and Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.  It is in this three-corner area of Utah, Wyoming, and Colorado that the outlaw gang made history by outrunning lawmen from the three adjoining states.  The fishing on the C is said to be a bit slower than the A or B sections of the river, but it is also rumored that the lower portion of the river is where monsters lurk.

Most betting men would pick mid to late June to fly fish the Green because of the massive Cicada hatches that can turn June from a truly good fishing month into one of epic proportions. It is the big terrestrials that the browns gorge themselves on all summer that makes the Green such an extreme dry fly destination.  Combine the quality of available terrestrial insects with the large aquatic hatches that appear on the river during the heat of summer, and the Green comes alive with bugs.

I fished the banks using hoppers, ants, and black crickets.

This year proved a little different.  The cool and damp weather before my arrival had not only slowed any hope of the usual appearance of the cicada onslaught, but few if any notable bug hatches had yet to appear on the river to date.  I found guides standing in small circles praying to the bug gods for warmer days.  Some went as far as to announce that the cicadas would stay in the ground for another year.  Was I in Utah?   This was the first official day of summer and the locals seemed almost ecstatic to see a ray of sunshine overhead, instead of viewing a constant threat of rain.  The damper weather had combined with an early snowmelt, which had resulted in much higher than normal water tables in the lake.  The high lake water resulted in fluctuating amounts of water to be discharged down stream from the dam.  Things weren’t running like a Swiss watch.  This irritated the guides and the lack of bugs seemed to weigh on everyone’s psyche.  I asked myself, “Would there still be fish in the river?”

Although few aquatic hatches were actually happening on the river itself, these fish seem to thrive on ants, crickets, and hoppers along its banks.  Fishermen were beginning to take big browns in good numbers, even if not in the epic proportions of past memories.  The fish were there.  Many of the bugs were simply on vacation.  The only difference seemed that the fly shops were pushing different insect patterns rather than the typical cicada, and without a specified hatch, the guides found themselves searching for a silver bullet in their arsenal of ammunition.

By now, you may find yourself scratching your head and asking what is the big deal about the Cicada hatch on the Green.  These noisy critters are large, clunky, and often overlooked by fly fishermen.  When these bug-eyed creatures crawl out of the ground in summer the trees come alive with a cacophony noise up and down the river.  Cicadas cannot fly very well and their futile attempts at flight result in crashes into the river.  The cicada hatch makes for an ongoing buffet for the trout as long as it lasts.  Generally, that is from the middle of June through early July.

I had reserved a guide with Spinner Fall Guide Service out of Dutch John.  I came to learn the hard way that it is best to book early when fishing the Green.  Many slots were no longer available by the time I picked up the phone in early April.  Hey dude, why get into a hurry?  I had originally planned to partake in two days of guided trips on the river, but was only able to schedule one float during the week that I was to be in Dutch John.  I got the last available slot with Spinner Fall Guide Service for a one-day gig fishing both the A and B sections of the river.  Lucky me!

My guide was a fellow named Jeromey with a quirky personality as big as the state of Utah and as twisted as all of Wyoming.  Best of all, Jeromey loved to fish hard.  It was the extreme skiing of northern Utah that had first lured Jeromey away from his home state of Maine.  Migrating to Park City in the mid 90’s, Jeromey found guiding to his liking during the summers when he wasn’t on the slopes.  Jeromey seems to approach fishing with the same degree of extreme intensity that he attacks fresh powder. I often say that life is full of priorities, and Jeromey has found his.  He works as a bartender at night so that he can ski all day.  Once the snow finally melts, Jeromey calls the rivers from Park City to Dutch John his home.  I believe that no one can upstage Jeromey’s intensity on the river.  He has worked as a professional fly fishing guide the past fifteen years and knows the Green like the back of his hand.  I was not to be disappointed.

The A section of the river flows through a beautiful red rock canyon.

The first thing Jeromey told me as he crawled behind the wheel and we drove to the launch, was that there was no Cicada hatch and not to worry.  We might not find a lot of suicide fish willing to eat anything that hit the water, and we might actually have to work hard to catch fish.  But we would catch fish.  He promised me at least twenty-five “eats,” and the rest was up to me.  Jeromey had every intention of putting me in the right drift where the fish were patiently waiting for dinner to come floating by.  As he properly stated, “Fish have to eat.  It is all about making it look totally natural and fooling the fish.”  He took his philosophy a step further.  There had been few aquatic hatches on the river, but, as always, there was an abundance of terrestrials for the fish to feed on.  Jeromey explained that many of the guides would fish the banks where crickets, ants, and hoppers might easily fall into the water.    So, he posed the question, “What happens to that cricket or beetle that makes it far enough to eventually be washed down stream?”  Eventually those land-loving insects find themselves in the middle of the river.  That is where we fished much of the time, and Jeromey’s thinking was spot on.

It did not take us long to get our first four eats, and I brought four nice browns to the net.  I knew that my average was too good to be true and the next several fish got the better of me, as I totally missed setting the hook.  The important thing was that Jeromey was putting me onto the fish.  So what if the Cicada hatch had just totally rained on our parade.  It may be rumored that a blind man can catch trout on a dry fly when the Cicada hatch is at its peak on the Green River, but that was water already under the dam as far as Jeromey was concerned and we were here to catch fish.  What other river provides such an opportunity with 25,000 fish per nautical mile?  We were here on this given day and Jeromey had just promised me twenty-five eats. I did not question his methods, as Jeromey delivered on his promise.

We floated sixteen miles that day, while fishing hard.  Jeromey never let up. Then he almost apologized as we pulled in at the end of a very long day.  It was not the best of days for the Green in June, but a bad day on the Green is all in the eye of the beholder.  I thought the fishing was great. No, not epic, but hard to beat anywhere else in the lower 48.  I can see where it would be easy to become a bit jaded when you are a dyed-in-the-wool guide on the Green.  The fishing can truly be that good at times. My experience was great.  No, there were not fish feeding on the surface everywhere around us.  There were no suicide fish looking to become immortal.   In fact, few surfacing feeder fish showed their faces at all.  This was a day for good fishermen, and those not so good, to fish hard and show their metal on a river that gives up to those who deserve their just reward.

My hat is off to Jeromey.  He is one cool cucumber, who is doing exactly what he loves to do.  Life simply does not get any better than that.

The B section of the Green.

For more information on Spinner Fall Guide Service, visit Spinnerfall.com.

Fly Fish Utah is a new painting by Larry Stephenson.  It is the fourth in a series of vintage license plates heralding the great fly fishing of the western mountain states.  View this and other fun art at WWW.LSTEPHENSON.COM.  Prints are available for order.

The third in a series of paintings by Larry Stephenson, watercolor artist, of antique license plates romancing the sport of fly fishing, Washington on the Fly, depicts four steelhead flies casting a long shadow.  For many who have ever swung a fly in the larger rivers of the Pacific Northwest, the two-handed spey rod cements the moment.  The vintage plate is the artist’s own creation.  The 6000 series reel is among the latest offerings from Sage .

Other fly fishing license plates include Fly Fish Wyoming and Fly Fish Montana. Soon to come are the states of Oregon and Utah, with Utah currently on the artist’s drawing board.

This new image, Fly Fish Montana, by Larry Stephenson, watercolor artist, is currently featured on Midcurrent.com, a great place to get up-to-date Fly-Fishing Gear, Tips, and News. This original watercolor painting is available as a high quality archival reproduction, each signed and numbered by the artist. It one of several new Larry Stephenson paintings featuring the theme of fly fishing and old license plates of the mountain states located in the American west. Midcurrent is a great blog and newsletter for the ingrained angler looking for the path less traveled by the average fisherman. Why do it the easy way when you can fly fish? The fly fisherman knows about going the extra mile. For me it is more about being there and experiencing the moment, than it is about catching fish. That is not to say that experienced fly fishermen don’t catch their share of fish. They do. Fly fishing is about much more than baiting a hook. A fly fisherman learns to check water temperatures and match the hatch. It is about casting that perfect tight loop while learning to allow the rod to do the work rather than just thrashing air. Casting a weighted line and a whisper of a fly takes the patience and perfect timing that comes from hours of practice. There is an art to taming nine feet of tapered bamboo or teaching a shaft of highly engineered carbon and epoxy to know its master. The best things in life never come easy, but the rewards can be priceless. Life is good.

A few years ago I began doing a few art shows each summer in the Pacific Northwest.  I wanted to see more of that part of the country and experience all that Washington and Oregon have to offer.  Seeing the country and experiencing its people is a perk that comes with being a professional artist.  I like to travel.  My job requires that I transport my large paintings with me when ever I go to an art fair.  I drive a large Dodge Sprinter Van which can easily hold paintings in excess of five feet wide.   These vans drive like a dream and are tall enough for my six foot frame to stand up inside.   Last year I got the notion to build a bunk in the back of the van.  This allowed me the freedom to stop and camp in federal campsites and fly fish along the way to Portland, Oregon.  If I am not painting or showing my artwork, I am probably fishing.  Don’t get me wrong.  I love all the amenities of a nice hotel room, but I find camping and fly fishing a relaxing change of pace.

I planned plenty of time to allow for some choice fly fishing as I made my way out to Oregon.  Some might say that it is hard to find a better tailwater fishery than below the Flaming Gorge dam in northeastern Utah.  I camped and fished the Green for days on end before picking my way up through Wyoming and on out to Oregon.  My final fishing destination before business in Portland, was Maupin, Oregon and the Deschutes River.  I had never fished the Deschutes and casting a fly onto such heralded waters was my main excuse for my long journey northwest.  I was not disappointed.  In fact, I fell in love with the place.  Oregon was all that I could talk about when I got back home in Kansas.  Need I say that there is not much in the way of fly fishing for trout in the flatlands of the Jayhawk state.

I do not claim to be any kind of an expert fly fisherman.  I have been a fisherman all of my life, but fly fishing is something that I took up later in life.  I like the challenge and am still learning every chance I get.  It is a gentlemen’s sport, as much about being out of doors as it is about tricking a fish into eating a fly.  I have fished some of the nicest waters to ever wet a fly west of Kansas.  Sheryl and I have a son living in Aspen.  I enjoy the swift mountain rivers outside of Aspen every chance I get.   The Frying Pan and Roaring Fork are gold medal streams always worth the ten hour drive west from Wichita.  I have spent ample time on the Snake in Wyoming and its beauty is unsurpassed inside Teton National Park.  But the high desert and volcanic geology of the Deschutes is unique.

This is why I was quite honored to be asked by the Deschutes River Conservancy www.deschutesriver.org to provide an image to be used for marketing this year’s Tight Lines Auction.  The Deschutes River Conservancy helps to monitor the flow of the river and improve the efficiency of water used for irrigation purposes.  It is this shared water management between all parties that guarantees the future health of the Deschutes River and its area basin.  This is not an easy task in the far reaching western states where water is as valuable as gold.  After visiting the beautiful Deschutes River last year, I can think of no other group I would rather be involved in supporting with the use of my artwork.  My painting, “Mostly Lies” will be used on posters, coffee mugs and t-shirts to promote this year’s Tight Lines fund raising event.

Travis Johnson with a “storied” monster in my painting, “Mostly Lies.”

The locals all know Travis Johnson as a professional fishing guide at Deschutes Angler in Maupin, Oregon.  Travis was my guide last year while Steelhead fishing on the lower Deschutes.  That is Travis with a “storied” fish that is bigger than he is (all my doing.)   Such stories may be commonplace among fishing circles; although not as exaggerated as my painting might suggest.  I pushed the limits of the envelope a wee bit, but most fishermen are born liars.  Travis was my model for this surreal wrestling match between fish and man.  He just did not know it at the time.  Travis has been fishing the Deschutes since he was a young lad and his stories are all  true as best I know.  In fact, you cannot go wrong with any of the guide services from Deschutes Angler.   They are a top notch group with a working knowledge of the river that is as good as it gets.

Should you wish to learn more about the Deschutes River Conservancy, visit their website www.deschutesriver.org.

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