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….

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.

Between Bend and Salem, July 15, 2010

Leaving on an eight week tour of the Western Mountain States may not be everyone’s cup of tea, but it is one of the perks of the job where I am concerned. I look forward to breathing fresh mountain air and testing my fly fishing skills in between art shows in the Pacific Northwest. In addition to Oregon and Washington, the states of Utah, Wyoming, and Idaho, offer not only an opportunity to sell my wares, but new adventures around every curve of the road. I often count my blessings for marrying well, since Sheryl unselfishly allows me this time away from home. Traveling and experiencing new things is important, and Sheryl understands me better than anyone.

Every Fall I come home to the studio with my head jammed full of fresh ideas for new paintings that are gathered during my summers on the road. These trips stimulate my thinking and give me a fresh understanding of the complicated world that surrounds me. In this way, my inner spring is rewound and recharged for the long winters that are spent in the studio creating my art.

Connecting with nature both soothes the soul and relaxes the brain in such a way to remind me that my glass is always half full. I believe this type of thinking is essential for my type of artwork. There is no better place to experience the raw elements of nature first hand than the American West. We are fortunate to live in a country that has preserved national forests and park lands for us to enjoy today.

I initiated my trip west, leaving the plains of Kansas, as a distant memory for the following eight weeks on the road. In two days I covered enough ground to cross through Colorado, Wyoming, Utah, and Idaho, on my route to Bend, Oregon where I spent a glorious evening with our old friends, Tom and Martha Marple. Martha is a creative soul with a twisted sense of humor that I always enjoy. Tom and I have been friends since the days when he and Martha lived in Wichita over a decade ago. Together, we used to help feed the homeless. This was Tom’s idea and I always admired his ability to find time to lend a helping hand to others. It was fun catching up on old times and visiting their beautiful home in Bend, Oregon. The next morning I drove to Salem, my first show of six art fairs on my eight-week tour. If you are game, follow along as I attempt to tell my story in real time. Realize that posts will be made as time allows and only as Internet connections become available.

The Salem Art Fair. July 16-18.

Forget the constant humming from cruising highway traffic or the ringing of noise pollution in your ears. It is hard to believe that this almost quiet Pacific Northwestern town is the capital of Oregon. Salem is host to the art fair that I am doing this weekend. It is not a big city by any stretch of the imagination. The show is located in a city park under enormous oak trees and piercing conifers that tower well over a hundred feet into the sky. My booth is so well shaded that I could welcome the bit of warmth that a brief glimmer of sunlight might deliver below the canopy of trees. Temperatures have hovered in the 60’s and 70’s most of the days during the show (Sheryl reports that is 102 degrees at home in Kansas). The weather could not be better and I have yet to see a single cloud in the sky. I cannot say that this art fair is among the best selling shows that I have done this summer, but it is well attended and beautifully organized.

Next week I am participating in the Bellevue Museum Art Fair in Bellevue, Washington. The Bellevue Museum show is commonly recognized as one of the better art fairs in the Pacific Northwest. This will be my third year in a row to do the Bellevue show.

Tomorrow, I will fly fish with my friend, Dennis Viene, from Eugene. Dennis is a psychologist and his wife, Caroline, is a jeweler also showing in Salem. We plan on fishing a stretch of the Middle Willamette.

Thursday, July 22

I drove into Bellevue, Washington last night after spending two glorious days in the home of friends, Dennis and Caroline Viene. Dennis and I fly fished in the Cascades on Tuesday, and I took Wednesday off to do some banking and catch up on a few odds and ends in between shows. Today, I set up for the Bellevue, Museum show later this evening. Sheryl, (the love of my life), will fly into Seattle to join me tomorrow afternoon. I must say that I cannot wait to see her. I cope rather well by myself on the road, but I miss family and my two dogs. Okay, I miss kitty, too. Friends are house sitting while Sheryl is here with me. I am sure that our puppy, Dude, who is now 82 pounds, will keep things lively at home.

The weather has been great in the Pacific Northwest, and the scenery is here for the taking. Today, will be a bit overcast with a high of 68 degrees. I will take it, as the rest of the country bakes in an  unrelenting heat wave stretching coast to coast. Most days did not have a cloud in the sky while I was in Oregon.

Never a boring moment at the fair.  Street performers add to the fun.

The Bellevue Museum show starts tomorrow morning. There will be three art shows running concurrently in the downtown area.  The Seattle area is a long drive from Kansas, but the rewards are great in many ways. I have gotten a golden taste of American grandeur, forested mountains, and carpeted green valleys, so lush that words cannot adequately describe  the beauty of the landscape as I travel between art fairs. I am definitely not in Kansas anymore. The trip has already been a chance to catch up with old friends and new friends alike. I will stay again, with close friends Tom and Martha later in my journey, as I return to Bend to do the Bend art fair in late August. My new friends, Dennis and Caroline, already feel like family.  More on the Bellevue show after it starts in the morning.

My Booth. The big rainbow trout on top of a Rambler station wagon tells a fish story that is bigger than life, but pales in comparison to many an angler’s tale.  I sold a boat load of the smaller framed reproductions of this image in an 11 x 14 size that makes a perfect gift for any fisherman.

Bellevue Art Museum Art Fair. Saturday, July 24

Friday kicked off the fair.  The weather was great with another sunny day expected today.  The crowds were good for a Friday.  I stayed busy most of the day talking to customers, although my own sales were not as stellar as I might have liked.  I had a lot of interest and hope today is a bit more fruitful.  In talking with other artist I cannot help but notice a bit of underlying uncertainty that has been brought on by this lingering bump in the economy.  As the recession drags on, customers seem less likely to make major purchases at art fairs.  It is definitely not the good ole days of yesteryear. This is not a business for whiners.  Like many areas of the economy these days, it is best to look at your glass half full and plan for better days ahead. That said,” it should be so easy” for many of the struggling artists at these fairs.  I cannot help but feel the pain of acquaintances and friends alike who are affected by this economic downturn through no fault of their own.

Sunday, July 25

I love the pastel drawings by Michael Wommack.

Yesterday was another bluebird day at the art fair.  The crowds rolled in like clockwork and the show had all the usual trimmings one would expect to find at an art fair.  Weird street performers moved through the crowds making odd noises as people gathered in booths to view the artist’s latest offerings.  Musicians played and danced, adding to the fun that patrons have come to expect from a top notch show of Bellevue’s caliber.  I cannot say that sales were brisk overall, but I experienced a reasonably good day, and enjoyed the atmosphere of the being in the Pacific Northwest.   It was also nice to see the cream rise to the top.  My friend, Michael Wommack, sold his biggest and most impressive piece that he brought with him from Philadelphia.  Michael’s work is simply off the charts.  It is truly spectacular.  This goes to show that even in a down economy, artists can still meet up with patrons who support the arts.

Today, is the last day of the fair.  Tomorrow we are off to Bend, Oregon for a week of fly fishing.

July 26

STREET PERFORMERS bang out somewhat musical notes on their heads, chests and knees.

The show finished with a bang!  Good sales all day on Sunday.  We are off this morning to visit Rainier National Park as we travel south to Bend, Oregon for a week of fly fishing.  I have a nice group of pictures from the show that I will post in this article as I get time. The trout are calling!

Mt. Rainier. We traveled a little out of the way on our journey south from Seattle, Washington to Camp Sherman,Oregon,  to take in the view at Mt. Rainier National Park.

July 27

The Deschutes River Conservancy

One of the nicest things about traveling around the country while doing art fairs, is that I can actually plan a schedule where I combine a little bit of business with pleasure.  Today, I will meet with Bea Armstrong, Director of Development and Communications for the Deschutes River Conservancy. I will spend the next week visiting locations in the Deschutes Basin developing ideas for future artworks to be used in marketing and  fund raising projects for the conservancy.  Bea has been kind enough to schedule three days with professional area fishing guides to show me the lay of the land.  Might I actually get to wet a line while seriously giving this my finest work efforts? You betcha!  That is the plan.  This is a fact finding mission.  I will gather photographs and ideas, which later, will be put to paper in the studio this winter.  My wife, Sheryl, and I will be staying in a spectacular  cabin in Camp Sherman, on the Metolious River, graciously provided by John Regan for our project.  As I sit here before daylight, writing this epistle, words escape me in describing how nice this rustic setting truly is.   I am hoping to get out with John on Wednesday to explore the Metolious River and learn more about it.   I understand, from my own research, that the Metolious offers a unique challenge for any serious would-be fly fisherman.  More on that later.  CONTINUED IN ROAD TRIP PART TWO.

We recently got news that some of our good friends had relocated in Bend, Oregon.  Tom and Martha became close friends when he headed up the office of OSHA  for the state of Kansas and lived here in Wichita.  Tom later transferred to a bigger job in Washington, D.C.,  where he worked inside government until retirement.  After retiring, he and Martha moved to Colorado where they made a home for themselves.  We have a son living in Aspen.  It is not hard to understand why anyone could be lured to live in the Rocky Mountain state.  I understood why they never wanted to move back to the Jayhawk state.  Kansas really was just a stopping off place in a long government career.  Tom and Martha have made close friends every place that they have been along the way.  But we missed them.  From my own, selfish perspective, their recent move to Bend, Oregon is a great one.  That, is, because I would like no better than to retire to Oregon, myself, when the  time comes.

I was out in Oregon for the first time last summer when I visited artist friends, Randy and Lyn Sedlak-Ford in Portland.   I have know these two working artists for about a dozen years now.  Randy and Lyn are a husband and wife team who built a lovely home from the ground up, and paid  as they went along.  Hardwood floors flow throughout their home; the wood was taken from trees cut and milled by Lyn’s father and brothers in Ohio.  There is a unique artist thumbprint stamped into the interior of the house.  When I first met the couple in Oklahoma City, I was taken by Randy’s sense of humor and his outgoing love of life.  Nothing ever ruffled his feathers, and each day became something new to explore.  I often wondered why it was that someone would live in the far northwestern portion of the country, and then travel 1600 miles east to do art fairs for a living.  Visiting Portland, and a few other select communities in the  Pacific Northwest, gave me my answer.

The air is clear and tall trees pierce the sky.  Scattered volcanic mountains, capped with snow, keep watch over the high desert at night.  Crystal clear glacier-fed rivers traverse the state.  And the people?  Well, I will tell you about the people I have met in Oregon.  There is an untamed spirit to the people who live in Oregon.  They are much more accepting of others and carry an open mind on their shoulders.  That cannot go unnoticed by this liberally minded artist who currently hails from Kansas.  I am not going to do a round of Kansas bashing, but it takes a degree of patience to live here and get along with fellow Kansans who prefer that we think  alike.  Thinking outside of the box is better seen in advertisements for children’s crayons than a state of mind.   So dreaming of retirement in a much more liberal environment is not so strange for those of us willing to color outside of the lines.

A few years back I began to restructure my art business around mixing  business with fun. I wanted to travel and see more of  the west.  It was a big step for me.  What were these far off, most western states, that I had heard about most all of my life, but seldom visited?  Traveling to the tip of Florida was not uncommon and made perfect sense when attending an established art show that draws crowds to support sales.  But Oregon and Washington state, were after all, a longgggggg way away from the flatlands of Kansas.  From a business standpoint why would I want to spend an extra week on the road to do an art fair that no one but those in the Pacific Northwest knew anything about?   I might travel all that way and not sell jack?  It is a business after all, and businesses like mine are generally sales driven. Sheryl wasn’t thrilled about it because I was away from home more days out of the year, and mowing the lawn became her responsibility when I missed a weekend at home.   There were not many pluses in the plus column for adding days away from home on the road.  Such decisions about where and when I travel would have been made much more easily for me if I were in a position to fly with my work to a given destination.  Why had I not decided on making jewelry as my craft, rather than lugging large framed paintings coast to coast?  My friend, Caroline Viene, lives in Eugene, Oregon with her husband Dennis.  Caroline makes lovely contemporary jewelry and simply boards a fast plane anywhere that she chooses when doing art shows.  Check her out at WWW.CAROLINEVIENE.COM.

I have chosen the life that I live and I would not change a thing.  One of the biggest advantages about being a successful working artist is the freedom that it provides.  I could choose to sell my art through galleries and stay inside the studio much more of the time.  But I like the idea of working all winter and setting sail in the spring and summer to sell my wares.  Visiting exciting new ports along the way is the spice of life.  Getting the opportunity last summer to participate in Art In The Pearl in Portland was a special treat.  It was actually my second trip  in so many months to the Pacific Northwest.  I had been in Bellevue, Washington a month earlier for a show.   Each long trip is accompanied with its own set of pleasures along the way.  A fly fishing trip on the Yak in the orchard state is a great reward for driving the distance to do a show.

A 20 inch rainbow taken on a dry fly on the Yakima River.

Both Washington and Oregon are beautiful places I look to visit more often.  I have fished the Yakima twice now, and spent a week on the Deschutes last summer.  I do not overlook the other good streams that I cross on my journeys westward.  I managed two trips to the Green River in Utah last summer.  Then there are the Roaring Fork and Frying Pan outside Aspen. (son Reese lives in Aspen) I ask, who could resist such a trip?  That said, none of it would be possible without the most understanding wife in the world.   Thank you Sheryl, for your patience and understanding.  Marrying Sheryl was the best thing I ever did.

A nice sea run steelhead rainbow trout brought to hand on the Deschutes River outside, Maupin, Oregon.

I ask.  Could it get any better than this?

Okay, so I have a blog.  I am not always sure who reads any of this stuff anyway.  I guess that means that I can write about anything that I want.  Sometimes I may just be entertaining myself while having my morning coffee, or making a short note that I may want to come back to years from now.  This blog is for me.   Sure, blogs are a great marketing tool, to say the least.  Once in a while I even hook up with someone who might not have known anything about my artwork had I not taken the time to write about it on the internet.  Blogs are also a great educational tool for those ferreting out specific information, like how to paint a watercolor.  Just check out my step by step approach in one of my blogs.   But for you dog lovers out there, this one is for us.  It is my special way of recording those puppy years that come and go all too quickly. Dude and Lexi snuggle together. I cannot help but wonder about what appears as true love.  Lexi is the most patient mentor figure to ever come down the pike.  Dude is a premeditating little monster with razor sharp spiked teeth.  Yet, Lexi simply humors him and then snuggles up on his little bed instead of her own.

Lexi and Dude in the field, January 16, 2009. This day will disappear from memory too soon.  Lexi is a 60 pound female eight year old Lab.  Dude is still growing into those big paws of his.  It will not be long before he dwarfs Lexi.  This winter has been brutal.  Up until today, we still had unmelted snow drifts on the lawn that blew in Christmas eve.  For three weeks now the sun has refused to shine for any length of time.  This morning a damp fog hovered against the asphalt as we took off on a morning walk.  Dude has been walking on a leash for some time now.  We love to take Dude and Lexi up the street to an open field where they can play and exercise between a pair of lakes.  Dude will sit on the ground and track the  flights of ducks and geese with his eyes.  It is almost like he is spell bound by the sound of their wing beats as they travel closely overhead.  Waterfowl are on our lakes in great numbers during these winter months.

Sheryl keeps a watchful eye as the dogs run together in the field.  They are unleashed and running free for the moment.  Dogs have always been a big part of our family lives together, but Dude and Lexi are special.  Lexi was a gift from heaven when she was given to us by our son, Reese, seven years ago.  Reese did a wonderful job of training her.  There is absolutely no need for Lexi to ever walk on a leash other than the fact that local ordinances require all dogs to be on a leash.  In the field Lexi  is an unleashed extension of myself.  Her loving personality allows her to get along with every walk of life including other dogs.  I have never known her to fight with any animal unprovoked.   We are hoping that Lexi will be the perfect mentor for Dude.  When we found Dude through Blackfork Labs in Southeastern Oklahoma, we were looking for a litter bred for temperament.   Labs have the ability to learn quickly and can be taught to do almost anything.  A responsible Lab owner can easily train a Lab the proper behavior around people and other animals.  But it always helps to have the genes for special behavioral talents bred into the dogs through the careful eyes of a qualified breeder.  Dude comes from a championship line of Labradors on both sides of the family tree.  Most importantly the match was chosen to produce puppies of a loving nature with personalities to match.

But never be fooled into thinking that puppies will not go through the normal puppy stages while growing into adulthood.  They will always chew, and nip, and get into everything in sight.  That is simply  part of being a puppy.  Their little minds begin growing at a very early age.  Every new experience is an additional wrinkle in a brain that will someday become the dog you want to get to know.

These are a few pictures of fishing moments along the way.  When I am not painting, I love to find the time to wet a line.

Reese provided a family get together in the Bahamas on our 35th wedding anniversary.

Reese on his boat.

Sheryl and I fishing for black drum in Galveston Bay after the Houston show in May 2009.

FISHING FOR RED FISH AFTER THE HOUSTON SHOW IN OCTOBER 2008.

A NICE RAINBOW TAKEN ON A DRY FLY ON THE YAKIMA WHILE TRAVELING TO SEATTLE FOR THE BELLEVUE ART FAIR JULY 2009.

SHERYL FLY FISHING ON THE SNAKE RIVER OUTSIDE JACKSON HOLE, WYOMING AUGUST 2008. Jackson has a small art fair that provides the perfect excuse for combining a vacation with a weekend’s work.  If you ever go, check out Jack Dennis as a guide service.  Our favorite guide is Mark Fuller, a senior guide for Jack Dennis Sports.

REESE ON THE RIVER. Son, Reese lives in Aspen and enjoys whitewater rafting.  I love to stop in for a visit whenever I am traveling west.  The Roaring Fork and Frying Pan are gold medal trout streams outside of Aspen.

CULLEN ENJOYS A MOMENT AT SEA.

A NICE KING. Our boat hand was a professional fisherman who made his living by selling fish to the island natives.  We kept this fish, and others for Allen to sell in his local fish market.  While we caught our fish on rod and reel, Allen preferred a heavy hand line and a big baited hook without the aid of either rod or reel.  We would sometimes go out to the reef where we would catch smaller fish that Allen would attach to his giant hook and line in an attempt to lure monsters from the deep.

THIS IS A GOOD PICTURE OF OUR GUIDE MARK FULLER WHILE FISHING IN JACKSON HOLE. There is nothing special about the fish.  It is a native cutthroat, typical of the fish we catch on the snake.  Sheryl and I have fished with Mark several times and he works his tail off to find fish and provide a good day’s entertainment.  I have caught bigger fish in other places, but there is something special about the Snake River and the mountain range inside Teton National Park.

28 INCH STEELHEAD CAUGHT SWINGING FLIES ON THE DESCHUTES RIVER, MAUPIN, OREGON SEPTEMBER 2009. If you are interested in learning to fly fish with a spey rod or simply looking to stalk steelhead on the Deschutes, Deschutes Angler offers a great guide service.  I traveled out to Oregon to do the Art In The Pearl Art Fair in Portland and fished along the way.  Other stops included fishing for browns on the Green in Utah below Flaming Gorge Reservoir.

Blackened redfish for dinner.

This photo was taken several years ago on the Texas coast.  Several if us artists got together and spent a few days kicking back in Port Aransas.   We stayed in budget housing at the Double Barr Cottages.   Part of the fun is cooking in the kitchen and fixing fresh sea food.

Reese and his monster from the deep.

Bo and his trigger fish.

The island natives in the Bahamas say these fish are great eating.

READY FOR BIG GAME?

This colorful group of blue water rigs caught my eye.

FLOUNDER FOR DINNER.

I generally believe in catch and release.  It is more about the sport and being out on the water than taking home fish.  I was on my way to Atlanta for an art show and had a few days to kill along the way.  I arranged for a guided fishing trip outside of New Orleans along the way.  We were fishing for Reds and saw plenty of wildlife including the occasional alligator visiting us boat side.  I hooked up with this flounder towards the end of the day and gave it to my guide for dinner that night.  Flounders are considered great eating by most folks in the know.  These locals were no different.

The last steelhead. As darkness engulfed the river, I brought to hand the final steelhead of the day.  A great day swinging flies on the Deschutes!

HOPE TOWN.

We are standing beside Reese’s boat.  That is the Hope Town lighthouse in the background. We are in the Abaco Islands of the Bahamas.

FISH ON!

Mom gets into the action. Sheryl loves to fish.  This one will be all that she can handle.  The reel in the lower right is as big as she is.

The Last Fish of the Day!   Maupin, Oregon 2009

Some day I will come back and look at this collection of photographs with fond memories of times and places, friends, and family, and fish caught and released.  None of these memories may mean more to me than a day on the Deschutes stalking steelhead with my guide, Travis Johnson from Deschutes Angler.  It was a long day that began at 4:00 in the morning and ended at sundown.  I know that Travis does this two thirds of the days out of a year.  No one angler will make a dent in his memory because Travis takes it all in stride while giving each day the best that he has to offer.  He may never know the impact he made on me, or just how much I learned in that single day’s stretch of fishing.  After all, that is what guiding is all about.  I only wish that I had deeper pockets that would have  allowed me to double my tip at the end of one of the finest days of fishing I have ever experienced.  That day on the Deschutes will live on with me until I die.  Thank you Travis, and keep a tight line.

“Mostly Lies”  watercolor on paper

For the record, I make my living as an artist.  My number one goal in life is to paint a few good paintings and have a hell of a lot of fun doing it.  For that very reason I am fortunate enough to occasionally combine work with pleasure.  My recent trip to the Deschutes was just one of those memorable occasions that come along not often enough in a lifetime of following both passions and dreams.  I make no claims about my fishing prowess or my ability to write a story.  What I do claim is the knowledge of observation that has come through the trial and error of painting and drawing what I see.  What follows is my personal take on stalking steelhead.

It was early September and already record numbers of Steelhead were swimming up the lower Deschutes.  I had never fished for Steelhead with a fly and I was up for a change of routine.  I had arrived in Maupin thinking that I would spend a few days casting dry flies for trout in my attempt at fooling the occasional suicide fish that comes my way.  But the excitement in the air was all about Steelhead.

As if the challenge of catching a sea-run trout was not already difficult enough, the White River had dislodged a glacial dam on Mount Hood and had silted the river into a chalky soup from where it entered the Deschutes all the way to the Columbia.  The scuttlebutt in the local diner was that steelhead were already upstream in good numbers; however, they could not see the flies being swung their way.  Few anglers were catching fish.

For those who have never fished the northwest, the Deschutes is a great trout river.  The salmon fly hatch in late spring is worth a trip alone.  But beginning in early August the guides begin to turn their attention to Steelhead as these fish swim up the Columbia and take a right turn into the Deschutes.  These are bright silver sea-run rainbows returning from a year in the Pacific Ocean.  For the locals Steelheading is about as big as it gets.  You may cast all day and catch only a single fish; yet the ride is worth the price of admission.   You can just as easily cast all day and catch nothing.

So, why do so many anglers make the pilgrimage to the banks of the Deschutes each fall?  It is like a drug.  There is something addictive about the thrill of a smoking drag and a bent rod that penetrates the blood.  You understand after you catch your first steelhead and become a member of the club.  These fish hit the fly with enough force to jerk the rod right out of your hand.  Steelheading is the perfect test for the highly advertised drag on that favorite reel of yours.  You may have paid a king’s ransom to have that drag, so don’t be afraid to use it.  Pound for pound Steelhead fresh from the sea are in a class by themselves.   They are stubborn, unpredictable, and plain mean, though not necessarily in that order.

Our day began long before sunrise when we met in the parking lot of the Deschutes Anglers.  At 4:30 in the morning I slouched into the passenger’s seat of the truck, coffee in hand, not knowing what the day would bring.  Our jumping off point was a twenty-minute ride down river from the booming metropolis of Maupin, Oregon.  Maupin is a small burg.  I am guessing around 300 people when the summer tourists leave for the winter.  The big attraction is white water rafting and if you show up during the summer months be prepared for big weekend crowds, lot’s of suds, and happy campers.   Maupin is located south of the Columbia River valley in northwestern Oregon’s high desert.  The Deschutes is fed by glacial flow from Mount Hood and empties into the Columbia River system.  Steelhead frequent the Deschutes on their return home from the Pacific Ocean to spawn.

Our goal was to be in place and ready to cast the first fly at sunup.  I had never fished for steelhead with a fly and I was anxious to get my feet wet.  After a short drive through the adjoining Indian reservation we launched our drift boat near a place called Mack’s Canyon.  It was still the dead of night with only moonlight to guide us.  We journeyed down river through towering canyon walls comprised of angular volcanic basalt.  My guide, Travis Johnson, of Deschutes Angler, seemed to know every twist and turn of the river.  He told me that he had done this when he could not see his hand in front of his face.  I took him at his word.  Travis had grown up on the river and had caught his first steelhead at the age of fourteen.   After graduating college as an engineer, Travis had worked a short time at engineering before following his true passion for fishing.

We took a brief float down river before drifting into shore.  Travis told me to get out of the boat on the landside of the boat.  He explained that there was a small rock shelf for me to step out on with a rather steep drop off on the opposite side.  The geology of the Deschutes, like most of the topography of southern Washington and northern Oregon, was heavily influenced by erupting volcanic activity.  The riverbed is full of deep holes, drop-offs, and shelves as uneven as the surrounding landscape that was formed by flowing lava long before the river cut its path through the canyon.  Travis seemed as much at home explaining the geology and neighboring fauna as he was at ease about teaching me to fish for steelhead.  This made for an interesting day for both of us.  The word Renaissance man came to mind.

After wading ashore we waited for the first glimmer of sunlight to show its face. The best times for steelheading are early morning and late evening when direct sunshine is off the water.  Although fishermen use drift boats to access the best fishing in the river, anglers do not fish from boats while on the Deschutes.  Drift fishing is not allowed.  Our fishing was done wading through hip-deep water two steps at a time swinging flies. I call it the steelhead two-step.

Travis provided me with a thirteen-foot spey rod and a number eight reel. The reel sported a thirty-foot shooting head, a twenty test running line, and an eighteen-foot leader.  If I have that wrong, I hope that Travis will please forgive me.  It was new to me.  I asked Travis about the rod and he told me that many spey fishermen use much longer rods in bigger water, but a thirteen-foot rod like the one that I had in my hand was perfect for the Deschutes.  In fact we were testing a brand new Winston prototype that had never been fished before.  Travis works with Winston on a regular basis testing new products.  I could not help but wonder what Winston would think if they knew what they had gotten themselves into.  This rod had never been fished before by anyone and it was in the hands of a total rookie.  I was about as confident about my ability to navigate the slippery bottom of the Deschutes in total darkness as I was about the likeliness of me casting a spey rod.  All of that would change.   Deschutes Angler has pioneered spey casting in the northwest.  John and Amy Hazel, owners of Deschutes Angler have two outstanding videos on spey casting available from Amazon.  After a quick casting lesson I found myself fishing for steelhead before I could see my feet in front of me.  It was not yet full daylight and here I was fishing for big game with a two-handed fly rod for the first time in my life.  Unlike trout fishing you can catch steelhead with a lousy cast just as long as you mend and properly swing the fly.  This requires keeping your line tight.  If you can avoid the mend, even better.  After a few minutes I got the hang of it.  It wasn’t a thing of beauty, but I had plenty of distance; and surprisingly, I found myself properly covering the real estate in front of me.  I am sure that it was ugly, but Travis being the fine coach that he is, made me feel good about myself.  No pictures please.

The idea is to start in close.  Fish may hide in the water at your feet, Travis explained.  Early in the morning fish hold close to shore.  I began with a short cast slightly upstream, and allowed the fly to swing tightly with the current.  As the fly completed its drift I added two feet of line.  I did this over and over until my thirty feet of shooting head was out on the water.  If you want to know what a shooting head is, look it up.  Let me explain through the artistic eyes of the novice angler that I am.  It looks much like a regular fly line but it is much shorter, maybe thirty feet.  This is attached to a thinner and longer running line.  This running line is designed to flow slickly through the guides more easily making longer casts possible.  I was fishing with only about fifty feet of total line including the shooting head and the leader.  With this much line out I began to work down river.  My objective was to duplicate the same distance and swing each time as I covered the water in front of me.  After each cast I was instructed to take two steps and cast again.  Each time I allowed the fly to completely swing around until it straightened itself out down stream parallel to the bank.  Steelheading is all about repetition. There is no need to get in a hurry.  I wanted to cover every inch of water in front of me.  The idea was to cover as much real estate as possible while accurately making the same cast over and over.   I got it.  The more real estate that I covered the better my chances of locating fish during the best times of the day.  This may be a bit simplistic, but it did not take a rocket scientist to grasp the general idea.  Cover as much ground as possible but do it right.  Ah, life should always be so easy.

A spey rod is much longer than an average fly rod and the idea is to allow the rod to do as much work for you without over muscling the rod.  It is a bit like having a good golf stroke.  The best thing about spey fishing is that I was always working the fly out in front of me without a back cast that might get tangled in the trees.  This makes it possible to cast all day without loosing a single fly.

The bottom of the river was slicker than melting ice.  The Deschutes is covered with algae coated rocks of all shapes and sizes.  I learned quickly to feel my way along the riverbed with my feet, looking for boulders during the early morning hours.  Nothing can cause you to lose your balance so quickly as getting over confident and finding yourself straddling both sides of an underwater boulder in oncoming current.  Some might find a wading staff handy but being the macho fifty-nine year old man that I am, my staff was still in Kansas.  This was man’s work and if I did not pay close attention, I was going to end up on my can.    Actually, the guide had already done most of the work for me by putting me in a logical place for holding fish.  All that I needed to do was keep my head above water.

Years of experience had taught Travis where the fish were holding.  This eliminated any trial and error in an already lengthy day on the water.  A steelhead uses a great deal of energy while returning from the sea.   There are logical places for the fish to rest and regain their strength.  A good guide can put you onto fish.  Then it is up to you and Lady Luck.  Travis told me that he guides an average of two hundred fifty days a year.  That is not for the light of heart.  His passion for guiding cannot be over estimated.  I trusted the plan that Travis had come up with and stuck to our strategy.

We fished all morning without a single hookup.  I was fishing a large purple and white fly with a green body and flecks of sparkling tinsel.   Travis had tied it at dinner the night before.  It was a new design with a gaudy suit of colors reminding me more of an overdressed pimp than a trout fly.  I did not question it because stranger things have been known to catch fish.  Silly me, the large fly tied to my leader was a steelhead fly and who knows what makes them tick.  The point being that the fly needed to look good to the fish and not the fisherman.  At one point I did feel a tug at the end of the line like the fish hit the fly but did not stay with it.  It was a bit like a tug on a shirt.  I could feel it, but it lacked definition.  Travis told me to try it again but cautioned me not to set the hook by lifting my rod.  He said to allow the fish to take the fly and run with it.  His fear was that I could actually pull the fly out of the fish’s mouth by lifting too quickly.  I have seen this happen with big trout before.  I had a thirteen-foot rod in my hand that could double for pole vaulting.  One quick jerk of that bad boy and I could relocate Los Angeles.  I was told that a steelhead would hit the fly so hard that he will most likely hook himself when he was ready.    I swung the fly over the same location hoping to experience a second encounter.  This time the fish boiled on the surface right behind my fly but still refused to take it.  Several other steelhead teased me by jumping in the same riffle further down river.  Were they simply egging me on?  Finding fish had not been a problem.  I began to wonder how many casts it would take to actually catch a fish.  After thoroughly working and reworking the run we decided to break for lunch and a short nap.   A full day of steelheading can really take it out of you and we were only half way there.  After a shore lunch we both took a customary nap and waited for the afternoon sun to creep below the opposite canyon wall.  I began counting sheep.  One. Two.  Sleep came without much effort.

Our naps complete, Travis worked the new rod that Winston had given him to test and practiced a few long demonstration casts with his own fourteen-foot setup.  I got out my camera and took advantage of the changing light to capture a few nice photos of Travis.  I had brought my camera along to record my experiences on the river and to gather information for future art projects.   Working professionally as a watercolor artist, I had been playing around lately with a series of whimsical paintings pertaining to fly fishing.  This is where the trip actually paid for itself by combining passions and making fishing a part of the business.

As a shadow grew out of the canyon wall, the river morphed into early evening.  We readied ourselves for the second half of our quest.  Retracing our steps upstream where the steelhead had bumped my fly before lunch, I positioned myself to rework the same riffle.  Slowly working that identical stretch of water I again swung fly after fly without result.  I picked my way further downstream, and casted out for what seemed to be the thousandth time.  I kept on telling myself the importance of paying attention.  Steelheading is like playing a slot machine.  You might hit the jackpot on the fifth pull of the one armed bandit, or it might come up all cherries on pull number five hundred.  No matter to me.  I had paid my dues and I was ready.  My fly swung in towards shore like any other time.  At the end of the drift came such an explosion that it almost ripped the rod from my right hand.  The drag screamed back and a fish was on!

I raised my rod high over my left shoulder canting the tip toward shore.  The angry chromed brute on the opposite end of the line ignited and launched like a rocket.  My line stretched as the fish stripped line reminding me of a runaway semi on a downhill grade.  Muscled and mad, he just as quickly changed directions and charged straight back at me.  This required me to wind up slack in a desperate attempt to keep the line tight.  I knew what was coming next.  The steelhead exploded into the air testing the outer limits of leader and rod.   This was followed by an aquatic display of twists and turns that even the best choreographer for Dancing with the Stars should envy.  I got the big buck close enough to see his rosy cheeks before he tail walked away taking twenty feet of line cascading across the top of the water.  Several more runs and ten minutes later I brought the fish to Travis’s hand without a net.   Travis grabbed the fish by the tail and held it still in the water as I managed to compose myself and catch my breath.

I hooked two more fish that day, but my first steelhead will always be the most memorable.  I would not trade that experience for anything.  Travis presented me a special keepsake by giving me his one-of-a-kind hand tied fly that hooked my first Steelhead.  It was dusk as we drifted into shore at the end of a very long day.

That is when I saw him.

You know the guy.  He’s the guy always waiting at the loading ramp to meet your boat as you come in from a long day of fishing.   It was almost dark and there this fellow stood ready and waiting to yank my chain.  As Travis was going to get his truck and trailer the stranger walked toward me with a beer in his hand asking if we had any luck fishing.  At first glance I thought that he might have been with the fly shop, but I soon realized that he was on his own.  I could barely see his face in the fading light and his voice was but a whisper.  He was dressed in a plaid lumberjack shirt and a floppy brown hat.  Before I knew it he was talking to me like he was my long lost friend.  He wanted to know all about our day on the water.  I wasn’t about to take the bait, but I did mention that we had what I considered to be a fairly good day.  Frankly, I had just experienced one of the most memorable days of my life, but I did not share my emotions with floppy hat.  Fly fishing is about much more than just catching fish.  It is about being there and living the experience.  There is a certain amount of sensitivity and reverence that goes along with the entire process.  I had just hooked three nice steelhead on my first outing stalking sea-run trout.  It would take me a bit of time to absorb the true meaning of that experience.  My second steelhead had straightened the hook and had gotten free after a five-minute battle.  I had landed the other two.  My first steelhead went an estimated twenty-eight inches, not bad for the Deschutes.  My third fish was on my last cast of the day.  We took a picture of that fish in the dark with a flash.  Brags and lies could come later over a beer among friends.

Mr. floppy hat continued to do most of the talking.  In a nonchalant manner he told me that he had brought six steelhead to the net that day and had lost four others.  Not a bad day, but the day before had been better.  My good judgment told me this fish story was just a wee bit exaggerated.  But I did not challenge his truthfulness.  I simply wanted the fellow to fade back into the shadows of his own mind and leave me alone.

Any fisherman who has held a line has heard similar stories.  They are funny when you think about it; something for the funny books or my whimsical paintings.

Thus had begun the story of the fish that was so big that it needed to be strapped to the luggage rack on top of the station wagon to get it home.  I painted a painting about that very fish.  So what if you believed strongly in catch and release.  You can’t turn a fish that big loose.   Fish that big needed to be seen to be believed.  Pictures just would never do it justice, but one of my paintings would.  Those kinds of stories are all in fun.

Floppy hat asked me where I was from and I told him that I hailed from the flatlands of Kansas.  “Not much fishing there,” he informed me.  I did not disagree.  It seems that he lived in nearby Portland and he fished the Deschutes at his leisure.  Lucky him.  He also claimed to know my guide.  It was too bad Travis had gone to get the truck.  Travis was not there to defend himself, allowing floppy hat to let me know that he was a much better fisherman than Travis.  Then he leaned over and whispered in a raspy voice that the best investment I could ever make is in a good rod.   This sparked my interest until he dropped a name that I had never heard of, a custom rod maker in Portland that only produces twelve rods each year.  Floppy hat did not have my better interest in mind.  He only wanted me to know that he already owned six of these custom beauties.  I guess that is one for each appendage with two left over.  Frankly, I can only fish with one rod at a time, but I will admit to having my own collection in the closet.

About that time Travis backed the boat trailer down the ramp and I excused myself to go help my guide.  Not too soon for me were on our way, leaving floppy hat where we had found him waiting for the next set of fishermen to arrive and share lies.   As we drove on up the road Travis leaned over and told me, “Oh yeah, I should have warned you about that guy.  He is here every night when we come in off the water.”

This is the first steelhead that I have caught on a fly.  My guide was Travis Johnson of Deschutes Angler.  Travis gets five stars out of a possible five for his attention to detail, positive attitude, and knowledge on a plethora of interesting subjects.    I do not own stock in the Deschutes Angler, but I wish that I did.  They are a great outfit and I would highly recommend them to anyone interested in taking up the sport of spey fishing or trying their hand at stalking bright chrome steelhead in early fall.