Ah, mid-week. Well I advocated for a day off from my job search (different story) and made the most of it, taking a friend and spaniel to the Deschutes yesterday for what I hoped would be an eventful day of dry fly fishing. Salmonfly hatch is to the Deschutes River what the running of the bulls is to Pamplona, Spain. Which is to say, pretty much everything. Even though it is a big brawling western river, it is a fickle spring creek at heart...except for salmonfly hatch time. A mere three to four weeks in duration I'm sure that a true biologic study would find that its trout gain a third of their fat reserves from this brief window- which is saying something given the aquatic insect stew making up the river yearlong. But the hatch was not bringing fish to the surface as I had hoped, although for a brief period in the early afternoon it did. I managed three fish to the hand and many misses during this period. Evidence of severe wind damage abounded, beyond anything I had ever seen. Trees where snapped off at the base as if kicked by a giant. This came through the canyon Thursday of last week and I can only imagine the frantic feeling it inspired had you been drifting the river during its full fury.
As an aside, as much as I love dogs, Sophie was pain in the ass. She barked at me even when I stood ten feet away, whining and behaving like I had left her abandoned at the side of the road. Dependency. A double edged sword. When you want affection, great. When you want solitude, or at least manners, not so great. How to loosen the bond of an adoring puppy, such are the difficult dilemmas I face.
3 years ago