Words by David S. Lewis.  Executive Editor, (614) Magazine.
Photo by Judith O’Keefe

Mother’s Day marks the beginning of spring fly fishing for many.  It takes a different breed (and a river out West) to brave the freezing waters of February, or the rapids of the snow melt in March and April.

Truth be told, I could have easily waited another couple weeks, but I’ve had my tomatoes growing since February, and I started my beans inside the house.  I get antsy towards the end of winter.

My first trip was fraught with the usual frustrations: my leader was more snarled than a Rottweiler farm; my finely-honed cast of last year is now suddenly impotent.

Still seething on the way home (some delightful chap saw fit to take my clearly empty fly rod case out of the back of my pick-up), I had the hindsight to remember a few things that I wish I’d been only slightly more aware of while actually fishing.

1.  Use a leader stretcher first, and often. That reel and line sat in your closet for months.  Memory happens. Put on a new leader and strip the first 40’ of fly line (at least) and stretch it out.  Do it twice; the difference in performance will be dramatic.

And stretch the leader after every fudged cast.   You’re not going to be throwing them like you were last winter, certainly not at first.  Every time you remove a wind knot, you should be using the leader stretcher, too. Stretching it after each (inevitable) tangle is wise because not only is the line going to cast more forgivingly, it’s also going to perform better in the water.  The very experienced fisherman will have been working hard throughout the winter, honing his technique.  The rest of us weren’t  give yourself every advantage you can.

2.  So you spent the winter fantasizing about that special hole, and when you roll in at noon, someone’s already there, fishing YOUR spot? Well, you’ve just got to go somewhere else. Your “hole” isn’t something you’re sharing with that dude, who by the way is rocking a spincast reel and a bucket of minnows, and is just assassinating fish in your hole left and right.

Them’s the breaks, kid.  Fishing etiquette dictates that the early bird gets the worm. Plan to arrive at the hole you need to be there.  Very rare is it that the time you need to be at the hole is the same time you want to be fishing.  Don’t let spring fever make you a discourteous sportsman; the fish will know.  They always know. Angler’s karma can be a savage force.

(On my first day out, I had been working a small island for hours when another angler stumbled down the hill and came out to the island, clearly having every intention of jamming himself into my peaceful Sunday afternoon.  Unfortunately for him, my Catahoula, Roscoe, doesn’t take kindly to discourteous fishermen, either.  Extend courtesy, but if you’ve got the hole, don’t give it up easily unless you’re hurting for company.)

3.  Fish the water you have, not the water you want. Fishing in early spring means the water’s going to be cold, it’s probably going to be moving fast, and it’s not going to be as clear as it will when the slower waters of summer give streams a chance to settle down. Trout will be paying a lot of attention to sulfurs in the next couple weeks, and sulfur nymphs are going to be killing them until at least Father’s Day. As always, the vast bulk of the fish are biting sub-surface. Make sure your wallet includes lots of brightly colored flies, to catch their eyes in all that sediment.

I find brass and gold work better in sediment-filled spring streams, while silver is better suited for muddy lakes and ponds. And your “lucky” fly? If it doesn’t jive with the water conditions you are fishing, it’s not going to catch fish.  You might be sentimental, but I promise you the fish aren’t   Foolishly caught fish are young fish; that lucky fly might well bring in the 6-incher while that heavyweight cruised right by, looking the meal he knows he wants.

4.  Keep your eyes open. Your leader is in worse shape than the tangled strings of Christmas lights in your attic.  Your fingers, cold from surprisingly chilly spring weather, can barely grasp that 6X tippet material, let alone tie anything onto it.  Your strike indicator won’t float. And, to add insult, the damn fish aren’t biting.

Set down the rod.  Don’t even untangle the leader first, or you will be tempted to make another cast, and that’s not what you need.

Look at that pretty little creek, and try to figure out what you’re doing wrong with the rod out of your hand.

Spend a moment with your surroundings. What are the birds doing? If there are fifty swallows taking bugs of the surface of the water, you might try something dry; try to get it right at the edge of that shady area.  Fish are more likely to strike at temperature shelves in the water, and the birds are using their eyes to find bugs; they’re probably leaving that half shady spot alone, which makes that fish even more likely to be there.

The first few outings can be frustrating, due to inclement conditions and out-of-practice anglers, but remember why you like fishing: the woods smell like spring rot, earthy and fertile, and the stream is just humming along. Paying attention to everything that’s happening around you won’t just help you relax: it’s going to help you fish.

Al James is a musician and avid fly fisher based in Portland, Oregon.  Al has carefully combed the banks of the Deschutes River for over 10 years, and offers 5 hard-earned lessons for fishing this beautiful waterway.

Drop everything and fish the salmon fly hatch

It’s estimated that there are more than 3,500 Wild Redside Rainbow Trout per mile on the Lower Deschutes River in Central Oregon which stretches for 100 miles from Pelton Dam down to its confluence at the Columbia River. That’s a helluva lot of football-shaped, blood-red trout that –pound for pound– might be some of the strongest fighters in the salmonidae family. Mid-May through early June is a special time on this glorious river with the yearly explosion of gigantic salmon flies that hatch and provide a non-stop old country buffet style feeding frenzy for these aggressive lunkers.

This year will be no different and most guides and shops that service the river are predicting a mid-May hatch which means there’s a 2-3 week window to head over to the Deschutes and experience one of the most epic trout fishing experiences on the West Coast. If you haven’t tried it, make the trip. There is plenty of river, tons of access, and like I stated before, lots and lots of hungry fish. I’ve fished this hatch on and off for a decade and here are some basics I’ve learned over the years:

Fish the banks. I’m serious about this one. If you are wading up to your knees (unless you’re fishing toward the bank) you probably spooked all the fish in the area. I wear waders, but try to step in the water as little as possible. The fish on the Deschutes hold right up against the bank. This is good news because it’s a big river. It’s not about long casts here. It’s about breaking the river into manageable pieces and working the banks with short, careful casts.

Keep moving. Work a section of river and then move on to the next one. If you hook and lose a fish, give it a rest and come back in a half hour. Head up or downstream and then revisit spots where you’ve seen or hooked fish. The more you move, the more fish you’ll find. Last year a monster Redside broke me off three times under the same overhanging branches in the course of one weekend. I’d visit the spot in the morning, the afternoon and in the evening every day I was there. I’ll be back this year to the same exact spot with heavier tippet.

Come early or late. Often hitting the Deschutes just before or after the hatch by a week or two can yield incredible fishing. During the peak of the hatch the Redsides are often too full to feed. You don’t have to hit it perfectly. Check with online reports from Central Oregon fly shops for current details.

Spring has arrived here. This means you’ll likely see an awesome array of critters and wildlife: wild turkeys, river otters, mallard ducklings, mergansers, osprey, mountain goats, and on the downside, poison oak and rattlesnakes. For all the cool stuff pack a camera and binoculars, for the other two bring Technu skin treatment and a cautious step when you’re hiking around the riverbanks.

Check in with the experts. Fly shops in Eugene, Maupin, Portland and Welches start posting up-to-the-day reports on the hatch starting in May. They’re on the river every day and are monitoring it as it develops. They’ll post when and where the salmon flies are starting to show up. They’ll also steer you in the right direction for fly selection, but then again, that’s the beauty of this hatch. The flies are big and simple and in most cases, foolproof.

‘In Your Words’ explores the incredible stories we’ve received from Filson fans across the globe.  Send us your own experiences with our clothing or product here for a chance to be featured on the Filson Life blog.  Ralph from Switzerland discovered Filson products over 12 years ago and continues to rely on our product.

During my long travels throughout the United States in 2001, I came to know Filson products and it all started with the Highlander Boot.  An extensive fly fishing stop in Ennis, Montana lead me to buy a wading jacket, a fishing hat, a vest to store my flies, a bag to carry my fly fishing tackle and finally the trolley for travelling. The list of items is growing still. However, all items are still in excellent shape after heavy usage in good and bad weather conditions. All products are of true quality, style, and they please me each time when used or worn. For me, there is nothing else that can beat your endeavors in quality and style.

So what’s an angler to do when the winter wind blows and the water temps chill you to the bone?  Yes, there are steelhead to chase.  And if you don’t mind standing in a cold river all day, knowing you might never hook, much less land, a fish, then be my guest.  But what if your body just aches for some warmth and some sunlight?  Then you find an excuse to take the family to the Bahamas.

My mother-in-law’s 80^th birthday was a fine excuse.   And Long Island, one of the “out” islands in the Bahamas, was the perfect place to spend a long week.  I’ve visited more than a half-dozen islands in the Bahamas, and I have to say Long Island is one of my favorite islands simply because it offers so many ways to spend a day in the sun.  Our family consisted of three serious anglers and three non-anglers.

Long Island is the ideal place to stalk some bonefish, cast to small tarpon or strap on some hiking boots and hike to the Columbus Monument on the north end of the island.  Then, there are those deserted beaches to comb, collect shells and snorkel, or perhaps you would just like to lie by the pool, drink a Kalik beer and read a novel.

The locals are open-hearted and friendly and the food is good ol’ Bahamian down home cooking.  This must read like an advertisement and that’s really not my intention.  Next time I go to Long Island, I’d love have it all to myself.  But if you do go, my favorite place to stay is Winter Haven, in Clarence Town. A rental car may be included in the room rate, which allows you to travel from one end of the island to the other.  On your way to Sheep Beach, don’t forget to stop by the Goat Pond Bar and say hello to Suzanne for me.

Alex is a filmmaker based in Southern California. He recently produced the documentary Low & Clear which was hailed by Field & Stream as “The best fly-fishing movie ever.” The film is available on DVD and will be released on VOD and iTunes in June.

The point of gear is not gear. Sure, a finely made rod or pair of boots has its own allure as simply an object – the craftsmanship behind the stitching, the sense that all these years of human experience and knowledge have gone into one pair of boots to keep you dry – that’s all enticing. But on the slow days when I’ve found myself in my home office standing in my waders at 2PM on a Thursday locked into some extended steelhead daydream, even then, I’m not thinking about the gear, I’m thinking about an experience.

And ultimately this is what being well-outfitted is all about. You buy quality gear not to marvel and obsess over it but with the hope that once you’re on the river and focused it’ll be the last thing on your mind. Anyone who’s ever had painfully cold feet stuck in bad boots knows what I mean. The quiet of a big river and the long gaps in thinking that fishing provides get scrambled when you’re freezing and there’s an ache in every step.

About a month ago my Dad’s mother passed away. It was a long time in coming but that didn’t make it any easier. After we got the news we did the next logical thing – booked a steelhead fishing trip. We’ve been fishing with Gino Bernero of Confluence Outfitters for over a decade and at this point the relationship has mutated to where he’s less of a guide and more part-shaman, part long-lost uncle. He put us on the Applegate River last month in the hope that we’d land some steelhead before the season closed and they’re left to go about spawning and surviving.

Southern Oregon was unusually cold. Twenty-eight degrees in the morning and the water hovered around forty-two. I layered synthetics and down and topped it off with the Pro Guide Wading Jacket. It has weight that immediately locked in some body heat, and the exterior has a toughness to it as if the folks at Filson had set about to make synthetic Tin Cloth. This was an element of the jacket that I appreciated during a push through a bramble-thick river bank. Without the fabric, my down sweater would’ve been torn to pieces and I’d have some serious scratches on my neck.

As the day went on the jacket did what all great pieces of gear should do – it disappeared. There’s a big range of motion with it so I didn’t notice it during spey casts. The sleeves locked out any water that could have trickled in, and the only comment on the look and fit was from Gino who said two words when I put it on: “Style points.”

On our second day out we stopped at a gentle turn in the river where a heavy hole created a prime space for fish. I was nymphing with a pattern to match the March browns we’d seen rising earlier. Three casts in and all of a sudden it felt like there was a cinder block at the end of my line. This was a big fish in deep water and I was using an eight-weight single-handed rod so the fight couldn’t be too aggressive. We parried and played until she gave herself up, a 28inch 9lb hen still yet to spawn. After 110 miles of freshwater swimming her look was firmly on the trout-side of the spectrum and beautifully so.

This moment: the fish in my hand, my dad smiling and Gino laughing was what we came out here for. The rods, the reels, the flies, the boat, the waders and the jacket was all for this; so that despite whatever may be going on back at home we could spend a little bit of time unencumbered.

The jacket continued to perform well and it still does. It’s seven in the morning on a Friday, I’m dreaming of steelhead and leaving for work in an hour and I’m sitting at my kitchen table, wearing it.

This Saturday marks Fishing’s Opening Day in Vermont. As the day of reckoning for countless unsuspecting trout draws near, New York City writer, editor and veteran angler David Coggins weighs in on a day he’s had marked on his calendar since fishing season ended last October.

Serious anglers are known for a sense of imagination that borders on exaggeration, and, just as often, for salty personalities. But in fact, they’re improbable optimists. At the root of every cast is an act of possibility, one more chance, as the late great Robert Hughes wrote “for a jerk on one end to feel a jerk on the other.” As opening day arrives, that time is at hand.

That in April many rivers aren’t at ideal water levels just underscores the fact that it’s a time when it really is about “being out there” (a phrase usually trotted out when leaving the river empty-handed).

Like another rite of spring, the beginning of the baseball season, the angler is overwhelmed with what the season might bring, the fishing equivalent of your team winning the World Series.

You get your waders out of storage, you might put on your lucky shirt, you fit together your rod with care and a sense of occasion. Out on the river there may not be a hatch, but those who loathe nymphing (you know who you are) may even toss in a bead-head Prince nymph without complaint. It’s a day for open-mindedness, for the slow pace, for the long view.

That time you tipped over the canoe? Let’s not think about that. What about when you lost a big, really a mammoth, brown trout on the Madison? Again, not the time to dwell.The pursuit of fish humbles us all. So on this fine day, disregard the frigid water, enter the river and cast your line. After all, anything’s possible.

Words and photos by Judith O’Keefe

The weather was dreary, a typical March day on the North Umpqua River.  A friend and I made the five hour drive over the mountains to meet up with John, a well known author, fly tier, longtime friend and — most importantly — frequent visitor to this legendary and challenging river.

John was a gracious host that morning, leading us to some of the easier runs, offering tips and allowing us to fish the run ahead of him.   We saw one fish roll late morning, but no one hooked up. The climate on the west side of the mountains is known to be wet, but by noon it had begun to rain in earnest, so we decided to take a break and pay a visit to John’s good friends, Frank and Jeanne Moore.

I’d met Frank and Jeanne in 2002 at a sport show and, at that time, Frank had extended an invitation to visit their home and fish with him on the Umpqua.  I was flattered by the invitation and eager to spend some time with these two, but had never found the time to make the drive over.  I didn’t know much about Frank back then, other than he was known as a “living legend.”  That title is thrown around loosely these days, but I was to learn that Frank Moore had earned it through his skill as a fly fisher, his willingness to mentor others and his successful and ongoing conservation efforts.

The Moores’ log home sat perched on a ridge above the river.  When we arrived, Frank was outside chatting with friends who were fishing a forest pond in front of the house.  The six of us stood around for 10 minutes talking about fish and fishing and the rising river.  Apparently, those west side folks are used to getting wet and didn’t seem to notice the rain.  Frank asked if we’d eaten lunch and when we said we had not, he invited us in to sample Jeanne’s grilled cheese sandwiches. Besides, he had a couple of old photographs of the river he wanted to show us that would help to illustrate a story he was telling.   A hot meal sounded perfect and I was interested in hearing the rest of the story.

As we peeled off our saturated outerwear and waders on the front porch, I eagerly anticipated a warm room and hot food, but I was unprepared for what I experienced when I walked through the door.  Steam rose from the kettle on the wood cook stove as Jeanne stood with her back to us, spreading butter on bread.  The walls of the great-room were filled with mementos, beautifully framed photographs and artwork.  I imagined that each had a story to tell.   I was right.  Three hours flew by as we talked about the past and the present.  I learned a lot about the Moores, who recently celebrated their seventieth wedding anniversary.   Frank grew up fishing in southern Oregon and, after the war, he and his bride moved to the North Umpqua to run the legendary Steamboat Inn and raise a family on the river.   Not only were the ensuing years filled with creating a world-renowned destination, but Frank also spent considerable time and effort that resulted in regulations that curbed the effects of logging on the river and surrounding environment.   At age 90, I’m told that Frank can still out-cast most fly fisherman, with casts that reach 100 feet when the need arises.  I’ve heard Frank called a Spiritual Father, Grand Old Man of the River, The Great Frank Moore, and yes, a Living Legend.  Indeed!

While stories of an adventurous life spent on the river were truly awe inspiring, Frank’s sincere appreciation of the natural world is what really impressed me.  We all fish and spend time outdoors for our different reasons.  If I were asked to sum up my reasons in one word, that word would be “connection.”  So I understand why Frank and Jeanne chose to spend their life on the beautiful and remote Umpqua River, and I deeply appreciate their willingness to open their home and their lives to fellow fly fishers.  My life is richer for the experience.

Louis Cahill is an advertising photographer with over thirty years experience, and about as many holding a fly rod,  Louis has spent his life looking through the lens.  He’s not interested in what everyone else sees.  Find more of Louis’ incredible photography and writing at Gink and Gasoline.

Study the stream bed, brown and green. Through ripples and reflections, we find rocks and wood, maybe a shining piece of metal someone has left behind. Even the flash of a flake of mica in the sand, no bigger than a fishes scale. How is it that we miss the trout.

Gliding above the mud and stone he is emerald and gold, vermilion and azure, violet and blaze. He is metallic, kinetic, aesthetic. Perfect in his camouflage, he is at once breathtaking and invisible.

Look closer, he is abstract. He is pointillism, he is impressionism, he is surrealism. He is cubist, fauvist, and expressionist; he is Monet, Van Gogh and Miro. He is Blake’s world in a grain of sand. Infinity in the palm of your hand.

He is beauty, and like all beauty, he vanishes into the mundane. It is a failing of the human eye, or maybe of the heart. He is truth, and like all truth he is hidden from us. To find him we must make a choice. When we choose our fly wisely, and present it well he will do what truth does. Rise to the surface.

Brian McGeehan is an outfitter and owner of Montana Angler Fly Fishing based in Bozeman, MT.  Brian is also an avid international angler and leads annual trips to Argentina, Chile and the Bahamas.

Golden Dorado

Golden Dorado are native to South America in a relatively small geographic region that includes Northern Argentina, Uruguay, Southern Brazil and some small pockets in Bolivia.  Most of the fisheries are located in the Paraná River and its tributaries.  There are also a few pockets of the species in Bolivia at the headwaters of the Amazon basin.  Dorado are river fish and have a similar profile to that of a salmon including an adipose fin.  Golden Dorado are fierce piscivores and aggressively take large streamers.  They are fierce fighters and nearly always jump when hooked.  Golden Dorado have not been transplanted out of their native range and they have only come onto the radar of international anglers in the last 10-15 years.  Although some of the largest Dorado are caught in the larger Paraná River, many fly anglers choose to target the fish in the relatively few locations where clear waters prevail.  Catching a large, strong and aggressive Dorado in a river that resembles a trout stream is truly a rush.  Imagine fishing for small tarpon on the Madison!  The primary locations that support guided Golden Dorado fishing are the new Tsimane Lodge in Bolivia, the Salta region of Argentina and the Ibera Marsh at the headwaters of the Corrientes River.  Most of the fishing at Tsimane and Salta is wade fishing on smaller clear rivers.  There is also a large river, the Rio Juramento, near Salta that is floated in rafts for trophy Dorado.  On our recent trip south we split our trip between Patagonia and Northern Argentina where we targeted the Ibera Marsh which offers a unique clear water fishery accessed by Bahamas style flats boats.

Pira Lodge
Pira lodge is located in the Corrientes province of Argentina which is sandwiched between Brazil and Paraguay.   The province is known for its colorful people and traditional music.  We took a first class overnight sleeper bus which was surprisingly comfortable with large leather chairs that lay flat into beds along with bar service and meals.  After sleeping on the bus all night we arrived refreshed in Mercedes and were greeted by the lodges transfer driver.  Pira is located on the edge of the vast Ibera marsh system and the drive is about an hour an half from Mercedes across rutted dirt roads.  The lodge itself is spectacular with an array of insects, huge toads and countless colorful birds making a never ending raucous chorus each evening.  After settling in we met with Noel and the guides.  Noel was the head guide for over 13 years at Pira and then went on to start Tisamane Lodge in Bolivia and is one of the most respected Dorado anglers in the world.  Unfortunately the news on the fishing front wasn’t good.  All of Argentina had just endured an unusual three week stretch of very wet and cold weather.  Dorado are a warm water fish and become lethargic in colder waters and just like trout they don’t love rising flows.  Despite the disappointing news we were determined to give it our all.

Pira Day 1
With the unexpected conditions and higher flows, Noel and the guides felt our best shot at fish was to go down deep in the main Corrientes river channel.  Pira is known for its floating line fishing and aggressive surface takes but with the cooler water it was unlikely that the Dorado would be very active and certainly not on the surface.  At the end of the first day, we hit pay dirt and Anthony and I each hooked and landed two nice 5-7lb Dorado in the waning hours of the evening before heading back to the lodge.  The fish are absolutely amazing and hit like a sledgehammer.  The fight is just as impressive as these incredibly strong, trout shaped fish leap over and over and take off on blistering runs.  When the Dorado are landed their magnificent gold flanks and orange and black tail cap the experience.

Pira Day 2
The fishing at Pira is broken into morning and evening sessions.  Each day we headed out in flats boats through a labyrinth of small channels.  The marsh ecosystem is spectacular with over 350 species of native birds of all shapes, colors and sizes.  The birdlife was absolutely spectacular and I can’t say I have ever been to an equal location in this regard.  In addition to the birdlife we regularly saw large crocodile like Cayman and huge rodents called capybara.  Day two produced some very tough fishing and although we all had a few hits and follows no Dorado came to the boat.  Noel came along on day two and he and Anthony scouted some of the smaller tributary “creeks”.  These are small channels through the marsh with current just like a spring creek and very clear waters.  While scanning from the boat they successfully located a lot of large Dorado in the system which lifted our spirits to at least know the fish were there.  One of the challenges of the high water in the marsh is the fish are spread out and often relocate so finding the fish was a welcome discovery.

Pira Day 3
The morning fishing continued to be frustrating with a lack of success.  With each hour of futile casting our team began to lose hope in the prospects of hooking the golden fish.  Occasionally our hope would be lifted by a follow or take.  I lucked into a hefty 7 pounder at the end of the morning and that was the only action to report.  In the evening session I was solo with Noel and we decided to try some of the smaller creeks where they had seen some fish the day before with a floating line.  We finally started to see the marsh begin to wake up in terms of fish activity and spotted a few Dorado rolling from time to time.  Noel explained under normal conditions Dorado are frequently rolling and attacking bait fish in explosive disturbances than are easy to spot.  This seemed to be a good sign and sure enough the action followed.  By the end of the night I had hooked into 5 Dorado and landed two along with several large piranhas and an interesting fish called a San Antonio.  This still wasn’t on par with the regular catch rates which average 4-10 Dorado per person per day but it was great to get a taste of what the fishing can be like.  The takes on the floating line were a huge rush and it was incredible to see the Dorado in the clear water producing a wake as they attacked the fly in a huge boil.  Unfortunately, the other boat didn’t find similar success on the larger river down current.

Pira Day 4
The rains that started the evening before continued into the night and eventually turned into sustained downpours.  The amount of rain that fell was unprecedented and a true spectacle of nature.  The swimming pool that was 18” from the top the day before was overflowing in the morning.  The marsh grew before our eyes and huge lakes formed in all directions around the lodge.  We gave up all hope of fishing in the torrent and focused our attention on getting out across the dirt roads early enough to catch our sleeper bus.  Our amazing hostess Marcela decided to have the shuttle drive arrive 5 hours early to play it safe.  When he was an hour late she loaded us up in her own truck and we started heading out hoping to meet him on the road out.  The roads were terrible and just a few minutes from the lodge we were driving across flooded areas.  Marcela crept along and stayed ruts to avoid sliding off the slippery clay road.  After 30 minutes of progress our hearts sank as we came around a bend and saw the road completely under water as far as the eye could see with a Toyota Hi-lux truck nearly underwater in the ditch.  It looked like our stay at the lodge would be extended for several more days.  There were some local gauchos around and Marcela went out to talk with them.  It turned out that her husband was the one that lost the truck in the flood but he was the manager of several estancias in the area and had guessed we were coming.  Our transfer driver was waiting on the other side of the flooded road and the gauchos let Marcela know that they could ferry us across.  The next thing we knew we were horseback and praying these horseman were confident in their assessment of the waters.  The current was swift across the road and the level came up to the horses bellies.  We had to ride at a bit of an angle so the horses could ferry into the current.  After the longest 500 yard horse ride of my life we made it safely to the other side where our drive awaited.  The gauchos crossed the flood again to retrieve our luggage via horseback and we were off again.  Just when we thought we were out of the woods we encountered another flooded section (the water had been rising since the driver had come from town).  It wasn’t as bad as the other stretch but still very intimidating.  We all held our breath as the truck headed into the flood with water coming in through the doors.  It was a very quiet cab until we finally made it across the last obstacle safely.  Nearly five hours later we finally made it to the bus station with only minutes to spare!

Words by Judith O’Keefe
Photos courtesy of Burkheimer Rods

I love casting a fly rod.

That used to be all I’d have to say.  It was generally assumed I was referring to my single hand rod, and I was.  I learned to fly fish on the Deschutes River, casting a sink-tip fly line as far as I could, hoping to entice a steelhead to the fly.  Six months later, just months into my initiation, I was comfortable with larger rods and longer casts.  Why would I want to learn to cast a double-hand rod?  I’m not what some would refer to as a “gear-freak.”  I don’t need a lot of stuff.  In fact for me, less is usually more.  I’m not one to follow the latest craze either, so I really didn’t see any reason to put down the trusty nine and a half foot, 7 weight.

“Here was a stretch of eighty-three days without catching a fish.  I know quite well it cannot be beaten.  Here is a record that will stand.”  — Zane Grey.

I have not beaten Mr. Grey’s record, and as far as I know, it still stands, but a few years back I was in a steelhead slump.  The frustration set in and the more I tried, the worse it got.  Was it the wrong fly, the wrong fly color?  Was I fishing too deep, not deep enough?  And that back-cast seemed to hang up in the weeds more often than not!  I needed a new strategy, an attitude adjustment and a double-handed rod, or as they are commonly called, a spey rod.

Some of my closest friends are spey casters.  A few even hold national and world records. Some people never learn to cast a single-hand rod, they just use that double-hand rod in every situation.  Not I.  I don’t aspire to break any records and most of the time, my single-hand rod will do the job nicely.  But when it comes to many larger steelhead streams, my spey rod and I are going to become fast friends.

This past fall I was fortunate to fish with the owner of the C. F. Burkheimer Rod Company, Kerry Burkheirmer and his son, Carl.  Not only was I impressed with the way those guys could cast, I was equally impressed by the rods they were casting.  And I was quick to accept Kerry’s invitation to take a tour of the rod shop and take a spey casting lesson on the beautiful Washougal River.  A few months later, I drove past the fallow wheat fields of northeastern Oregon, crossed the mighty Columbia River into Washington state and eventually found my way west to the town of Washougal and the C. F. Burkheirmer rod shop on Main Street.  All Burkheimer rods are designed and built “in a little shop, in a little town, along the banks of a very big river.”  That afternoon made a believer out of me. Each of their five rod builders brings that old world, craftsman frame-of-mind, into that shop every day.  I’ve handled my share of fly rods and toured more than one factory, and I have to say that their attention to detail and finish quality, border on the obsessive.  They say they strive to make only the most exceptional fly rods, and I have to agree, they are truly outstanding.

I am now the proud owner of not only a CF 8128-4 (12 foot 8 inch #8) Classic double-hand rod, but also a CF 795-4 (9 foot 6 inch #5) ST, single-hand as well.  I’ve had a few lessons, and I need to get in some serious practice time, so as soon as my pond thaws, you’ll know where to find me.  Then it’s North Umpqua River, here I come.