Steens Mountain, Oregon - August 2019

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Part One of our big summer adventure

Family & Fly Fishing

Pie, my cousin, the Big Guy, loves fresh baked pie. So when the Big Guy planned a meet up with us for fly fishing - a shared passion - we knew the best surprise we could give him would be pie. The Lady and I scoured photos online of the interior of the cabin he rented at Steens Mountain Resort to confirm it had an oven for baking. The unbaked, frozen pie rode in a place of honor as we headed north from home on a familiar route. We passed through Hallelujah Junction and Alturas, places filled with memories of past travels. Our overnight spot was the remote Hot Springs Campground on Hart Mountain National Antelope Refuge.

It was Wednesday afternoon. Pronghorn were about.

Why was the place so busy, especially midweek? We took the last remaining campsite. Our nearest neighbor's campsite was filled with equipment trailers, ATVs, easy ups, tables and tents. Proudly flying over the compound were US and Texas flags. All the vehicles had Oregon plates.

"They must be Texagonians," the Lady observed.

They were friendly - "I'll have coffee on at five tomorrow morning!" the probable alpha male of the group offered as we walked by - but they were also unpleasant neighbors. Whinny country music droned and covered the natural sounds of wildlife and the flowing creek. They could not quietly walk to the bathroom. An ATV roared to life and announced another run to the crapper. Their evening conversations ratcheted up in volume as alcohol kicked in.

We could put up with it for a night and we also have the knack of wandering far away and disappearing into the natural surroundings. The vast sagebrush steppe of Hart Mountain is awe inspiring and spectacular in the evening.

Marsh hawks flew low on their hunt. Deer quietly moved through the draws, does with fawns. Mother quail herded their almost grown chicks. The natural world was alive all around us, so much more rejuvenating and refreshing than "Falling into a burning ring of fire," the country golden oldie we left behind at camp.

"Why is this place so busy?" the Lady asked a National Fish & Wildlife ranger who stopped to chat as we returned along the road.

"Tomorrow, August first, is the opening day of archery season," he explained.

"That's why this place and people are so different from our other stays here." the Lady acknowledged.

An interesting side note was the hot spring pool was virtually unused. Two other non hunting couples were here for the hot spring experience.

The Texagonians tipped over fairly early and our night was quiet. Coffee was not on at five at our neighbor's camp the next morning. They started to stir around the time we drove out after our long early morning walk and breakfast. No crack of dawn start to archery season this year for them.

We had lunch at the trailhead at Page Springs in the Steens Mountain Recreation Area. We enjoyed a hike up the Dunder und Blitzen River, or "The Blitzen", named for thunder and lightning during raging thunderstorms.

The Big Guy arrived, we moved into our cabin - home for three nights, and got the pie in the oven. An apple pie baking in the oven is absolute heaven.

The Big Guy suggested meeting at Steens Mountain because both he and I have fished there many times. My last fly fishing trek down to Wildhorse Lake two years ago was a classic for me. Therefore Wildhorse Lake was our first day of fly fishing.

The Big Guy had concerns about the hike. He lives at sea level and the trail starts at close to 10,000 feet near the summit of Steens. It is also a down and up hike so the climb out would be at the end of our day.

The hike down to this alpine gem of a lake above tree line was through a lovely garden profuse with wildflowers.

This is a beautiful small glacial cirque we will enjoy revisiting time and time again.

We assembled our rods and started in fishing. My first cast - a size 16 bead head pheasant tail nymph pattern under a strike indicator - brought my first trout to the net.

The Big Guy quickly caught his first trout. The trout were smaller in size - in length and weight - then I caught our last two visits. There is no natural reproduction habitat available to spawning trout in this cirque. Wildhorse Lake is a "put and grow" fishery for Lahontan Cutthroat Trout, one of the native trout of the Great Basin. From my experience, I sensed that the lake was replanted last year with small cutthroats and it will be a few years before they reach the size I enjoyed catching two years prior. We have it on our calendar to return in 2022.

We still enjoyed a day of challenging fishing here.

"I know why they are skinny," the Big Guy commented after releasing another trout. "They are such picky eaters!"

He was correct. We found no fly that consistently produced takes. My best success was with a size 16 foam black ant pattern. I would get a take from a fourth of the fish I watched approach and only if another trout was close by. The take was driven by competition for food. A long fine tippet helped with fooling these picky eaters.

No big cutthroats but a good day. How could it not be at a place so special as this?

It was time to hike out, Although a bit worried on how he would do on the climb out, the 78 year old Big Guy did well. The beauty of the landscape and the abundant wildflowers did more to take our breaths away than did the physical exertion.

We relaxed a bit after reaching the top and took in the alpine terrain.

The next day of fly fishing will go down as one of my favorites.

"Goddamnit!" The Big Guy's outburst was explosive. It can stop you in your tracks. His is a percussive booming voice, especially when it comes to "Goddamnit!"

He had warned us about all the vegetation. It was thick, damn near impenetrable. "It will catch your fly and then not let loose!" he had schooled us.

My first cast put my grasshopper pattern on the water through the slight break in the curtain of shoulder high grasses overhanging the creek surface, four feet lower than the ground I was standing on. I let it drift into the undercut bank invisible below me. The "gulp" was scary. Did someone drop a bowling ball in the creek? I missed the fish. It took me by surprise although the Big Guy also said there could be big trout and related stories from the past about 26 inchers that broke off heavy tippet with a sound like a rifle shot.

The Big Guy's first cast brought about the aforementioned "Goddamnit!"

The Lady went to help. It is her nature. We could not see him but the shaking grasses pinpointed the Big Guy's location along with another well punctuated "Goddamnit!"

"Are you on your knees? The Lady asked. "I hope so because if you are on your feet, no way I'm going in that hole to help!" A fly rod came up out of grasses on the end of his long arm followed by the answer, "I'm on my knees." The Lady took the fly rod.

"You need 5x tippet at a minimum," the Big Guy had counseled. "Anything smaller and you are just breaking off fish."

The downside is that it takes a 26 incher on a run to break it. That means when your fly is snagged in impenetrable weeds you cannot break it off. You are going in after it.

"You had better wear your nylon long pants!" the Big Guy had also directed before we left the cabin that morning. "No shorts! The grasses, teasel, stinging nettles, and thistles will cut your legs up." We wore our long pants.

We worked our way along Bridge Creek and an irrigation canal that delivered Blitzen River water to valley agricultural fields. The Lady led the way. No way to see our feet through the thick grass. It was carefully feeling your way through with your feet. The Lady is an expert in tough terrain. We followed her, looking for any small opening over the water that offered an opportunity to get a fly on the water.

The Lady got to thinking. She carried the ghost net. "How in the world are you ever getting a big fish to net if you catch one?"

"You'll have to jump through the grass into the water and net it for us." the Big Guy answered. "After the long drop the water could be up past your arm pits."

"Why me?" the Lady asked.

"I'm too old to do that anymore. You're the youngest," came the answer.

"Be careful here!" the Lady pointed out as she led. "The bank drops off here to the creek and you can't see it. Go off my path even an inch and you're going in." I went in. After they both determined I was still alive.........she followed up with, "I told you. You need to listen to me."

It was hot, I'd say 90°. A good day for rattlesnakes to take cover in the deep grass. We stepped slowly and carefully.

We reached an old weir on Bridge Creek. Below was a riffle and the only opportunity to enter the water after a climb down. It would have been easier to fall again. The Lady was upstream with the camera as I cast up and let the hopper drift through the ripple.

The Lady loves to watch the entire sequence, studying the water, the cast, the drift, the trout rise, the take, the fight, and the release.

We both caught trout, not many and not any large enough to necessitate the Lady launching herself with reckless abandon into the water up to her armpits with the ghost net. Maybe next time.

We climbed out of the tangle and found shade under a couple of junipers. We looked downstream as we ate and marveled that we had managed to fly fish and catch trout.

I am truthful when I say I had a great time. It was indeed a challenge. It took patience and determination. It was like climbing a mountain, one step at a time. We moved through the day. Time flowed by like the creek alongside us and in a whisper a good day had passed. Would I return and do it again? Absolutely.

How many times did I hang up a fly in the weeds? I said a few "Goddamnits!", just not as loud as the Big Guy.

We said our goodbyes to the Big Guy the following morning along with making plans for our next fly fishing meet up. Hugs were all around as we parted. The company and pie were fantastic.

We were on our way to Idaho and Montana.

Our big summer adventure continues in the Part Two -

Idaho & Montana! - August 2019