The Rivers We Fish in Central Oregon

No, I’m not going to tell you exactly where to fish. That’s part of the journey, and you’ll need to learn that for yourself. This is a high-level overview of the rivers I love to fish and have the privilege of living near. Sometimes I take it for granted that I live just a cast away from world-class water full of native redband trout.

The Deschutes River

This is the holy grail of fly water in Central Oregon—and easily the most well-known stream in the region. The Deschutes originates from Little Lava Lake in the Cascades and travels 252 miles north before emptying into the mighty Columbia River. The last 100 miles, below Lake Billy Chinook, are considered world-class fly water, home to vast numbers of wild trout and sensitive runs of steelhead and salmon.

The upper reaches of the Deschutes hold aggressive brown trout and brook trout—wild, but not native species. The Middle Deschutes through Bend transitions into a redband trout and mountain whitefish fishery before emptying into Lake Billy Chinook, held back by the Pelton and Round Butte Dam complexes. Below the dams, the Lower Deschutes widens, gains power, and cuts through an untamed landscape. It’s the quintessential Western river.

The biggest draw on the Deschutes is the legendary salmonfly hatch in May. Between early May and Memorial Day, giant salmonflies and golden stones emerge en masse, covering the banks in the hundreds of thousands. While some consider this the main event, savvy anglers know that the fishing only improves from June through fall.

The Crooked River

The Crooked originates high in the Ochoco Mountains before emptying into Prineville Reservoir—a solid bass fishery. Below Bowman Dam, the river winds through a canyon with exceptional roadside access and well-maintained day-use areas. It has an unrivaled fish-per-mile count compared to other Central Oregon streams. Just don’t expect to land any trophies.

Unfortunately, the Crooked is poorly managed and suffers wild swings in discharge and persistent algae blooms. Agricultural runoff promotes a slick layer of algae that becomes a brown slime under the summer sun. Winter and spring bring erratic dam releases that flood the river and nearby farms. The only upside? A short window of clean rock and clear water after the last major release. Thankfully, the trout seem to bounce back quickly and take full advantage of these brief clean spells.

The Metolius River

The Met is my favorite stream for winter fishing. As a spring creek, it flows steadily at 40–45°F year-round. Its pristine waters create a stunning landscape of crystal-clear currents and healthy aquatic life. Resident bull trout migrate up from Lake Billy Chinook to ambush spawning fish.

There’s something here for every style of fly fishing: chuck streamers for big bulls, euro nymph fast seams and deep buckets, or present delicate dries in back eddies and soft pools. Dry fly fishing here is a game of finesse. The hatches are diverse and fleeting, and the fish are educated and cautious. The common wisdom is that if you wait to see rising fish, you’ll be waiting a long time. But if you can read the water and match the hatch—like a sulfur emerging—you just might fool one with a transitional dry. Just don’t forget your 15-foot tapered leader.

The Fall River

I’ll admit this river isn’t my favorite, even though it’s undeniably beautiful. The Fall is a cold, clear spring creek flowing through the Sunriver–La Pine area, winding through a picturesque forest just 20 minutes from Bend. The issue? Almost all the fish here are hatchery stockers. And I prefer wild redbands.

Because of its beauty and easy access, the Fall gets crowded year-round. Most anglers congregate near the hatchery or campground to sight-fish to a seemingly endless supply of stocker rainbows. That said, the Fall is a bipolar river—some days the fish are dialed in and eat everything, while other days they’re tight-lipped and uninterested. Dry fly fishing can be fun here if you downsize your fly and show them something different. Just be ready to run a 15-foot tapered leader and approach with stealth.

The McKenzie River

Drive west along Hwy 126 toward Eugene and you’ll find yourself winding alongside the McKenzie—a river rich in history and deeply embedded in the lore of fly fishing. The McKenzie River drift boat originated here, likely because wading is downright treacherous. Slippery rocks, dense forested banks, and a pushy current demand respect. If you value your safety, do yourself a favor and float it. Cleats and a wading staff won’t cut it.

The Mac is cold. Very cold. Snowmelt from the Cascades feeds this river and helps sustain rich habitat for native redbands, bull trout, cutthroat trout, and anadromous fish. The upper river, above Leaburg Dam, offers a wild and scenic experience, while the “town section” near Eugene slows down and gives you the chance to swing a fly close to a lively college town.

I’ll be honest—my experience on the McKenzie is limited, but that’s changing. I fished the town section a bit during my time at the University of Oregon, and now I’m working my way upriver by raft, exploring its more remote reaches. Expect to hear more about the McKenzie as I get to know it better.

Bonus River: The North Umpqua (2.5 Hours from Bend)

No other river has captured my imagination quite like the North Umpqua. Its breathtaking beauty is matched only by its storied legacy. The river’s modern reputation was shaped in part by Zane Grey, the famed steelheader and novelist, who began exploring the river in the early 1930s after Major Mott’s passing—another name etched into North Umpqua lore.

Most fly anglers view the North Umpqua as the capstone of their fishing journey—and with good reason. The regulations in the famed Fly Water section are strict: single barbless, unweighted flies only, with no strike indicators or split shot. While aggressive cutthroat will smash your fly, that’s not why most are here. The real draw is the legendary summer-run steelhead.

These fish are, sadly, on the decline. Landing one is rare, and closures are becoming more frequent. But I don’t mind the restrictions. Conservation comes first—and the difficulty of the river only enhances its mystique. A steelhead on the North Umpqua isn’t just a fish. It’s the culmination of a lifetime of dedication, ten-thousand unanswered swings, and the humbling reminder that the fish don’t owe you a thing. I’ve never met a desperate steelhead. When a summer-run fish explodes on a waking fly, it evokes something primal—an emotional high that no other river can replicate.

Final Thoughts

Living in Central Oregon is a privilege. I’m surrounded by rivers that demand time, skill, and respect—each one offering a unique window into what makes this region so special. Whether you’re just starting out or have fished these waters for decades, there’s always more to learn. That’s part of the draw.

-T