I’m writing this post from a lounger in the Salt Lake City Airport, flanked by a magnificent 40-foot-tall Christmas tree and a small, hidden menorah. Hanukkah could use a bit more love, don’t you think?
I was on the fence about bringing a fly rod with me on this trip to Boston. Kate and I try to go annually, almost exclusively during the winter. I’ve tried suggesting that we go when it isn’t frigid outside, but holidays with her family are worth more than decent weather. Each time I pack for this trip, I debate bringing a fly rod—knowing full well that I will likely not have a spare moment to fish. Even if I did, where would I?
New England has a tendency to ice up during the winter, and not in a fun way. All of the ice-fishing opportunities are further west, and the open water along the coast is too cold to target any species in a meaningful way. The only exception is a warmer confluence on the Charles River that might hold some striped bass, but odds like that aren’t worth checking a bunch of fishing gear through airport security.
I’m Very Grateful to Live in Central Oregon
The holiday season always fills me with a sense of gratitude. I’m grateful that my family lives close by, I’m grateful for Kate making sure I stay well-stocked with common sense, and I’m especially grateful for the winter fishing opportunities that abound in Central Oregon.
It’s all fair game around here depending on water levels and clarity. The Metolius is always the best bet for consistent winter action—at least, it’s consistent if your presentation is on point. Since it’s a spring-fed stream, the water stays a steady 40–45 degrees no matter the conditions. Fish remain relatively active despite the cold and are especially receptive to euro-nymphing tactics. Catch a winter midge or BWO hatch on the Metolius for a refreshingly good time.
The Fall River, close to Sunriver, is another solid winter option. This spring creek flows much slower and shallower than the Met, so I recommend dry-droppers or slowly stripped streamers like the Thin Mint. Winter midge and BWO hatches also present fleeting opportunities to break up the monotony of winter nymphing.
The Deschutes and Crooked Rivers are a bit more finicky, being tailwaters. You’d think the dams would keep them stable, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. Dam operators will open the gates during heavy rainstorms or heat spells. The heat causes snowmelt and runoff, and the increased flows quickly muddy the water. Always check flows and dam-operation schedules when fishing your local tailwaters, especially heading into spring.
Anyhow…
It can be tough to travel without fishing gear knowing there will be water nearby. I personally supplement the craving with a good read. Anything by John Gierach tends to scratch the itch. On this particular Delta flight, I’m taunting the rest of the economy cabin with my copy of Good Flies: Favorite Trout Patterns and How They Got That Way. John’s writing is as engaging as ever, and books like this help reset my fly-tying habits into something that (hopefully) ends up being more productive.
I want to find a way to travel with my fly-tying kit as well—my vise, a couple essential tools, and enough materials to tie three to five key patterns. If any of you have found a way to pack fly-tying gear efficiently, please tell me. If you’ve figured out how to tie from your airline seat without pissing off your neighbor, please email me a full set of descriptive instructions. I’ll write a separate post one day about my experiences flying with tying gear—whenever I get around to trying it.
Wrapping Up This Yarn
Time to bring this word-vomiting session to a close. The point is that fishing is always on the mind of the passionate angler. As I’ve written before, the angler’s affliction is measured off the water just as much as it is on the banks of their favorite stretch. This pastime always has a deeper layer waiting to be uncovered. All you need to do is put in an extra two cents of effort to find it.
Stay warm.
—T
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