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<\/p>\nSumac Camp, Deschutes River, August 1982<\/i><\/i><\/p>\n
Guides are traditionally the grill masters in our outfit. Gordy has his battered up and downer on, his face inscrutable behind the brim, sunglasses and beard. He is the image of his wading mentor, the blue heron. The barbecue tongs he wields so deftly are his beak, his skinny bare legs and enormous wading shoes complete the image. I smile as I tell him this. He jabbers his tongs at me in mock bird and cracks the tightest grin.<\/p>\n
The company menu has not changed since I can remember. Steak the first night to ease the transition, chicken the next to get involved with, burgers the third night when you\u2019re too happy (hopefully) and rummy (definitely) to care, and steak again your last night to celebrate the experience, no matter the results. Kohn has shucked a dozen ears of corn we scored at a farm stand in Sandy. A big, bagged salad that has barely survived the trip and a loaf of sliced and heavily garliced French bread lay on the table\u2014an early meal ahead of the evening sesh.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
At the moment, we have the water all to ourselves.\u00a0There could still be late comers to the party, drift or power boat. The grade angling all the way up to the the canyon rim behind us, the original route into the region, can still vector in a surprise party of fishermen.\u00a0And unlike Lockit, while providing exquisite shade and comfort, our current camp has no quality camp water.<\/p>\n
Kloan is a concentrated four hundred yards long, straight as an arrow, and the best runs are competitive in peak season.\u00a0Shade comes early, buttressed by the steep western wall. We\u2019ll be on the water well ahead of it.<\/p>\n
In the mottled shade of sumac trees the troops are stirring: talking quietly, adjusting leaders, replacing tippets, tipping a beer, tying on flies. It is the infantry waiting to attack, a rock group waiting to perform. But first they take up a plate and eat.<\/p>\n
We\u2019ve done well this trip. The hop farmers are happy no matter what and my guys have done themselves credit; we provide little more than a catered, water taxi service for them. That said, there is an honest resonance between us, and I\u2019ve made plans to join them in Costa Rica this winter to fish.<\/p>\n
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<\/a>\n\t\t\t<\/div><\/figure>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\nI take the espresso brewer from the dry box and fire it up.\u00a0The boys make short work of dinner and gather by the boat. We share the rejuvenating tonic around and talk tactics. Everyone, save Mike, want to cross over. \u201cWe\u2019ve fished this side last couple trips,\u201d Don was saying. \u201cI\u2019ve seen guys doing well across the way, one big rock in particular, down near the bottom. Wouldn\u2019t at all mind having a shot at that.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou know that side as well as I do,\u201d I said. \u201cNever had a chance to fish it, what with the success we\u2019ve had here and the sleds and all; they like it there. Speaking of which, you\u2019d better scoot before they show up. Take the boat, I\u2019ll hang here.\u201d<\/p>\n
Close to show time now, I go over to Gordy. He\u2019ll take the canon runs below camp, Bathtub and Cabin, more than enough for his two guys. Mike would work around them, his sights set on the Green Light Hole, a long hike down to the very bottom of Kloan.<\/p>\n
Gordy nodded, considering. \u201cI was thinking Kohn and I might row across and hike upriver and fish those hummocks below Bed Springs, if you wouldn\u2019t mind keeping an eye on my guys, that is.\u201d<\/p>\n
There is no sign as yet of approaching sleds or rigs descending the old Freebridge grade behind camp. I get that it\u2019s a Wednesday but still, fish are in, and I figured the grape vine would be abuzz already. Next week will be nuts. Mike sets off on the trail down to Green Light. With everyone gone I grab a camp chair and take it down to the water. I can see Pete and Terry Kleese not far down river, but no one else.<\/p>\n
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<\/a>\n\t\t\t<\/div><\/figure>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\nHot as all get out still.\u00a0I decide to wade wet and slip on bulky socks and wading boots. With the espresso coursing through my veins I can\u2019t sit for long, and I decide to check on the Brothers K. As I pass the foundation for the bridge keeper\u2019s titular bathtub I see Pete trying to yank his fly from the sagebrush up on the bank. \u201cHang on, Pete, I got it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThanks Rob, that\u2019s the third time I\u2019ve snagged up.\u201d He laughed but I could tell he was frustrated.<\/p>\n
I pull it free and walk down to the bank. The rumble of engines grabs my attention as two jet boats hove into view. I glance over to see if I can spot my guys and, sure enough, Don is in the water already near his rock and Ken is hustling into the water just above him.\u00a0Not a lot left on that side, tough call for the sled captain.<\/p>\n
The sleek sled boats motor steadily up center channel and the lead boat driver\u2019s eyes dart from side to side. They radio back and forth . . . and continue on. He glances my way with a tight smile and holds up one hand which I return in form.<\/p>\n
I sit down on the bank, eye level with Pete and brief him on the history of the bridge keeper and his apricot orchard, then a quick overview of the run he was fishing and the one his bro was working right below.<\/p>\n
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<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s tough right were you\u2019re standing, back cast is a bitch.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cTell me about it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cRight.\u00a0 Your bro has it easy,\u201d I tell him, pointing fifty yards downstream.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe\u2019s a better fisherman; we should trade places. I tried to roll cast and I\u2019m lousy at it\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHell, so am I, here\u2019s my workaround.\u201d I step into the water and Pete hands me his rod. \u201cOpen your stance so you can see where your line is going, you know, then throw your back cast parallel with shore, like this.\u201d I demonstrate. \u201cThen push your forecast out as far as you can. Bend it, like this.\u00a0Ain\u2019t pretty, but it gets the job done. Then toss a mend downstream. See the arc the fly\u2019s cutting? That\u2019s what you\u2019re looking for.\u201d<\/p>\n
Pete nods. \u201cLet me give that a try.\u201d I step back onto the bank and watch Pete make a decent go of it. \u201cYou\u2019re a quick study, Pete; I\u2019ll leave you to it.\u201d I turn, pause.<\/p>\n
\u201cJust one more thing.\u00a0See that line of rocks that you\u2019re working down to?\u00a0Right on the other side is the head of Bathtub, proper, a classic bit of water.\u00a0And seeing as though you\u2019re the first time caller, there\u2019s likely to be a fish or two sitting right where the water breaks, slurping up oxygen.\u00a0 So, when you get down there, stay low and swing your fly right across the top.\u00a0We\u2019ve taken some nice fish within spitting distance of those rocks there on four feet of line.\u201d<\/p>\n
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<\/a>\n\t\t\t<\/div><\/figure>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\n\u201cBet that was a rush!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSteelies have a bust-out speed of 26 feet per second, so it\u2019s like hooking a passing truck.\u00a0Make damned sure your drag is set right.\u201d I recalled Don the day before as I watched Pete give a yank on his line; no overrun. \u201cNice, you\u2019re set.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThanks Rob, appreciate it. We wanted to tell you, my brother and I have had a good trip, by the way. Again, of course, like every year. While we haven\u2019t hit it as hard as your guys, you know, we\u2019ve each hooked all the fish we could have hoped for. It\u2019s just great to be out here, change of pace from the farm, the whole business. When we get back it\u2019ll be time to harvest, so nice to have a change of pace before that.\u201d<\/p>\n
I nodded, smiled. \u201cYou two are totally non-maintenance and the satisfaction we get from fishing is entirely subjective.\u00a0When I get to a certain place and feeling good I\u2019ll hang up the rod and go with the glow.\u00a0Granted, my satisfaction threshold might be higher than yours out here but then this is my jam, if you know what I mean.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI do, I get it; each to his own.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHow\u2019d you and your brother get into fly fishing, anyway?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOur dad was a big fisherman and his dad before him. He would take us over here to camp and fish every summer when were old enough. We didn\u2019t get the bug quite like he did but we do enjoy it once a year and floating the canyon is just the best.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI fell in love with it myself, and I still don\u2019t know how much of it is the river, the canyon, or the fish.\u201d I laugh. \u201cA powerful trifecta.\u201d<\/p>\n
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<\/p>\n
\u00a0***<\/p>\n
Not a peep from camp now; it is well past midnight.\u00a0I\u2019m about to hang it up, too.\u00a0By pull-out tomorrow we will have hooked over 50 fish, total high water mark for me and a hell of a way to open the season.\u00a0Sure makes my job easier, doesn\u2019t hurt tips, either.<\/p>\n
Gordy had intel that it was raining like hell in Portland and heading this way.\u00a0I\u2019m sleeping on board tonight.\u00a0Kohn and Gordy are on cots still, under a wing they set up over the kitchen. It\u2019s nice on the water right now, the boat is swinging free in a shallow pocket just off the bank, wind has softened. Bit of a hassle sleeping like this, moving things around, building the lounge up with one leg on the cooler and one on the dry well, trying not to drop anything overboard.\u00a0But I can smoke my pipe at least.<\/p>\n
Kenny waded out to visit while I was setting up and brought a bottle of Scotch. Said they had a wonderful trip and will be back again next year.\u00a0Great bunch of guys, these guys, like fishing with your buddies. A little ganja and whiskey and Ken and I are hanging over the gunwhale.\u00a0Netted some neon green ryacophila larva, found a fry stationed behind a rock and speculated on his response to a dead drift versus a swing or lift.\u00a0Research.<\/p>\n
Everyone is looking forward to the rapids tomorrow, a tonic for the desiccated, blistered, sleep deprived but fish sated likes of us.\u00a0Gordon\u2019s Ridge, Colorado and Rattlesnake: Class II+, III and IV, a white-water crescendo.<\/p>\n
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<\/a>\n\t\t\t<\/div><\/figure>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\nIt occurs to me (not for the first time, either) how camp vibe becomes a little looser and more congruent each day, building on a crescendo of its own.\u00a0Guards are let down, friendships formed, as people get to know one another better.\u00a0Kenny and Mike performed this great Irish skit tonight and had everyone in stitches.<\/p>\n
What it is, I think, is a fundamental alchemy, a quality of homogeneity that comes over everyone.\u00a0Gradually the posturing falls away and there are no more guides or clients, doctors or farmers or even fishermen, only people.<\/p>\n
***<\/p>\n
Editor’s note: Rob Lyon worked as fishing guide on the Deschutes River for many years. For this series, he pulled from one memorable trip in 1982\u2014over 50 fish hooked. For more memories from those magic days on the water, check out Part 1<\/a> and Part 2<\/a> of his Deschutes Journals.<\/i><\/i><\/p>\n Photography courtesy of Ken Morrish, Rob Lyon and Zento Slinger.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Sumac Camp, Deschutes River, August 1982 Guides are traditionally the grill masters in our outfit. Gordy has his battered up and downer on, his face…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3742,"featured_media":38753,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[680],"tags":[356,389,768,652,357,695],"class_list":["post-38201","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-guide-stories","tag-angling","tag-deschutes-river","tag-fishing-guide","tag-fly-angling","tag-fly-fishing","tag-guide","post-grid"],"yoast_head":"\n