As pledged, I headed back into Oregon this last weekend to see if the fishing chemistry I felt the first time around was simply an infatuation or if it had the potential for a long term relationship.
My first stop found me visiting the “River X”– Since I’m fairly certain all forms of communication (cell phones, email, Internet, smoke signals ) are being monitored daily by a group of dedicated vigilantes about said river, I’m scared to death to even mention it under my breath much less write about it in my website.
I’m not sure what the penalty for mentioning the real name of said river is, but my imagination has put it up in the ranks of medieval torture executed through the use of Bamboo fly rods, wire fly line and size 4 hooks. Anyway, I went there Friday and had a fantastic time. The fish weren’t shy about slurping down dry flies and I was entertained for hours. In hindsight, I wish I had just stayed there the entire weekend, but I was feeling adventurous and at dark turned the Fishcruiser in the direction of ‘somewhere’ middle-ish Oregon. So long Sweet Wyoming River X ~
3:00 a.m found me pulling over along side the John Day river and I stayed in that general area for the rest of the weekend. I have no doubt that most people in this world research the rivers they seek out prior to arrival and come prepared with knowledge, a game plan and are not likey to be surprised by things like, “Welcome to the John Day River, proud home of the Small Mouth BASS..”
I am not one of those people. I don’t roll that way. Rarely are my trips researched, structured, intentional or planned. One hour I can be sitting in my home doing the laundry and the next I’m driving down the freeway in hopes that I run into a river eventually. In my humble opinion, spontaneity keeps my life interesting and if the price I pay for such haphazard ways is being forced to fish for Bass over say, Trout. I suppose I can live with the repercussions.
The John Day river was a lazy, slow rolling piece of water where a smallie could be caught just about anywhere. I figured out rather quickly that the goal wasn’t about catching one, it was about catching one bigger than 7 inches long. Oh, a bonus goal: Avoiding the multiple rafters, float tubers, water noodle ridin’ people who seemed to be spaced out equally —- 25 feet apart—- the whole time I was trying to fish. If I had a new fly for every time someone asked me, “Hey, hows the fishin’” I’d have a full box.
I should have stayed at the River X (in Washington of course)
Instead I headed over to the Middle Fork of the John Day and proceeded to catch enough small fry to fill a whole can of sardines. Feisty little buggers at any rate…
At this point I feel like I’ve gotten my moneys worth out of my non-resident Oregon licence (106 dollars!) but I’m not done cashing in for a better rate of return.
X here I come…located in Nevada of course…