Rivers have soul. They wind, and drop and rise by nature’s clock, not by man’s. They sway, breathe, protect, give, and take. Despite our best attempts to control them, to reroute and fortify their banks where they flood, and care about their ecosystems, the soul of a river reflects the harsh reality of how temporary conditions can be. The soul of a river is beautiful, and each river carries with it our own memories and reflections. It is true, that one never steps into the same river twice, because it changes, and so does our own soul.

River guides know the souls of these rivers more intimately than most; the ability to predict its attitude based on the factors that anglers measure moving water by – cubic feet per second, temperature, clarity. We know that the souls of our rivers stir when these factors conspire to make trout feed. For blossoms to shine, for grasses to again dig deep to fuel springtime’s growth. It is springtime now, in the Pacific Northwest. The sun just broke through the clouds above my home away from the river, leaving the ground wet and my short-sleeve shirt wet after a quick run to the truck to close the windows. Change, at a speed not dependant on the time on the clock or the day on the calendar, comes painfully sometimes and touches our souls. River banks, strong and dry, quickly strain and are scrubbed by cold snow melt high in the Stuart Range above the Yakima River, in Central Washington.

It was red hot, and then it was not.  After a mild winter, showing it’s first signs of life, Skwalas were on the menu that day – 11 am and the boat launch is a mat of adult midges. At High noon, the sun is out and it’s a beautiful day – the first fish comes to hand. The river is in prime condition, and the wild fish are hungry. Through the deep canyon walls, past the charred stumps and brush of last summer’s late fire that leaped from bank to bank – not dirty run-off yet from the blackened ground. Past leaking tributaries that are beginning to creep up as the day warms. On a hot summer day, this is the place to be; colder water with more oxygen has the fish lined up here, but not today. Today the river is beginning to change, and as we near the end of the trip, and the wind and clouds begin to fall, it feels different. The river’s soul has changed again.  A few days ago, the soul of this river lost one of it’s true champions.

This past week has been particularly hard on the guide community in the PNW, with two of it’s fine souls and champions of wild fish, passing away. Each leaving a legacy of conservation, of change – from the rainforests of the Olympic Peninsula where wild steelhead are loved and their future’s fought for, and the beaches of Puget Sound. The dry, high plains of Central Washington mark the split of the Evergreen State into two here – souls of these rivers in the Northwest are richer now with the spirit of these fine men. Their losses will be felt, seen – more than a few drams of whiskey will flow as an offering to the souls of these rivers. There will be empty chairs in the fly shops and coffee houses where rained out trips stalled to re-plan; when, where, what to expect.

The fishing report is one way to measure what’s happening on the river. When I looked at the forecast, and reflected on my experiences on this river, this was shaping up to be a fine week of dry fly fishing. A warm front approached, dark and menacing – but far enough out. And then, the soul of these rivers called out and reclaimed for good what had been shared over the last 30 years. Conditions change, and it’s expected to fall below freezing for the next few nights – slowing the melt of snow, and the rivers will drop. When I step foot in the Yakima again, I’ll think of these guides and how they shaped the future of these fisheries by caring about them in the past – and saving their souls.

There’s a British film made in 1936, titled East Meets West in which the cast of characters play though a modern day plot line; the coveting of something you don’t have because of it’s strategic value or place.  The main character in the movie plays a powerful figure being courted by two larger, foreign powers vying for his homeland, who manages to get what he wants from both of them.  There are days, on the river, that we’re faced with the same challenges – the finicky feeding behavior of early-season fish, the weather, the transition of seasons.  When the signs of springtime are all around you, it’s easy to be lulled into a false feeling of hope.  Steelhead flies have been named after this feeling, this “Winter’s Hope.”

I had the opportunity to share my home water, the Yakima River, with Patrick Fulkrod, an Orvis Endorsed Guide from Virginia, and his friend Mark recently.  I’m the sole Orvis-Endorsed operation in Washington, so networking and fishing with other Orvis-Endorsed Guides doesn’t happen all that frequently.  There are 70 miles of special regulations, catch & release, wild fish water.

Representative of the species.

Native strains of the Westslope Cutthroat (Onchorhynchus clarkii lewisi) are more abundant in it’s upper reaches, while rainbow and other game fish species populate the water above Roza Dam, the terminus of the special regulations water.  Below Roza, the Yakima broadens and warms, offering Smallmouth Bass and other game fish.

Nice winter fish.

 It’s here where Patrick and I, while a continent apart in distance, are the most similar.  Our  guiding style and approach, whether it’s because of our affiliation with Orvis or because we’re just cut from the same cloth, is client-focused.  Understanding the relationship between the guide and client is paramount and makes the difference.

 We’re miles apart in terms of distance, but not in how we guide, how we fish, and the ingredients for a great day on the water.  Like a prospective client of Patrick’s, I knew what to expect ahead of time, and I learned a lot about his fishery, the issues affecting his guiding, and we shared our best practices on how to be better guides.

After Patrick returned to VA, he sent me an email along with some pictures, and had this to say about our shared day on the Yakima:

“Everyone at this point probably has Facebook. Having this said, we all know what it is to have people on a friend list whom you have never met in person. Derek was one of these guys on my Facebook list. I, like many other people have dedicated my share of minutes (maybe hours) admiring Derek’s reports and blogs. When I first found out that I would be traveling in Derek’s “neck of the woods” I immediately thought of the idea to plan a day and fish with Orvis’ 2011 Guide Of The Year.

 I brought along a friend from home, Mark.  Mark and I met Derek on the outskirts of Seattle for our trip. For our trip the weather predicted to be a bit “un-accommodating.” Having the opportunity to meet a long time Facebook friend was a delight. Derek and I are both fortunate enough to make a living doing what we like the best; and that’s fly fishing. The flow of guide jokes and gear raves were non-stop; as was the wind. The fact that our day wasn’t the most productive didn’t matter. Our day was more productive in our eyes for the simple fact that it was time on the water.”

Oh the W.

The antagonist in our day on the Yakima was the W; or outside the fly fishing community the “wind.”  I hesitate to say the whole word, for fear of encouraging the atmospheric conditions that pushes air with force up the rocky canyons and sweeping the sage-covered banks.  But, as a guide must do, we were prepared for the conditions and made the best of the day.  In the end, East and West both got what we wanted – shared time on the water in challenging conditions making us appreciate a stronger power, the W.  The wind blew from East to West, and North to South.  It blew us against the banks of the river.  But it couldn’t spoil a great day on the river.

The W wanted to get the best of us that day on the Yakima, but we turned the tables on it.  Two Orvis-Endorsed Fly Fishing Guides from opposite sides of the country, on one Western river, managed to connect with a few wild fish, on a wild, wild windy day.  Oops, I said it….

I’m outside my comfort level, with unfamiliar gear that strangely enough, when asked, I step right in and work; downriggers, cut-bait, depth finders.

It’s comfortable on the water, a break from the oars in exchange for the salty air and seagulls.

I celebrate a good friends coming birthday with time on the water. Soon, we’ll be back in shallower freshwater, casting flies and far removed from the deep Sound.

I hit the upper river solo on Monday, to recon a section for the first time of the year – the high water affords access where there normally is none, bringing life to a narrow band of swift water slowly eating at the cobbled banks as it twists back towards the main channel.  There, a deep slow pool where I’ve floated over spawned out salmon, the water promising.  I make a few casts, a flash, the splash, and a gorgeous cutthroat comes to hand.

The Yakima River in Washington State is classified as “Blue Ribbon” trout water, and as such causes a love/hate relationship with those that pursue the native Westslope Cutthroat and wild Rainbow in its waters.  The 70-miles of designated special regulations water is where a lot of Washington’s trout anglers first experience the heartbreak and soothing salvation of fly fishing.  So, that’s both the blessing and the curse -  you don’t need to drive all the way to Montana or Idaho to experience great fly fishing (which I also enjoy doing), but what you won’t find on the Yakima River is what makes other well-known and heavily fished trout waters so popular.  No, you won’t find 10,000 trout per mile, or even 3000 – numbers that make you wonder how you could fish water that rich and not catch anything.  You will find between 800-1000 fish per mile, depending on which stretch you fish, and the time of the year.  It’s what I love the most about guiding, fishing, and sharing this river with friends and clients – it’s about the discovery, and if you’re the type of angler who appreciates the discovery, hard work, and getting out there to see the river for what it is, then you’ll find me right there along side you.

The color and shape of the river recently has been the biggest challenge – record snowfalls in the Cascades and several extraordinary weather events in January, March, and then again in May have changed the river.  Change is good, and that adds to the challenge – where fish used to hold, feed, and travel has changed over the last six months, so anglers have to adapt to it and think more like a fish.  High water means searching out deep, slow pools where food and fish collect.  It means inside seams, and walking speed water below the classic run, riffle, pool river structure.  It means there will be hatches and rising fish, but more so it means finding the right water and presenting your flies the right way.

The first two days of June brought improving river conditions – from “fish someplace else this week” to “okay” is how I described it on the Orvis.com report. Floating the upper river sections between S. Cle Elum and Thorp, WA are my favorite stretches of the river – braided, tree-lined, and full of character.  I know some guides who haven’t fished the upper river once over the last 10 years, and while I don’t frequent the lower stretches as much as others do, there’s a reason why – the fishing is more technical up here.  But the reward is greater – there are fewer fish, but they are bigger and more often clients are bringing nice Cutthroat to the net.

This fish was caught on a golden stonefly nymph, and representative of the color and the shape of the cutthroat in the upper river.  The fiery orange slash, the remarkable blush of the cheek, the fight.  You won’t find acrobatics in general, but you’ll know it when you hook one, as the slash is vibrant against the olive jaw.

Here, Dan caught a end of the day beauty of a rainbow on a Pat’s, drifted deep and slow in the fading light. A personal best for him and on any river a fine fish.

Between the three of us (I don’t normally fish with clients, but when demonstrating a technique, the inevitable happens!) we netted three fish, with many more bites – takes were slight, sometimes sets were missed, but we found a great sunny day.  Water temps in the upper 40′s, air was in the 60′s, and the water was clear.  Definitely improving, and these flows will likely stick around until mid-September when the flows are normally reduced for the winter.  Overall, a great day sharing the river with two new friends and clients.

Thursday the 2nd brought similar conditions – sunny and warm, but windy.  However, for Jason and Chad, their first interaction with the Yakima River.  With what we learned the day before, I set us up for a afternoon float.  On the water around 1:45, off at 7:45.  Water temps were in the upper 40′s, but the wind resulted in fewer bugs on the water and tougher fishing conditions.  Covering the basics of casting from the boat and working together (hey, stay out of my water!) we fished hard, stopping frequently to re-rig as the conditions required big flies, down deep, and close to underwater structure.  The saying goes, “if you not losing flies nymphing, you’re not doing it right.”  And while I agree with the premise, if you master the technique, you’ll not lose flies.  It’s technical fishing – frequent mending, reading the water, managing your line, adapting – if you become proficient at catching fish subsurface on the Yakima River, you’ll catch fish anywhere.  I do think of the Yakima as having a steep learning curve, but if you’ll put in the time, the rewards are great.  Three fish to the net, including a end of the day (sense a trend here?) beauty fought valiantly by Chad – into his backing, and a good 40 yards from the boat, I finally netted his fish.  He’ll come back with a 5wt next time, cause this ain’t no 3wt water up here.

Jason’s a high-school classmate of mine, and Chad’s a Coug.  Couldn’t beat the company on the water that day, with an initial introduction to the Yakima – having gone to college and fished in MT and in Alaska, Jason’s taking fishing the Yakima seriously.

And that’s all I can report on for the first two days in June – back on the river after a two-week break (nature and nurture) has been a welcome return for me.  Getting back to river speed, to rowing, to casting, to teaching, to netting, and to sharing my home river is a blessing – the color and shape, from season to season, I keep coming back.  The Yakima River demands your attention to be successful.  Don’t expect it to be easy, but expect the reward to be worth it.

Thanks for reading,

Derek

The conversation started last May, during a brief safety meeting on the Green River in UT – “The Elk, Dude.  You gotta fish the Elk.”  My affinity for cutthroat is well documented and discussed, therefore the recommendation.  I like fishing with people who not only can row and take care of their own knots themselves, but also appreciate the kind of experience that others want to have – so that it’s not a one-sided event.  I started thinking about Canada immediately.

The last time I was in the Great White North I was attending a show – the ZOO TV tour of U2, with Bjork and Public Enemy as the opener.  It was early November in 1991, and the results of the US Presidential election were announced during the show.  Now, being a fan small places with a lot of people beer around, it was a good spot to gauge the reaction of a mostly US audience in one of Canada’s shining gems of a city.  Oh, and I met a transvestite there too.  Overall, it was an interesting night that both ended a relationship, and furthered an interest in our close neighbor to the north.  That is, until shit got twisted on a visit to Fernie last week.  Note to reader, the transvestite had nothing to do with the end of the relationship.

In my opinion, if I’m headed to Paradise, and there are signs advising me how quickly it just is that I can get there, well maybe that paradise with such rules is a bit of a tease – but after a quick stop to see Brooks and a few new choice OC larvae patterns, I headed for Paradise – first stop, the Thompson River.

Lunch was in order – the town of Plains, MT was preparing for the Labor Day weekend, and something about this place just seemed right.  A hot dog cart, a shed, a flag, and huckleberry lemonade.  Bingo.

It became clear very quickly, that unlike my last visit to Canada, that what it looked like, it absolutely was.  Down home, road-side chow.  Buffalo.  Good trade.

Traveling with the Green Drake always draws a crowd, and this was no different.  The proprietor and another gentleman soon crowded the rigs, asking questions about the boat, my ARB tent, and where I was headed.

Paradise, via Wild Horse Plains, MT and the Thompson River.  What could be better.

Here’s the Thompson River – cold, a bit slippery, and very fishy looking.  Unfortunately, the road was closed just to the right of the frame in this shot – so, I would travel no further to get a line wet in MT on this trip.  The fish were rising in the swirling, dirty foam lines – exactly what I wanted to find.  Deep pools, jagged rocks that obviously slipped from the talus slope above into the river, creating a S-shaped labyrinth of possibilities.  I lined up with a tasty looking terrestrial, and headed down, loaded for bear – now why would there be bear, here?

Junk.  River junk.  Bait boxes, shiny, desperate lures and heavily braided wire leader, ugh.  Trash on the river.  Disappointment on the Thompson.  What a start.

I fished for a short time, slipping and sliding around – something didn’t feel right.  I was distracted, and left in a huff – a skunking, who gets skunked in MT?  I shuffled back to the truck, quickly taking off my boots and wading socks, and heard a unfamiliar “clink” on the road – a gold coin dropped out of my wading sock.  A sign?  My mind quickly jumped to Canada, and the Toonie.  Ok, that’s a positive.  Let’s get on the road.

Don’t worry, we’re getting to the good stuff.  Patience, my four readers.  You know at this point that I caught a lot of big cutties on the Elk, but you’re wondering – how did the RCMP get involved?

Here’s the quick and dirty – a few weeks prior, a group of people rolled into Fernie, BC and trashed their hotel room.  According to Cst. Kevin Johnson, of the Elk Valley Detachment, they returned on our first night at the Park Place Lodge, and proceeded to destroy the same room they had previously done the same to – leaving a note to the effect “you charged us too much for the damage last time, so we came back to make it even.”  How or why the Green Drake got involved, but to the quick – they entered the boat, vandalized it with my river knife stowed on my Stohlquist vest, tucked deep inside the dry bag.  Cutting straps, stealing personal goods with little value (some food, playing cards) but some with much value (new Orvis waders, bear spray, flies).  My buddy Eric Brenco awoke me with “Dude, have you been down to the boat already this morning?”  Looking out the open window 50 feet and two stories up from the boat, it quickly came to me – fooled again in Canada.

At this stage in the trip, I was only interested in fishing the Elk, and getting into some native, wild-strain Westslope Cutthroats.  One of the finest examples of this fish left on the continent.  The RCMP came to file the report, and take an inventory of what was missing.  I didn’t even realize all what was gone, until less than an hour later, a call comes in to the Fisheries agent floating with us that day – Jim is a guide and long-time resident of the area, and is now in charge of watching the rivers and mountains in the area.  In his words, “the fox guarding the hen house.”  Jim’s distinct Canadian dialect was like music to my ears – not Bjork, but U2, “but I still haven’t found, what I’m looking for.”  But I didn’t know what was gone, only what was possible downriver.  And I was getting anxious.  “He could bring them right down here” Jim said.  Knowing what was lost, then found, and safely in the hands of the RCMP, I deferred.  Let’s get on the river.  Our belongings would be safely with Kevin, at his home in Fernie.  Having an “in” with the Fisheries and the local law enforcement just felt good.

The Elk is an amazing river – gin clear, full of fish, cold, and beautiful.

High clouds, and no-one else on the river.  I’ve forgotten all about the events of earlier, and focused on Cutts.

Yeah, these fish have shoulders.  Big and strong, taking dries.

Eric’s Helios 8’6 5wt Tip was bent a lot during the trip.

At the end of the day, we drove back up from Elko to Fernie, and to Kevin’s home to retrieve my stolen items.  He was out in front, mowing the lawn.  A regular guy, keeping rule and taking an active role in helping out complete strangers.  I got my waders back, first aid kit, hammock, and flies.  The lunch meat and chocolate-covered raisins?  “Oh, those were gone, Eh!”

In the end, the hotel comped our room charges for the two-night stay, as the RCMP told us that it was likely an inside job – they had to get in the room somehow, and the hotel had them on video too.  All was good, and set the stage for a return trip to Fernie, BC next year to attend the court proceedings.  You bet I’ll be back to the Elk, and to Fernie.  And I’ve got a few Toonies left.

I really like taking road trips – there doesn’t even have to be a reason, but most of my destinations have cold water and the promise of trout. The promise of a road trip is what you know, what you don’t know, and what you’ll experience in the process. I hesitate to even call a road trip a “process” because that puts a label on it, something that defines it. The best road trips are beyond definition, but always undertaken with at least an idea of what’s coming.

What’s your idea of a great road trip?  Where have you gone lately?  Where are you going?