Post by ShadowCaster on May 7, 2014 19:54:14 GMT 8
In many ways, the North Umpqua is all steelhead rivers. As it gouges a path through steep canyon walls, the North Umpqua creates every imaginable kind of steelhead water and all of it in abundance. From glass-smooth tail-outs and choppy runs, to gliding bedrock-rimmed chutes and deep pocket water, the North Umpqua offers something for everyone and in doing so becomes unique unto itself.
The magnitude of the river is impressive, not so much for the 31 miles restricted to fly fishing only, but for the countless steelhead lies found through this section and for the diversity of their natures. In one place you scramble down the steepest of inclines, picking your way through rip-rap and blackberries, always just one wrong step away from getting to the bottom much more quickly than anticipated. When you finally emerge at river's edge, you find all your efforts will yield but a single casting station - a single rock scarred with cleat marks from seasons past.
The North Umpqua is a dangerous river. Its currents are swift and deceptively clear, flowing over a bedrock of river polished lava that is difficult to read and as slippery and treacherous as icy pavement. Even when the its bottom are relatively good, an angler is usually forced to wade armpit deep in a smooth current of startling power. There are many places where the river flows swiftly through narrow channels in the ledges, at depth as much as thirty to forty feet, and other places where a smooth pool gathers itself to plunge into impassable rapids unless you are a resident Steelhead.
A local fly fisherman I met on the river warned me that wading cleats are mandatory on the North Umpqua, otherwise, I better leave him my home address so that he would know where to ship my belongings. While I had read and been told that wading the North Umpqua was slippery and treacherous, that turned out to be an understatement. It's been said that when you wade the North Umpqua, you might as well just dunk yourself into the river first thing in the morning and get it over with.
It has become obvious that getting into fly fishing for Steelhead is like taking a vow of voluntary poverty. You know that even if you eventually get somewhat good at it (not likely for someone who lives across the Pacific Ocean from the nearest Steelhead water), the good days will be few and far in between and they will be measured by a different standard that the one where us tropical Peacock Bass fly fishermen are used to. Even if you wait it out to the bitter end, the favourable fish-to-cast-ratio just does not pan out with sea-run fish like Steelhead.
This can keep you away for a long time, but eventually you may tumble out of curiosity. The experience, is like taking a first sip of beer; its bitter and astrigent, but all too soon it becomes an acquired taste you can't live without.
My baptism on the North Umpqua occurred at Susan Creek. Hugh boulders lie in its depths. Their presence betrayed only by the rhythms of flow that disturb its mirrored surfaces. Towards the swelling tail of the pool, the giant boulders and pumpkin-sized cobblestones are increasingly visible, all bronze and gold with winter algae
I was fishing with a fly pattern that was customised for the winter Steelhead of North Umpqua. These things were big and bushy and tied with a weighted eye and a single hook dropped about 2.5 inches on backing materials. I think the pattern is called an Intruder or Penetrator or Tickler, or something like that. I guess I missed the moment when Steelhead flies began to look and sound like sex toys.
While fishing the North Umpqua, one can’t help but to feel saturated by the traditions of fly fishing for steelhead. The river truly has a soul. A soul that is fueled by the legends that have waded her jade water, and cast a fly to her lovely steelhead. Many of these legends are gone now, though a few still test themselves against one of the most challenging fisheries in existence. Guys like Frank Moore, who live right on the bank of the river, is still an everyday fixture on the "North". There are many others, though a whole book could be written on the river’s personalities. Men and women who have shaped the thoughts and traditions of our sport today. And then there are the modern day pioneers like guides Scott Howell and Rich Zellman, plying the same famous waters that Zane Grey and Major Jordon Lawrence Mott fished in the 1930's.
The North Umpqua’s fly fishing only stretch has been called "The finishing school for steelheaders". With good reason. No other steelhead river will test your skills like the Umpqua. To begin with, just wading the river is an adventure by itself. The term, "Full contact" comes to mind. This becomes brutally obvious when you see the river in full day light. It’s huge boulders and basalt ledges give new meaning to intimidating. While numerous classic "riffle, gut, tail-out" runs do exist, many of the lies are covered from a single casting station. This is often a rock that may take considerable effort to get to. This affects not only your wading, but your fishing as well. Line control is critical for success. The huge structure and swift currents make this a challenge. In addition, you’re often trying to move fish from a long distance. Thus, large flies and long casts are often necessary to find fish. The river is steeped in tradition. While the river is a challenge to fish, those who spend the time learning her secrets find huge satisfaction.
There is a definite feeling of community on the North Umpqua. It’s not uncommon to make new friends on the water. At times, it feels like the center of the steelhead universe. Even if you don’t find a friend, there’s an overwhelming sense of place for any steelheader. The old pictures and books remind us of our heritage and community. One thing is for certain; When you do finally walk away from the river, you will leave a part of your heart with it.
