Trout Camp

Timothy Burke • 6/11/172/16/19

Trout camp is a special place for storytelling, ribbing comments, and enjoying good company. Every May a few of my closest friends and I migrate south for a long weekend of fly fishing for very large and very hungry rainbow trout on the Deschutes River. After seven months of wet soggy Western Washington weather, the dry hot arid temperatures of Central Oregon are a breath of fresh air. We make it a point to fish the Salmon Fly hatch and tan our pale skin. Selfishly I get to hang out with people I love, do something I love (fly fishing) and be in a place that I love. For me, this scratches all the necessary itches all at once. Maybe you’ve witnessed a Labrador Retriever receiving a good scratch from a loving owner with their tail wagging and one back hind leg thumping on the ground with that look in their eye like, “I hope this never ends.” Well, that’s what I feel like come late May on the Deschutes.

Although my buddy JR would never admit it the trout I am holding is bigger then any trout he has ever caught. Notice his jealous grin…

My brother Seth and I share a special bond through fly fishing.

FullSizeRender — Fly fishing for rainbow trout

Hand Tied

Timothy Burke • 2/21/172/16/19

I am very proud of my brother, Seth. He is genuinely one of the most talented steelhead fishermen that I know. He ties perfect flies, builds flawless rods, and grids out steelhead runs like an excel sheet. However, Seth, who we call Stealth, has been on a four-year journey trying to catch a 20-pound steelhead. It started back in 2013 when we did a float together down our favorite river. Honestly, I still feel kind of guilty because I was taking my time floating down to a really nice piece of water when an older fisherman steps out on the gravel bar in front of us and caught a 20-pound steelhead. I was so frustrated with myself if I would have just pushed down river 10 minutes earlier that would have been our fish. Anyways, this whole experience led to Stealth’s radical pursuit of some very big and very elusive wild fish. Later in that same day, I broke off an upper teens steelhead, “man was I frustrated.” So, fast forward to the next year and Seth comes out from Oregon to hunt his trophy steelhead and gets blanked after three days of fishing, not even a tug. Skip to the following year on the very last day in the cold morning he has a monster wild buck swing up the river with his fly in the same run he watched the old guy land a 20 pounder two years earlier. He explained “the eat” to me as “I heard two clicks come off of my Hardy, felt the line tighten and go up steam, then it just went limp”. How bazaar is that, well, not as unusual as we thought for big wild fish to swim upstream in the soft inside bucket of a run when the river is just above freezing levels. To make matters worse I saw the giant roll.

Now, the Stealth is furious and determined as ever to catch his fish. So in the offseason, he builds a beautiful Meizer 8WT 12’6 Spey Rod, ties up two dozen custom winter steelhead tube flies, and buys a reel called, “The Tank.” Stealth wasn’t messing around. To make the scenario even more dramatic he decides to drive 6 hours in a rainstorm to the OP and wait two days for the river to drop into shape before he could fish.

With only a day and a half to fish and the river just starting to drop we decided to take the boat down one of our favorite sections of the river. Halfway way through the day we pulled over to a nice gravel bar to swing flies and have lunch. It was Seth’s turn to make lunch, but he couldn’t get the BBQ started, so I told him to swing flies and I would cook the hot dogs. Ten minutes later I had some very hot dogs ready to eat and yelled to Stealth, “The Dogs Are Ready”, two seconds later his line when tight, the earth shook beneath his feet and the water exploded 20 yards in front of him as a huge wild fish grabbed his fly. The obese giant skimmed across the surface of the water on his massive belling proposing like a dolphin. The fish was so chunky that it couldn’t jump out of the water it just kind of flopped and burned off large sections of line from Seth’s reel. After a tremendous fight, we landed the beautiful wild buck and Stealth had done it, he had persevered and was given the just reward.

Why Fish Riffles at Last Light

Timothy Burke • 6/21/162/16/19

File May 29, 6 25 16 AM

Last light provides just the advantage that big redside Deschutes River trout thrive on. This minimal light environment creates a safe choppy top nutrient enrich feeding ground next to the grassy river banks. Large salmon flies who spend most of their day hanging out on trees, river grass, and sage take flight when the late evening temperatures soar. Their newly fertile eggs are released into the filmy rivers surface often causing the big bug to crash into the water turning into the perfect pray for a hungry trout.

File May 29, 6 27 34 AM

File May 29, 6 25 58 AM

A Winters Day

Seth Burke • 1/20/162/16/19

Sometimes there is nothing you can do. Sometimes you hook fish and sometimes you do not.

I stepped from the fresh snow into the river and plopped my fly into the frigid water. The dry clump of black and blue fibers sprang into a dance of delicate, tantalizing movements. I worked out my line and lifted my gaze to take in the view—a fresh morning with a dusting of snow and low hanging fog quietly lifting as the sun began to radiate above the canyon walls.

This is where Red said it was going to happen, I thought. As I sent my fly out into the run, I believed him. The soft inside of the run was weedy and my fly extracted rich green plant life from the river. I cleaned it off and laid out another cast. As my fly swam through the run I stayed connected to the tension in my line, the beautiful snow covered hills, and the feeling of the rocks under my feet. The swing ended. My fly stopped moving. It was time to recast. I started to strip when I felt my fly grab some weeds. So, I lifted up my rod and the weeds pulled back. Wait. What? Then my reel starting singing and weight transferred through the line and rod into my hands. Fish on! I could lie and say how amazing the fight was, how the fish thrashed, bucked, jumped and ran. But honestly, after a few rolls and splashes I quickly landed an average fish for this river system. Still, I was pumped. I was bringing home fresh fish for the family.

It was not long before the seductive battle dance of my fly enticed a second steelhead from its lie. A delicate weight detected by the tightening of my line. The fly carried softly in the mouth of a steelhead, like a game fowl in the mouth of a well-trained retriever. Then, instantly my line was ripping off the water, momentarily splitting through the silent mumble of the river, and my fly went sailing over my head. I heard the words before they penetrated the serene surrounding. “Idiot! What are you doing?” I knew I had done it and I was letting myself know it, as well as the cows, ducks, and any other life forms around to hear me. “You totally yarded that fish!” The negativity penetrated quick and deep, but I rallied with the Believe River attitude. I didn’t stick him. Maybe I can get him to come back? So I took three big steps upriver and began to cast again. Four casts then my line came tight. This time it was not soft or gentle. This take was aggressive like the steelhead was pissed off and he wanted me to know that the fly on the end of my line was his. I heard the clicking of my reel and I lifted my rod thinking, Oh yeah, baby. I got you this time! As quickly as this thought entered my mind, reality poked me in the eye. My line lay slack and lifeless in the water. I closed my eyes and dropped my head. Foiled again. I half-heartedly worked through the rest of the run and then reeled in and headed up the river.

I missed yet another fish in a beautiful bouldery run and turned to walk back down river, chuckling to myself. What a great day. Active fish, beautiful creation and good weather. But no matter how hard I tried, my mind kept going back to the fish I had missed earlier. I stepped off the train tracks onto a muddy cow trail and decided to try again. The marrow in my bones told me to keep fishing black and blue, but experience told me, “You need to change flies.” I stood on the bank, looking at the run where I had missed two fish earlier, and changed flies. I started in the same spot, working out two feet of line at a time, as I did earlier in the day. Soon I was in the groove, feeling the swing, anticipating the tug. Swing, step, cast. Swing, step, cast. Every cast I believed, this is the one. But nothing happened. I laid out another cast and let my fly swing and do it’s war dance one more time. My line stopped moving. I am at the soft inside. So I waited because I knew my fly was still moving slowly across where I believed a fish to be. Then my reel exploded in song. The sound ignited a rush of adrenalin and thoughts raced through my mind. It worked. I knew you were there! Laughter, pride, relief. Don’t screw this up. I waited and my reel screamed louder. Now is the time, I thought. I lifted my rod, feeling the weight of a fish. Feeling victorious. The adrenalin-induced acuity sent a message to my brain. I refused to believe it. My line is not slack. Reel, reel, reel faster. My line is not slack. Then reality punched me in the gut and I doubled over.

Staring into the clear water, I was transfixed, confused by the moment. My body warmed as the peek-a-boo sun rays landed on my back. Nothing I could do, I tried to comfort myself. It just didn’t stick…. I checked the hook again and then flipped my fly back into the river. Man, that was a good fish.

Preparing for the Dean River

Timothy Burke • 9/1/152/16/19

Learning is the beauty of any pursuit in life. As we learn our skills improve, our knowledge deepens, and our opportunities increase.

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Subtly Leads To Success

Timothy Burke • 8/27/1510/13/15

In summer conditions its important to remember that subtly can be very important. When a river is gin clear and had lots of pressure the profile and presentation of your fly can make a big difference.

On Saturday afternoon I fished the Cowlitz River. With lots of jet boats running up and down fishing eggs, shrimp, plugs, spinners, and a variety of different techniques I decided to go with a small wet fly. I knew the fish had seen lots of big presentations and must have been feeling the pressure.

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Three Boys In The Boat

Timothy Burke • 8/24/1510/13/15

The relentless pursuit from 13 year old Michaelo gave him the opportunity to catch his first steelhead. His trip in June was postponed due to the drought but that didn’t get this kid down. Fishing conditions had improved later in the summer and a week ago we headed to the Cowlitz River in search of steelhead.

Part of my job as a guide is to give grandpas, dads, and grandson’s the best possible opportunity. So we picked a Saturday afternoon in August to hunt for Michaelo’s first big steelhead.

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Determination Steels the Show

Timothy Burke • 8/21/1510/13/15

The day started out with much anticipation as many of my trips do. I met the guys in the Totem Lake Mall parking lot and we made our way down I-5 to spend the day fishing the Cowlitz River.

We launched the boat at blue creek.

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High Noon Pay Off

Seth Burke • 8/9/158/9/15

I was down in the count, as early in the morning a Steelhead grabbed my fly on the hang-down. The take was like this: pluck, pluck, grab, head shake, head shake, splash, splash, run towards me, slack. Gone. I’m down 0-1.

I shook my head in frustration as a nice steelhead launched itself horizontal with the river. “Thanks buddy,” I muttered and took a few steps up river to start fishing again.

The morning sun was already beating down all in its path. The sand was hot. The rocks were hot. My dog hid in a shady tangle of brush. The water was warming and I was the last spey fisherman within the two miles of river I covered. Am I crazy? Maybe. Am I confident? Yes. (Read my brother Dave’s article “A confident angler catches the fish”.)

So there I stood, the last spey wielding wizard, in direct sun, with a short head spey line and traditional fly. Just the way I like to fish. “This is the last run. It has to happen here,” I said to myself as I stepped into the water. Pleased that I had the run all to myself, I worked it meticulously. Nearing the last and most promising looking section, a spin fisherman steps in below me. Five cast later, he puts a steelhead on the bank. He makes a few more casts, loses his lure and leaves. Two other spin fishermen step in as well, but further down. “No way,” I mumbled. But as I watched, I noticed they were not fishing the water very well. They left and I kept my rhythm, cast, swing, three steps.

Before long, I was almost to the end. I mean, really–the river turns into a giant white water rumble 35 yards below my fly. Next cast, BAM! Fish on, no questions asked. No plucks. Just all fish mouth. A few minutes later, I had a nice hatchery hen to the bank. I look at my watch, 12:00 pm on the dot.

I could have hung my hat hours earlier with the rest of the spey fishermen, but I didn’t. I could have changed my line and fly, but I didn’t.

I was rewarded.

Always Believe.

Nymph Swing

Seth Burke • 7/19/157/21/15

I love casting two-handed fly rods. Swinging traditional flies on a
floating Scandi line. Standing knee deep in 100-yard runs cobbled with basketball-sized boulders. Stepping up to the challenge when the river taunts me to cast a little farther, a little farther.

Not all rivers are this way.

Sometimes a fisherman needs to sit and listen to the river. Observe. Absorb. Try something different and break the chains of tradition.

Give it a try and you might be rewarded like I was today.

My brother Dave, also known as “Red”, perfecected the Nymph Swing years ago as we began our journey into fly fishing for Steelhead. He started with a single hand rod but now prefers fishing two-handed rods. This technique can be used with either.

Select a long leader, the length of your rod or three to five feet longer, and your favorite buggy flies for the water you are fishing. I like to start with small weighted natural flies fished in tandum. A Steelhead Price Nymph and a Copper John. Start at the head of the pool or run, as summer Steelhead like the oxygenated water. (Don’t underestimate how far up they will hold in the head of a run.) Cast up stream, holding your rod up to keep a tight line. As the flies drift down current slowly lower your rod and begin following the flies. Then lower your rod completley and allow the flies to swing all the way to the bank.

It’s pretty simple, but what makes someone an expert with this technique is their fish sense. Stay connect to your flies. Use a sensative hand. Listen to and feel the river. If you need more weight, you can add a split shot or fish a heavier lead fly. A weighted Egg Sucking Leech can be an effective lead fly. Sometimes Steelhead will grab your fly early in the drift or as your flies transition into the swing. Where ever this happens, be ready. It can be violent.

Enjoy!