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

The Last Day

Seth Burke • 6/21/162/16/19

It was the end, or so people were saying. I decided to find out for myself. I parked my truck and started walking along the highway.

I walked 3 miles, doing my own shuttle and floating the Deschutes river, but it was worth it. I fished by myself, no other anglers in sight and realized that there was so much good water that it was hard to fish it all during prime time. I tied on my special “Clark’s Stone” a homebrew “late hatch” version for picky trout. I started fishing at 6:40 pm and by 8 pm I had landed 9 beautiful Deschutes River redsides. I Caught fish in the flat, caught fish in the riffle, caught fish in the other riffle, they were everywhere I floated down to my secret spot thinking I didn’t really need to fish it, but I tied on a big purple chubby churnobyl and started fishing. Hmmm, how to describe that spot…Amazing! Big bugs hatched for about 10-15 minutes around 9 pm and the fish were going nuts. You won’t believe me if I told you how many more fish I caught, so I won’t tell you. What stood out the most were the three 20″ fish I landed and the 20″+ fish that came off at my feet. One of those fish was so hot he took me into my backing twice. Summer Steelhead hot!
The fishing was excellent and it was nice to be on the river by myself for a little quiet and reflection time, but every time I hooked a screamer I looked around for someone to share it with. There is nothing like fishing with my brothers.

I floated down the river as the weight of the night sky squeezed out the last bit of light and found my take out. I tied up my pontoon boat and started the 1/2 mile hike to my truck. As I walked I thought, yep, hatch is over. A sly grin cracked across my face and I silently thanked all the fishermen who stopped fishing the salmon fly hatch or who trust internet reports. The end is only for those who dare to not go.

The Natural

Timothy Burke • 6/7/162/16/19

The salmon fly hatch, during a warm evening on the Deschutes River, is a swarm of swallows and larger than life bugs clouding the sky while the sun rests its beams behind the towering canyon walls. In those late day hours beneath the cool trickle, large redside rainbow trout come out to feed on golden stones and salmon flies. These native fish have spent their spring on spawning beds raising their young. Towards the end of May, the hatch offers a delicious protein packed a meal to help rejuvenate their depleted bodies. As the fly line cuts through the air and places the natural clark stone into the soft foamy water, all eyes wait in anticipation for the rise.

Red’s Redside

Timothy Burke • 6/7/156/12/15

As the sun dips blow the canyon wall humming bird sized salmon flies clutter the evening air. As they dip down to lay their eggs on the cool water film the hungry redside’s lurk below. It’s a frantic thrash as the large trout choke down their evening meal.

The fly line stretches out a lonely bug drifting nimbly down the curling currents. The white tuft of it’s silhouetted profile makes even the keenest eyes squint in the dusky light. With a wisp it’s gone buried deep in the jaws of its nemesis.