UPPER DESCHUTES: An Exploration. By Damien Nurre

As fishermen, there are many things to learn, new places to cast a fly, and discoveries to make. It's what keeps us stomping through the brush to get to that hole just up stream, around the bend and over those big boulders. It is the unknown that fuels our desire for the freshness a new discovery provides. Even after several unsuccessful outings, it's the glimmer that today's the day that urges us to put those waders on again. New discoveries are what I live for.

Both Matt and I were jumpy, fueled by the excitement of the unknown. We had both conducted some research about this section of the Upper D, yet we were armed with limited information. We had probed a few locals, who had more fishing experience in this area than either of us has on this planet. Our questions were standard. Where should we go? What flies should we fish? What will we catch? It was the answers to these questions that commanded us on our mission. Specifically the answer to "what will we catch?" Blindly believing the answers we received, we sought to discover the truth with our own eyes.

As we made the 40 min drive, we exchanged stories from "so and so" who said "fish this or that". Could these fables really be true? Our excitement was building, and the fishing tales fueled my own anxiousness. I knew we where heading down a road few other anglers in Central Oregon bother to drive. It's understandable. I had lived in the area for close to ten years and had never even considered fishing this part of the river. With so many other great opportunities to catch fish, it is easy to find ample amounts of water to explore in more popular parts of the region.

After self-shuttling the rig down-river 5 miles or so, I pushed the boat into the current as Matt stretched out his 5 weight. A little known fact about the Upper Deschutes is that you can fish from the boat. Many anglers assume that because it is off limits on the lower river, the same rules apply up above. This fact led to the first of the day's discoveries. Fishing from a drift boat is a team sport. If the person at the oars doesn't play well, neither does the fisherman. As I clumsily got the hang of keeping the boat the perfect distance from the bank, I was struck with a new respect for my brethren on the rivers of Montana, Wyoming, Idaho, and Colorado.

I remember the day clearly. The sky was blue and the air was hot. Deep grey clouds where assembling over the cascades, threatening to moisten our adventure and electrify the afternoon. As Matt tossed a size 12 humpy into the cut banks of the meandering river, I was overwhelmed by a sense of freshness. I was happy to be in a new place, on a beautiful day, with a good friend. The new, great outdoor experience caused a flood of memories of my fly-fishing birth in Montana, and I realized it had been too long since that rush had filled me.

Wild flowers adorned the steep banks, which directed the river left and right. Big round remains of juniper lay fallen into the river conjuring thoughts of "there has to be a big brown lying under there". Two juvenile bald eagles were playfully dog-fighting overhead, as their parents watched from atop the tallest ponderosa, high above the river. The day was getting better and better. All that was missing were some hungry fish.

The fishing started slow. We hadn't cracked the code yet. We spotted a few small fish rising to may fly spinners in the drift, but they wanted nothing to do with our attractors, and we wanted nothing to do with those tiny flies. With the classic dead drift failing, Matt experimented by twitching the fly, skittering it across the surface. Within moments the first fish charged to the surface. Fish on. We had made another discovery.

Once my turn in the front of the boat came, the thought, "Big fish, big fly" rumbled through my head. And then I recalled a conversation with an old timer who told tales of using nothing but a Muddler Minnow. Quickly, I tied one on and started slamming it as close to the bank as I could. Many times I tested my luck, bouncing the fly off of deadfall and pulling it free of vegetation. I dazzled Matt (and myself) with my ability to keep free of the bank. Luck was on my side. The moment is still fresh in my memory. I placed the fly inches from some thick foam, trapped in place by two logs sinking deep into the river. I stripped once. I stripped twice. On the third strip, like a bolt of lightening from the clouds that were now overhead, a great gold flash exploded at the end of my line. My surprise was met instantly by my conditioned response to let the reel scream. The tugging at the other end pulled deeper and deeper into the river. Matt dropped the anchor after following my disappearing line down river. The battle that ensued humbled my fish fighting skills. I pulled. Then he pulled. Then I pulled harder, and he pulled back. Once near the boat, the fish did its best impression of an alligator, rolling over and over on the surface. He wasn't finished yet. Eventually I won. The prize, picture perfect brown trout, lay in the belly of my net. Another discovery had been made. We had the answer to the question for which we had come. Big brown trout still live the Upper Deschutes.

The day grew late into the evening. As we loaded the boat onto the trailer, the clouds above couldn't hold any longer. Rain showered down. Wet and tired, I remember thinking how foolish I was too have turned my back on this fishery for so long. Most of the stories we were told ended with the disclaimer "...but, that was 5 years ago. It doesn't fish that well anymore". Shamefully, I dreamt of how well it must have fished back then. What I didn't know at that wet moment was I would soon make yet another discovery.

In 1949 Wickiup Reservoir was created with completion of Wickiup dam. With a total capacity of 200,000 acre-feet of reserved water, the reservoir provides a large amount of water for communities and for agriculture in the Deschutes basin.

The Upper Deschutes River from Wickiup dam to Lake Billy Chinook has been touted as one of the top brown trout fisheries in Oregon. Many of the anglers we spoke with hyped the fable of large brown trout. That's why I was shocked to discover that according to ODFW surveys, there is an average of only 4 native fish per mile between Wickiup and Bend. Something didn't add up.

In recent years winter flows out of Wickiup have been regulated a minimum, averaging between 20 and 30 cubic feet per second (average summer flows are between 1200 and 1500 cfs). The consequences have been significant. Winter kills of whitefish, rainbow trout and some brown trout have been widespread. Perhaps most detrimental problem for the long-term health of the fishery is the impact on aquatic vegetation. Reduction in flows during the winter leaves weed beds and other vegetation high and dry, isolating and killing populations of mayflies, caddis flies, midge, and other aquatic insects that nourish fry, smolt, and adult fish. This could explain the perceived decline in the fishery by long time local fisherman.

Historically though, flows during the winter have been low for many years, so winterkills are nothing new. One explanation suggests that back-to-back years of heavy precipitation equaled greater flows during the winter, increasing survival rates for sequential years. Perhaps they were the years the fables began.

Still I find myself wondering about the seeming decline in the fishery. To this day I still search for the answer. That search has led me to organizations focused on the health of the Deschutes River. The Upper Deschutes Watershed Council is one such organization. Their directive is to enhance and protect the Upper Deschutes River watershed through collaborative projects in watershed stewardship, habitat enhancement, and community awareness. It has been reassuring to connect with people who share a passion for the outdoors, and specifically, the Deschutes River.