To find a river around here you need only take a short drive. The Grande Ronde and Powder Rivers define the valleys that we call home. To our northeast you have the Wallowa, Minam, and Lostine Rivers and to our east, the Imnaha; all fostered and fed by snow melt from the Eagle Cap Wilderness within the Wallowa Mountains. And then there are the creeks: Wolf, Sand, Rock, Balm, Goose, Catherine, Elk, Eagle, Antelope, Muddy, Pilcher, Big, and so on, and so forth. Some are bigger than others, running hard through the summer months with the rest soon to be empty, dried out with only cow tracks defining their beds. But at the crux of it all, what we can appreciate most is that while we may live in a rather arid valley, the mountains that surround us provide us with much needed relief; not only in our need for water to simply survive, but also, and perhaps more importantly, to quench the desire to rest our flies in a pocket of cool mountain river water. It is something we should all aspire to be doing whenever we have the chance.
Aspiring as I was, this past week I got a tip from a local biologist that Eagle Creek, well known to most of us here in Baker Valley, might provide a measure of relief from the higher running main rivers. As such, I was “forced”,quite literally, to take my own advice and with our friend Laci in tow the decision was made to head up to the mountains. It is a trip that always brings a smile to face and after having had some long nights and trouble sleeping, a day fishing in the woods could only do the body good.
With the dogs loaded up we hit the road and were soon headed out of town. The day was perfectly suited for fishing and before I could comment on the splendor of the summer woods, we came up alongside Eagle Creek, not simply running, but gushing at a furious pace. White-capped rapids pushed across boulders and to imagine catching a fish in those waters would to push your imagination to its limits. But knowing there was only one direction to travel, upstream, where the main creek originates from several smaller tributaries, we pressed on.
We would eventually make our way to a roadblock and after scooting around the barrier we followed along a somewhat sketchy, washed out roadway until we ultimately arrived at the primary river fork. At this confluence the main drainage and East Eagle Creek waters were substantially less violent than that of the downstream waters and offered us a ray of hope. So we pushed on, headed up the western fork, and after travelling a few more miles still we arrived at West Eagle Meadow and parked the truck down down old dirt two track. As we began to unpack our gear the creek, just beyond the neighboring tree line, looked primed for fishing.
As James and I put our rods together, the dogs, Farley and Sweet Pea, the latter being Laci’s little black and white canine, were off causing trouble and the scene was alive with movement. Upon walking down to the creek in what seemed like mere seconds it was to my infinite delight that James had already caught a rainbow trout; it would also appear to have been his first cast of the day. Surprised, I could only smile and rush down to join him. And it was at this point that Laci, initially professing that she would take no part in the day’s activities except to read and enjoy the forest, was soon taking a rod in her hand an receiving a short lesson from James (perhaps it was James catching that fish, or perhaps it was my subtle mentioning that to appear in this blog, one had to take part in the offerings of the afternoon). And so, scampering up and down the water’s edge, we were soon fishing under the sun.
For me, they day’s delights were three fold. First, just being in the woods with good friends has always been a cure for any ailment and as insomnia had slowly been taking over my life the past few days, there was no better place to clear the mind. Secondly, Farley, who has seemed to be adjusting better and better to water with each trip out, could be seen from across the meadow running across downed logs, swimming through the shallows, and seemingly willing to follow me wherever I wished to go. And finally, we were in a place where the possibility of catching trout, which had already been demonstrated by James, had me more excited than ever.
As time would pass it would appear that James could not only demonstrate how to catch fish himself, but that he could teach others to do it as well. It wasn’t long before I heard Laci, having only limited experience with fly fishing, shouting across the creek with the joy of a child on Christmas, pulling in her first trout of the day. And once she had reeled the fish in that vocalized joy was immediately transferred into a giant smile, ear to ear, and was without question a moment of pure bliss. But as quickly as I saw her release the fish back into the water I knew I would have to get back at it, because now it was a fact and no doubt well known that I was the only one of the day without a fish!
So I ventured out on my own and began trudging out into the creek to fish the backwater, paint-like swirls forming in the shadows. It was on this walk that I realized I had been getting better and better at tying knots and changing flies and what only a few weeks ago had me slightly frustrated was now being done with ease and efficiency. It was another nod to our philosophy which is simply that if you just put yourself out there, in the woods or on the water, you will eventually see results. And eventually, on that day, I had results and snagged a beautiful brook trout (or some hybrid thereof) to my extreme pleasure.
The fish, only six to seven inches or so, exhibited beautiful colors, none more so than the deep, vibrant red of the gills. It was almost too radiant for nature but to see not only their color but to think about their function was wonderful. The body was a mix of dark greens, yellows, silvers, reds, and white. Orange spots decorated the sides with illuminated halos marking each one. To realize that I had just pulled this from the waters of a mountain creek only served to please me more. And after giving the dog a sniff I placed the fish back in the river and off it went, back to the depths of the pool from which it came.
The rest of the day would bring another fish for James and Laci both and we would end up spending hours on the small meadow. We cooled off on the sandy shores, watched Farley swim across the river (a little hesitantly now after making a jump in earlier to reach me and nearly getting swept under a huge log; me diving in to save him), listened to the wind rush over leaves and grass, and watched the water flow by. The day, which had started out with hope and promise, had fulfilled any expectations we might have had and returning home to a setting sun we left the forest behind, knowing that it would only be a matter of time before we returned, the rivers calming down, and the fishing only getting better.
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