With the steelhead running up the Deschutes, and friends sending pictures of catches at Mecca, it is hard to resist the drive North to join in the fun. But with another oddly warm 70+ degree Sunday, I decided my ego could use a little bit of healing in the Crooked River canyon.
I’m not entirely certain, but I think the Crooked is where I caught my first fish on the fly. You think I would remember such a monumental occasion, but I fear the years of fishing and more likely, raising children, have caused that fact to slip into oblivion.
Nevertheless, this river is special to me. And when you can fish it on a weekend day in the offseason with not many others around it is easy to see why. Also, it is cow season.
The wind was fierce and caused me to raise my fist a few times, but the action was fun with the euro-nymph rod. My solitude was quickly dashed when a few guide rigs pulled up. But one of them had this cool sticker on his window, so I was okay with them being there too:
Not an epic day by any measure on the Crooked – but I did catch fish – which probably would not have happened for me at Mecca.