We all have them – names for those special zones. Those zones that if someone asked you were you went fishing, you would simply refer to a large section of the river.  Those zones that when a friend takes you there for the first time, a silent oath is taken that you won’t share the spot with others.  Those zones with cryptic names.

I got to spend a lovely Sunday morning, on the Middle Deschutes River, at Greg’s Grill, by myself.  Greg’s Grill – yep, thats the name.

While throngs of anglers were tossing chubbies downstream, battling for water, playing bumper boats, I enjoyed solitude and tight lines with my dog.  No epic dry fly hatches, just pure bliss fishing pockets and finding eager rainbows, white fish, and brown trout – really the type of day that kind of fills up the soul.

Get out a map and explore.  Find your place, give it a name, and visit it often to find yourself again and again.