Head

There's an Ian Tyson song, "Since the rain things look so much better ... Hills are turning green; the greenest green you've ever seen." It may as well have been written about the Deschutes in May. It's a good song to sing while casting nymphs.

Not long ago, some friends and I set off on a three-day trip deep into the canyon. It was a marvelous outing.

Most folks think early spring is too soon to be on the water for extended trips, but they couldn't be more wrong. Certainly it can be blustery at times - we had afternoon showers almost every day. But, it never rained hard and never got really cold. It certainly didn't dampen our enthusiasm.

The water was high and a bit off-color. Not all my favorite runs were fishing well; some were blown out completely. For others I had to get creative about the approach and where to fish. But just a little searching usually brought rewards.

It was all nymph fishing. Don't even bother with the dry fly rod on the Deschutes at this time of year. We fished two flies, the top one a large dark stonefly nymph. The bottom one was a smaller bead head - a copper metallic caddis, a bead head serendipity, or a bead head caddis pupa.

The fish were usually concentrated at the bottom of drops, places where the water stair-stepped down out of a riffle into the head of a deeper run. We didn't catch as many big fish as we sometimes do early in the year but there was certainly no lack of hook-ups. We often pulled seven or eight fish from one spot without even moving our feet.

But the best rewards of early spring are often not simply in the fishing. My companions on this trip were especially pleasant to be with and the solitude was wonderful. On a weekend we didn't even see a half-a-dozen other boats. Only one boat had fishing rods. I don't know that we ever saw any of those people actually fishing.

The canyon is especially beautiful during the green and growing season. The rolling hills are carpeted with wildflowers, yellow daises on the warmer, south sides, purple lupine on the cooler, north slopes. As the hillsides fold in and out of the little draws there are waves of changing color.

We stumbled on a mother goose on her nest. She held tight to the ground stretching her neck low, glaring. We didn't see her till we where almost on her. Out of respect we backed quickly away.

In the evening at dinner, we watched the sun set on the clouds and the cliffs behind our camp. The low, dark, ominous clouds turned red and orange and the cliffs reflected the mood.

At night we snuggled, warm and secure in our sleeping bags, listening to the soothing sound of the river and the spatter of a passing rain shower on the top of the tent.

The folks who won't go out in the early spring have got it all wrong. May is not too soon for extended trips at all.

"The hills are turning green, the greenest green you've ever seen ... Sure does make me smile."