A few weeks ago I had the opportunity to take a new friend out on the lower Deschutes. We’ve talked fishing a bit so I know Justin is familiar with the ways of the swung fly — thus I took it upon myself to open the door to the dark side. Into the corruption of the dead-drifted fly.
I brought him to the highest probability water I know and had him tie on a time-tested, bead-headed favorite under a big stonefly workhorse. After watching him cast these flies his two hander and instinctively throw some mends I could see our odds were good. I threw maybe two dozen casts before looking up in time to see a steelhead go aerial — attached to the end of Justin’s line. I love the way these fish fight this time of year.
Now I’m always a bit worried with fishing with someone new– it’s uncomfortable when you find out they’re not as infected with the angling ailment as you are. So I’m happy to say Justin is pretty much as bat-shit crazy about fishing as the rest of us (though maybe he’s also a little more responsible too).
Sharing this common madness, we fished fairly ceaselessly the rest of the day trying to replicate our first bit of luck. And while it wasn’t a crazy productive day we both managed to beach a steelhead after covering a few miles of water. Justin’s second fish was as crazy as the first — a rosy-cheeked spotted beauty.
Throughout the day we fell into talking about all things fishing and, once exhausted, we got into sharing a bit of our life’s histories and happenings. Now don’t get me wrong, I can enthusiastically talk fish all day– but when that’s as far as it goes I find myself feeling a bit wanting of something more substantive. Point being, I can’t wait to fish with this dude again.