From the road above, the outside bend appears as churning chaos. Down at the water’s edge, I see the moving windows connecting trout to the skies above.
Outside bends are often overlooked, with their inside-bend siblings drawing all the attention. The classic seams on the inside are proven fish lies. While there is smoothness on the inside, turbulence rules on the outside. I’m unsure why I stopped at this spot, but I was drawn here. The Deschutes River, in general, has a pull that goes beyond words.
Dust settles from a passing car. New plumes swirl in the distance, and I mutter about fair-weather anglers. The winter days of having the canyon to myself are gone. Local fly fishers and traveling fishermen have descended on the river. The big bugs are out.
Although I’ve witnessed trout sip stoneflies, I’m confident there will be violence in this type of water. Again and again, I power the fly against the gusts, slamming it into pockets of promise. Crusty stonefly…
