The Volvo has three things going for it; speed, space, and clearance for the dreadful Macks Canyon road. One feature that doesn't mesh quite right with the other three is that finicky rear passenger side tire, a full four tred depths below the other three. It spews out air at a slow rate and so I make sure and fill it to 4300 p.s.i. before leaving Bend. But the rattling ride below Shearars to the end of the road is seventeen miles of ball gripping terror. I've made it safely now, twice but with nothing short of extreme panick attacks barreling down steep ravines below Beavertail.
A Redbull pounder and twenty ounces of mocha sugar serviced my waning energy as the Volvo roared into the Boxcar hole. What a spectacle, light mist rising from the Deschutes, small wood ducks planning their morning events, Fish crawling back to existence below a pool of bouldery bliss. Well you could say the ducks were in a row...rod in hand rigged up with my latest Purple Bastard, Redbull chilling on a patch of Deschutes grass, Copenhagen secured within the vest, and a crumbling urge to attack the chrome beauties.
The weather this past Saturday was ideal for the steelhead aficianado, lightly cloudy in the morning with lower temperatures in the mid-sixties and a definite chance for rain. This pattern changed to full cloud cover as the day progressed and throughout the entire twenty miles or so from Boxcar to downtown Maupin anglers were spotted swinging flies. And boy were there a lot of them, in every direction covering all available water people of all creed were swinging flies or bouncing eggs, damn near everything but landing fish.
Now I know the fish are up in Maupin by now, the fish count at Shearar's recorded over 100 steel on the Thursday prior to my trip. That's up from only 15-20 the day before. The water temperature, outside air temperature, and looming onslaught of fall are making for perfect conditions to move the anadromous beasts upriver.
After a futile attempt at the Boxcar, in which innumerous casts and mends made passes over boulder strewn water and fast to slow transitions, my instincts told me to head toward Maupin. The pressure was still high near town but it was 10am and so some spots were starting to open up. I talked to a guy from Sandy who had a tug on a muddler before heading back to the truck for a listen at the Duck game. I fished one of my favorite pieces of water in the Maupin corridor without hesitation and only one other newbie above me. Come along a half hour into the run I slipped on a big flat rock and dunked all the way to my neck. It was slow and relatively shallow water but the ipod definitely took a dive as well and now i'm sitting back in Bend wondering if it was worth it. A two and a half hour drive in the middle of the night, lots of fishing but no tugs, a drowned ipod and concerned girlfriend. Ah hell I'll be back...
