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Camp Water

Camp water is close to home. Here you will find information on stuff happening here in the shop and on our local waters. You'll also find our weekly newsletter feature, Trailer Trash Thursday, a fun collection of fly fishing videos, perfect for a midweek distraction. If you don't get the newsletter, be sure to sign up today!

Trailer Trash Thursday Deception Pass Edition

Joel La Follette - Thursday, July 27, 2017
Just a little something to make you think about joining us next year...

Week 1223 Deception Pass from Max Romey on Vimeo.

A Streams that Teems with Trout

Joel La Follette - Thursday, July 27, 2017
From the September 25th, 1906 edition of the La Grande Evening Observer

Devotes of the rod and reel who have fished many streams unite in declaring that for accessibility, beauty and scenery and (what is of more importance) lots of trout, Catherine Creek, in Union county is the finest stream that flows.

The dainty rainbow trout is elusive any and everywhere, not to be captured without both skill and work. While voracious, his appetite is variable, and he will scorn today the lure that was most acceptable a week ago. During August flies are effective and is ail that is necessary, but the same fly seldom works I on two days in a row.

Grasshoppers are by all odds the best bait late in the season. A fat, yellow-legged hopper will attract the most wary trout, if properly handled. But that's the rub. No noise must be made, no shadow of self or rod must cross the trout's vision. Nothing but fingerlings throw caution to the winds and bite recklessly despite noise or shadow.

Catherine creek is full of rainbow trout. They lurk in every pool and play on every riffle. If some "city fellers" fail to catch many, the fault is not because the trout are not present and ready to do business if properly approached.

Last Friday, two lowly newspaper men who have been working for the Observer left Union at 6:30 a. m., drove 14 miles, walked a mile, and at noon cleaned and cooked more trout than they could eat in two meals. They were hungry too.

Less than two hours fishing over a part of the creek that was literally alive with campers a few days ago netted these two men 34 rainbow trout ranging from nine to thirteen inches.

Dave Stewart says that trout can see twice as far as any other living thing, hear four times as well, and have a highly developed sense of humor. La Grande's theatrical magnate ought to know, for he is a constant fisherman. When Business interferes with fishing, Dave quits business.
But to return to Catherine creek. Everyone with a piscatorial bent should visit the stream. If you know how. you will catch plenty of trout, and in any event you'll enjoy the trip. You will find the expense trivial, and in health alone the returns will be ample.

It is best to go up the creek as far as J. B. Thompson.s ranch and fish upstream. You will then be far away from the maddening crowd, and in all probability will meet no one unless it be a prospector or another angler. Take plenty of blankets with you, for the nights are cool. Carry the grasshoppers with you, for catching grasshoppers on a steep hillside is mighty hard work. It's better to hire a few small town boys to catch the hoppers and confine them in a perforated can or mosquito bar bag.

Why not go next week? The trout are waiting for you.

Trailer Trash Thursday Back on the Water Edition

Joel La Follette - Thursday, July 20, 2017

I dug this out of the film archives to keep the Mako theme going this week....

Back on the Water from Joel La Follette on Vimeo.

Acres of Sharks

Joel La Follette - Wednesday, July 19, 2017

March 30th, 1911

Acres of Sharks

The following story in the Sunday Portland Telegram reads like an extract from one of the marvelous stories of Jules Verne :

"Presumably having been frightened away from their accustomed haunts by an earthquake or a volcanic eruption, thousands of Asiatic man-eating sharks darkened the sea over an area of 10 miles long and eight miles wide, off the Oregon coast yesterday. From 7 until 10 o'clock the American-Hawaiian liner Falcon, Captain Schage, arriving from San Francisco last night, was steaming through the great school and she was reeling off 10 miles an hour.”

“Except an occasional stray now and then, the officers of the Falcon said this morning that they never saw a man-eating shark so far north before. They were crowded together, and each appeared to be about 3O feet in length. J. B. Heal, the chief engineer of the steamer, said they were adorned with fins as large as the centerboard of a sailboat. They seemed to be headed in no particular direction. Aside from scurrying away to keep from being struck by the prow of the Falcon, the monsters appeared to be in no hurry, leisurely working back and forth in the huge procession.”

"Just how far the mass extended out to sea could not be determined. Sharks still were visible for a distance of four miles on either side of the vessel. Nervous and fidgety, the man-eaters led the officers of the steamer to the belief that they had become panic stricken over some upheaval in Oriental or Southern waters, and, like human beings, they fled for their lives.”

"One theory advanced is that after being driven from the warm seas in which they make their home, the sharks followed the Japanese current across the Pacific. In this manner, it is explained, they would be in water of fairly high temperature. Others on the Falcon say that they may have come from down about the Hawaiian Islands. However, all are agreed that the sharks must have been forced to take flight on account of a disaster of some sort.”

"Chief Engineer Heal, First Officer A. Sorrenson and William Goodwin, the cook, declare that in all their experience at sea, they never saw any thing to compare with this monster pack of sharks in any other part of the world. Even in the home of the man-eater, they never ran across anything to equal the sight they beheld yesterday. The steamer began to run into the sharks in the latitude of Yaquina Head."

Trailer Trash Thursday Elusive Trout Edition

Joel La Follette - Thursday, July 13, 2017

In preparation of our Puget Sound trip we offer up this week's Trailer Trash Thursday Film, Elusive Trout.

Illusive Trout from Bothy Studios on Vimeo.


Joel La Follette - Thursday, July 13, 2017

From The Bend Bulletin ~July 7th, 1909

Crews Are Being Moved into the Canyon By Way of Grass Valley 
Agents Buy Right of Way in the Madras and Redmond Sections, Paying a Fair Price.

Actual construction has been started on the Deschutes railroad. A telegram received in Bend last Saturday by Hunter & Stoats stated that work on the road would he commenced Monday, and Saturday's Portland papers brought the same news. In order to be able to confirm or disprove these reports, The Bulletin phoned to The Dalles yesterday for information as to whether work had really been started on the long-promised and long-desired railroad. The encouraging news came back over the wire that the reports were all true, and that men, teams and construction tools were already at work on the roadbed.

You can read the Front Page of this issue here

Kickstarter Campaign to Fund Salmon Fisher's Journal

Joel La Follette - Wednesday, July 12, 2017




Over two decades in the making, Jay Nicholas’ master work will finally be released via funding from his Kickstarter campaign. The book, Salmon Fisher’s Journal, is unmistakably, quintessentially Nicholas. A deeply personal compilation of essays, imagery and art celebrating one angler's obsession with chinook salmon. It’s a book unlike anything else in the angling world  — spontaneous, unvarnished, the science, the history, salmon behavior, ethics, flies, tactics, long-winded fishing stories, brief journal entries — too much and not nearly enough.

This book illuminates aspects of a fishery pursued by fly anglers for nearly a century, but is barely hinted at in the fly fishing literature. Angler's Coast and Rivers of A Lost Coast offered an enticing glimpse into this fishery and men obsessed with fly rod chinook, but this book throws the door open in a manner rarely seen. Salmon Fisher’s Journal is an intricate story hard-wired to the chinook itself. Readers will learn much about fishing technique here, and even more about the author’s infatuation with the fish, his fellow anglers, and the fishery — all of these ring loud and clear in the narrative .

“This is THE book on salmon fishing with a fly. Salmon Fisher's Journal takes you deep inside one of the greatest angling minds of this or any generation. Will you catch more salmon (and steelhead) because you've read Jay Nicholas' book? Certainly. But that is hardly the point. Buy this book if, like me, you aspire to live, breathe, and dream the tidal forces of Pacific salmon.”

John Larison - angler, conservationist and author of Holding Lies, The Complete Steelheader and Northwest of Normal.

Salmon Fisher's Journal: The Details

Limited run, numbered first edition signed by the author

Hardbound set of 2 books (250 plus pages each)

Foreword by angling legend Trey Combs

Hundreds of the author's color photo images

More than 50 black and white ink-pen sketches by the author

Tactics, culture, tackle, obsession and everything in between.  

For More Info:

Back Roads and Dust

Joel La Follette - Thursday, July 06, 2017

Getting off the beaten path or just exploring a road you have never driven before is an adventure just waiting for you. Here are a few photographs from my West Slope Cutthroat adventure. I hope they inspire you to #outfitandexplore

Until the next adventure, travel safe, travel often.

Trailer Trash Thursday Swiss Cheese Edition

Joel La Follette - Thursday, July 06, 2017

We get all sort of cools things from the Swiss. Cheese with holes, watches and a very handy knife. Now, 4 minutes and 11 seconds of dry fly fishing to break up your day...

Dry fly fishing in the Swiss alps from Walk & Wade Fly fishing on Vimeo.

Home Again from the Pacific

Joel La Follette - Wednesday, July 05, 2017
From The Sunday Oregonian September 28th, 1919

The automobile has been named the annihilator of distance. Vacation haunts that were removed by long days of travel, not so long ago have been brought near to the city, and their enjoyment is no longer occasional. The length and breadth of the land is veined by new highways, routes that penetrate the wilderness at a thrust and place the city within an hour or so of forest and stream. Vacationing has been made various and easy, through the necromancy of the motor.

Yet distance is not all that dies when the invading motor-car reaches its objective. Before it the game falls back, seeking safety in more impenetrable seclusion, vastnesses that are not yet tapped by constant travel. The hill streams, stocked with myriad trout, come to know well the swish of the line and the splash of the lure. Depleted and discouraged by daily toll, the trout become scarce in a few brief seasons, and the white water and the deep meditative pools hold but fingerlings or an occasional wary old warrior who has escaped capture through a blend of luck and sagacity.

There isn't an argument permissible over the statement that most of those who toss the duffle in their autos, and whirl away to forget business and town for a day or so, are bent upon fishing. Nor can there be any controversy over the frequently repeated assertion that "fishing is not what it used to be." So it is that the streams near at hand, those most readily reached by an hour or two of travel, have lost the glamor of the days when every cast produced its suicidal rush and flurry of tossed foam. Faster than the hatcheries can put them back, the rainbow and cutthroat are taken from the streams of their nativity. Were it not for the fact that the fisherman never lacks a friend more potent than a dozen commissions for the restocking of Oregon rivers and creeks, the full creel would have gone the way of the dodo long since. That friend, never failing, is the Pacific ocean, from whose illimitable reaches the replenishment arrives season after season.

It is to the so-called salmon trout, prey of the salmon-egg angler when the fall rains swell the coast streams, that the debt of replenishment is in large measure due. When streams grown quiet with drouth, denuded of sport by the constant demands of the summer angler, feel the rush and vigor of the first rains of autumn. The tingle of an urgent message races down to the sea. And weather-wise fishermen, looking with approval at the pouring skies, remark that the salmon trout will be running soon. Nor do the trout fail them. Up from the Pacific, drawn to the veriest trickle of fresh water that enters the breakers, the lusty sea-trout begin their pilgrimage to the spawning beds. Fat and full of fight, gleaming with the brilliance of newly minted silver, they follow the running salmon inland. On riffles brown with silt, riffles that were barren aforetime, there springs the radiance of leaping litheness again. The trout have come home!

Like to the salmon, whose nests they raid with the sangfroid and enjoyment of so many small boys in melon season, the salmon trout are answering the matrimonial urge. Late in the winter, or through January or February, they will drill their own noses into the gravel, deposit their own eggs, and charge the hungry grayling with all the vengeance of alarmed parenthood.
Thus is the stocking of Oregon coast streams accomplished, in large part, at least. With the coming of the salmon trout nature laughs at the inroads that men have made upon her larder, and struggles to maintain the people of the streams. That she does so successfully is attested by the fact that the winter brings always its quota of finer fishing, and leaves for the spring an abundance to delight the early angler. To the average fisherman the sea-run trout is always a "salmon trout," a fish of unknown and mysterious genesis, sent from the bountiful sea for the delectation of anglers. His simple name suffices, and the silver mail that sheathes him that fairy gleam of tiny velvet scales is sufficient to mark him as a species apart. But close observers agree that the salmon trout, in most instances, is merely the adventurous cutthroat or rainbow whose girth and spirit sent him down to the ocean the season before, wild as any sailor for salt water. He is the piscatorial "tar" of the coast streams, back from his cruise, when he returns.

It is significant that the smaller creeks tributary to the Columbia, entirely drained of large trout during the summer months, become by mid winter, well toward their head waters, the residential quarters of large cutthroat trout, black of spot and vivid of throat slash. Whence came the replenishment? The only answer is that these are the silvery "salmon trout" who passed upward a few weeks before, and whose inherent markings have been restored in full beauty by the caress of their native waters. As a matter of record, the actual test has been made. Sea-run trout, typical of their kind, have been imprisoned for a fortnight on their return to fresh water. The observers agreed that the transformation began almost at once, that the tribal markings passed from faint blotches and hints of color to the full regalia of the spotted cutthroat. Tests of this character, it goes without saying, have nothing whatever to do with actual infant salmon, possessing the evident characteristics of the salmon, and which are in some localities referred to as salmon trout.

So long as trout run to the sea and they will run to the sea while there is a trout to answer the call the coast streams of Oregon are assured of annual replenishment, and anglers may look toward the morrow with a reflection that nature, like mere mortals, has a tolerant regard for the fellow who fishes.

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