Coming Home

We all tell stories of how we got started, and we think fondly of those who guided our way with our early footsteps into the wonderful world of Fly Fishing.  For some, it’s a pursuit.  For others, a passion.  My passion started in the fall of 2002 while on vacation in Sunriver.  My buddy and I had recently purchased 14 ½ acres in the Three Rivers area with the dream of building a log home in the middle of a meadow with a view of Paulina Peak.  Alas, that dream never materialized, but something better germinated that week. 

Looking for a new activity, we walked into a Fly Shop in the Village and booked a half-day trip with a guide for the next morning.  When we asked what time we should meet him, I was shocked when he said, “Oh, about 9:30”.  Wait what?  My East Coast trout fishing upbringing demanded that we leave the house well before dark.  Hmmm, I might like this bankers’ hours game.  We met “Big Dave” the next morning and with rented waders & boots, we took off and drove about 45 minutes to this stunning canyon with a mossy green ribbon flowing through it.  The first thing I noticed when we opened the doors was the smell of juniper. It was my first time seeing The Crooked River. 

Unfortunately, my buddy didn’t take to this long rod game, but I was immediately hooked (pun intended).  Big Dave saw my enthusiasm and patiently instructed me on the art of nymphing.  I don’t remember if there was a dry-fly hatch that day, but I do remember catching 13 redsides.  From those beginnings, I couldn’t get enough.  Once home, my passion continued to grow, which led me to my long and cherished friendship with Joel. 

I continued going to the Crooked River several times a year during the fall and winter.  I know it’s exactly 161 miles from my driveway to the spot I first fished.  Sadly, about 2 years later, I walked into that shop and asked the owner, “How’s Big Dave doing?”  I learned that Dave suffered a massive heart attack and passed away right at the exact spot where he taught me, his dog curled up tightly beside him.  I can’t go to this river without thinking of him, tipping my hat in respect and thanking him for nourishing what was to become a journey that’s taken me to so many far-flung and beautiful places.

Two weeks ago, after a 3-day weekend with my friends in Sunriver, I took those same roads, through the same sagebrush-filled landscape, to that mossy green ribbon Big Dave had taken us exactly 23 years earlier.  I geared up and by the time I hit the water, the trout were rising.  I watched the rise forms and found immediate success with a BWO emerger.  As the hatched progressed and the rise forms changed, I switched to a dry pattern and continued to share my dance card with lots of willing beauties.  Over the years, I’ve been teased about my love of this river, some saying it’s too easy, the fish are all small, or why don’t you fish the D since you are that close?  Acuate observations I suppose and I do fish plenty of other waters.  But something about this place… the smells, the sights, the water, the canyon, the wildlife…it keeps me coming back over and over.  It feels like coming home.  And Big Dave, wherever you are, THANK YOU for introducing me to this wonderful place.  We only spent a few hours together, but what you ignited in me during those few hours will last a lifetime.