No Room to Gripe

Responding to my previous post about removal of the Klamath River dams, a friend of Rivertop Rambles, Tio Stib, responded favorably to the prospect of environmental change and also reminisced about his angling in the Klamath region. One of Tio’s favorite rivers, apparently, is the Williamson in nearby Oregon. I was reminded of a 2008 fishing tour of Western rivers and my words about the Williamson that I included in the book, Sand & Sage, The Trails Beyond (2010). I’d like to share that segment here and add some photos to spice it up. Thanks again to Tio and to all my readers at this blog.

It was wonderful to launch northward out of sweltering California and to swing into semi-orbit around lofty Mt. Shasta. We enjoyed various perspectives of the mountain till we left its cooling gravitational pull and coasted through the Klamath country with its sandhill cranes and its wars over water rights. We camped on the Williamson River where the clear Spring Creek empties its exceptional flow. Both of these premier trout streams were running full and lively.

[Above photos by SummitPost, MI Audubon, and The Fly Syndicate]

Spring Creek is only two miles long, but the stream is home to a strain of Klamath rainbows that can reach 30 inches in length. I saw only one behemoth, probably because the trout population viewed early August as a good time to be elsewhere. But in the green and turquoise clarity of the creek I saw a depth that almost shouted, “What you see is what you get!” I looked at a bedrock blend of gravel, crustaceans, and occasional fishing lure.

The Williamson is often considered to be one of the most difficult Western rivers to fish successfully. I had no luck with it near our Chiloquin, Oregon campsite. This was drift boat water, and the anglers I saw wading in the catch and release section weren’t doing much better than I was. When I did get into range of rainbows feeding on emergent insects, I caught nothing.

Allegheny River, 11/26/22

Next morning, Spring Creek was more forgiving. Even though the storied spawners weren’t available, I had luck with blue-winged olive imitations in the numbing 45-degree water. Six or seven trout rose from a bed of gravel and pumice to nail the dry fly. One fish was a scrappy footlong specimen. It was small success, perhaps, but when you’re new to a pool under blue sky in a stream thousands of miles from home, there isn’t much room to gripe.

Addenda: Still no room to gripe.

Allegheny, 11/26/22

Old South Bend 290 (7’6″)

a wholelotta chewin’ going on

spring feeder

winter seeds… I have seeds of thought about some future trips I hope to be reporting on among these digital pages… It’ll be a while. Stay tuned.

headwaters… I may gripe about the politics, economics or psychology of these days, but not right now in the blur of holidays & early morning hours. Drink another cup of tea or coffee, let it all rise like an old moon thru the trees… be well.