Congrats. You made it to the second round.

One of the only reasons this Eastsider could be coaxed into stepping foot on the Westside of Stumptown, we’ve been waiting a long, long while to see this film. In particular, I wanna know more about the badass that was Bill Schaadt. Out here, the guy is the stuff of legend and even critterier than my friend the Cap’n, who’s even super secretive about where he changes his kids diapers these days. Schaadt = Uber badass.

Plus, the Native Fish Society earns some scratch outta the deal to further their honest, selfless work of protecting our native fish, so get your cologne on and consider your Wednesday date night planned, handsome: A badass movie about a badass fisherman that benefits a badass organization. Can’t ask for much better than that.

The deal: Sponsored by the Native Fish Society and the Catlin Gable School, in conjunction with the Wild Salmon Center, tickets are 10 bucks at the door.

Where: Cabell Theater – Catlin Gabel School, 8825 SW Barnes Road, Portland, OR

When: Wednesday, May 13th. Doors at 6 p.m., the show begins exploding awesome all up on your wanton, greasy retinas at 7 p.m.

Look out, Pottery Barn!  Look out, Restoration Hardware!  Patagonia is branching out!

Heads up – Skinny Fist Production’s documentary, “Rivers of a Lost Coast” is gaining momentum and selling out theaters as it travels. Call me crusty (you won’t be the first), but in an era of so many “fish porn, hey – look at me, pumping soundtrack and no story” videos flooding the scene, it’s refreshing to see a well-done movie with an engaging story to tell:

More info, tour schedule, blog, etc. can be found here.

Gaper “resting” in Texas at Fly Fish Chick’s pad.

Of shit, that is.

The Bend Bulletin reports on the latest turn of events in the $100 million native salmon and steelhead restoration federal dam relicensing project of Portland General Electric and the Confederated Tribes of Warm Springs at Pelton-Round Butte Dam Complex in Central Oregon. You know, the dam complex that, 60 years ago, was never going to impact salmon. But then it did. Not the least of those impacts: juvenile fish can’t find their way past the swirling confusion of currents in the resultant Lake Billy Chinook to continue their journey down river.

About ten years ago a solution was conceived and in 2004 agreed to as a condition of relicensing. Along with the re-introduction of salmon and steelhead young to their historic natal waters up river, a 270 foot high tower, anchored to the bottom of the lake, would create currents for migrating fish to follow into a collection facility. From there they would eventually be trucked, in trucks, around the dams and put back into the Lower Deschutes River for their continued journey out to sea.

On April 11th, only days from scheduled completion, a section of the tower broke during assembly, half of it sinking to the lake bottom and breaking into several pieces, the other half floating to the surface. Everyone involved, it’s reported, was dumbfounded. The jury’s still out on what happens next, but a delay of at least four months seems inevitable. Meanwhile as many migrating smolts as can be collected via other means will still get a truck ride around the dams.

My take? (And I’ve kept my mouth mostly shut about it until now because the rosily forecast fruition of this harebrained project would, I’ll admit, be a fantastically cool thing to witness.) Who cares if the tower collapsed? For the aforementioned perpetrators and anyone else with a financial stake in continued operation of the dam complex, the project is already a success no matter what happens to the fish.

I mean come on, an anadromous fish restoration program that relies on collecting and driving fish down river in trucks? For real? It’s not the first time we’ve seen fish trucked around dams, but as a permanent solution to re-establishing a self-sustaining wild population of salmon and steelhead?

You’re kidding, right?

Programs like this, aimed at satisfying environmental regulation by mitigating the damage already done to historical fish stocks, add up to nothing more than an acceptable cost of staying in business. Sure a lot of talented and very well intentioned people apply themselves in good faith toward the purported goals of these endeavors, but I fear the fiscal and political support they receive only really stretches so far as the regulatory aspect of the business requires it.

It’s a fascinating prospect, the return of salmon and steelhead to the Metolius, the Crooked, the Upper Deschutes and their desert feeders, but it’s a flawed, artificial restoration. Some would argue, though I’m not ready to yet, that this particular watershed is a lost cause. Stopping short of such hopelessness for the drainage at hand, I’d still say that if this is the best anyone can yet come up with, then the money, the brains, the sweat and the political will would have been better spent elsewhere. Some place where the fish get to stay in the river.

I’m writing this standing up because it still hurts to sit down – the distinctive pain that only comes from that unique combination of deep chafing and bruising of the posterior. The day began with a sense of optimism I haven’t felt in way too long. All winter, actually. A feeling of fresh beginnings, of rebirth, and of…well, to be honest, a certain amount of innate confidence that at this point in my life, I may not be a pro, but I at least have some idea of what I’m doing. Hell, I didn’t even pack that nymph box. “#&^% that,” I told myself, loading up in the morning – a firm, fist-in-the-air affirmation of my dedication to take ‘em on the surface, or rip heavy, seductive meat, or not at all.

We put in below the dam, after spending a few minutes watching a dead moose get recirculated in the wash below the wall. It’s fur had already been mostly Maytagged off the flesh, leaving a pale, bloated sack of skin with limbs akimbo going around and around….in retrospect, we should have taken it for the disturbing omen that it was. Still, the first few miles were a casual, no-pressure cruise; that first time back in the boat this season amongst good friends. But then, so slowly we barely noticed, it morphed into something else entirely. It became a matter of having to put thought into what we were doing – to analyze it, break it down, switch tactics, switch again, vary the retrieve, switch the size, switch the color, forget the banks and work the middle of the river….and yes, eventually to dig out a bobber and offer a selection of cheap, fast foods – and rest assured dear reader, we plied them with the sub-surface  equivalent of Funyons, Hohos, and Slim Jims, to no avail.

50 yards from the take-out, the defeat sinking in and weighing heavily, a large fish cleared the water and slapped down, right in front of us. This last taunt wasn’t “cruel,” nor “ironic. No, those words are far too gentle, to genteel. This was more along the lines of having a size 14, steel-toed logging boot inserted swiftly and forcefully right up into your lower intestine, sans lube.

Just the other day, a doctor friend was telling me that researchers have verified the antibiotic properties in saliva, and that therefore, it actually is beneficial to lick your wounds. I didn’t think much of it at the time.

Pete over at Fishing Jones reviews The Alaska Chronicles, and likes it.

Word has it that our boy is winging his way to Austin TX right now, there to be borne about on a litter by eunuchs and pursued by screaming nubile nursing students or some such thing, sign some books (buy yours today) and take in the Drake Fly Fishing Film Tour (helluva show, folks).

There’s also a rumor that some redfish may be allowed before him to air grievances and exhibit feats of strength.

Round these parts, anyway. The icebox is thawed, the rituals have been performed and the proper offerings have been accepted, it would seem. Get out and fish!

The Missoulian reports that Oregon based land speculator developer, Michael Barnes, has given up his plans for The Ranch At Rock Creek and has put the land up for sale. 

Perhaps he had a change of heart and realized that the mouth of Rock Creek is no place for a subdivision.  Or maybe his dreams of razing over 142 acres of flood plain and riparian zone with heavy machinery didn’t go over well with a grass roots coaliton of staunch locals.  Could be he doesn’t like rocky mountain oysters.  Or maybe he just realized that we’re in the middle of a recession and there’s no money in developing 36 lots for high end homes .

of reading history where the events happened. Particularly high up on the east face of the Cochise Stronghold.

When I felt like a break, too bad the view totally sucked [/that's a joke]

My only complaint being that the bro-brah brigade came through sometime earlier and scarred a rockface with sport climbing bolts. Pricks

In the Days of Victorio; Recollections of a Warm Springs Apache by Eve Ball, Narrated by James Kaywaykla

(The Narrator as a Child, with his mother Gouyen and stepfather Kaytennae)

I first heard of Eve Ball through Dan Carlin’s excellent podcast series ”Hardcore History” when he had an episode entitled “Apache Tears”. I was able to locally track down a copy of one of her books, namely the one you are reading about now.  In it James Kaywaykla describes his youth until about the age of ten as a free Warm Springs Apache in Victorio’s band. His grandfather was the Chief Nana, whom despite an advanced age and a broken foot, fought until the end against the Mexicans and Americans. At the time of the writing, Kaywaykla was the last survivor of the battle (or massacre) at Tres Castillos where Victorio died by his own hand rather than be captured.

Now that the brief summary is over with, the first thing that struck me about the book is that this is an old man describing his childhood as a participant in the last Western Indian War. The passage below is from the introduction by Kaywaykla and sets the tone for his history:

“Until I was about ten years old, I did not know that people died except by violence. That is because I am an Apache, a Warm Springs Apache, whose first vivid memories are of being driven from our reservation near Ojo Caliente with fire and sword.”

That is almost a borderline mind fuck when you consider that he sat down with Eve Ball in the 1950′s to recount his childhood.

To me, what was different about this book is that it is one of the few about the Indian wars from a participant’s perspective. Kaywaykla’s narrative is clear and many of his childhood memories are in alignment with historical records and other accounts. His description of the contrast between living as freemen or softly imprisoned at the San Carlos Reservation leaves little doubt about why the Apache resisted “pacification” until they were almost exterminated as a people.

I highly recommend this one.

e-rock worked the access and when access is worked, one tends to tag along

caught a couple off the dock…

it was a pretty good day…

those fish, they were pretty alright. an old lady lives on that lake, she was born in the house on the north bank. there’s a 1951 Plymouth something or other in her front yard. that car ain’t seen the road for a decade…

Check out the latest beauty from the talented hands of our bro Matt Schliske of Schliske Bamboo.

The 7’5″ 4wt. “Rio Grande Blonde:”

Silk wrapped titanium guides with agate inserts:

Titanium and maple reel seat:

And apparently it catches fish, too:

“Strong work” would be an understatement. Check out more of Matt’s amazing craft here.

Two turkeys + three beards * one morning / two hunters = 169%

“Victory belongs to the most persevering.”  – Napoleon Bonaparte

Thank Dog that years of suffering, being humiliated and beatdown in pursuit of a noble beast still count for something in this crazy mixed-up world.

Join us in congratulating Nikki on her first and most glorious Chrome:

Her life will never be the same.

i have a new computer and am testing to see if it can post yutub clips as well as my last one… 

I see your Ted Leo and raise you a Scott Biram:

Good to have you back amongst the imaginary, Thee.

You get a trophy just for showing up!

Props to Scott B. in Milwaukie, OR for giving it a good try. He gets some stickers for the effort. May be one of the rest of you can make use of his mostly-right-but-incomplete puzzle answers and reach for the grand prize. Or may be I should just make it a word jumble next time, eh?