Deschutes Gunmetal
The Deschutes is an iconic steelhead river. It drains the massive Cascade Range, compiling snowmelt and several significant spring creeks into a torrent that has spent millions of years carving a canyon through Oregon’s basalt plateau—a desert area known for its steep ridges and towering cliffs of black, columnar rock. The river’s whitewater compares to the Rogue—at a few famous rapids, its entire force converges, forming deafening whirlpools capable of swallowing boats whole. The geography is enough to keep you awed for life. But steelheaders rarely go places just for the scenery.
The legendary steelhead of the Deschutes have solidified its place in angling culture. The fish, like those in the Clearwater, Snake, and other upper Columbia tributaries, are Oncorhynchus mykiss gairdneri, or Columbia River redband rainbows. Unlike the irideus subspecies of rainbows that inhabit coastal streams from California to Alaska, redbands are known for three traits tolerance to higher water temperatures, comfort in shallow-water lies, and a proclivity for striking surface flies. These traits make them ideal fly-rod quarry.
But unlike the upriver steelhead of the Clearwater and Snake, Deschutes fish arrive mint from the sea, supercharged with pelagic rocket fuel. Hook a few and you’ll see why fly shops in Maupin recommend at least 200 yards of backing.
Native Deschutes steelhead tend to be one-salt fish (one year at sea), typically between 22 and 26 inches long. The river also attracts “stray” steelhead from other watersheds that nose their way into the cool flows of the Deschutes during the heat of the summer. Many of these strays are larger, two-salt fish, often between 28 and 30 inches long.
The total run size varies from year to year, with between 12,000 (including 3,000 wild) and 29,000 fish (including 4,000 wild). In some years strays total as much as a third of the run, according to the data collected at the Pelton fish trap.
Among these are a few B-strain fish, a breed of large steelhead destined for the North Fork of the Clearwater. These are among the largest summer steelhead in the U.S. and can weigh as much as 30 pounds.
By mid-August, the lower river holds plenty of fish, with more arriving through October. As the season progresses, the bulk of the run—and the angling pressure—migrates upstream.
Where and When
The first steelhead trickle into the Deschutes about the time the Salmonfly hatch starts—in late May or early June. However, most steelheaders wait until August before rigging their rods.During August and September, the majority of the fish are below Sherars Falls.
A gravel road extends from the falls down to Macks Canyon, providing wading anglers with easy access to dozens of popular runs. Seven campgrounds and four boat ramps line the road. Access the 33 river miles between Macks Canyon and the mouth by foot or bike via the east bank trail, or by boat. This lower section contains the river’s most cherished steelhead water long runs with ledgerock, boulders, sweeping inside seams, and trough-strewn tailouts. Twelve established campgrounds provide enough flat space for a few tents.
By about mid-October, the majority of the steelhead are dispersed throughout the nearly 50 river miles between Maupin and Pelton Dam. Much of the best water can be accessed by car. From Maupin, follow the road up the east side of the river to the locked gate. Hike or bike from there to access miles of prime water.
Rafts and drift boats are the preferred watercraft on the river, though visiting anglers should be advised that the Deschutes kills people every year, some of them wearing life vests. This is not a river for inexperienced boaters.
Finding steelhead on any new river can be daunting. The Deschutes is no different. Start by searching the runs immediately above and below rapids. Look for seams on the inside of bends, places where the current moves at about walking speed, and target water that is less than 6 feet deep. Such places abound on the Deschutes, and most of them hold fish.
Chrome Addicts
With great steelhead fishing in such a spectacular setting, it’s little wonder that the Deschutes has become a madhouse. Every year, steelheaders descend on the river making it seem like the Madison or Bighorn of steelheading.
Jet boats race upstream and down, depositing anglers near the good water. During the peak of the run, drift boats and rafts occupy most campsites. And near and above Sherars Falls, truck- and bike-bound anglers race to the hot spots. If you’re looking for good water, find the well-beaten trail and realize that you might have to wait in line. This is the downside of fishing a world-class steelhead river.
In addition to heavy traffic, the fishery has undergone other sweeping changes. Runs of steelhead and spring Chinook plummeted in 1958 when the completion of Pelton Dam 100 miles upriver severed the river’s anadromous fish from their core spawning grounds.
The year before, the Dalles Dam on the Columbia became the first hydroelectric dam separating the Deschutes from the ocean. The few steelhead remaining below Pelton were then forced to circumvent two killer Columbia River impoundments. It is hardly surprising that Deschutes wild steelhead are now listed as threatened under the Endangered Species Act.
To mitigate the loss of wild steelhead, in 1972 the Oregon Department of Fish and Wildlife (ODFW) constructed the Round Butte Hatchery, which continues to support the Deschutes fishery. Like all hatchery steelhead programs, it is a double-edged sword myriad studies demonstrate that introducing hatchery steelhead to a river with native stocks adversely affects the health of those remaining wild fish. Hence, by supplanting the diminished wild run with hatchery fish, ODFW continues to threaten the recovery of wild Deschutes steelhead.
Steelheaders tread an ethically precarious line. How do we effectively champion the recovery of wild steelhead while passively supporting (through tag sales) an abusive
hatchery program? Are we all just a bunch of chrome-addicted hypocrites?
I recently debated this issue with my fishing buddy Perky as we set up camp at Macks Canyon, and we found no easy answers to this question.
Copyright © 2012 Intermedia Outdoors
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