Late Fall into Winter 2024 Fishing Report It’s been a wonderful Autumn so far. For many of us, this really is our favorite time of the year for fishing our local waters. Here in Central Oregon, our rivers and lakes change dramatically from mid-October until November 1st. As irrigation season ends and water diversion ends, the flows change a bunch practically overnight. Understanding how this effects the fishing is equally complicated and important.

I just got off from four days in the canyon. As per usual this time of the year, we experienced everything from eighty degrees and sunny to sixty-something with crazy winds and sideways rain! And as per usual, the fishing was awesome. The dry/dropper under a Chubby with a couple of my Custom Flies caught so many nice trout. And one lovely little wild steelhead! More on that in a minute. We also did some bobber fishing and caught a bunch of really healthy, crazy beautiful trout. One day one I was fishing a guy a from Southern California who straight up told me his objectives for the trip were to get a native trout on a dry fly and catch his first ever steelhead. After our first stop, during which he landed several trout and seemed to take instruction well, I told him I liked his chances to achieve what he’d come to do! After lunch, at one of my favorite fishin’ holes, I put him in the prime bucket. He landed a good trout on the dropper/dropper fly (my unbeatable GMO Frenchie!). Then a little farther out, he got nibbled. I told him to put it right back in there. Next cast the Chubby went down, the rod went up, and fish on! His first words were, “Not as big as the last one.” Then he uttered the words no Lower Deschutes fish wants to hear: “Yea, I think it’s a small one.” I’d come over to land the fish. Just then, the line starts moving slowly, inexorably up river. There was no panic from the fish at that point; more an annoyance, perhaps just another obstacle in what’s been a long journey. Only certain fish display that characteristic. Sometimes it’s a foul-hooked whitefish. Sometimes it’s a six-pound Butter Belly. Sometimes it’s not. My guy was doing great, keeping solid pressure without horsing the fish. I didn’t mention the possibility of what might be on the other end of his line for two reasons: I wasn’t sure, and often times, when the word ‘steelhead’ is uttered to the uninitiated, they can get a wee bound up––never a good thing. Instead, I simply stated the obvious, “Don’t ever call ‘em small. They don’t like that.”