Sunday was one of those crisp, clear, Indian Summer days I had been longing for since the smoke cleared. Like a lot of people I feel robbed of summer. Now its counterpart, and always my favorite time of year, is here.
Our neighbors recently invited us to pick MacIntosh apples from their trees. Jan picked the apples and will make a pie. The leaves on our trees turned color and just as soon started blowing off. For just a little while longer, everything is glorious and alive before the onset of winter. Stuffing the pocket of my fishing vest with Macintoshes to eat on the stream is a personal autumn ritual I have yet to fulfill, and I'm overdue.
But for the time being, there are appointments to be kept and a list of home chores to be tightened up on these clear crisp days before the onset of another cold winter.
There's some comfort in that, ironically, because these stark blue, clear-skied days that reawaken the senses yield the worst fishing.
The trout could care less. For them the harsh glare must hurt their eyes. They can't squint or blink as we do.
They'll come out and eat in overcast and broken weather, and where there is shade. They don't really care which.
On days like this I have a few favorite haunts: There are stretches of the West Fork where shadows on the water start mid-afternoon, and where a scant few bugs on the water can bring the trout out.
There are places on the East Fork where the tree-lined banks ward off all but the direct glare of mid-day. And there are a couple of spots near my home in Corvallis where I can approach the river from the east bank in the afternoon and fish to an outside bend and maybe the riffle corner that are shaded by the tall cottonwoods on the west side.
And then there are the creeks - plenty of shade always, and my favorite among them at this time of year is Skalkaho.
Skalkaho Creek isn't the easiest creek to fish. Getting around on the creek means wading upstream in a creek alley canopied by lush pines, water maples, willows and firs. You bring a short rod, cast in the alley of the stream and count on losing some flies.
The creek tumbles through its bouldered canyon at too steep a grade to allow for long pools, easy casting and easy wading.
When you fish Skalkaho, you have to work at it. You fish one set of pockets, defined by the rocks and current glides between them, and then move, always fighting the current and slippery rocks, to fish the next set.
But on Sunday afternoon as I do every year, I had a biting urge to fish Skalkaho.
I thought about my fishing gear, abandoned all summer, what I'd need for a simple trip to Skalkaho Creek, and my favorite October caddis nymph. That big orange nymph is one I enjoy tying and fishing.
On Skalkaho Creek these big orange autumn caddisflies are abundant and the nymphs don't last long on their way to the surface. Put that artificial where there might be a trout and it will likely be eaten by some of the biggest trout in the creek. In the dark small pools among the rocks of Skalkaho Creek the trout take on the deep-hued shades of their surroundings and seem illuminated in them come October.
I thought of those trout and the time Larry Javorsky and I visited the creek. Larry got some wonderful photographs. We vowed to take our boys there. The boys are men now.
I thought of my son Matthew when he was adventurous enough at six and seven to brave the wading on Skalkaho - with daddy safely nearby downstream - and good enough with a fly rod to catch a trout by himself.
I remembered other days, with friends and fishing alone - memories of particular fish, where they were taken and the fleeting yet indelible impression their beauty made as I returned them to the stream.
The home chores are on a downhill pull now. The rest can wait until the weather changes. Until then I plan to get out on my favorite autumn waters - East Fork, West Fork, Woodside, Tucker, Victor, maybe even the Blackfoot - and I'll at least spend one afternoon on Skalkaho Creek.
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