Midwinter 2025, volume four: the Doug I knew

I may as well start with this story.

My clients wanted to stay out late for an evening hatch. The fishing that time of year tapered off in the afternoon, but remained steady for anglers up to the challenge. The evening caddis hatches were gangbusters — if you stayed out until dark-thirty to fish them.

We launched late morning, content to be the last boat down the river. The plan was to let the other boats get downstream and wait until the trout were back on their feed.

We fished some favorite runs that didn’t produce as anticipated. I tried different flies, different approaches. Something was wrong and I couldn’t put my finger on it.

Around a bend I saw two anglers in the distance. I knew that hole. It was to be my next stop. I couldn’t see much except their silhouettes and lines glistening in the sun.

I watched one, then the other, make a straight-line, tight-looped cast. I watched as the guy at the head of the run went into a familiar predator crouch when he finished his cast with an aerial mend.

That was enough. I recognized that unmistakable casting style. I also knew why we weren’t catching fish.

I was watching Doug Swisher.

The other guy was Doug’s son, Randy.

They let us pass amid a flurry of laughter and good-natured banter, and a quick plan to keep from spooking each other’s fish on the way downstream. Doug was typically generous.

Doug was more than a writer, a fly innovator, a master caster, and, according to everybody I’ve talked to who fished with him, a deadly fly fisherman. Not all fly fishing writers (including some famous ones. I know, I’ve fished with them) can say the same.

Doug and Walton Powell were among 10 big names in fly fishing to attend an invitational float trip on the McKenzie River in Oregon. The esteemed Ernie Schwiebert, whose two-volume set, “Trout,” had just been published, was among the chosen who came in from the east.

Before the float trip Ernie held court on the bank of the river, turning over rocks and predicting what might hatch. The others nodded in almost reverent attention and selected their flies accordingly. Walton and Doug spoke last, Doug choosing an Aztec streamer and Walton a big dry fly called the Clyde. There were muffled snickers from the eastern experts.

At the end of the day, Walton tallied 28 trout, and Doug netted 14. Doug’s probably averaged larger in size, although Walton hit a three-pounder right at the takeout while everybody watched.

The rest of the party tallied less than 14 fish between them, and Schwiebert got skunked.

The respect between Walton and Doug deepened and I was a beneficiary.

I had not yet moved to Montana when Walton put together a Panel of Experts fundraiser for his local fly fishing club. To hold club expenses down, he provided lodging and meals for the invited guests. Steelhead guru Lani Waller, Doug and I were on the five-member panel with Walton. I don’t recall the fifth panelist.

The idea was for the invited guests to have an exclusive chance to hear each of us speak, and then address us with their questions. The high-ticket banquet sold out fast.

Our lodging was in Walton’s double-wide trailer at the edge of his orchard and behind the rod plant. Doug and I bunked in one room, Lani and the other speaker in another.

We arrived at various times the day before. After we shared one of Walton’s excellent game meals, Doug and I stayed up and talked. We hit it off, and got to know each other well. I began to think of him as a friend — he was a big name in fly fishing then, and I was barely-known outside of northern California.

At the banquet the following evening, Doug fielded a question about how to approach a strange river. The person who asked no doubt expected specifics about angling technique.

“Let’s say I’m going to Hat Creek,” Doug started his answer. “I’d get a hold of Chuck Stranahan. I’d ask him specifically about how long a leader, what tippet size, which flies, and where to find the working fish.” He went on to talk about casting and presentation.

I was surprised, and flattered. Doug didn’t have to do that — but he did. It was my first leg-up from Doug Swisher.

He was that way with everybody. On the stream or in a friendly shoot-out on a casting pond before a show, he could be intensely competitive, and at the same time kind and generous.

He helped launch many careers and products, from fly tyers and guides to small manufacturers in the fly fishing market.

Jimmy Harris, the noted fly fishing bass angler from Georgia may have put it best:

“He was absolutely one of the nicest guys in the industry. I’m sorry to see another legend pass away… it was people like Swisher who laid the groundwork for our sport.”

I’m lucky. I knew Doug Swisher as a friend.

 

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