Day Trip to Maupin

New State, New Water

With nearly 16,000 miles of trout streams, The Keystone State is a premier hub for wild brown and brook trout. I grew up spin fishing with my dad, and put a pause on my angling while I was learning graphic design in the city of Chicago. I didn’t realize how trading limestone for concrete would affect my life, until I moved back to Pittsburgh to take on my first professional design job at an agency. After years of tagging along with my dad to find stocked sections around Bedford, PA, I was ready to explore on my own, and with a fly rod. The rest is history, and somewhat of an addiction. I’ve had several people tell me “there’s worse things to be addicted to”, but I wouldn’t be so sure.

Prior to moving to Oregon, we had an extremely dry Fall in PA. With low flows and challenging conditions, I didn’t get my fill of fall fishing. Living in Pittsburgh, the majority of the “good” water is two to three hours away from where I was living. Driving a few hours to Central PA to fish technical conditions, just to drive a few hours back – it gets exhausting. Waking early, driving, wading and hiking, and driving home doesn’t prove to be the safest combination for alertness behind the wheel. Now I know why several of my Pittsburgh buddies moved to the State College area. If the fishing is tricky, they only drive maybe 30 minutes there and back. Now that I’m in the PNW, there are blue lines everywhere. Most of them are within range of where we’re living in Portland. It’s safe to say that I can’t wait for late winter and Spring hatches. The combination of mild winter weather in Oregon and being starved for a hook set put a day trip to Maupin (pronounced “moppin’”) into motion.

A River Runs Through It

The nice thing about winter fishing is that you don’t have to wake up extremely early. You can, if you really want, but cold trout can be just as lethargic as I am. I jumped in the Forester and hit the road around 7:00AM, knowing that it would take me about two hours to pass through Mt. Hood and dip down into Maupin. Morning light looks awfully good on the mountain. This was my first time driving directly towards the white capped volcano. It’s hard to avoid drifting your car directly into a Douglas Fir as you watch the giant rock get bigger and bigger. There was a dusting of snow on Highway 26, but traffic from eager slope folks moved efficiently as we all worked up the pass. It’s pretty challenging to avoid pulling off every scenic turnout as you make your way towards the top of the mountain.

At the fork in the road, 26 will split to 216. Once you get past a multitude of slopes and lodges, the return to see level begins. Passing plenty of alpine lakes and trailheads along the way, the pines begin to thin out, and just like that, you find yourself in a much different environment. The high desert of Oregon covers about half the state, and it shows up in an instant. The remainder of the drive is covered with prairie and tumbleweed, but being new to the region, it’s still exciting to me. At the end of a long road off the mountain, you come to a T. Take a right, and you’ll quickly find yourself in the sleepy town of Maupin – a town that may be known for other things, but it’s a fly fishing and white water destination. The Mighty Deschutes dances through the canyon at the bottom of the town, and glistens from the morning sun above.

Big River

Just like Johnny Cash, I, too, thought my tears may flood this big river. I had checked the flow gauges to make sure I could even fish the water without drifting down to the Colombia. Even though the flows read “seasonal average” this was still gigantic water. You could almost jump across most the creeks I’ve fished my entire life. This was new, a little scary, but incredibly exciting. The water was swift, rapid, and a deep green. The contrast against the arid terrain surrounding the water heightened the purity of it. Fishing in PA, I find myself constantly getting stuck by briars, tripping over roots, and getting smacked in the face by tree limbs. Rinse and repeat. Walking around this country, being able to see everything, and not constantly tripping over something or getting snagged on every single backcast is beauty in itself. Fishing PA may be baptism by fire, for better, or worse.

Did I mention that this water is big? The majority of the creeks and rivers I’m used to flow at about 250-500 cubic feet per second. The Deschutes? She’s pushing a seasonal average of 4,700 CFS. Bigger water is intimidating, but once you learn to break the river into different fishable sections, it feels less daunting.

Fish On

I found a boat launch that turns out from the access road that appeared to be a nice place to start my day. The water thinned out and provided plenty of seams to drift a couple of nymphs. Eggs were on the menu. After a few rusty casts, my drifts began to smooth out. Shortly after, an orange egg produced my first Deschutes rainbow trout. A few moments later, I caught my first mountain whitefish on the same egg pattern. They’re funny little fish. Somewhere between a fall fish and a sucker. I was happy to add the whitefish to my list of species caught. My buddy Nick and I have a tradition of throwing PA chub fish at each other when we’re out on the water. Immature? Absolutely. But I found myself scanning around for Nick to chuck that whitefish at. Since he wasn’t around, the whitefish slipped from my fastball grip back into the water. Don’t worry, I wouldn’t have thrown it anyway. Whitefish are superior to chub fish and don’t deserve such a humorous fate.

Working upstream, I continued more of the same. Using the egg patterns that were giving me success, I was able to net 6 or 7 trout. As far as numbers go, this wasn’t the most productive day, but sometimes it isn’t about how many. Seeing a roaring river, getting sunburn on my nose, and taking in the scenery made up for the low quantity of PNW fish caught. Hiking along the river, and climbing up and down volcanic rock felt so new compared to mountain laurel and rhododendron. I found myself observing shallow pools of landlocked ice, wondering if any unfortunate trout may have found themselves stranded within.

Headin’ Home

I called it a day around 4:00PM. Being down in the canyon, the shade from the surrounding buttes quickly made the depth of the water I was fishing indecipherable. When the water becomes all one shade, it quickly becomes dangerous. “No trout is worth dying for” but sometimes I’m eager to go against that mantra. The magic of the “last cast” would go on to produce one more scrappy rainbow before nipping my tippet. Slightly darker, but still rich with a red band streaking down the flank of the fish. I returned her to the run of which she came, and I walked away with a grin.

Exiting town, I stopped and grabbed an iced Americano at Holy Roasters Coffee. An eccentric little cabin with expected baked goods and strong coffee. Given their name and claiming to be “holy rollers”, they had individual gaming dice for sale out of a large jar by the cashier – 55 cents each. I took the long way home via Highway 197 and drove along the Colombia River Gorge shortly after seeing Mt. Hood and Mt. Rainier in the same field of view. An awesome day where I saw new things, caught fish, and scratched my itch of exploring – for the time being. Until the next one!