Posts Tagged ‘Deschutes R.


Mt. Hood, Oregon

A view of Hood from Mecca Flats on the Deschutes R.


Stoneflies on the Deschutes R. (Oregon)…

My son, Tony Muncy of Muncy Designs and I ventured over for the day on the beautiful Deschutes R. in Central Oregon. Word ways the Stoneflies were ’emerging’ onto the shoreline vegetation. So we thought we would see if the Redside trout were at all connecting with the adult Stones or nymphs. We centered upon the river North of Maupin, Oregon and some 15 miles downriver we found plenty of Stonefly nymphs crawling out onto shoreline grasses. The adults were emerging from the nymph’s and fluttering into the trees. We fished nymphs hard with only a few bumps. As the shadows finally fell upon the river, the expectations were adult Stonefly patterns would yield splashy takes. Alas, the trout karma didn’t align with the bug karma. A few fish, tons of bugs, glorious scenery and weather. The hatch is evolving toward some amazing times for some fly fishers in the days ahead as the ‘hatch’ progresses up river and the trout and bug karmas align.

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California Stone-Tony Muncy-Muncy Designs-Deschutes R. Oregon


Golden Stonefly-Tony Muncy-Muncy Designs-Deschutes R. Oregon







‘What we sow in youth we reap in age;
the seed of the thistle always produces the thistle.’
James Thomas Fields

thistle, bloom, boulder, Deschutes R., SwittersB


Good Night, Good Day

The sun sets here,

it rises there for you,

good night, good morning,

recharging, renewing, rebirthing.

Deschutes R.-sunset-rim-Oregon-SwittersB


Beavertail on the Deschutes R.

No, not the usual serpentine bends in the river from an aerial photo, rather just a small, overnight spot amongst the trees this past Spring.  Beavertail CG. I think there are some petroglyph’s that have been damaged by the idiots with spray cans crowd.



Deschutes River Pricks?

Month Back: Hey, to the two fly guy pricks that upon exiting the Deschutes River, near the Blue Hole…. cut the brake line of the car belonging to the two black fly fishermen you passed on the way out: You’re pricks! YOU may recall who you were, you met the black fly fishermen in John Hazel’s Shop (Amy working). Hazel, perhaps you remember the black guys in your shop and perhaps the pricks that were there too.

Then you pricks and only you, fished near the black fishermen on the river. The tow bill, the enormous inconvenience, the obvious act of fucking racists. I would cap your fucking ass. Don’t bother providing any qualifiers re Hazel…not the issue. Just may help someone identify them for the WCSO/OSP (Report filed). Oh, the owner of the car: Vet, multiple campaigns over seas in 15 years as Navy Seal. You pricks? I can only guess your’ pussy creds. Oh, the pricks drive a white Subaru.


Fly Fishing: Debris’ Puzzle

Pieces of a Puzzle (Deschutes R. ~ Tony Muncy)

I say a giant cased caddis….I mean frigging giant! Or, some primitivo device from Halo Reach Beta!!


Winter’s Little Brown Stones (or Black)

On a past trip  to Central Oregon’s Deschutes River at Tethrow Crossing, I was fishing a Midge Dry amongst the cat tail reeds and quiet water. I was picking up a few browns and rainbows. The only other angler visible on the cold January day was fishing above me and having repetitive success. I waded out and sat nearby smoking my briar and after awhile the man walked my way. 

Blk. Stimulator

Blk. Stimulator

I noted his success and asked the usual question of the unsuccessful. He showed me his fly..a smallish black Stimulator (maybe a size 14, 2x or so). He explained he was fishing to match Black Winter Stoneflies. Huh? I knew about the big California Stones of May and the Golden Stones of Summer. However, I had never heard of Winter Stoneflies. He displayed his fly box with Black Elk Hair Caddis and Black Stimulators. He also had black Hare’s Ear Nymphs. He told me to fish the edges of riffles in the quieter water with any smaller black nymph. I had no dark hairwinged flies. The man pulled a black EHC from the box put it into his palm and rolled it into my palm. I thanked him and he departed up the hill toward his pickup.


black-lil-stone-nymphsI fished some ten feet out from shore..not wading…and proceeded to catch a half dozen

Winter stones

Winter stones

 or so brown trout with memorable ease. I have added dark hairwing flies to my winter arsenal of midges and  bwo’s. I have learned to fish the edges much like other stonefly fishing. These small black or brown stoneflies crawl toward the edges like their larger cousins.     (this is an informative piece by Hafele and Hughes that explains the habitat and appearances of Winter Stones).


Wading Safely (someone else’s close call, good for us)


Umpqua River for Steelhead

Umpqua River for Steelhead

“ toes are slipping as the gravel underneath them washes downstream,…”

But that experience really helped reinforce the fact that I’m not nearly invincible, and a clear head and caution should prevail on the water. I also got the sense that death can be a really stupid, flippant event if you let it. Which is scarier than the river.”

As I checked Matt Stansberry’s blog, I read an account of a close call on the Deschutes River. He expressed the fear and evolving panic that took over as he was carried down the river. I have never learned to swim. I have had close calls (twice on the Kilchis R. once on Sandy R., once on the Minam R.) even in swimming pools. The fear is engrained whether wading or sitting on a pontoon boat. I have learned to cope, but I have always marveled at the pictures of steelhead anglers wading chest deep on the Deschutes R. while standing on bowling balls or shifting gravel. Reading Matt’s account, makes me feel more secure in my judgement to hold back a bit with my wading. I don’t assume any wading belt or over confidence in my swimming capabilities (which I don’t possess) will bring me through at the bottom of the drift should I go under. Matt’s remark about the shifting gravel was telling in that I recall an early November on the Deschutes R. fishing for Redsides below a Chinook redd. I recall edging out little by little on fairly firm gravel only to suddenly reach the edge, the drop and quickly eroding gravel as I started to go forward. The harder I pushed, the quicker I moved forward. Of course, by virtue of the fact I am writing this I managed to propel myself backwards with water over the top of my waders, my heart almost bursting with the exertion and the adrenaline dump making me off kilter for the next hour. Matt Stansberry’s post is a good reminder of how easily it happens and how death can smirk as it so easily grabs another. Read it and consider your wading practices and the reality of a misstep.

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August 2020

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