Thursday, August 2, 2018

Plan Bee





Goal Oriented Hard Working Gal! 



Dressing For Success
As part of my lifelong quest to be more like a honeybee, it was finally time to acquire a colony of bees and place a hive in our backyard.  The stack of bee books next to my reading lamp grew tall as I took a deep dive into the mysteries of bees.  There was much to learn with big choices to make; type of hive, strain of bees (Italian, Russian, Carniolan….), where to place them and which plants to grow for the most nectar.  There was bee anatomy, the inner working of the hive, and much to know about the Queen, the workers, drones, guard bees, nurse bees, …  

Beekeeping is no instant gratification hobby and figuratively speaking, beekeepers are a dying breed.  There are fewer and fewer of them, and you may wonder that anyone would want a hobby involving stinging insects.  Why now you ask? 

Though I have been sweet on bees for a long time, I listened to practical advice from friends and family who advised that bees are too difficult, thankless and expensive to keep,with all the pesticides and colony collapse disorder and …. Despite all that, and more, I woke up one day knowing that this is my time for bees.  After reading bee books, watching bee films and attending a bee lecture, I felt ready to order bees and a hive for our backyard. 
Honey, Pollen, Baby Bees....  Incredibly Productive

Here is the problem.  We live at 7,000 feet elevation, surrounded by forest.  Forest where bears wake up from hibernation in early Spring, ravenous and looking to eat the protein rich baby bee grubs in hives, with honey for dessert.  Spring is also the most critical time for bees.  A new hive must be started in Spring to give the hard-working bees time to gather enough nectar to get them through winter, with a little extra for the bee keeper.  For some reason the bears went crazy this year, marauding through our area on a regular basis, destroying a neighbor’s bee hive, killing friends’ chickens (goodbye fresh eggs), tearing open locked garbage containers, and getting progressively bolder looking for food and water.  During the three most important bee months, it was commonplace for the dogs of the neighborhood to wake us up at night with a howling chorus when they smelled bear and heard them raiding around gardens and trash cans.   

A succession of bears showed up after the last frost of April and didn’t retreat to the recesses of the forest until the first rains of mid-July; too late to get a hive started.  But, like my bee role models, I can be single-minded in my pursuit of a goal and know when to rely on hive-type collective wisdom. Figuring that bears will always be a factor, Glen researched how to protect hives and built a sturdy  electrified apiary enclosure that will make a hungry bear think twice. 

All this underscores that even the best-laid plans are faint suggestions where nature and insects are involved.  My Big Plan would have to wait for Spring.  Keen to the point of obsession, I came up with Plan Bee. The time between now and next Spring can be put to good use as a bee keepers apprentice to learn the hands-on art of beekeeping.  Until next Spring, I am suiting up when called by my mentor and word is out for anyone with a swarm at their house,  to call so that I can foster, if you will, before becoming a true Bee Momma.  Sweet! 
Gals Doing Their Thing 

Sunday, July 1, 2018

Accidental Music


A ski accident had brought me to this place.  My left arm and shoulder were immobilized and for the next couple of months I could only move my left hand – the rest of my arm had to stay in place to heal.  Forget skiing - I could no longer practice yoga, write my book, use a keyboard ….  My new wardrobe consisted of baggy button-down shirts.  It was a time of deep distress for me until I saw that my left arm – slung in a perpetually raised position - looked like I should be holding the neck of a guitar. 


I have wanted to play the guitar for a very long time; to be that person who was making the music instead of listening with admiration and singing along as my brother strummed with abandon and friends played Crosby Stills songs around the fireplace.   Many years had passed and I never followed through on my desire.  My inner dialogue went something like this… Only certain people have musical talent, and I am not one of them.  The other side of me said…  I should turn this accident around and learn to play the guitar.   I hesitated, full of self-doubt, …  Will I be able to do this? I don’t even know how to read music.  Yet, after the initial idea, my mind kept coming back to it strongly enough to make the three-and-a-half-hour trip to a guitar store in Phoenix and spend the money.



At the music store I turned myself over to the guitar sage, who sized up my arm situation and led me to a rack of ¾ sized Martin guitars.  Lifting down the one with the prettiest wood pattern, I saw that guitars have only six strings, which I took as a good sign for someone with no musical training.  How hard could it be to learn six strings, I asked myself.  Playing a musical instrument would be totally new for me, but the expert at the store assured me that I did not have to know how to read music, “Here is a music book with chords – you’ll be playing songs within days.” 

I resolved my doubts by telling myself, with so many people on this earth playing the guitar, how hard can it really be? 

It was so hard it nearly broke my brain.  But I kept at it every day, torturing Glen in the winter and the animals in our yard when it got warm enough to play in the sunshine. Soon, three chord songs like “Sloop John B” did not satisfy - I wanted more.  The songs I wanted to sing were more complex and required individual music notes as well as chords.  I needed to learn to read music, a new language for me.  Learning that language is arguably harder for guitarists because any given note on the guitar can be played on different strings of the instrument. I also needed to know the most efficient way to play the note and then transition fast enough to the next note so that it sounded like real music.  During those wobbly first months my fingertips bled, and I despaired more about my music than my lack of arm function. 



At the beginning the challenge of learning to play the guitar seemed too much; there were daily low-lows, occasional middle-middles and rare high-highs.  Oh the elation when I could play a decent Southern Cross.  I have been playing guitar for over a year now, and it is still hard.  On my worse days, when I finger the wrong string or forget to play the sharp, I console myself that a year ago, I couldn't have done this.  On my best days, I close my eyes and sing along with so much heart that nothing else matters but those three and a half minutes of flowing music. 


Wednesday, October 18, 2017

Red Cross Phone Home

That Rectangle Under Hurricane Maria Is Puerto Rico

Glen and I deployed with the Red Cross for three weeks to assist with Hurricane Maria.  Friends wonder what it is like when we volunteer to go out on a disaster, at times living in what some consider hardship conditions.  I go because I feel like I can make a contribution, and choose the Red Cross because in 2005, after Hurricane Katrina, my family was on the receiving end of people like Glen and me.  I will never forget the generosity and kindness of those Red Cross volunteers. For anyone who ever considered doing something like this, here is a little insight into what a Red Cross hardship disaster deployment is like.  

Finding 'Look Angle'  to the satellite using a theodolite
We named this VSAT 'Jerry' 

We fired up our two generators in the Spanish Colonial type plaza of a small town in the hard hit interior of Puerto Rico. When we first arrived the town looked deserted, but people came out of their houses as word spread that the Red Cross was setting up a communication station for all to use.  Meanwhile, Enrique and I - VSAT Team 1 -were busy assembling the Red Cross satellite terminal and acquiring internet connectivity with the outside world.  People gathered and plugged their phones into the charging stations while our Safe and Well - Reunification personnel explained how to log onto the Cruz Roja (Red Cross) WiFi account.  No pressure here for Enrique and me folks, other than hundreds of people waiting to call their loved ones for the first time since the devastation of Hurricane Maria.  Thankfully we always got our VSAT up and running and soon, crowds of excited people were talking and texting.  Even though cell service and electricity was down on the island, our generators and satellite connection allowed users to call, text, and send email to loved ones.   

   
Elisandro,  Javier, Craig and Me
We welcomed the support of
three Spanish and one Finnish Red Cross Delegate

Our staff shelter - the basement of a church
where we slept with 70 new friends
It was the enormity of Hurricane Maria that made us want to help. We had been watching the intensity and size of Hurricane Maria and knew that Puerto Rico would be slammed in a swath of destruction.  We felt like we should go, but had not signed up because Glen and I had a trip planned to Italy.  Then we heard from David Schindler, a fellow Red Cross IT-Telecom volunteer and friend.   David had just worked Hurricane Harvey for three weeks and was now going to assist with Hurricane Maria.  Glen and I decided that if David could work back-to-back disasters, we could shift the dates of our personal travel.  We deployed to Puerto Rico the  day after hurricane Maria went through.  The airport and harbors were closed to commercial traffic, but a FEMA chartered plane put Red Cross disaster response people among the first on the ground.  It was a  strange feeling to land at an airport where the lights are off and to unload your own cases of satellite communication equipment.    
Eli and Enrique - Spanish Red Cross friends 

Our little army of Red Cross volunteers came from all over the country.  The technology folks we knew from past disaster work, but  others were on first ever deployments with the Red Cross.  Before we arrived someone had arranged for us to sleep on cots in the basement of a church, which became one of three eventual staff lodgings.  We had working toilets, purified water and all the nutrition bars and trail mix you could ever want and eventually even a hot breakfast.  At night we ran a generator to help circulate and cool the room to sleeping temperature.  We were all so busy our cots felt fine and in truth our days so full we fell asleep pretty fast.  The intense, shared mission forged fast friendships - laughing and joking eased the close living. We were all issued headlamps - required equipment for anyone needing to thread their way through 70 cots at night.  There was much joking and no complaining  among us Red Cross workers; the needs and losses of the people you help are so much greater than your own temporary inconvenience.  So even if in a moment of weakness you feel like having a pity party, you get over it fast.     


 Loading and Unloading Equipment
Logistics are a challenge with no communications or electricity .
Headlamps Rock! 

No one sleeps in late on a disaster, but you do get coffee in the morning.  Ours was compliments of the church pastor, who looked a little nervous about the growing number of residents. We left early each morning because our jobs required us to travel some distance across the island every day in a convoy of 3-4 cars equipped with portable radios for safety.  Getting to our destination proved interesting.  I was oh, so happy we had a four wheel drive truck with high clearance to carry all the communication equipment.  A couple of times I held my breath driving through deep standing water in the streets, but we always made it. The first week after the storm we detoured around roads with fallen trees and flooding from near daily rain storms.  Our trusty VSATs were able to power through the rain to reach the satellite, which was a constant concern with so many relying on us. Once our VSAT was up and running we could finally relax and circulate among the residents, showing them how to log onto our Wi-Fi system, make Skype calls, send text and email.   For anyone without a working phone, the Red Cross provided phones with prepaid Skype accounts so that no one was left out. 
Glen - VSAT Whisperer - Fixing Equipment Problems
Glen never met a VSAT he couldn't fix.  Until Buzz...but that's another story. 

The Red Cross was one of the first responders to some areas and at times we combined our WiFi service with food distribution and Health Services visits.  In the hardest hit towns it was impossible to not be moved and I shared some tears from time to time.  Imagine the frustration and fear of being separated from your family after a natural disaster with no way to contact them or to know their fate.  Our communication service turned out to be greater psychological support than I ever anticipated.  Something else happened during those Reunification missions that made me happy.  The town plaza became a base for the community to gather; they now felt connected to the world. As a sidebar, our handsome Spanish and Finnish Red Cross delegates figured in countless photos with appreciative people.  How often does a disaster worker achieve rock star status?  

Crowds Talking, Texting and Emailing 

Enrique and I were Team 1.   Glen, Eli and Javier were Team 2
If we had more VSATs we could have served more people.  Hint Hint to any donors out there!  
Hearing so many stories gave us an emotional connection with the people and many days we worked  into the night, past our scheduled departure time. It meant a lot to the people we served.  However, the rain took some getting used to.  VSATs operate outdoors so we wore rain ponchos and squished around in shoes filled with water.  However, we weren't alone out there; even in heavy rain townspeople huddled under tarps and umbrellas close to our WiFi antenna in order to communicate with loved ones.  As in every disaster, we experienced the generosity of people who have been through trying times together.  At times people in a community prepared rice and beans for us from their limited stores.  Disasters make you realize that it does not matter how much money you have or your social position is in the world.  Catastrophe is a big equalizer and all we really have at times are each other. 
Craig Mitchell - Finnish RC - Network Engineer Extraordinaire

VSATs R Us 
Once people talked and connected with their families they seemed lighter and happier.  I improved my Spanish as people told stories about their visits to the mainland USA and family members living there.   In one small town a twenty-something woman walked up with a smile, wearing a T-shirt that said, “I don’t need help, I need WiFi.”  I’m not sure that woman’s neighbors agreed with her priorities, but our Red Cross VSAT Reunification Team was certainly the answer to her needs. 

The next big disaster, think about joining us out there.
Glen and Julie Bradley (Sky Island Woman) 


Colin Chaperone - International Red Cross Field Officer
Enrique Bossa - Go Team One!!! 
A map recon of our destination for the next morning.
Our two teams deployed to different locations across the island.  

Monday, October 16, 2017


“The stonefly hatch is on at the Deschutes River” Ben said. “It’s an all-day float trip. The fish are found near the banks, where stoneflies fall from nearby trees. The catching is particularly good in the late afternoon when the stoneflies are blown into the river by afternoon breezes.”

Three ‘Sisters’ Mountain Peaks – Faith, Hope, Charity
“There, did you see that?” Ben Kittell, our fly fishing guide on the Lower Deshutes River pointed a few feet from where I balanced in the current. He whispered, “A fish just broke the surface”. Without a clue of how to entice that fish onto my light fly rod, I hand it to Ben and ask him to show me that casting technique one more time. In Ben’s hands my fly rod comes to life and he once again talks me through “short line nymphing”. This involves casting tiny ‘nymph like’ flies upstream and a few feet below the surface with a tiny lead weight attached near the end of the line. Ben advises me to watch my line closely as the fly drifts with the current, and to set the hook when I feel the slightest tug of the line. Ben explains that nymph fishing is great for beginners because most fish feed below the surface. In other words, as a novice, I have a better chance of catching a fish by nymphing.

Sisters Fishing Guide Ben Kittell
This was our first visit to Oregon, which was planned around a four day fishing trip in the Sisters area. Sisters is a small town named after the three surrounding 10,000 ft ‘sister’ mountain peaks called Faith, Hope and Charity. My original plan had been to hike along the streams as I usually do while Glen, my husband, fly fishes. However, I was so taken by the beauty and rushing sounds of the rivers along the way that I decided that now would be as good a time to learn to fly fish. They never put a fish in an ugly place,” Glen said as encouragement. My husband loves everything about fly fishing and had been trying to interest me in the sport for years.

Glen and I walked into The Fly Fisher’s Place in Sisters and made arrangements for a guided float trip with local expert Ben Kittell. Although my heart was set on the beautiful Metolius River, guides are not allowed on that river. Glen convinced me it would be better if I started with a guide first before striking out on my own to fish the Metolius .


Our Fly Fishing Drift Boat
I should probably mention here that Ben was not the weathered, laconic guide I expected. He did not wear a hat with artificial flies stuck in the brim nor was he stingy with his fish secrets. With his looks and gentle, patient manner, Ben could have been cast in Robert Redford’s film, “A River Runs Through It.”



Stone Fly Look-Alikes

Although this is a float trip, it is illegal to fish the Lower Deshutes River from a boat. The idea is to float to the juiciest feeding grounds by boat, and then step into the water to fish. That is why within minutes of the boat launch I am wading slowly in strong, thigh deep current, fighting to keep my balance. It is a struggle to cast and stay upright on the rocky riverbed. I am wearing what feels like waterproof footy pajamas in borrowed boots that feel slick on the mossy rocks. It is all I can do to stand, much less master the cast that Ben patiently teaches me. On our stops along the river, I wade awkwardly from the boat and repeat my casting mantra ‘pick up, back cast, forward cast, let down, mend… ‘. All with my feet planted in a way that will prevent me from being swept downstream. A visual learner, I ask Ben to show me yet again and he elegantly swooshes my rod back and forth to demonstrate the correct casting technique. There are so many things to remember about casting, that with the first few stops of the boat I have what kind Buddhists might call ‘Beginners Mind’ and my mother calls ‘Perfectionist Tendencies”. I am focusing so hard that Ben reminds me to ‘think like a fish’… which instantly got me out of my overthinking mode and into studying the river environment. It was interesting how shifting my attention away from myself relaxed my arm and body. Suddenly even the current did not seem menacing.

I look upstream at Glen. He is artfully doing his thing. An experienced and passionate fly fisherman, Glen values our happy marriage too much to try and teach me himself. Lucky for me, our guide Ben is as patient as he is knowledgeable. Tying and casting nymph lines is a ritual which for Ben seems second nature as he zings the line back and forth laying the artificial nymph down on the water in a smooth beautiful motion.

After a few hours I have the hang of what Ben calls a ‘good beginner cast’. It was the setting of the hook that took some work. My eagerness combined with the slightest pull from a submerged rock or weed was enough to prompt me to jerk my rod skyward in the nibbling phase, thereby ensuring that the fish was released before the barbless hook was set. To make it easier for me, Ben stuck a small, white floating indicator on my line to help me know when to ‘set’ the hook.

Glen With His First Of Many Caught and Released
In truth, I couldn’t help doubting about my chances of catching a fish. There were swarms of real insects flying just above the water. If trout could not be bothered to ‘rise’ for the real thing what would make it desire the imposter on the end of my line. Ben assured me that trout love those large, tasty stone flies. If I could convince the trout that my lure was a stone fly I would soon be reeling in a trout.

As Glen reeled in and released his first trout of the day I consoled myself with the thought that no matter what happened, I was outdoors surrounded by stunning rock formations and lush, green riverbanks. Plus, my cast was improving and I was enjoying myself. Why had I waited so long to fly fish?

As Glen reeled in and released trout in the 11 – 15 inch range I tried ever harder to ‘think like a fish’, cast properly and hold my ground in the rocky, river bed all at the same time. Since Glen was catching fish, I knew that Ben was right. I needed to cast in a way that convinced the trout that my fly was a real insect. As proof, the first time I placed a perfect cast, I felt a strong tug. If only I had remembered which direction to pull the line to set the hook, I would have been able to catch that trout. Then I could have magnanimously released it instead of see it swim away on its own accord. With the loss of that fish, it became very important for me to hook a fish and bring it into the net.

Strangely enough, my one solid catch that day was caught on a back cast. Even our guide was surprised by that. My first fish catch was an important milestone for me. I felt such a connection with my trout that I wanted to keep him – maybe for a mount. But then Ben pointed out that it was better to release the trout and give other fishermen the same joy I felt. Additionally, my trout was on the small side. But that trout had a stout heart and fought the good fight right up until Ben scooped him into the net.

After I came down off the adrenaline rush of catching that fish, I realized that I had been wrong about fly fishing. I used to think that fly fishing was not about catching fish, but an art form. But even releasing the trout was exciting. I had to administer fish CPR to get my trout perky for return to its habitat. I felt such a thrill catching that wild trout that I was ‘hooked’ on fly fishing.

Metolius River 
I started getting cold as the sun set and breezes blew down the river. I returned to the float boat and watched Glen cast, catch and release until it was too dark for he and Ben to tie flies on the line. We had been on the Deschutes a full 10 hours.

The next morning Glen and I slept in and decided that even though my technique was not ready for prime time, today we would fish from the banks of the famous Metolius River. First we needed to buy some green drake flies and stopped again at The Fly Fisher’s Place. I was surprised to see Ben manning the shop after such a previously long day on the Deschutes. But he seemed fully revived and took out a map to brief Glen on the best places to access and fish the Metolius River. As we left the shop Glen remarked, “A great fly shop. Ben sold me $20 worth of flies and gave me $200 worth of advice.” We felt like locals.

Fish Don't Live In Ugly Places 
Our plan was to visit the head of the Metolius River before heading downstream to fish. I knew the Metolius was spring-fed, but it was still a surprise to see a river pouring out of the side of a hill. The sign at the end of the lush, tree bordered path said that the Metolius wells to the surface at the rate of 50,000 gallons a minute from underground springs. Those clear, blue headwaters set the stage for the rare beauty and scenery of the Metolius River.
Metolius Trout Like Green Drakes 
On Ben’s advice, we drove eight miles further downstream from the headwaters to the Wizard Falls fish hatchery which is open to the public. I was surprised to read that there are no fish stocked in the Metolius River – it’s full of wild trout. The hatchery uses the spring water for hatching operations, but the five million hatched trout, as well as salmon eggs, are sent to other rivers, lakes and streams in Oregon.


Fish Hatchery On Metolius River 
The trout in the Metolius River are famously smart. I might go a stretch further and say they are downright wily. Even Glen was not savvy enough to catch one of those blue ribbon trout. The fish were there alright – from the banks above I could see silvery shapes floating lazily in the holes and working their way upstream. But the bank of the river was as close as I came to a Metolius trout that day. However, I had no regrets – the beauty of that swift river over mossy rocks was more than enough reason to fish the Metolius River.

Four days, three Sisters, two rivers and one new fly fisherman. I don’t want to wait too long to get back to it.

Fish Don't Live In Ugly Places

Three ‘Sisters’ Mountain Peaks – Faith, Hope, Charity

“There, did you see that?”  Ben Kittell, our fly fishing guide on the Lower Deshutes River pointed a few feet from where I balanced in the current.  He whispered, “A fish just broke the surface”.  Without a clue of how to entice that fish onto my light fly rod, I hand it to Ben and ask him to show me that casting technique one more time.  In Ben’s hands my fly rod comes to life and he once again talks me through “short line nymphing”. This involves casting tiny ‘nymph like’ flies upstream and a few feet below the surface with a tiny lead weight attached near the end of the line. Ben advises me to watch my line closely as the fly drifts with the current, and to set the hook when I feel the slightest tug of the line.  Ben explains that nymph fishing is great for beginners because most fish feed below the surface.  In other words, as a novice, I have a better chance of catching a fish by nymphing. 
Sisters Fishing Guide Ben Kittell



This was our first visit to Oregon, which was planned around a four day fishing trip in the Sisters area. Sisters is a small town named after the three surrounding 10,000 ft ‘sister’ mountain peaks called Faith, Hope and Charity. My original plan had been to hike along the streams as I usually do while Glen, my husband, fly fishes.  However, I was so taken by the beauty and rushing sounds of the rivers along the way that I decided that now would be as good a time to learn to fly fish. They never put a fish in an ugly place,” Glen said as encouragement. My husband loves everything about fly fishing and had been trying to interest me in the sport for years.


Glen and I walked into The Fly Fisher’s Place in Sisters and made arrangements for a guided float trip with local expert Ben Kittell.  Although my heart was set on the beautiful Metolius River, guides are not allowed on that river.  Glen convinced me it would be better if I started with a guide first before striking out on my own to fish the Metolius .
“The stonefly hatch is on at the Deschutes River” Ben said. “It’s an all-day float trip.  The fish are found near the banks, where stoneflies fall from nearby trees.  The catching is particularly good in the late afternoon when the stoneflies are blown into the river by afternoon breezes.”
Our Fly Fishing Drift Boat 

I should probably mention here that Ben was not the weathered, laconic guide I expected.  He did not wear a hat with artificial flies stuck in the brim nor was he stingy with his fish secrets.  With his looks and gentle, patient manner, Ben could have been cast in Robert Redford’s film, “A River Runs Through It.” 
Stone Fly Look-Alikes




Although this is a float trip, it is illegal to fish the Lower Deshutes River from a boat.  The idea is to float to the juiciest feeding grounds by boat, and then step into the water to fish. That is why within minutes of the boat launch I am wading slowly in strong, thigh deep current, fighting to keep my balance.  It is a struggle to cast and stay upright on the rocky riverbed.  I am wearing what feels like waterproof footy pajamas in borrowed boots that feel slick on the mossy rocks. It is all I can do to stand, much less master the cast that Ben patiently teaches me.  On our stops along the river, I wade awkwardly from the boat and repeat my casting mantra ‘pick up, back cast, forward cast, let down, mend… ‘.  All with my feet planted in a way that will prevent me from being swept downstream.  A visual learner, I ask Ben to show me yet again and he elegantly swooshes my rod back and forth to demonstrate the correct casting technique.  There are so many things to remember about casting, that with the first few stops of the boat I have what kind Buddhists might call ‘Beginners Mind’ and my mother calls ‘Perfectionist Tendencies”.   I am focusing so hard that Ben reminds me to ‘think like a fish’… which instantly got me out of my overthinking mode and into studying the river environment.  It was interesting how shifting my attention away from myself relaxed my arm and body.  Suddenly even the current did not seem menacing. 

I look upstream at Glen.  He is artfully doing his thing.  An experienced and passionate fly fisherman, Glen values our happy marriage too much to try and teach me himself.  Lucky for me, our guide Ben is as patient as he is knowledgeable.  Tying and casting nymph lines is a ritual which for Ben seems second nature as he zings the line back and forth laying the artificial nymph down on the water in a smooth beautiful motion.
After a few hours I have the hang of what Ben calls a ‘good beginner cast’.  It was the setting of the hook that took some work. My eagerness combined with the slightest pull from a submerged rock or weed was enough to prompt me to jerk my rod skyward in the nibbling phase, thereby ensuring that the fish was released before the barbless hook was set.  To make it easier for me, Ben stuck a small, white floating indicator on my line to help me know when to ‘set’ the hook. 
Glen With His First Of Many Caught and Released
In truth, I couldn’t help doubting about my chances of catching a fish.  There were swarms of real insects flying just above the water.  If trout could not be bothered to ‘rise’ for the real thing what would make it desire the imposter on the end of my line.  Ben assured me that trout love those large, tasty stone flies. If I could convince the trout that my lure was a stone fly I would soon be reeling in a trout. 
As Glen reeled in and released his first trout of the day I consoled myself with the thought that no matter what happened, I was outdoors surrounded by stunning rock formations and lush, green riverbanks.  Plus, my cast was improving and I was enjoying myself.  Why had I waited so long to fly fish?  
As Glen reeled in and released trout in the 11 – 15 inch range I tried ever harder to ‘think like a fish’, cast properly and hold my ground in the rocky, river bed all at the same time.  Since Glen was catching fish, I knew that Ben was right.  I needed to cast in a way that convinced the trout that my fly was a real insect.  As proof, the first time I placed a perfect cast, I felt a strong tug.  If only I had remembered which direction to pull the line to set the hook, I would have been able to catch that trout. Then I could have magnanimously released it instead of see it swim away on its own accord.  With the loss of that fish, it became very important for me to hook a fish and bring it into the net.
Strangely enough, my one solid catch that day was caught on a back cast.  Even our guide was surprised by that.  My first fish catch was an important milestone for me.  I felt such a connection with my trout that I wanted to keep him – maybe for a mount.  But then Ben pointed out that it was better to release the trout and give other fishermen the same joy I felt.  Additionally, my trout was on the small side.  But that trout had a stout heart and fought the good fight right up until Ben scooped him into the net.
After I came down off the adrenaline rush of catching that fish, I realized that I had been wrong about fly fishing.  I used to think that fly fishing was not about catching fish, but an art form.  But even releasing the trout was exciting.   I had to administer fish CPR to get my trout perky for return to its habitat.  I felt such a thrill catching that wild trout that I was ‘hooked’ on fly fishing.
Metolius River 
I started getting cold as the sun set and breezes blew down the river.  I returned to the float boat and watched Glen cast, catch and release until it was too dark for he and Ben to tie flies on the line. We had been on the Deschutes a full 10 hours. 
The next morning Glen and I slept in and decided that even though my technique was not ready for prime time, today we would fish from the banks of the famous Metolius River.  First we needed to buy some green drake flies and stopped again at The Fly Fisher’s Place.  I was surprised to see Ben manning the shop after such a previously long day on the Deschutes.  But he seemed fully revived and took out a map to brief Glen on the best places to access and fish the Metolius River.  As we left the shop Glen remarked, “A great fly shop.  Ben sold me $20 worth of flies and gave me $200 worth of advice.”  We felt like locals. 
Fish Don't Live In Ugly Places 

Our plan was to visit the head of the Metolius River before heading downstream to fish.  I knew the Metolius was spring-fed, but it was still a surprise to see a river pouring out of the side of a hill.  The sign at the end of the lush, tree bordered path said that the Metolius wells to the surface at the rate of 50,000 gallons a minute from underground springs.  Those clear, blue headwaters set the stage for the rare beauty and scenery of the Metolius River. 
Metolius Trout Like Green Drakes 

On Ben’s advice, we drove eight miles further downstream from the headwaters to the Wizard Falls fish hatchery which is open to the public.  I was surprised to read that there are no fish stocked in the Metolius River – it’s full of wild trout.  The hatchery uses the spring water for hatching operations, but the five million hatched trout, as well as salmon eggs, are sent to other rivers, lakes and streams in Oregon.
Fish Hatchery On Metolius River 


The trout in the Metolius River are famously smart.  I might go a stretch further and say they are downright wily.  Even Glen was not savvy enough to catch one of those blue ribbon trout.  The fish were there alright – from the banks above I could see silvery shapes floating lazily in the holes and working their way upstream.  But the bank of the river was as close as I came to a Metolius trout that day.   However, I had no regrets – the beauty of that swift river over mossy rocks was more than enough reason to fish the Metolius River.
Four days, three Sisters, two rivers and one new fly fisherman.  I don’t want to wait too long to get back to it.