Oregon Coast Range Trout Fishing

Our Cascade Range rivers have risen to ungodly levels fit for the godless masses of the Willamette Valley. The full reservoirs, record snowpack and horrific heat wave conspired to send the already high rivers to ridiculous, unsafe and unfishable levels leaving Matt, Todd and I to scramble for a place to wet our lines.

Some of the east side and central Oregon Lakes have been fishing well but with the price of gas we elected to stay closer to home. Fortunately, the Oregon Coast Range is a much lower chain of mountains and generally is free of snowpack–Marys Peak a notable exception.

We decided to head out to Esmond Lake which is a small three acre cutthroat lake, a rarity in the heart of the Oregon Coast Range. I’ve wanted to check it out for years but have never made it out there always being too tempted by the siren song of the Mckenzie or Middle Fork Willamette fisheries. After a gear fiasco and picking up Todd Mullen in Veneta we were well underway or so we thought. OR 126 was closed by an accident and we reversed course, heading out the back way over the maze of logging roads. Locating Esmond Junction, we followed Esmond Creek towards its source and sniffed out the trailhead. Belly boats and gear in tow, we started the mile hike in to the lake.

The hike  answered the age old question:

Yes, a bear does shit in the woods and apparently, quite a bit. We were hot on the trail of a potential mama bear cub combo and the scat kept getting fresher as we hiked on until we were seeing mounds of still glistening bear poo. They were close. I’ve never seen an area so bear infested–15 scat piles (yes, we counted) in about three quarters of a mile of trail.

The crew reached our destination. Lakes of any size are exceedingly rare in the Coast Range. This one was formed by an ancient landslide on Esmond Creek, impounding the stream and drowning the forest. The remnant trunks of that forest still stand ghostly above the water level:

The trail ended at the outfall of the lake and we played some logger games, crossing downed timber–some wedged in place and other trunks free floating to reach a point we could launch our float tubes and navigate into the main body of the lake:

Smallish cutthroat were everywhere rising to chironomids. We all had our flies plucked on. I’m not a lake guy and didn’t even tie up any midges figuring that the fish would love an olive wooly bugger. Big mistake. Though I was grabbed a couple times, no fish found my hook. It was the same deal for Matt. Todd did manage a few cutts, smallish fish . . . the biggest taped out at nine inches. That is not to say that there aren’t larger fish in there. I saw an impressive fish rise though it wanted no part of my Parachute Adams-soft hackle rig.

Not the greatest day of catching but an adventure. Not to mention I know what to expect and if the Cascade rivers remain blown out, I’m game to give it another shot.