Idaho, Here We Go

Historical hand-atlas, illustrated, general & local, 1881, H.H. Hardesty & Co., Chicago.

This morning in Salmon, Idaho, the low was 52°, but the high today is 89°. When we get to Salmon next Saturday the forecasted low is 43° and the high 63°. In Houston today the low was 78° and the high 96°. I’ll dress for the arctic.

This will be our third trip to Idaho. The first was in 1992, to Stanley, a tiny crossroads jump off for Frank Church Wilderness raft trips. We weren’t there for rafting, and I’ve never really understood how we picked it. I swear it was Kris’s idea, but she denies it. We fished the Big Wood River near Ketchum, and I caught fish in the Salmon. We didn’t fish Silver Creek, or raft so this is a bit of a makeup trip.

Three years later we visited Yellowstone and fished the Box Canyon of the Henry’s Fork. We were in Idaho for about eight hours. We watched an osprey catch a fish, and caught a fish that had been punctured by an osprey’s claw. We didn’t fish the more difficult Harriman State Park. We won’t fish it this time either, and that’s ok because it’s famous for its insect hatches, and I don’t believe in hatches.

We’ll fish for rainbows and cutthroat, though there are other things to fish for in Idaho, including salmon and steelhead. Idaho seems to be one of those rare places where both cutthroat and rainbows are native. So are steelhead and salmon coming across Washington and Oregon from the Pacific. There are 39 species of fish native to Idaho, plus another 60 or so introduced species. There are six different subspecies of cutthroat trout.

That we’ve been to Idaho twice before is both a bit extraordinary and not remarkable at all: Idaho has four industries: Agriculture, mining, timber, and tourism. Out of 53.5 million total acres in Idaho, 35 million acres are public land. That means 65% of the land in Idaho belongs to me! And we’re tourists! It’s out of the way, but in Idaho we’re a major industry!

It’s public land in part because most of Idaho land isn’t really good for much except for timber, mining, looking magnificent, and the trout fishing kinds of whatnot, and in the early 1900s the agricultural interests in the southern part of the state realized that to protect water for irrigation, the lumber industry had to be regulated. Enter Gifford Pinchot and the US Forestry Service. Potatoes wouldn’t exist without large-scale irrigation, large-scale irrigation wouldn’t exist without the US Forest Service.

Lee, Russell,  Rupert, Idaho (vicinity). Potato field, 1942, Farm Security Administration/Office of War Information, Library of Congress.

Potatoes are in the eastern part of the state, and Idaho divides east/west. Idaho is where Lewis and Clark left the Missouri River drainage and entered the Columbia River drainage. In Idaho the Lewis and Clark expedition nearly starved crossing the Rockies.

Geographically Southeast Idaho is the northern reach of the Basin and Range Province that extends into Nevada, western Utah, and eastern California. That’s where the potatoes grow. The Rockies extend through 2/3rds of the Panhandle south along the Wyoming border and into British Columbia and Alberta. The Columbia Plateau, sagebrushed and arrid in the south and forested and well-watered in the north, extends west into Washington and Oregon. Salmon follow the Columbia Plateau into the Snake River basin, or at least they would except for the Northwestern dams. Fish don’t pay much attention to state lines, but they do notice dams.

Believe it or not, Idaho’s principal indigenous tribes didn’t stick to state boundaries either, but culturally they divided north/south. In the well-watered north the Kootenai, Kalispel, Coeur d’Alene, and Nez Perce–those are dubbed English names–spread into what is now Washington, Montana, Oregon, and British Columbia. They traded into the Columbia basin for salmon. In the arid south, independent bands of Northern Paiute spread into Southern Oregon and Nevada–when we fished Pyramid Lake in Nevada it was on a Northern Paiute reservation–while independent bands of Shoshone were kindred to and allies with the Plains Comanche.

Skin tepees, Shoshone, 1908, National Photo Company Collection (Library of Congress)

At Euro American contact, there were an estimated 20,000 native inhabitants of Idaho. By the mid 1800s the population had fallen to 4,000. It was the usual stuff: displacement, disease, warfare. Out of a total estimated Idaho population in 2018 of 1,754,208, approximately 1.7% or 29, 821 were Native American. I guess that’s a kind of recovery.

Idaho didn’t become a state until 1890. It sits there, way north. It’s land that’s hard to monetize and that really couldn’t be commercialized until the railroads and irrigation came, which was late. It’s pretty, but so are its neighbors, Montana, Wyoming, Oregon, Washington, Utah, and British Columbia are all pretty, and Nevada has all those casinos.

Last week I listened to a podcast of a debate among Boise’s mayoral candidates: the president of the city council was running against the current mayor–I’d surely like to know what bit of ambition and local discord set that off. There was also a nice young Hispanic veteran, and a member of a neighborhood association board who had never heard of urban sprawl. Listening to the debate, you’d have thought that the biggest concerns in Boise were (1) global warming, (2) sprawl, (3) global warming, (4) public transportation, (5) global warming, and (6) air pollution.

It was a decidedly progressive and urban list of concerns, except crime or police violence or pensions or fire department salaries or poor-performing schools were never mentioned. They never mentioned flooding or potholes either. They did mention electric rental scooters. At one point someone said that the Boise Valley was approaching one million in population. It’s not, or at least it’s approaching at a slow and mannerly amble.

Dorothea Lange, Basque sheep herder who speaks broken English coming down from summer camp with pack animals. Adams County, Idaho, 1939, Farm Security Administration – Office of War Information Photograph Collection (Library of Congress).

For such a progressive and urban list of concerns, Idaho is a decidedly Republican state, and while Idaho is growing–in 2017 it was the fastest growing state by percentage of population, 2%–the greater Boise area has fewer than 800,000 residents. In 2018 Boise itself had an estimated population of 228,790, and for all its progressive urban mayoral concerns, President Trump carried Boise’s Ada County by nearly 10%. That sounds more like Amarillo than New York City.

Of course President Trump pretty much ran away with all of Idaho, receiving 59.25% of the vote. More than 90% of Idaho’s population is white, 26% is Morman, 21% Evangelical, and those things probably aren’t unconnected. It ranks 41st in wealth per household. One supposes that back in the 80s white separatists chose Idaho as a refuge because it already was both pretty separate and pretty white. Success! Only Blaine County, the richest county that includes Ketchum and Sun Valley, and Latah County, home of the insanely liberal University of Idaho, voted for Hillary Clinton. Idaho is decidedly conservative, thought I expect the gap between the most conservative Idahoans and most progressive Idahoans is greater than most of us see in our circle of acquaintance.

Whatever its politics, Idaho is gorgeous, but there’s something unhappy about the West. I came across a list of state suicide rates, and the top ten? In order, Montana, Alaska, Wyoming, New Mexico, Utah, Idaho, Nevada, Oklahoma, Colorado. Maybe it’s the relative geographic isolation, maybe it’s the cultural streak of independence or the relative lack of social support, or maybe white malaise. The highest rates are among white males 65 and older, with 32.3 deaths per 100,000, and Native American males, with 32.8 deaths per 100,000.

Oncorhynchus clarkii
A.H. Baldwin, Oncorhynchus clarkii, West Slope Cutthroat, Evermann, B.W. and E.L. Goldsborough, 1907, The Fishes of Alaska, U.S. Government Printing Office, Washington, D.C. 

And it’s probably no accident that the principal city of Latah County is Moscow.

The Native Fish Society

When I was reading about Oregon I didn’t find a conservation organization to donate to. There was nothing like the Tarpon and Bonefish Trust that reached out and gave me a good shake and said we’re doing good work. A week or so later I got one of the usual fishing emails,  this time from The Venturing Angler, announcing the Native Fish Society Native Trout-A-Thon in Oregon.

I looked at the Native Fish Society website, and they were what I had been looking for: a Pacific Northwest conservation organization for the protection of salmon, steelhead, and trout. They need to work on how easy they are to find on search engines, at least by random folk like me.  I sent them some money, and they promised to send me a ball cap. I am now a member of the Adipossessed Society of the Native Fish Society, clipping of the adipose fin being the marker for hatchery fish. Adipossessed. Cute.

If I had been willing to donate $5,000, the Society would have sent me a C.F. Burkheimer custom spey rod inscribed with “Native Fish Society Lifetime Member.” That seems like a pretty reasonable price for a Burkheimer Spey rod, but alas, I have no current need.

I can always use another ball cap. 

From the 2016 Native Fish Society Annual Report. 

Meanwhile in Houston it’s the prettiest time of year, which could only be better if the Astros were in the World Series. This morning I went out early to hand out push cards for a neighbor who’s running for Congress–his mother had called and asked if I’d work the polls for early voting, and how can you turn down someone’s mother? It was in the mid-50s, and clear and bright and excellent people watching. By the afternoon it was in the 80s and I went out and fished for largemouth at Damon’s. Lately I’ve started each bass trip with whatever fly was successful the last time (unless it was lost in the trees) and then moving on if that’s not working.  Today I moved on to a dark blue and black Clouser, which never works. Today it worked, I think because the water was clear with the cooler weather and in the bright sun the dark color was the thing, maybe. In any case, what’s more fun than casting to a particular fish then watching it take, whatever the fish?

  

Oregon Packing List II

I had some random thoughts about Oregon that I didn’t know what to do with, so they’re going with my Oregon playlist.

Donuts

Baked goods are essential to fly fishing , and fried donuts are baked goods. Portland is famous for its donuts, Voodoo Donuts specifically. We went:  I wouldn’t go back. It is the donut equivalent of birthday cakes, more surface than substance. The counter help is there to move you through the line, the donuts, while highly decorated, aren’t anything special, and I’m sorry, but I don’t really want to contemplate a penis-shaped donut, not early in the morning, not any time. 

Blue Star donuts, on the other hand, is outstanding. It bills itself as adult donuts, and that’s fair. Generally I’m not so much a fan of cake donuts (which their donuts are), but that’s a quibble.  Blueberry bourbon donuts are a flavor to be beholden to, and are delicious.

Lesbians

For most places we’ve gone, there’s been a kind of unanimity of response from Houston folks.  When we said we were going to Annapolis, we were told eat the crab cakes. When we went to New Orleans in August, friends said it’s the best time of year to go: it’s no hotter than Houston and you can get restaurant reservations. For Portland, we were told my girlfriend’s lesbian daughter, or my ex-boyfriend’s lesbian aunt, or our former lesbian law school classmate is there.

It was never our gay nephew (or boyfriend’s gay son) lives there. It was never my girlfriend’s daughter. I’m sure there are plenty of gay guys in Portland, and plenty of straight daughters, but the lesbian response was just inevitable.

When I got back to Houston I found an older Gallup poll, 2015, on LGBT populations in US cities, and Portland ranked second after San Francisco for percentage of overall population. Portland might beat out San Francisco if there were some gay guys.

Fake News

You couldn’t have more confusion about Oregon fish facts if they were reported by Fox News. Ask a simple question, do steelhead feed? You will get many more contradictory answers than steelhead. The best answer seems to be that winter steelhead don’t feed, and that summer steelhead feed, but not a lot.

We heard that jack Chinook, which are undersized male Chinook salmon, are mature small fish that are biologically necessary for low flows, but that kind of begs the question: if low flows are blocking big males, why aren’t they blocking big females?  Why aren’t there lady jack Chinook? We heard that they were confused juveniles who were not sexually mature but were pesky. We heard that they were mature males that just hadn’t gotten big.

The best answer seems to be that they are sexually mature, but precociously mature: they’ve matured too soon.  The number of jacks may be higher among hatchery fish, which genetically doesn’t sound like a good thing.

We constantly heard that Deschutes steelhead are a different fish than Deschutes resident trout. One of the more interesting things I read was that out of any given trout or steelhead population, scientists can’t predict which fish will go to the ocean and which fish will remain resident. Which fish will which has more to do with nurture than nature. If the local environment isn’t optimal, Pacific Coast trout will head for the ocean. It’s the principal reason that trout and resident steelhead are considered the same species. It’s a lifestyle thing.

I could never find fish population numbers. Whatever they are, the future of Pacific Coast trout and Salmon looks pretty grim.

Where We Didn’t Go

I’d spent time in Oregon before. I’d seen the coastline, I’d crossed the Cascades, I’d been to Eugene and Bend.  I’d like to see the Shakespeare Festival in Ashland.  I wish we’d had time to fish the Umpqua.

Conservation Groups

I’ve been making contributions to local conservation organizations, and their websites are more often than not the best sources of information about a fishery. You’d think with all that ecological consciousness there would be an obvious conservation organization to join in the Pacific Northwest.  There’s not, not that I could figure out anyway. We found the Deschutes River Alliance, and they make a great video, but I have a sneaking suspicion that they may not be right, and they get as much grief from locals as they get praise. 

Maybe Trout Unlimited is the right organization, but I’m surprised I didn’t find a more localized umbrella group for salmon and steelhead. Maybe the Deschutes River Conservancy would be good.

BattleFish

One of our guides on the Deschutes, Barret Ames, is on a reality show, BattleFish, about commercial albacore tuna fishing. It debuted Friday. The show is kind of brutal to watch, but the fish is delicious. 

Playlist

Dolly Parton wrote a song about Eugene. Jack White and Loretta Lynn recorded a duet about Portland. That right there is reason enough to visit.

  • The Decembrists, The Hazards of Love, Her Majesty, The King is Dead, What a Terrible World, What a Beautiful World. I love the Decembrists. I thought I was being very au courant, until my daugher (who’s 32) told me that they were her favorite band in high school. I did get that song about the father murdering his children in my head for about three days, and I’d rather not hear it again anytime soon.
  •  Ramblin’ Jack Elliott, Pastures Of Plenty. One of the Woody Guthrie Oregon songs.
  • Esparanza Spalding, Chamber Music Society, Radio Music Society. How a short black girl from Portland became a great jazz musician is a story worth contemplating.
  • She & Him. M. Ward and Zooey Deschanel. We had Volume 3, and found ourselves listening to it in high-stress situations, like when I’d tied my wet wading boots to the roof of the car to dry and Kris freaked out.
  • The Shins, Port of Morrow
  • The Kingsmen. The Best of the Kingsmen. Louie, Louie never cycled through, but they were just as bad as I remembered. 
  • Paul Revere & The Raiders. Greatest Hits. They were better than I remembered, but there must have been something in the Portland water in the 60s that churned out garage bands.
  • Todd Snider, Songs for the Daily Planet. 80s music. Dated. 
  • Woody Guthrie, Columbia River Collection.
  • Sleater-Kinney, Dig Me Out. I might get Sleater-Kinney in 30 years or so, or die trying.
  • John Fahey, The Portland Cement Factory.
  • Joan Baez, Portland Town. It took me a while to figure out this was Portland, Oregon, not Portland, Maine.
  • Johnny Cash, Lumberjack. They don’t make songs like this any more. It goes well with Sometimes a Great Notion.
  • Dolly Parton, Eugene Oregon. 
  • Carrie Brownstein & Fred Armisen, Dream of the 90s.  We watched a lot of Portlandia.  It’s addicting.
  • Elliott Smith, Alameda. 
  • Sufjan Stevens, Carrie & Lowell.  I’m not sure what this has to do with Oregon, but I liked the song. In 2005, Stevens announced he would record an album for each state, and he released Michigan and Illinois, but later he said it was just a promotional gimmick.  This is a man of my own heart. 
  • Michael Hurley, Portland Water. 
  • Steely Dan, Don’t Take Me Alive. The best driving song of the lot. Well I crossed my old man back in Oregon/Don’t take me alive/Got a case of dynamite/I could hold out here all night
  • Lorretta Lynn (feat. Jack White), Portland, Oregon.  

Fly Fish Oregon Done

Last Sunday we met our guide, Travis Johnson, at 4:30 in the morning, waders on, and got back to the hotel that night at 9:20. It was a long day. Most of our days in Oregon were long days. Up early, fish until lunch, nap for a few hours then fish again until dark. Long days.

We spent the next three nights at a riverside camp on a trip put together by Louis Cahill of Gink & Gasoline, through Jeff Hickman’s Fish the Swing.  I’d signed up for the camp on a whim, because steelhead was the right color of fish for Oregon, and there was a personal invitation, addressed to occupant, in my emails. Kris was a bit startled that I’d signed her up for a group camping trip on a river with a latrine tent and no blow drier, but I swear I told her first. I think I told her first.

The food was great, and the company great. Hickman wasn’t there, but there were two boats of three anglers each and two guides, Barrett Ames and Curtis Ciszek, and Curtis’s good dog, Rowlf. And no one is nicer than Louis Cahill. The weather wasn’t the bitter cold we’d expected north of the Mason-Dixon after Labor Day, though people did make fun of our expedition wear. Who says four layers are too many for 60 degrees? That’s damned cold.

I learned two Spey casts, more or less, the double Spey and the snap-T. By the end of the week every 10th cast or so was ok, and every 20th cast I might shoot three or four feet of line.  Spey casting, mastered. I was only frustrated at that point, as opposed to deeply frustrated, or even exasperated.  Kris was pretty much exasperated, but she hung in, and got more casting instruction than is really good for anyone. She might have been happier (and just as effective) if the guides had left her alone to flail away, but she was game, and mostly patient.

The first day with Travis Johnson was upriver, south of Maupin.  Oregon has a split personality, with east of the Cascades dry, and the lush west landscaped by rain and the ocean. Technically on the Deschutes we were in Central Oregon, but it was east enough. When I first saw the east side, mostly treeless, pristine, arid, it looked enough like my childhood home to be familiar. It was comfortable.

As I said, the first day we fished a bit upriver, south of Maupin, which if you let that sink in is all wrong. Like the desert in the east, the Deschutes runs north, the wrong way. Upriver south, downriver north. Forest west, desert east. The lower Deschutes is north. No wonder Oregon has such a peculiar reputation.

Johnson is the reigning world champion Spey-caster, but he may also be the reigning world champion talker. From dark to dark he had a constant stream of great stories and strong opinions ranging from Ireland to Maupin and back again. Johnson somehow managed to weave the Northern Ireland prime minister into instructions on drift. It was almost as spectacular as the scenery.

Oregon has a peculiar history. In the decades after Lewis & Clark, the relatively new United States pushed expansion into Oregon to keep the British out. Britain and the States agreed on a 49th parallel border in 1846, and the Canadian border from Washington to North Dakota is artificially straight, designed by treaty not geography. Settlers came from New England and the old Ohio Territory, and the existing residents, the Yakima and Nez Perce and Umpqua, the lot of them, were killed, pushed out, or confined. Oregon was re-settled by white people. It wasn’t just any white people, either.  It was pretty universally British Isle-descended white people,

Interestingly, Wisconsin was settled at about the same time by the same Yankees, but with the addition of Germans, Norwegians, and other such foreign folk. The conflict in Wisconsin between Catholic beer-drinking Germans and Protestant temperance-pledging Yankees was defining, but I’m pretty sure the beer drinkers won.  Oregon, on the other hand, remained relatively isolated until World War II, the automobile, and television changed everything.  It’s still 87% white though (as is Wisconsin, interestingly enough). Oregon’s greatest novel (and one of our greatest novels), Ken Kesey’s Sometimes a Great Notion, constantly riffs on its characters’ casual racism. They must have brought it with them over the Oregon Trail, because the Oregon population is still only 2 percent African American, less than 2 percent Native American, and less than 5 percent Asian. White people.

Where we camped and fished on the lower Deschutes (that’s the north end of the river; keep up), there had been a 70,000-acre fire in July that had destroyed the grass-cover and most of the river trees.  Without ground cover there was lots of dust when the wind blew, and by midday every day the wind was blowing. If it ever rains hard, there’ll be erosion and dirty water, but big rain doesn’t seem to be much of a problem. It was a prairie fire, and by next year the grass should be back.

Because it’s spring fed, the river flow is apparently pretty constant, season to season, year to year. The river is big, fast, and hard wading, horizontal rock-climbing, and neither of us could have done it without wading staffs and Patagonia river crampons. The river crampons worked, and the one morning we tried without them, with only studs in rubber soles, was scary. Notwithstanding their generally excellent performance and the Patagonia hype, when river crampons get caked with ash and dirt river crampons are not ultralight.

I caught a jack Chinook the first day, and three redsides rainbows over the next couple of days, and finally a steelhead on the third.  The small jack, three pounds maybe, was a bit like a Gulf Coast speckled trout. It was nice to see it, it was nice to get the Oregon fish out of the way, but after a bit of a flurry it seemed resigned to being caught. The redsides were pretty, wild, and genetically pure, and one was about 20 inches which I was told was about as big as they get. They were a bit overpowered by the 7 weight Spey rod though. The final steelhead was a hatchery fish with a clipped adipose fin, but it was big, 24 or 25 inches I’d guess, and it was every bit as hard to land as billed. Not many things are as good as billed.

Kris got a nice redside and some other things, a tiny pikeminnow and a sucker, so all in all it was a fine week. Oregon’s done.