The problem with August is . . . it's hot and dry. In June, hot and dry is a welcome relief after a cool, damp spring. Even in July, the high-summer weather is tolerable. By August, though, I'm tired of hot and dry. It's time for mild September days, and--dare I say it?--a little rainfall to refresh the earth.
The problem with August is . . . it's manic. People realize that summer will end, and they panic. They flit from one outdoor activity to the next like hummingbirds on espresso. Gardening, house painting, patio projects; camping, golf, tennis; vacations, bicycling, even fishing. Folks go nuts trying to cram it all into the last weeks of summer. And God help anyone who gets in their way.
And that brings up the biggest problem with August . . . steelheaders.
August on the Deschutes
The problem with August on the Deschutes is that most of the steelhead are packed into the lower 30 miles. Road-bound anglers flock to the nine-mile stretch from Beavertail to Macks Canyon. Lots of good runs, but lots of anglers. You've got to get there early if you want a prime fishing spot.
Another problem with August is that there's a plethora of guide boats on that section of river. Twenty years ago, I could float from Beavertail to Macks on a weekday and maybe see one guide on the west side of the river. What a pleasant, relaxing day I could look forward to! What a wonderful world it once was.
By September fish and anglers will be more spread out. But in August, competition for good runs is fierce. Frustration seethes just below the surface. Sometimes it boils over into outright anger.
A Fishing Trip from Quentin Tarantino
Last week I was fishing on the Deschutes with a friend who has a house in Maupin. We were in my truck at 4:00 a.m. Monday morning, headed downstream on the access road. Well before first light, anglers were parking their cars at turnouts, staking out their favorite runs. You could see the glow of their headlamps as they sat in fold-up chairs waiting for enough light to see their way to the river. Arms across the chest, stiff shoulders, firm jaw line--the body language said it all: "This run is mine. Move on down the road, buster."
We weren't concerned. One of the goals of this trip was for my friend to learn more about his inflatable boat. He has a frameless Waterstrider like mine. It's a very handy watercraft because it's lightweight and can be easily carried up and down the bank and launched in odd places. This is a competitive advantage because you can cross to other side of the river and get away from the roadies.
My friend is still learning to use his Waterstrider, so I was along to give him a few tips. After our second run, he misunderstood my directions about how to get back to the launching point. He drifted downstream faster than he expected, and ended up floating over a prime lie that another angler was about to cast to.
The other angler went ballistic. I heard the "f" word so much that I thought I was at a Quentin Tarantino movie.
The heck of it was, my friend and the other angler were well acquainted and had fished together at different times. Two hours before we'd had a pleasant conversation on a different run. But this was August, a month when tempers are on a hair trigger. People are not patient of other people's mistakes in August, even if they're friends. It's the heat, the manic pace, the competition for steelhead.
Jekyll and Hyde
August is the only month when I don't like to fly fish for steelhead. Partly, I don't like how other people act. But mostly I don't like who I can become. I can join the competitive hunt for good water, cursing those who get to a favorite spot before me. I've flipped an angry bird to jet boats that went out of their way to blast over the run I was fishing. I've been known to speak curtly to etiquette-ignorant people who stepped into a run below me.
I'm not sure any steelhead is worth that kind of Jekyll-and-Hyde transformation.
So for the rest of this month I'm chasing carp on the Columbia and Willamette. It's cool, quiet, and devoid of edgy steelheaders. It's so peaceful that I almost forget that it's August.