The Nugget Newspaper - News and Opinion from Sisters, Oregon

The Metolius redside is a magnificent animal. The fish is greenish gold over the back, with a brilliant red/orange side stripe. It shades toward lighter buff and gold on the underbelly. The spots are enormous. The colors shimmer and shift in the sunlight. It truly is a living rainbow.

The larger specimens are 18 or 19 inches long. On occasion I have seen a few even bigger. They are thick, girthy fish - heavy for their length. In your hand, they feel muscular and solid.

I can still remember the first time I ever caught one. I didn't know what it was. My education, from back east, had been largely with hatchery-reared rainbow trout. This fish was so unique I could hardly believe it was the same species. I had to examine it in minute detail to be sure.

The capture of that trout, almost 25 years ago, was the beginning of what was to become my life-long fascination with native fishes. Eventually I learned that these trout are a uniquely adapted strain. They come from a broader grouping of rainbows found throughout the Northwest, known as red band trout.

Through the evolutionary process they have developed both appearance and behaviors that make them genetically distinct. Biologists can track key chromosomes in order to make clear determinations of origin. They are unlike any other fish anywhere; they are Metolius rainbows.

These native trout are in perfect harmony with their native river. Every aspect of their behavior - from feeding, to spawning, to their distinctive rainbow colors - is designed to help them survive in their home.

Because they live in swift currents and deep water, Metolius rainbows are not good surface risers. They tend to be secretive, to feed deep, and they don't show themselves very often. They only top water when the feeding is exceptional, during times like the green drake hatch or the golden stone emergence, when the food value is so high the fish cannot resist.

The coloring of these rainbows is incredible camouflage.

I remember one time I was dry-fly fishing. I had been working the water in a particular area for some time, perhaps as long as a half an hour or more. In that time I had seen nothing, not even so much as the riffle of a fin from a fish. Suddenly, right in front of me, a rather large rainbow turned and took an insect on the bottom.

I was shocked. He had been hiding right there in plain sight all the while. I simply couldn't see him. However, once the camouflage was broken and I had acquired an image, I could watch the fish going about his daily business. I could seem him shift up and down the current and move from side to side. His fins where clearly visible; I could even see the spots on his back.

About that time I decided it was time to re-rig and fish for him with a nymph. It was obvious my surface flies weren't going to work. Since I was in plain sight I changed flies carefully. I tried to keep my movement to a minimum. Even so, when I turned back the fish was gone.

I cursed the lost opportunity briefly and then decided to run the nymph along the bottom anyhow. Maybe there was another fish. Maybe the one I had seen simply moved off.

I fished along for maybe another 15 or 20 minutes when suddenly the same rainbow fed again. I'll be darned if he wasn't sitting right where he had been all along. I knew exactly where to look, I knew precisely which rock he had been hiding behind, I even knew how he should look once the camouflage was broken. I still couldn't seem him until he moved.

Experiences like that make the Metolius River such a fun place to fish. Where else could you find such a quarry? What other river offers such an incredible challenge?