The Nugget Newspaper - News and Opinion from Sisters, Oregon

We climbed to the top of a little earthen bluff about 30 feet above the Deschutes River. From there we had a perfect view down into the eddy below.

At first we didn't see any fish. Then someone exclaimed, "Oh my gosh! There they are!"

Three or four nice rainbows had converged on a foam line. They were slashing at the helpless insects trapped there.

By the time we finished scouting, we had spotted close to a dozen fat, native, redside rainbows actively feeding.

There was room for only one person to fish, so my guests had to choose among themselves to see who would be the designated angler.

Before he went down to the river I warned our fisherman: "It won't be as easy as it looks."

I knew that these fish - so easy to see from up high - would be almost invisible down at the water level.

"Try to read the currents and cast to the foam pockets. That's where the fish will concentrate," I suggested.

From the bluff we could watch the fish focusing in on the foam. As the river swells and withdraws, the currents in the eddies change. Foam lines are pushed up and then dissipate. All the trapped insects are pushed toward these lines.

The fish cruise a foot or two below the surface.

As soon as a foam line starts to form, they move under it, searching, anticipating the food that will be trapped there.

If you cast your fly into the lane as the foam is developing, chances are you'll get a strike.

Down on the river, our angler called back to us.

"I can't see the fish. Where are they?"

"Thirty feet out; two o'clock," we replied.

He cast and missed the spot by a few feet. The fish gave him no response.

Anticipating the foam takes a little practice. Fish search the lines quickly and then move on.

Finally, our angler hit the right spot. "That's it! That's it!" we called from above.

Right on cue, a fish rose and took the fly. But the angler didn't see it and didn't respond.

"Strike! Strike!" we shouted. "The fish has got it!"

By then it was too late.

That was one missed opportunity but, lucky for us, the fish kept on feeding.

I knew, however, we could not miss too many more. The rise wasn't going to last forever.

The more you cast the more edgy the fish become. First they will start riding a little lower in the water, then they disappear altogether. Only one or two trout will be left and they will only feed occasionally.

They become very wary and almost impossible to catch. At that point it's time to move on.

But, we still had fish rising. With a little practice, our angler was getting it figured out; all he needed one last bit of advice.

"If you can't see your fly just strike whenever you see a rise," I suggested. "Nine times out of ten there'll be a fish on the end of your line."

That did it. We managed two fish before the other trout dropped low and stopped feeding.

Considering the challenges, I thought that was a pretty good score. Certainly the image of rising trout, cruising the eddy and feeding freely would be burned into our imaginations for a long time to come.

The challenge of fishing to rising trout in the eddies on the Deschutes is a moment no angler is likely to forget very soon.