It’s been more than a month since Northeastern Oregon streams opened for fair harvest of rainbow trout. I reflect back to that highly anticipated morning when the upper Umatilla River ran too fast and strong to wade. Somber clouds rolled up the canyon and hinted of rain. A small mayfly hatch was in effect, but trout refused to rise to a fly. To salvage my first outing of the season, I hiked from our cabin up a gravel road to where tiny Bear Creek spills its flow into the main Umatilla River.

Bear Creek is fed by a cluster of small springs that emerge from the backside of Grouse Mountain at around 4,000 feet elevation. One ridge to the north takes you over to the upper Walla Walla River. Farther east are the headwaters of the Wenaha River. No more than thigh deep and 10 feet wide, some folks might call Bear Creek a “step across.” Others might call it a “brook.” Growing up, I called it a “crick.” Nonetheless, it sometimes holds a treasure trove of small trout.

Past floodwater had moved boulders, uprooted trees, and eroded a trail that once followed the west bank. An old Caterpillar track criss-crossed the narrow waterway for a few hundred yards before it petered out, leaving me no choice but to traipse up the middle of the creek. Overhanging dogwood and vine maple restricted casts, but my 3-weight fly rod was a perfect fit for the tight quarters. Journal notes documented that two hours of slip-sliding over moss-covered boulders and climbing over downed logs yielded 15 dark-speckled trout between 4 and 9 inches long.

The small creek gurgled along while I bent over to clean a keeper-size trout to eat for breakfast the next morning. Afterward, I sat on a log and watched half a dozen water striders skate on surface tension where they held position inside a current edge. One strider grabbed a drowned midgefly and moved to the shadow of a boulder where a second strider attempted to steal the prized morsel. Prior to that laid-back moment, water strider behavior had failed to pique my curiosity.

Bear Creek is one of several small creeks that serve as nursery areas for juvenile rainbow trout and steelhead in the Umatilla River watershed. What makes each creek special is they allow fish to move from headwaters to the lower reaches over the course of their life history. Similar to rivers, creeks have pools, riffles, and runs. The difference is each habitat feature is scaled down in size.

Bringing myself back to the present, I observe that Umatilla River flows have dropped since my last visit. Reading the water is no longer a mystery. Deep runs and pocket water previously hidden under broken water have been revealed.

A Stimulator pattern brings up a foot-long trout that gets off at the sting of the hook. Moving downstream to a deep swirl pool, I hook another large trout that tosses the hook on the first jump. I then hook and release two trout to bring my average up before I lose yet another 12-incher that takes my fly wet, but doesn’t hold on.

Every hole holds an alpha trout of a size that conforms to the local hydrology. In this case, bigger water holds bigger trout. I wade upstream to a two-part pool that runs fast and smooth alongside a sheer basalt cliff. It’s here where I finally land a sizeable trout that jumps three times before I bring it to the shallows for release.

Yet another large trout rolls on my fly halfway down a roadside pool where our grandchildren practice their casting skill. When a dozen more casts fail to cajole another rise, I move upstream to the head of the run and hook what is likely the same fish on the prowl. Five jumps later a plump 14-incher is in my hands for release.

I sit on a log, close my eyes, and soak in the pleasant melody of water running over smooth cobble. A dipper bird preens itself on the opposite shore, dives into a shallow riffle, and disappears from view. The current at my feet is too swift for water striders to loiter so I look under rocks where crayfish and stonefly larvae hide.

There was a time when I was not satisfied unless I kept a limit of trout. As if doing so proved something about my angling prowess. That urge no longer resides in my gray matter. Nowadays, I find satisfaction in the knowing that wild trout exist and that I still have the skill to catch them. Regardless of the size of trout and the size of the stream that they choose to live in.

Nowadays, I find satisfaction in the knowing that wild trout exist and that I still have the skill to catch them. Regardless of the size of trout and the size of the stream that they choose to live in.