The Astonishing Trout Comeback at Oregon's Fall River

The little rainbow darted from its lair, turned and hooked itself on my Gold-Ribbed Hare’s Ear. After a leap, a short run and a head-shaking tussle, it was free again, sore-mouthed and grumbling back in its hiding place under a pine snag waving in the current. That tree had fallen so long ago in central Oregon’s Fall River that flower-bedecked shrubs grew from it. Generations of trout had lurked in its shadow, including the bejeweled 9-inch rainbow that, on that day, served as a poster child for a back-from-the-dead story.

UP FROM THE ASHES

In 2002, the Fall was devastated by an errant air drop of wildfire retardant. The blood-red poison mixed with sunlight and water to produce a witch’s brew containing enough cyanide to kill everything in the richest 4-mile stretch, including 22,000 rainbow trout. “There were fish literally trying to crawl out of the river,” said the area fish biologist of the horror he witnessed at the scene.

Within weeks, the water had cleared, the poison had dissipated and the rebuilding process had begun. Re-stocking began from the hatchery along its banks. Volunteers added habitat enhancements. Insects and wild trout recolonized from the Deschutes River downstream and the pristine headwaters.

The healing is still underway, but this jewel in the crown of Oregon trout streams is worthy of a visit for the stunning pastoral scenes you’ll view while knee-deep in a riffle, along with the off-chance you’ll hook a wild, hard-fighting native fish. The stream is a symphony of glassy runs, lush banks with plenty of undercuts and its namesake waterfall rumbling over a lava bulge into a vast pool where big fish lurk on the bottom. The Fall meanders lazily from its headwaters through pine forest and meadows to empty into the mighty Deschutes River south of the city of Bend.

TECHNICALLY SPEAKING

On hands and knees, I crept toward the edge of a volcanic crevice. Current wound around lava blobs and through a deep, steep trench where one 14-inch rainbow finned lazily, its belly brushing the sandy bottom. A heavy stonefly dropper sunk my long leader as a Pheasant Tail Nymph trailed behind. Drag plagued every drift, so I belly-crawled farther upstream and lobbed another cast. A couple dozen tries later, the trout leaned left and sipped in my fly. Line zipped up the trench, then back downstream where the iridescent rainbow traversed a gurgling riffle to sulk in a quiet pool. Rod tip high, I stumbled over jagged volcanic shelves to get downstream where I could gently turn him to the net.

In the heyday of the Fall, an angler could sneak up on multiple 18-inch rainbows in a day of fishing, once in a while duping one into striking his fly. The wild fish are smaller now, but just as energetic. They’ve never been easy to catch. Trout see anglers before anglers see them, and slip under the lava-rock shelves or into deep clefts in the bed of this stream born of volcanoes. That’s one of the challenges that beckon anglers. Another is the distraction of incredible scenery at every bend. Many make the pilgrimage because the stream is as much a photographer’s dream as an angler’s.

A full day can start at the Fall River’s headwaters, fishing your way 10 miles to its junction with the Deschutes. A mothballed ranger station offers parking and ready access to a spring and the river’s origin that empties into a set of rocky shelves and braided current punctuated by a forest of downed trees. Shaded banks and collapsed lava tubes are good starting points for a precise cast of a small mayfly nymph imitation.

A campground a few miles downstream sees a lot of anglers but offers more open water for longer casts. Much of the water has little cover beyond submerged lava walls, small pools and fallen trees. Open spots won’t hold trout most of the time, but look closely anyway. I scrambled up one set of lava shelves and waterfalls to a big pool, where several good rainbows hung in the current upstream from the dropoff. Thirty casts later, I had a hookup that pushed every other fish to the depths.

EASY ACCESS

Farther downstream, the Fall River hatchery offers surreal and challenging fishing—not from the raceways, of course, but from the river as it meanders past concrete runs and automatic feeders. Deep cracks in the lava bed hold some big fish with master’s degrees in entomology. They’ve seen every angler’s best efforts. Use stealth and muster a heaping helping of patience to pound up a muscled, vibrant rainbow.

Farther downstream, forest roads lead south from South Century Drive (also called Forest Road 42) to access points. One corner of LaPine State Park we call “The Tubes” has two culverts that channel the stream under the road. You’ll find limpid pools, sparkling runs, lush meadows and the namesake falls. Look back while casting to the undercut banks and see the crumbling ruins of a log cabin left from a John Wayne movie. The churning foam at the base of the falls requires adept casting and a long leader, but a sunken fly there might yield the biggest fish of the day, possibly a big brown that’s run up from the Deschutes.

Fishermen’s trails and a bridge make for easy access to much of the Fall River. There is some private riverfront property, but most land is under the aegis of the U.S. Forest Service. Upstream nymphing is a sound strategy. The gentle current has subtleties that will booger up your drift, so position yourself carefully. Staying out of the water minimizes drag and offers you hiding places among trees and behind fallen logs. Pheasant Tails, Serendipities and bead-head Gold-Ribbed Hare’s Ears are strong subsurface choices. A sporadic mayfly hatch reminds me to bring Adams, Comparadun and BWO dries. Griffith’s Gnats and an ant simulation may work when things slow. Oh, and did I mention it’s open all year above the falls? I will never forget an epic morning of mogul skiing, where I broke both skis (but no bones), then caught a few rainbows on the Fall. A 9-foot-long 4-weight is plenty of rod, just be sure you’re stealthy while pursuing the pickiest rainbows you’ll ever see—unless they see you first.

Inhale deeply the tang of pines and pastel of sage. Revel in the quiet and wonder at a stream so clear you can’t tell where water ends and air starts. The Fall River isn’t, and maybe never has been, a “trophy” stream in the usual sense. And it’s still got some healing to do. But if they’re handing out blue ribbons for stunning beauty with the potential for a glistening trout, there’s none more worthy.

TRIP PLANNER

• Where to stay, eat and drink near the Fall.

The city of Bend, just 30 miles north, makes a good headquarters, with small-city amenities including more than a dozen craft breweries (my favorite is Van Henion). The vacation mecca of Sunriver Resort is even closer, a few short miles up Forest Road 42, with plenty of shopping and activities for non-anglers.

Camp along the Fall or at nearby LaPine State Park, or find lodging in the form of chain hotels and hundreds of home rentals in Bend, Sunriver and LaPine. RV parks are available in Bend and LaPine. Guides are available from Confluence Fly Shop in Bend and Fly & Field in Sunriver.

Bend dining options include unique, locally owned eateries including Dandy’s Drive-In (with carhops on roller skates) and Hola! Mexican-Peruvian cuisine. Best of all, the entire area resides at a magical confluence of high mountains, deep forest, desert sand and sage, clear waters and deep-blue sky.

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• This article was featured in the September 2024 issue of Game & Fish magazine. Click to subscribe.

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