By Leslie McCall
October 2, 2024

Six years ago I was invited to join my then boyfriend for a 5 day camping/fishing trip at the mouth of the Deschutes. As the crew of people trickled in that first evening and the stories of the year’s events began to unfold I realized something immediately. This group of people have something beyond your average adult friendship; they have spent hours upon hours standing in a river talking, sitting for hours in boats waiting for the springers to arrive, and laughing and lamenting the ones that got away. It became obvious to me that this was more than just a fishing trip; it’s an annual pilgrimage that has transformed strangers into family. That first year I foul hooked the biggest fish I have ever seen in my entire life and it was enough of a thrill to feel that fish on the end of my line for a hot second and see it come completely out of the water with my beautiful orange spinner hooked into it’s back, to keep me coming back for the next 5 years. Ok, I also married the guy that invited me so that increases my odds of being invited back.

The following year I perfected the fine art of standing in a river with a line of 6 guys combat fishing and perfecting the fine art of smack talking down the line. As the core group welcomed newcomers another fact became obvious to me; these guys were some of the most patient and enthusiastic teachers I have experienced. You see, this community, the fishing community, is driven in part by sharing their love of the river. In sharing their love for the sport, respect for the river they aren’t just creating better anglers; they are fostering a new generation of river stewards. That year, I caught my first Chinook on the anniversary of my mother’s death. Having learned how to fly fish from my mom it was a fitting way to remember a woman who had been the first to share her love of the sport.

The thing about fishing is that you have to make your peace doing just that, fishing. For me the catching part doesn’t happen all that much. In the last 5 years I have caught 3 fish on the Deschutes. Yes, that means there have been weeks where we fish for 8 hours a day I catch nothing. Literally not a bite in a week and yet I continue casting long past when a rational person would stop. Why? Because my friends are standing next to me and their victory on the river will be shared with all of us in story after story of the catch of the day. Failure is communally shared as well and stories of the huge fish that got away or the one that spooled you fill the campsite each night right alone with the celebration of fish caught.

This year, well, this year I caught a Chinook within an hour of standing in the river. A few days later I walked upriver in the predawn of the morning with the trail lit by my headlamp alone because Jeff was teaching some newcomers how to fish farther downriver. I found a nice little spot near some friends. As I walked into the river I started to think about this trip: tired, dirty and on heightened alert for rattlesnakes and poison ivy for 3 days so far and I couldn’t be more at peace. I cast into the river expecting nothing but the familiar rhythm of the spinner in the water. I caught my first native steelhead on that first cast. I laughed out loud and put that fish back into the river I love. I cast a few more times, still shaking from the adrenaline of that first fish and hooked my second native steelhead about 30 minutes later. As I whooped it up when the fish jumped a few times my friend Joe came running around the corner with a net. He took this picture! The next day I caught another Chinook…missed being a jack by 1 inch, a Chinook nonetheless. This year, I caught more fish in one week than the previous 5 years combined on the Deschutes. I’m not sure who was more excited for my success; me, or this group I now call family.

Over the years, I’ve transformed from an observer to a full-fledged member of this incredible community. I’ve learned to cast lines, read the river and perfect the art of smack-talking down a line of combat fishers. But more importantly, I’ve experienced the patient mentorship and unwavering enthusiasm that defines this group. They are the people that I share the things that have happened in my life over the years … the good and bad. They are the people that share their lives with me as we walk the trail in the dark of the early morning and the heat of the late afternoon sun. They are some of my closest friends. What a blessing it is to be a part of this community… fighting for our beloved rivers and the sport that fuels our obsession. We know that our enjoyment of the river comes with a responsibility to protect it. My story, is just another example of how a simple activity can forge unbreakable bonds and inspire a collective mission to protect our natural resources.