The Matole

Do you remember the time when you were in high school that beautiful girl you had a huge crush on? She sat in front of you in math class, you would let her copy your homework and you would day dream about her. She was always very nice to you but alas you knew it was never go beyond that "We're just friends" relationship however you dreamed anyway.
I think of the Metolius river kind of in the same way. Beautiful in every way but you know it will never go any further than enjoying her beauty as a friend. You know she will never give out her secrets and her charms to you. You know that there is a magic there that is beyond words and you'll never get "intimate" with her. She will let you wade and fish her fast riffles and clear pools but as far as hooking any of her precious fish? Sorry but you are just not her type.
Knowing this you still cannot keep away from her.
The Metolius is a mystery beyond the way it stingily gives up it's bounty. The Metolius virtually springs out of the earth from some hidden subterranean cavern in central Oregon. It widens and meanders through meadows of such breathtaking beauty that one can become emotional just gazing at it. It's deceptively swift flowing current passes through the ponderosa pine laden forest of central Oregon before meeting up with the Deschutes and Crooked River at Lake Billy Chinook.
I and my lovely, long suffering bride were fortunate enough to spend some time on this river recently and while I did not have much success with the trout I did love the few precious days that I was able to spend there.
It seems that those who are most familiar with this river speak of it in an almost reverential tone. While I am not nearly as familiar with it as I wish I find myself doing the same thing.
I found it most disgusting watching some adult tourist throwing Cheetos off of the Camp Sherman bridge to the lunker bull trout that hang out there. I made the remark that these sorts are not deserving of the Metolius and therefore should not be allowed to be near it! Extreme thinking to be sure and my wife let me know that but anyone that has been there and marveled at it's beauty knows what I mean.
I've talked often about having a growing affection for a river and while it may sound a bit maudlin to some I cannot help but think it makes perfect sense to others.
As I left the Metolius on Friday I just had to have one last look at this river so mysterious and alluring. I hoped that my next visit finds this lovely place, called "Matole" by native Americans of the area, as beautiful and unspoiled as ever.