Saturday, February 27, 2010

The North Umpqua by Joel La Follette

The North Umpqua is one of those special river that a fly fisherman will fall in love with the first time he visits. Many a famous angler has wet his line in this legendary river and one legendary angler, Frank Moore, lives along it's banks to this day. I would call the North Umpqua one of the "Mother Rivers" that I talked about recently on this blog. We, here in Oregon, are blessed to have this river along with the Deschutes and Metolius, within the borders of our state.
Unfortunately the powers that be have cast a greedy eye towards this treasured river and it's wild steelhead.There are many who love this river, this jewel of Oregon too much, to stand idly by while the river and it's fish are turned into just another commodity for exploitation..
The short story below is written by my friend Joel La Follette. Joel is one of those that think the North Umpqua and all wild rivers are too important to sell off  for "angling opportunities" and I hope to have more contributions to the Quiet Pool by Joel in the future....enjoy
                                                                            

The North Umpqua has always been one of the truly great rivers to cast a fly for steelhead. Some of the earliest pioneers of the sport found their way to this hallowed ground and left their legends etched in the very bedrock the river flows through. The names they placed on the pools and riffles have been passed down over the years and still inspire hope and faith in modern anglers.
Fishing the Camp Water at Steamboat is like fishing in church. One can stand in the cool waters and gaze up at a towering pallet of lichen, moss, stone and trees more inspirational than the grandest stained glass window. Fog, clouds, rain and snow add to the artist’s brush strokes. Occasionally a deer grazes across the rocky face. This is a living work of art that changes with the movement of the sun and the changing of the seasons. No two moments are ever alike, each is special, and each is different.
Miracles abound here and they too change with the seasons. Life blossoms and is born from the gravel washed for centuries by cool waters. Born travelers return hundreds of miles from far away seas to pass on their history, their purpose. Some live on and again make the journey. Others die and become part of the river. Some life travels only a few feet to break the surface tension and spread their wings. Their dance a testament to the purity of this place. Their birth a sign of the season. Anglers, poets and dreamers also travel great distances to visit this place. Seeking inspiration and things that simple words can not express. It is not just for the challenge of the quarry that brings the angler, although that does call to us. It’s for the refreshing if our hearts and rebirth of our souls. This simple stream can rinse away the burdens we carry to its shores and leave us free to dream of the deeds we will do, the words we will write and the love we will share. It is a place of peace, hope, faith and inspiration.


As I wade the same water as great anglers have; I feel connected to them and the history they made. I feel part of that history and part of the river. One day perhaps anglers will look at this place in time and see a future that was made possible by the work of those who cherished the past and remembered it. For if we had never known of its greatness would we have held it so high as to make it a cause? Would it have just
passed into memory? I know the river will always remain, but what of those things that make it special?
My hope is they too will remain. My faith in my fellow anglers’ efforts to protect and preserve this extraordinary place is an inspiration. Hopefully the river and the ghosts of her past will find continued peace. Peace in the cool green forest.

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