SEASONS OF THE METOLIUS: THE LIFE OF A RIVER SEEN THROUGH A FLY FISHERMAN'S EYES
Author: John Judy
Publisher: NO NONSENSE FLY FISHING GUIDE BOOKS, Jun 2002
30 years of study, writing, & fly fishing a beloved crystal clear home water of Central Oregon. Engaging & enlightening reading; readers will enjoy learning about nature, an amazing river, fly fishing, & what this means to life's grand scheme. Maps, color photos & illus; 8.5x11 inches, 180 pgs.
This precious nature book, written by a man who makes his living fly fishing, is a compact chronicle of the spring fed, crystal clear Metolius River in Central Oregon. It reads like a series of inspirational streamside walks, revealing the many natural wonders of a river environment as it both changes and stays the same.
Whether you fish, hike, photograph, collect butterflies & bugs or just like a good read, this delightful book will draw you into the magic of the Metolius. Spring fed rivers hold a special place in riparian lore. Constant water temperature and stunning clarity create an environment fish and fishers love.
Metolius (pronounced Met-toll-ee-us) is an Indian word meaning smelly water, referring to the millions of spawned-out salmon that once littered the place each year. Ever wondered about such "stinking water"? Or the life of the tiny insects you see on the rocks. On the other hand, how does that cold water bubble up from way down below? Or, what effect does a fallen tree have on a river and the cycles of other nearby life? These seemingly uninteresting acts of nature make fly angler's drool. Surprisingly, with Judy's keen writing, they make for engaging reading too.
Seasons of the Metolius chronicles over 30 years of of study, writing, and fly fishing a beloved home water. In this case, the crystal clear Metolious River in Central Oregon. The seemingly uninteresting acts of nature, that make fly anglers drool, make for engaging and enlightening reading for even the non-angler. With the author's keen writing and easy-going style, readers will enjoy learning about nature, an amazing river, fly fishing, and what this means to life's grand scheme.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
John Judy has been a fly fishing guide for over 20 years and is the author of Slack Line Strategies for Fly Fishing (Stackpole Books). He writes the Fly Lines column for The Nugget newspaper in Sisters, Oregon.
EXCERPTS FROM THE BOOK
"The Metolius starts right at the base of Black Butte. It comes from a single spring as a full-blown river flowing right out from under the edge of the mountain. According to Indian legend, a very sad mountain spirit, Black Butte, shed a lonely teardrop to make the river."
"A butterfly collector friend of mine once told me he could capture almost every species known in Oregon right in the Metolius Basin. He knew of no other place like it. He had a cabin here so he could go out and document this single, unique aspect of the region. The butterfly collector's interest only touches the tip of the iceberg. The phenomenon is widespread across most plant and animal species in the valley. The Metolius Basin is a wonderful mixing pot, a hot bed of interesting biological and geological phenomena."
From Chapter 1, "A Mountain Valley"
"We can tinker and play. We create very good fisheries in places where natives have been lost, but we cannot ever recreate what nature and the process of natural selection has done for us. Wherever they can be found, native fish in native habitat should be treated with special regard. There are not many places like that left in North America. It's a privilege to have it here on the Metolius. It's special, very special indeed. Feel honored when you feel challenged; you are casting to a unique and wonderful fish when you cast to a Metolius native rainbow."
From Chapter 2, "The River's Challenge"
"My father always taught me, "Never kill more fish than you can use and never over-fish a stream. The river is the source of our sport." he told me sternly, "Never do anything that will harm it."
From Chapter 5, "The Hatchery Era"
"One evening, late in November, the snow begins to fall. The night is still, except for the rumble of the snowplow passing on its rounds. At dawn you awake to a world transformed and the snow clings to the pine bows and sifts down through the trees in soft flakes. The river is transformed too, and the colors are gone. It's now a tableau of black and white and shades of gray. The water is inky black with a silver sheen of snow reflected on its surface. There are little mists rising. Yet, even in the midst of the worst storm, right at the water's edge there is a little band of green where the grass is as bright as if it were spring. This little oasis never goes away because the water temperature, still at 48 degrees Fahrenheit, fresh from the headspring, warms the ground, leaving a little patch of land that never knows winter."
From Chapter 13 "Late Fall and Winter"