Training the perfect fishing dog

Author John Gierach wrote book called, "Death, Taxes, and Leaky Waders," in which he says "People who claim to own "fishing dogs" are all blinded by love." I don't necessarily disagree with that statement, but he goes on to say that "There's no such thing as a good fishing dog." On that subject, I  disagree. In fact, I'm proud to say that my best friend just happens to be one. He's always ready to go to the river, he never complains, and he's always got my back (well, most of the time at least). There have been times when I've broken off my last bobber and he's swam out there to retrieve it on command. How many of your fishing buddies will do that for you?

It's quite possible that I've just gotten lucky, but I've learned a lot from fishing with him for the past thirteen years, and wanted to share some of what he's taught me (because that's how it works, not the other way around). Whether you're looking for a fishing dog, or trying to make one out of the dog you have, hopefully some of my experience with Wrangler will turn your canine into a good luck charm, which, for starters, is about as high as you should be setting the bar for your expectations from your canine companion. As far as your expectations as their provider and caretaker, be mindful of broken glass, hooks, line, bait, salmon poisoning, and traffic.

Wrangler is an Australian Cattledog x Australian Kelpie mix that has been the subject in the background of many friends who have fished with us and had successful days on the water. His signature photobombs are ironic to me, because in reality, he actually hates being photographed. He will shy away from me the instant he sees I'm trying to take his picture. His fascination with fish is an exception to the rule, and he weasels his way into the frame of whoever happens to be there with us, intensely focused on the fish. They say pets resemble their owners, and that's the only explanation I really have for this behavior.

Behind the scenes, there's plenty of "Hey, back up! Get outta the way!" He just wants to be where the action is. I'm fortunate that when the fishing is slow, he gets bored and stays out of the way. If we're on the bank, he'll chew on sticks or dig up a little bed to lay in, and keep himself occupied while we wait for a bite. If we're in a boat, he tends to hunker down somewhere, and everyone seems to forget he's even there. Once the net comes out, he's up and at 'em. Not really in the way, just attentive and curious. As he's gotten older, sometimes a fish will hit the deck, and before the hootin' and hollerin' is done, he's got that look like, "Yeah, another cookie cutter chromer. Wake me up when you join the dub-club." Then he'll wander back to his hunkering down spot and go back to bed.

The good news is that there is such a thing as a good fishing dog. The bad news is that not every dog is going to be a good fishing buddy. Gierach says that, "Most of these beasts are retrievers that think they can do to trout what they've been trained to do to ducks. It may sound cute, but it's not. Stay away from people who take their dogs fishing." I don't know about the rest of you, but that quote hurts my feelings and makes me want to cover Wrangler's ears when I read it out loud. He just might be the exception to the rule. As far as rules go, here's a few to keep in mind:

Plan for a day fishing with your dog like you would a significant other. I would encourage you to read Josiah Darr's STS article on "Finding a keeper," and apply a great deal of his advice on relationships and fishing to creating a positive experience for your dog. Make sure it's comfortable, warm, and has plenty of snacks. Keep a positive mental attitude throughout the day and associate fishing with fun. If you're constantly yelling at your wet dog in the rain when it's 34 degrees after you've hiked a few miles into a river gorge, you're not going to have a good time.

With that being said, that is exactly the kind of scenario that is plausible after a 13 year relationship, but you've got to work you way up to that. Start small, particularly with your own expectations. My first trip out with Wrangler as a puppy was in a tippy canoe during the summer. Him feeling the boat wobble around a bit was a clue not to move around too much. He's always hunkered down ever since. If things went wrong, the hazards were minimal. Minimizing those hazards could be the difference between associating falling out of a boat a "Whoopsie-daisy" experience, or severe trauma that associates boats with danger and fear. Maybe by the time they're 12, you can tuck them under the bow onto a piece of cardboard when it's 28 degrees and pouring sleet in the Tongass National Forest, which is exactly what I did with fellow STS writer Tony Ensalaco while fishing the Situk in Yakutat, Alaska.

Prepare them for old age at a young age. Use hand signals along with your voice, because there may come a day when they can't hear your commands (or requests, depending on how you look at it). Hand signals are also helpful in situations that require some stealth. Wrangler began losing his hearing at 11. It got progressively worse, especially when we started doing a lot of hunting together, which is something to keep in mind if you want a gun-dog.

I'm so used to him following me everywhere that I tend to stay focused on the water. One day I was fishing a spot for an hour before moving downstream a few hundred yards, then realized he wasn't with me. Slightly panicked, I ran back to the spot I moved from, and found him there basking in the sun, sound asleep. While in his younger years he could hear a piece of kibble fall into his bowl from a quarter mile away, at 12 years old, the sound of rapids and the warmth of the sun in early March is like a lullaby to a dog that's too deaf to wake up to me beating brush.

On the note of beating brush, if you plan on hiking in and out of river gorges and having a dog that swims, runs, retrieves ducks and bobbers and hauls loads of chanterelles and morels in saddlebags while jumping over logs, you need to start giving them supplements BEFORE their joints begin to give way. Maybe not as a puppy, but once you start to see them reach their full physical potential in peak condition, start a vitamin regimen, particularly with glucosamine and fish oil. Avoid excess fats like bacon grease in their later years, as it can cause serious pancreatic stress, or even cancer. Those fish skin leftovers on your plate or the sinew from your buck are a natural source for those vitamins as well, and healthier treats than pork belly.

Choose a breed that you're compatible with. Retrievers are great water dogs, but sometimes their love for the water means they're going to be constantly in it. Hounds are going to follow their nose, and there's lots of stinky stuff for them to get into while you're fishing. A chihuahua is compact and portable, but is it really built for beating brush along the banks or being on an all day float in winter weather? Don't get me wrong, I've seen plenty of various breeds make excellent fishing dogs, but there's a few things about small Australian breeds that make them my favorite:

They're tough as nails. They're literally built for being kicked by cattle as a herding breed. They're going to be able to withstand poor weather conditions and putting in miles on foot.

They're agile. A popular breed for frisbee competitions and freestyle tricks, getting in and out of a boat without breaking rods and getting tangled in line comes naturally as those things are just seen as obstacles to avoid.

They're obedient and loyal, sometimes to the point they're neurotic. They're better suited for following you everywhere without a leash.

They're compact, but have a lot of attitude in a small package. If you leave your gear in the truck with the dog, it's probably going to protect it's space and your belongings. If you make contact with an aggressive animal, it's going to protect it's space as well as yours.

There's exceptions to these rules too. While fishing in Alaska, I had to fend off an otter that followed a steelhead I hooked to the bank. While I had a short scuffle with the critter, Wrangler never budged from his perch right behind me. I guess he figured I had things under control, but I'm just thankful it wasn't a wolf, cougar, or a grizzly. While telling the tale back at the lodge, I heard a story of a group of otters carrying off a corgi to it's death, and a pair of cattledogs that tag teamed a grizzly, running circles around it and biting it in the rear end. Who knows if these tales are actually true, but they're a testament to the reality of bringing a dog with you that will have your six (most of the time).

Regardless of what breed of dog you bring to the water, understand that every dog has it's own individual personality, and a large part of it's character is developed through it's experiences with you. Start them young and introduce them to as much as you can. They say that "you can't teach an old dog new tricks," and maybe that's true. But when you know your dog well enough that it's trained you to adapt to it's behavior, you can begin to find ways to manipulate those behaviors to your benefit. When I figured out I could get Wrangler to fetch a stick in the water by throwing rocks and watching him swim towards the splash, I figured out I could get him to retrieve a bobber years later. I used the same trick to teach him to retrieve waterfowl for the first time when he was 11 years old. As you grow together and get comfortable with each other, build their confidence by beginning to push their limits, and you'll be surprised by what they can handle when you put your trust in them.

This article was written a year ago when Wrangler and I returned from an adventure hunting whitetail in my home state of Alabama for our birthday (which we share). Because he had began showing his age and knowing that he would soon no longer be able take flights with me as a service dog, my mother suggested that I write this article while Wrangler was still alive. The article sat in a pile of unpublished work until he was struck by a vehicle last fall and died without suffering. I will miss him pulling deer bones out of the compost pile. Tearing open my friend's new gore-tex dry bag to get to a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Chasing the seagulls away while pumping sand shrimp. Dropping sticks at everyone's feet and goosing all my first dates as a test to see if they're "cool." I'll miss his nose against the window as we drove down 101, and rolling down the window so he could take in the scenery and get a whiff of that ocean breeze. It's tough opening the door to my vehicle without saying "Load up!" or "Roll out!" I'm doing my best to look forward and just trust that his spirit is at my heels without looking back there for him. I have never given a friend so much freedom that still chose to stay so close to me. I hope to find peace knowing that I gave him a better life full of adventures that most humans will never have the opportunity to experience for themselves, and vow to carry his legacy of loyalty, courage, and love with me forever. In memory of Wrangler, January 27th, 2007- October 30th, 2020

Expect to Self Rescue, No One is Coming

Images courtesy of 30 Seconds Out

As a wilderness survival skills instructor, many of the simple tasks we teach are not so much about learning how to do something, but providing mental tools to individuals to help them understand their capability to complete those tasks without us. Human civilization requires cooperation, but self-sufficiency and independence are at the core of survival. Preparedness teaches us to expect to self-rescue, because no one is coming. That mantra holds true to mental health as well.

If you spend enough time on social media, you've probably seen the "I bet this many of my friends won't share this, but I've got your six" posts along with a crisis hotline number from someone who claims "I'm just a phone call away!" The hard to swallow truth is that the crisis hotline numbers are in those posts because your friend or family member that claims to only be a phone call away realistically probably wouldn't answer the phone if it was the sheriff's department was calling them to let them know it was too late. Your friend or family member that "just gets you" and posts the inspirational messages that get you through another day probably has enough of their own problems that they're trying to manage and doesn't have room on their plate for yours flooding their inbox. The truth is, nobody wants to hear about your problems, that's why therapists get paid to do their job. On top of that, being a therapist doesn't make them immune to mental illness, which is why the very profession that exists to prevent suicide also has the highest suicide rate of any occupation. Therapists often need their own therapist. It's not realistic to hold friends, family, or even your therapist to the expectation of saving you from a crisis. Going to therapy is a big step towards self-improvement, but it doesn't just come to you, you have to go to it. In the past two years, most group therapy sessions like NA, AA, and AL-ANON no longer meet in person due to Covid concerns. The ironic concept of virtual group therapy to address isolation is an anomaly that can perpetuate the very issue it exists to resolve. Most therapists have a long waiting list, or aren't accepting new clients because they're swamped. You can make the calls and put in the effort to seek help, and you should. However, leaving a voicemail is a poor substitute for a listening ear, so listen to what I'm about to say very clearly, and I say this out of love because those people might not have the courage to say it themselves: You're on your own.

Personal battles with my mental health have taken a toll not only on myself but the people around me. I do not expect anyone to pull me out of it, as it's my own responsibility to change my perspectives. As a single man approaching 40 without family around, the hurdles of isolation and seasonal depression seem higher with the holiday season in full swing. Being between seasonal employment and outdoor recreation opportunities, idle hands send my mind into overdrive reliving the trauma and mistakes I've made it through in the past year. Working long hours has helped me push through difficult personal challenges, but working to forget the past is a poor substitute for working to build a future. Henry David Thoreau said, "It's not enough to be busy. The question is, 'what are we busy about?'" This speaks to staying busy to avoid dealing with our problems vs. working towards goals with a sense of purpose. For years, I've dealt with trauma by piling on long hours as a workaholic, purposefully exhausting myself so that it's easier to win the battle with insomnia, calm the thoughts in my mind, make it through another day to get some rest. Staying busy and focused working on the job at hand has always been a distraction from working on my own problems. When I find myself taking on more than I can handle, there will inevitably be some point in which things slow down and I'm forced to face my demons. That's usually when seasonal depression hits harder for people like me during the holidays, when people take time off to spend with their families.

While it's easy to put down my phone and isolate myself from the social media onslaught of elf on a shelf, santa photos, pinterest decorating, family gatherings, meals, gift exchanges, etc. it is almost impossible to escape the inundation of "holiday spirit" everything. I'm counting down the days for it to come and go so I can move on from what almost feels like a toxic positivity that slows down my healing processes. I also have to acknowledge that the toxic negativity of my own personal perspectives surrounding the holidays isn't helpful to people who just want to enjoy those simple pleasures. So, I do my best to keep it to myself while roaming the aisles at the grocery store to the tune of "Jingle Bell Rock" driving home past light displays while "All I Want for Christmas is You" is on every radio station. It seems selfish to have the thought "This too shall pass" while it seems like everyone is enjoying the down time of the holidays, and making the most of what little quality time they have with their families. 

George Bernard Shaw said, "Two things define you: Your patience when you have nothing and your attitude when you have everything." If you have everything, you should certainly have an attitude of excitement for the holidays. At times when I feel like I have nothing, I try to pause for a moment to reflect on gratitude for what I do have, and redirect my thoughts. Thoreau also said, "As a single footstep will not make a path on the earth, so a single thought will not make a pathway in the mind. To make a physical path, we walk again and again. To make a deep mental path, we must think over and over the kind of thoughts we wish to dominate our lives."

When we deviate from the pathways of positive thinking, we might stop for directions, or receive suggestions on what route to take to bring us back to happiness. Sometimes you may even have to go to the end of the road just to realize you've made a wrong turn. If you get lost in this way of thinking, expect to self-rescue, because no one is coming. Possessing the skills of self-sufficiency, or even just being hyper-independent as a trauma response, also means being capable of coping and climbing your way out of the pits of depression to find purpose again, if for no other reason than survival.

Green Peter Lake

"From a guide standpoint, is an overpopulated kokanee fishery really a bad thing?" That was the question Owin Hays posed to guide Damon Struble of Nomad's Fishing Adventures while live on the air of Outdoor GPS while we were trolling for kokanee on Green Peter Lake. With seven year old Michael McIntyre on board reeling in a fish on live television that would surely make him the coolest kid in his class, it's difficult to speak negatively of the overpopulated fishery. "He's seven, he doesn't care how big the fish are," said Struble. The average size of Green Peter Kokanee is roughly between six to eight inches, but it's not uncommon for them to be even smaller. One thing is for sure, as long as Michael was happy, so was his guide, his grandpa Mike, and of course Dave Calhoun, who was doing a live video of the all the action taking place for the show.

Green Peter probably isn't the first place that comes to mind when you think of kokanee. It doesn't have the beastly 15" and bigger fish that you're more likely to find in Detroit Lake. The biodiversity and by-catch is nothing like the mackinaw in Odell Lake. Even though there's a small, naturalized population of Chinook, they're nothing like the commonly caught landlocked kings of Lake Chelan. While the fishery may not have the quality of other kokanee fisheries in the Northwest, it definitely has the quantity. The kind of quantity that makes it fairly easy for a novice to get their limits before noon earlier in the season when the fish are up top. As summer progresses, there's a few necessary adjustments, but bountiful opportunities for every kind of angler.

Our trip took place in late May on Memorial Day Weekend. The Thissel Creek boat ramp was a little crowded, so we launched at the Whitcomb Creek ramp. In spite of it being a long holiday weekend, the boat traffic overall was still fairly low. With 3,720 acres of water to roam with lots of coves and hideaways, the pleasure boaters weren't as much of an issue at nearly full pool. The Whitcomb Campground was full, but Sunnyside Campground almost always has spaces available and RV hookups. There's a few shorelines that are great for primitive camping by boat, and even a few floating restrooms if you really gotta go but can't make it back to the ramp. Above the lake is Quartzville Creek, which has plenty of camping areas, helps spread out the crowds a bit, and provides some of the best trout fishing in the lake near the mouth of the creek.

Quartzville Creek contributes a lot to the character and identity of Green Peter Lake. The area became host to the first known populations of adfluvial chinook salmon in the state of Oregon. Likely stemming from spring chinook hatchery juveniles released into the lake, this population has only fairly recently developed in the past decade or so. While it's fairly uncommon to find one of these fish, it's still exciting with every bite to know they're in there.

Trout stocking takes place in both the creek and the lake throughout the summer, so even when the kokanee begin to migrate deeper for cooler waters when the weather heats up and the water recedes, there's still plenty of fish to target at varying depths. Kokanee Power of Oregon typically holds it's annual derby there in June, and by July downriggers are almost a necessity. Earlier in the summer, the lake often hosts several bass tournaments. The rocky shorelines and stumps are popular areas for largemouth and smallmouth. The warmwater fishery provides a wider range of fishing opportunity to change things up now and then when the day doesn't go as planned for coldwater species.

When the kokanee are at a depth that's within reach, you will catch them. They were hitting every color and every flavor on board Struble's boat, but I got a little nosey about what he puts on his corn. "I'm not secretive about it. There's enough fish out here for everybody, and the more that get removed, the less competition there is for food, creating a better grade of fish in the long term." He does like to vary at least two scents, one on each side of the boat in little ramekins so everyone has their own little personal bait station. On the port side, the corn was marinating in a little tuna, a lot of Pro-Cure Bait Scents Garlic Plus, and a generous sprinkle of Lawry's garlic salt. Seeing the little bits of parsley from the garlic salt floating around in the container almost tempted me to put a little dab of it on my porkchops I brought for lunch. On the starboard side of the boat, the corn was soaked in tuna oil with powdered krill. Most of the time, it didn't seem to matter. But like most details in fishing, when it did matter, it mattered a lot. We rolled through several schools where the krill was getting bit more often than the garlic, and vice versa. Either way, it doesn't hurt to put a little variety on the buffet.

Struble likes a trolling speed of 1.3mph. At the time, we were running 8-10 ounce lead cannonballs at about 60 feet. This is about the cutoff for Struble's program before transitioning to downriggers. The Lamiglas Classic Glass rods seemed to handle the extra weight fairly well. Struble reminded us that with the scope of the lines, 60 feet of line being out was more like being 30 feet down. Later in the summer, the fish are more likely to be at around 60 feet of depth, but having a downrigger minimizes the scope of the line and gets the gear in the zone. Most of the fish we were seeing were at about 30-40 feet deep. Even if you're above a school, the more aggressive fish will rise for a bite.

As for the gear, we were using Hawken's Simon Dodgers, but the black and white with red dot on one side and chrome on the other seemed to draw the most strikes. Small presentation hootchies outfished the larger ones. Damon's hook set-ups were pretty unique and interesting. the smaller bodies hoochies had size 4 octopus circle hooks, and the fish that bit, didn't seem to come loose nearly as much. As easy as it is to lose kokanee after hooking up, we still managed to land a good 80 percent of the fish that bit. For the larger bodied hoochies, Struble likes using a Tru-Turn hook on the top, and a size 4 octopus hook or a treble hook below it. The long shank of the Tru-Turn hook puts the point well towards the back of the skirt without using beads to space the hooks out. Having a trailing hook is pretty crucial, as it tends to hook the fish in the body after they bite the top hook and start thrashing about, which helps tremendously with the landing ratio.

The abundance of fish, the variety of fisheries, and the scenic views of Green Peter Lake make it a hidden gem among kokanee fisheries. It may not have the world class trophy kokes, but it's a great place to take kids like Michael out on the water and get into some action that will get them hooked on fishing. If anything, they'll get bored of reeling in fish. After a few minutes of playing angry birds during a lunch break, we pointed him towards the screen of the fish finder. As we'd pass over a school, pointing out all the little dots on the screen, we'd have a little countdown to takedown, and he was engaged with the action again. "It's kind of like a video game," I said. We dropped off Dave at the dock, and asked Michael if he wanted to go home early with 95 fish for the boat, or go back out and chase our limits. He was eager to get back out on the water and back into the fish, and I'm sure he'll be ready to come back out another day chasing limits again.

This article was published in the May 2020 issue of Northwest Sportsman Magazine

CCA Broodstock Article

Commercial fisheries, avian smolt predation, pinniped adult predation, access to habitat and the destruction of it, all share responsibility for Oregon's reduced steelhead returns. With that adversity, hatcheries are a necessity to have sustainable populations for harvest. To achieve the best genetics for hatchery production, capture of wild broodstock is also a necessity. Capture is done by several different means. Ideally, they're line-caught by anglers. Supplemental wild broodstock are collected when they are caught in hatchery traps and fish weirs.

Assistant Hatchery Manager Eric Hammonds prepares to collect a wild broodstock fish caught by an angler​
The hypothesis at the Oregon Hatchery Research Center is that line caught wild broodstock develop a genetic disposition for offspring to be line caught as well. Line caught wild broodstock are placed in tubes at collection points for pickup. The tubes are placed with the fish facing upstream so a constant supply of water flows through. The tubes constrict the movement of the fish to prevent injury. The enclosure reduces stress by acting as a visual buffer from environmental disturbances.

Once at the hatchery, they're placed into a small container with an anesthetic to ease handling without causing physical damage. Once the anesthetic takes effect, fish are given an antibiotic to prevent diseases or fungal growths while being held at the facility. The process of handling fish removes some of their protective slime layer that defends them from infections. They're tagged and placed into circular tanks, held until they are "ripe," and spawned at the hatchery, then released back into the river. The program's goal is 40 pairs of wild broodstock fish, but rarely reaches that goal due to the combination of low returns and lack of participation.

Traditional hatchery broodstock lack genetic diversity. The theory behind the OHRC "Biter Study" is that decades of spawning traditional hatchery broodstock that return to the trap has evolved to become less likely to be angler caught, because most hatchery fish caught by anglers are harvested, rather than spawned.

An ODFW volunteer places a wild broodstock fish in a tank on a truck bed for transport to the hatchery facility​

Traditional hatchery broodstock and first generation wild broodstock (or "F1" fish) are marked with an adipose fin clip, and separated by maxillary clips that differentiate returning hatchery adults as traditional broodstock or F1. Unlike the collected wild broodstock fish that are returned back to the river after being spawned, the returning traditional hatchery broodstock bucks are typically killed when they appear in the trap, while the females are stripped of eggs and returned to the river as kelts to swim back to the salt and return to the river again. This practice ensures that the two groups of fish are less likely to spawn with each other in the gravel.

Opponents argue that wild steelhead can't sustain being farmed to create hatchery fish for harvest. It is also undeniable that there is room for human error in this process. While the success rate for wild broodstock collection is extremely high (in the upper 90 percent range) accidents happen.


This fish was phoned in by guide Ryan Beck 20 minutes prior to arriving at the next boat ramp at Farmer's Creek on the Nestucca River. The fish is being placed in a larger livewell in a truckbed for transport to the Cedar Creek facility.​

Some wild broodstock collection programs employ the use of livewells complete with battery operated water circulation to aerate the water and keep oxygen levels high during transport. However, battery failures, or contamination of the livewell are possible. Such incidents are rare and represent less than 1% of the wild broodstock adults collected.

Wild broodstock programs are typically funded and operated by volunteer organizations. The Alsea Sportsman's Association provides the collection tubes for the Alsea Hatchery and the OHRC biter study project. Tillamook Anglers and Nestucca Anglers provide livewells for their region. Cedar Creek hatchery on Three Rivers has a self-service drop off area for after hours. There, fish are placed into a raceway and marked by quantity and sex on a report form. In 2019 the Alsea hatchery adopted the self-service concept, and is making improvements for 2020. 

The Nestucca wild broodstock collection program quota is 65 pairs. Fish that are placed into the raceway are given Parasite S (Formulin) 5 days a week administered by a flow-thru treatment in order to keep fungal growth at bay. The raceway is fed through an up-welling system, rather than fed from one end to the other. This prevents fish from following their natural jumping instincts, reducing physical stress. Fish in the raceway are collected for spawning by the use of a "crowder" which essentially functions similar to a seine net that allows personnel to net the individual fish for spawning, and pass fish that aren't ripe back over the crowder and into the raceway.

Guide Ryan Beck pulls up to the Cedar Creek raceway to drop off a ​wild broodstock fish

The quotas for wild broodstock collection are determined by the number of required adults to produce the required amount of eggs to produce the required amount of smolts for release within a margin of loss during the process. These quotas of adults collected for the program are determined to be 1-2% of the wild population, mostly by historical data from redd surveys.

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A clipboard displays the date, sex, and quantity of wild broodstock fish that are placed in the raceways by participants in the program​

The Alsea hatchery uses a circular PVC tank system that is intended to cause less harm by using smooth surfaces and removing the concrete corners that are typically standard with the construction of rectangular raceways. In recent years, additional circular tanks have been added to reduce crowding.

Circular holding tank used by the Alsea Hatchery​ for holding wild broodstock fish

The number of wild broodstock fish being collected by anglers at the Alsea Hatchery pales in comparison to the numbers at Cedar Creek's facility. A hot topic of discussion within the Alsea Sportsman's Association is the lack of angler participation in wild broodstock collection due to mistrust in the handling of the program by the Alsea Hatchery in recent years. The ASA sponsors seasonal events rewarding anglers for contributing the most fish to the wild broodstock program as an incentive for angler participation.  However, even with upgrades and equipment repair, the wild broodstock programs that operate at the Alsea Hatchery are still trying to repair their public relations. Hopefully learning from some past mistakes will help the program continue to improve, and regain the trust and participation from skeptical anglers and guides. In the meantime, the program is trying to portray a positive image in negative time.

In 2018, the Linn Benton Chapter of Coastal Conservation Association held it's annual banquet and fundraiser, drawing record attendance. With the formation of the Siletz Anglers Association, there is a great deal of momentum to improve our local fisheries, and the spotlight has been shining on potential improvements for the Siletz River.

Meanwhile, that spotlight has cast a shadow on the other side of the mountain to the nearby Alsea Hatchery. The formation of the SAA received a huge response in it's first year, and has generated more than enough angler participation. Shifting that involvement into a collaborative effort to improve the Alsea Hatchery (where Siletz fish are raised), both neighboring systems stand to greatly benefit from one another.

The Siletz program has a quota to line capture 35 pairs of wild broodstock. The Alsea program's quota is 40 pairs. Historically, the Siletz reaches it's annual quota consistently, while the Alsea program has not once met that quota. During the height of the 2018 winter steelhead season, Asst. Fish Biologist Paul Olmsted requested that collection participants on the Siletz put the brakes on wild broostock collection on March 25th. Olmsted told participants that: "You guys are too good!" and "This is a good problem to have."

Wild broodstock collection numbers are listed as pairs because they're spawned using a 1:1 male to female ratio in a 3 x 3 matrix. Individual groups are kept separate to encourage genetic diversity. As of the same week, the Siletz had collected 33 pairs for spawning during the course of the season, 2 pair short of the quota with another 6 weeks left of the season. By that time, the Alsea program had only collected 15 spawning pairs and were holding another 9 fish until they ripen for spawning. The Alsea program had also captured an additional 4 bucks and 7 hens through traps, a secondary, less desired method for collecting wild broodstock for spawning. If the quota of 40 pairs of wild broodstock are not collected for the Alsea program, hatchery stock are used in the spawning matrix as a last resort. If hatchery fish are used in the wild broodstock program, at least 30 percent of the broodstock will be of wild fish origin. (See page 6 of the Alsea Hatchery Program Management Plan)

Alsea Hatchery Angler Fish Drop Off

Room for improvement in the Alsea program
Boaters are often hesitant to use tubes. They're susceptible to poaching, wildlife harassment, and liberation of the collection broodstock fish. Few anglers made use of a new drop-off area at the Alsea Hatchery in 2018. A large majority of regional fishing guides have shifted their focus on running trips on the nearby Siletz River, leaving a void in the Alsea program. One of the top contributors to the program in 2018 was a 19 year old Fisheries & Wildlife student at Oregon State University by the name of Logan Ellis. Leading by example, the teenage angler built his own livewell broodstock tank from scratch. This year, there are plans to expand the use of broodstook tanks to Alsea anglers to make collection more efficient.

Besides meeting the quota for the Alsea program, there are simple improvements and small projects that organizations like the Alsea Sportsman's Association, Siletz Anglers Association, and our local chapter of CCA can accomplish to circumvent the bureaucracy of state and federal funding. It's also our responsibility to see that our investments in these facilities are more than merely monetary and include an element of physical participation.

Roadkill Salvage Permit

It was mid-January, and I had just gotten home with my limit of hatchery steelhead. I noticed a Facebook post in a local community group regarding a deer that died next to someone's house, presumably from being hit by a vehicle. Dan Foreman, a resident that lives in a culdesac just off from Walnut Blvd in Corvallis, Oregon said he had made several phone calls in an attempt to have it removed from his property and was running out of ideas. Republic Services waste removal said they don't offer that service. The Health Department wasn't interested either. Oregon State Police and the Oregon Department of Fish and Wildlife said they were only interested if there were signs of poaching.

After a brief exchange with Foreman, he explained that he had opened his blinds to see the snow outside in the morning and noticed a deer had expired underneath the hedges between his house and his neighbors. Knowing the area, and that it was a nice buck, I wanted to see it for myself. I'd been curious about our state's new roadkill salvage permit process. I had also seen a nice buck in the area surrounding Foreman's address a month or so prior, and was curious if was the same deer. I rang the doorbell, and Foreman was kind enough to walk around to the side of his house and show me where the deer had died. Sure enough, it was the same buck I'd seen before driving through that part of town. I was surprised he made it that far.

"We don't normally open those blinds, otherwise I wouldn't have noticed him," he said. "The landscapers were here three days ago to trim the hedges, so he's been there for a couple days, tops." Not knowing the time of death is a bit of a gamble, but how many big game hunters have gone a day or two looking for a wounded animal and still find it in time to salvage the meat? The past few days had been freezing weather, so that was comforting. Still, I was skeptical.

I began my own amateur forensics investigation. Judging from the evidence in the immediate area, the deer had come about fifty yards from the road, jumped down from a concrete wall, and bedded down in Foreman's hedges to lay himself to rest. I noticed some droppings roughly 8 feet from the deer that appeared to have been there at least through the evening's rainstorm because there was a leaf over it, rather than under it. I felt the deer's muscle tissue, (backstraps first of course!) and it was cold, firm, but not stiff. The front left foot was swollen, and the hoof appeared to be slightly damaged. Upon closer examination of the hoof, it came right off it's foot. I checked the range of movement of the deer's extremities. The neck was very loose, no different than a fresh, big game kill. The front legs both flexed at the joint fairly easily, but the shoulder appeared to be dislodged from it's socket. Upon moving that shoulder, there was a gurgling noise in the lungs. The hind legs were stiff as a board. The side facing up was fairly dry and appeared to be in good shape. The hair underneath it was slightly matted down, but I attributed that to the storm as well.

On the fence about my decision, I called my regional ODFW office and spoke with Asst. District Biologist Anne Mary Myers for advice and a second opinion. Myers explained that if the deer had been there a while, the hair would fall out easily. "What can you tell me about the conditions of the eyes?" she asked. I told her the eyes were partly cloudy, but you could still clearly see the definition between the pupil and the iris. Myers asked if the eye was still wet and slimy. Given there was a rainstorm the night before that went through morning, it had been fair weather all afternoon and the top half of the deer was dry. The eyes were still moist to the touch, likely not due to the previous rain. "Those are good indicators, but you really just need to cut open a sample of the meat and see if there's a sour smell or discoloration."

By then, I felt obligated to do Foreman the favor of removing the deer from his property and honoring the life of the same buck I'd seen strutting down the sidewalk with a couple does only a few weeks before. It was worth the effort of due diligence to see if it was salvageable. Worst case scenario, I did the guy a favor and now have a deer to dispose of properly. At home, I took a knife to the deer's front left leg, genuinely curious about the dislocated shoulder. The meat appeared to have good color. Some of the veins were filled with coagulated blood, but overall, the meat was in great shape with no unusual odors. I noticed that the chest cavity was filled with blood. I had no intentions of gutting it, so everything stayed nice and neat. I couldn't have asked for a better situation. Neither the shoulder nor the ribs were broken, so it almost appeared as if the sheer impact of being hit had ruptured it's lungs and caused some internal bleeding, but everything was contained. With no bullet wounds, it was the cleanest deer I've ever processed. Not only that, but it was the day before trash day. After removing the backstraps and quartering the rest, I put the remains of the deer in a yard waste bag and put that in the rolling cart at the curb for Republic Services.

With the meat hanging in a shed out back, I turned the head with antlers intact in to my regional ODFW office (required by law for either sex) and got a chance to speak with Richard Green, a state wildlife biologist with the health and population lab. In Oregon, hunters can send in a tooth with a self-addressed, no postage necessary envelope that the state uses for research purposes, and those envelopes come directly to Green's office. Green then takes a cross-section of those samples to record the deer's age. "It's just like looking at the rings on a tree," says Green. His office in Adair Village, which just happens to be minutes from my house, receives all the samples statewide. Between hunter submissions, roadkill, and poached animals recovered by OSP, his office submits ten thousand teeth for age analysis per year to a lab that contracts it's services to multiple states. Green says the waiting time for results usually takes about 8 months. "We notify hunters of their kill's age with a postcard in the mail." I made a special request for the same postcard to notify me of the age of my salvaged buck. Green said nobody had asked him to do that before, but would oblige. Along with testing for age, the head is also used to track the spread of Chronic Wasting Disease.

Every state has different laws. Here's a list to help get you started if you're interested in salvaging roadkill in your state:

• Alabama: Only non-protected animals and game animals during open season may be salvaged.
• Alaska: Individuals are not allowed to salvage animals, but animals may be distributed through volunteer organizations. Individuals can also sign up for a roadkill salvage program for moose.
• Arizona: Permit required, and only big game animals may be salvaged.
• Arkansas: Unprotected animals can be salvaged under a hunting tag. Salvage must be reported to the Game and Fish Commission.
• California: Legal in some areas under a "wildlife salvage permit" under a pilot program.
• Colorado: Deer, elk, and antelope can be kept, but Parks & Wildlife must be notified. All other species may be kept under specific circumstances, to be determined by Parks & Wildlife.
• Connecticut: Deer, moose, and bear can be kept as long as it is reported to police.
• Delaware: Deer can be kept with a tag. If a driver doesn't want it, the animal must be donated to a public or charitable institution.
• Florida: Deer, fox, raccoon, opossum, and squirrel can be kept in season. Out-of-season salvage requires notification of Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission.
• Georgia: Native species may be salvaged. You must notify the state of road-killed black bears.
• Hawaii: No legal clarification.
• Idaho: Legal, but you must report the salvaged roadkill within 24 hours to the Department of Fish and Game.
• Illinois: Furbearers can be kept, but a hunting or trapping license and/or habitat stamp is required,
• Indiana: Permit required.
• Iowa: Deer can be taken with a salvage tag.
• Kansas: Game animals and furbearers can be possessed in season with proper licenses. Big game and turkeys can be possessed out of season with a salvage tag.
• Kentucky: Reporting the type of animal and location is required.
• Louisiana: Illegal.
• Maine: Legal, transportation permit needed for big game animals.
• Maryland: Permit required.
• Massachusetts: Permit required. You must submit the roadkill for state inspection.
• Michigan: Salvage permit required.
• Minnesota: Permit required.
• Mississippi: No information found.
• Missouri: A Wildlife Dispensation Permit from the Missouri Department of Conservation is required.
• Montana: Salvage tag required
• Nebraska: Legal, with salvage tag.
• Nevada: No specific laws, but roadkill is considered state property and salvagers could face poaching charges.
• New Hampshire: Legal, first offered to the driver.
• New Jersey: Permit is required and only deer may be salvaged.
• New Mexico: Permission from local conservation officer required.
• New York: License or tag may be required, depending on the species.
• North Carolina: Legal, but must register the animal over the phone with the Department of Natural Resources.
• North Dakota: Permit is required, the process is different for different species.
• Ohio: Offered to driver first, accident must be reported to wildlife officer within 24 hours.
• Oklahoma: Legal, but local game warden must provide a receipt of possession first.
• Oregon: Legal for deer and elk, a permit is required.
• Pennsylvania: Reporting to the State Game Commission within 24 hours is required.
• Rhode Island: Rhode Island allows roadkill salvage for specific eligible species, including deer, turkeys, and coyotes, with a required permit obtained within 24 hours of collection from the Department of Environmental Management
• South Carolina: An incident report is required to prove the deer was killed by a vehicle, but the state does not require a special permit to claim the carcass if you are processing it yourself. 
• South Dakota: Proper notification and authorization are required to pic up deer or elk. Other species are illegal.
• Tennessee: Legal if law enforcement or wildlife resources agency is notified within 48 hours.
• Texas: Illegal.
• Utah: Permit for protected species such as deer and elk is required.
• Vermont: Possession tag for big game and furbearers is required.
• Virginia: Legal for the driver to salvage a deer if it reported to law enforcement and inspected. Salvage permits also available.
• Washington: Deer and elk may be salvaged, depending on the county. Permit required.
• West Virginia: Reporting within 12 hours of a salvage is required.
• Wisconsin: Legal, but must register the animal over the phone with the Department of Natural Resources.
• Wyoming: Approval is required from Fish and Game prior to collection. 

In Oregon, I was able to fill out the forms online from the Department of Fish and Wildlife website, or pick up hardcopies of the paperwork at the nearest regional office while turning in the head within 5 business days of recovering the salvaged animal. I submitted one form, and filled out the tag paperwork on the spot, then kept the tag for as long as I stored the meat. Green says that over 1,500 permits were issued in 2019 after the new legislation went into effect in January. "How many permits can you issue to one person for this?" I asked. "There's no limit, but if you show up every day with a new dent in your bumper, you're probably going to be investigated."

This article was published in the March 2020 issue of Northwest Sportsman Magazine

A Non Traditional Father's Day Story (Spring Chinook)

Like many others, my father played a pivotal role in the development of my love for the outdoors. He passed away a few years ago, and left behind a legacy of hunting and fishing adventures, and a wealth of knowledge he passed down to me. I could write a thousand stories about growing up hunting whitetail in the oaks and plains of Alabama, or chasing the sounds of coonhounds along the Alabama River at night, or all the big largemouth that tore up the surface hitting topwater lures and vanishing into thick cover and breaking my line. But he's gone, and the legacy lives within me. That's why when my mother and stepfather came to visit last spring and said, "We want to catch a salmon!" I had to try and make that happen for them.

Maybe 8 years or so before my father passed away, he flew to Oregon to visit me, and we did a little fishing on the South Santiam for steelhead. I had just caught my first one, and had the bug something fierce. He threw spinners near Foster Dam all day and cherished every little trout he reeled in. The days of him being an ambitious outdoorsman had been replaced with a great deal of contentment in his old age. My mother, who had visited me a year or so later, managed to reel in a few salmon during the fall season out on the Alsea, and it was a memorable day of catching enough fish to grade out anything that wasn't spitting scales and covered in sea lice. Needless to say, we both got our limits. On another visit, we fished Buoy10 in Astoria. The weather was so bad, and she was obviously so miserable that we called the trip before 11am after catching only one jack we had to release.

When they told me they wanted to catch a salmon on their visit in May, I explained that chasing spring chinook is not an easy task. With the decline in all of our fisheries, spring chinook have taken the brunt of the collective issues that are to blame for low returns and decreased catch rates. I wanted to avoid a significant chunk of their visit being consumed with sitting in Portland traffic, and then trolling around with a few dozen other boats for maybe a chance at a fish. Instead, I wanted to take them somewhere they could have a little more of a pro-active and hands-on fishing experience without a ton of people around. Somewhere that they could enjoy some scenery and not be disappointed if we hired a guide with no control over the bite that day. There were lots of discussions about keeping their expectations low, and just enjoying the potential "boat ride" with our guide Matt Halseth on the Santiam, a river that seemed to fit the bill, and that we both had some kind of personal connection with.

My stepfather had only recently taken an interest in fishing. Living the lake life out in South Carolina, him and my mother had become owners of a pontoon boat, and occasionally, my stepfather would get lucky and catch catfish, spotted bass and striped bass out of Lake Murray and Lake Keowee. My mother being far more seasoned with the outdoors and him still being a very green New Yorker, the dynamic created the kind of clientele that every guide has to deal with at some point. "You're going to earn it," I told Matt the day we booked our trip. My mother had gotten her feet wet on her previous visits, but this was the first time she brought my stepfather Louie Russo with her.

Just as a warm-up, I decided to take them for a walk into the Siletz gorge the day before our trip with Halseth. I wanted to give Louie a primer for reading water, how to cast, deal with snags, all the basics that a guide would probably have to instruct a newbie on to get things dialed in. It was still a little early for summer steelhead to show upriver, but there had been several days of rain that spiked the river levels up a notch, and the weather was a bit overcast. I explained that the conditions were perfect, but we should still keep our expectations low. As we crept down to one of my favorite holes, I could see the faint movement of a chrome summer right where I would expect one to be. I took a cast or two to explain where to aim, the line to run a presentation through, and when the reel back up and start over again.

"You can't hold the rod like that, these fish don't mess around, they will kick your ass," I told Louie as he held the spinning reel on top and started reeling backwards, a cardinal sin for any angler that would make the hairs stand up on the neck of even the most intermediate beginner angler. "But I'm not used to reeling with my left hand!" I explained the best way to learn is to have a fish on the line and reel in your hand with the handle opposite of what you're used to. This was my way of preparing him for taking my rod if I managed to hook a fish with it.

In the meantime, I grudgingly switched the handle to the other side and handed him back his rod. As I was doing all of this, an ugly "cheesehead" sore back winter steelhead backed into the hole, and disturbed the chrome summer we had seen earlier. They seemed to be doing this docey-doe dance around the hole. "That fish is gonna get pissed enough to bite soon," I said. After getting my stepfather Louie dialed in with the handle on the right, he took a cast that went a little far on the other side of the seam I had been telling him to fish. He let it go to the end of the drift and I watched the fish charge at his bead as the float went down and began moving upstream. "YOU GOT HIM! REEL-REEL-REEL!!!" In a panic, he still managed to do exactly what I had instructed him to do earlier, "reel 'til you feel!" The drag was set low so that he wouldn't try to horse the fish in like a Lake Murray largemouth, and that summer took off out of the hole, down a tailout, and into the next hole, then down another tailout and started jumping in slackwater trying to shake the hook as it burned down to the backing. "Gimme the rod, we gotta go! We gotta go!" I yelled as he stumbled over the wet cobblestone in his New Balance dad sneaks getting drenched in oregon rain in his Canadian tuxedo of denim jeans and jacket. I scurried along to gain back a few feet of line so we didn't get spooled and yelled for him to come get the rod. "I can barely turn this damn crank on the right side, you need to get your ass down here and land this fish!"

As he stumbled close enough for me to hand him the rod, he got the fish in close enough I could almost reach it. "You're gonna have to move a few steps closer to swing him in," I said. He took a step and then slid down some ledge rock and wedged his foot in a bad spot. Being stuck and frustrated, he started barking back at me, "Quit yelling at me to reel! I AM reeling! I can't move!" Maybe it's the bratty sadistic stepson in me that got some kind of enjoyment out of his suffering, but I just started smiling and laughing hysterically. "Welcome to steelhead fishing! Now let's get this guy on the bank!" In spite of all the lost footing, nicks and bruising, he managed to keep the rod tip high and the line tight. Eventually, the fish got close enough I could tail it, and I went for it. That's when it slipped out of my hands and swam between my legs. I remember thinking, "Oh no, this is it. This is bad. This is how he gets away." As that thought entered my mind, I saw him turn the crank on the reel a couple more times and the fish finally just gave out and turned belly up long enough for me to grab it again. get on the shore, notice the lack of an adipose, grab the nearest rock and put it to sleep.

I couldn't believe it. He caught "the fish of a thousand casts" in less than a half an hour. Not even twenty minutes from having the reel upside down. Not just any steelhead, but an ocean fresh, chrome summer steelhead. My mother, who never wet a line that day, was happy to see him catch a fish, any fish. Having only caught a couple fall salmon, she might have even been a little jealous. "Well, I guess you guys can just get back on the plane now, because there's nothing left to see here," I joked. The primer mission was a success, and our expectations had already been exceeded. There's no way they weren't going to enjoy getting back out on the water again the next day.

As we met Matt at the I-5 ramp on the mainstem of the Santiam, he explained a little about his program and approach to fishing the river system he grew up on. We started by backtrolling a little diver and bait on the mainstem to get their feet wet. After a few trout and my parents becoming visibly bored with me playing deckhand and backing out their presentations, he motored up the South Santiam and we did a little bobber dogging. Halseth helped work out the kinks of casting, lining up everyone's presentations, and leaving them in the water. We started hooking pikeminnow left and right, which even if we couldn't find a springer or summer steelhead, was good practice for reading water, hooksets, and fighting fish.

After they grew tired of feeding pikeminnow to the eagles, we motored back downstream to the fork, and headed up the North Santiam. I could see that look of contentment on my stepfather's face as we dodged downed trees and jetted through sharp curves. Halseth could probably navigate the North Santiam in his sleep as long as he knew the dam flows and which channel to run, which was a little different than Louie was used to cruising the lake in his pontoon boat. We did a little more bobber dogging, and I missed an opportunity on something that felt a little larger than a trout. We went back up and floated through again, this time my mother pulled back on something big in the same slot. "I don't know what this is, but it's too heavy to be a trout," she said. As the weight began to move and dump line off the reel, I tried to explain that a steelhead is just an ocean-going trout. We floated with the fish and it made several screaming runs before getting close enough to put it in the net. Once we noticed it was wild, Matt and I kept in the water until we could get to shore for a quick grip-n-grin. "This is a special fish, these wild steelhead are endangered," Halseth told my mother. I added that it was also her first steelhead, which made it all the more special.

After capturing a photo or two, we sent her on her way to the long journey back to the salt, wishing her luck with the sea lions at Willamette Falls. With the recent changes in management and lethal removal of sea lions, that fish might actually stand a chance at returning to the Santiam to spawn again someday.

"I still want to catch a salmon," said Louie. Seemingly unsatisfied with his miracle feat of landing his first steelhead, he was still hellbent on telling the rest of his family that he caught a salmon. And even though we were still on high from the adrenaline of mom's first steelhead, he's right. That's what we were there to do, so went back at it. After landing a few whitefish, it seemed like we had worked over that area pretty good and moved on to a fast-moving deep hole with lots of boils and crazy hydro action. It was a spot that Matt had a lot of confidence in. We backbounced up a beautiful resident rainbow trout that I immediately released and went back at it. One of the rods started to move, and the bend began to bounce as Matt lifted it out of the holder and handed it to Louie. "REEL-REEL-REEL!" Matt said as he handed Louie one of his brand new Shimano Tekota lefties. "I'm not used to the reel being on this side," he said. Of course, as the sadistic stepson, I let out another maniacal laugh as I said, "You gon' learn today!" After some epic line-peeling action, Louie started to gain line as the boat floated downstream to a fallen log, where the fish was held up on and rubbing the line against. "We need to get him out of there," Matt said calmly. He pulled the boat away from the fish, and the change in the angle of pressure made the fish react by turning and burning back towards the next tailout and away from the fallen tree. As the cottonwood blooms began to collect on the surface, Matt started singing with the net his hand, "Cottonwood falling like snow in July, sunset, riverside, four wheel drives..." You could tell that in that moment, him being out on the water with me and my family, he was in his element as a guide. Not long after, the fish was within reach of the net and the bonker.

Two days, back-to-back, my stepfather landed his first steelhead and first salmon, both hatchery fish, both the least abundant of their species and the best table fare. Louie was a shining example of it being better to be lucky than good, but Matt was reveling in the fact that he was able to introduce two incredible firsts to his clients, in the same day. We floated back downstream doing some more bobber dogging, and I landed a hatchery springer on the way to add to our creel. Icing on the cake, and meat in the freezer, I couldn't have been happier with exceeding everyone's expectations, including my own. As we packed everything up in the truck, I had a moment with Louie and told him that I would have given anything for my dad to have had that experience with me before passing away. I wanted my stepfather to know how much it meant to me to be able to share that experience with him, and how much I appreciated his determination. My father always talked about visiting again after retirement, and died two weeks after retiring. As my stepfather is approaching retirement, he's gained a new appreciation for every moment, which is the kind of zen we're all fishing after when we hit the water.

This article was published in the July 2020 issue of Salmon & Steelhead Journal

Institute for Applied Ecology Virtual Native Plant Farm Tour

Native plant restoration projects require many plants and seeds. Learn from Ian Silvernail, IAE Restoration Ecologist and Farm Manager, about production of Oregon iris, naked stem lomatium, tarweed, lupine, and more. In honor of Natural Areas Celebration Week, join us for a tour of these flowering native plants from the comfort of your own home. Thursday, May 7 at 3:30 pm* LIVE on IAE's Facebook page

*There may be a slight delay due to uploading and cell service.  'See' you out there!