by Scott Starbuck, July 29, 2015

In many places it is common to discover “locals only” spots where anglers live down the road or at least in the nearby river town. When I find these rare gems at the peak of salmon or steelhead runs, I have found it is best to ask, “Where do you want me to fish?” which translates into “Where can I cast without bothering you?”

If you are fishing in Washington, and the Dick Butkus-looking guy says “Nebraska,” that is a bad sign. If his friend says “Up in the parking lot [where there is no water]” that is worse. If no one says anything or even acknowledges your ghost-like presence, back away slowly. At this point you may be thinking, “Hey, Starbuck, it’s a free country. I can fish wherever I want.” Guess again Mr. or Mrs. Angler, or take a literature course to learn about the “appearance vs. reality” theme. The truth is many rural areas in the U. S. and Canada are largely tribal like they have been thousands of years. For both natives and non-natives, fishing spots are handed down from father or mother to son and daughter for generations.



But let’s say you get lucky, and are invited to fish anywhere near locals. Watch for a few minutes to get in sync with their methods and casts. In other words, don’t bobber fish if they are spin fishing or drifting because you may tangle lines. As a general rule, the angler farthest downriver casts first, followed by the next guy upriver to avoid crossed lines. Allow space between lines, and reel in fast when someone hooks a fish.

Synchronous casting is beautiful to watch, and, except for beer bellies and scraggly beards, in the eyes of seasoned steelheaders not much different from ballet dancers performing Swan Lake.

Respect the river silence, and do not barge into private conversations. If you show this respect, sooner or later, a local may ask “Where you from?” Keep your answer short, measured, and balanced if you want to fish here again. If you are asked to net a fish, hold the mesh with your index finger against the shank of the net to avoid getting it tangled with the hook, and release it when you stab at the fish in one lightning-swift motion to net it head first.

There is no substitute for old-fashioned generosity. Two of my favorite spots have come after I taught local kids to spinner fish, and they volunteered where their fathers fish.

If you read my blog Trees, Fish, and Dreams, at riverseek.blogspot.com, you know I sometimes ask locals for permission to fish their private properties. Sometimes they say yes. The same as fishing or life-in-general, it’s always win some, lose some. An old mill worker said one time only. A commercial troller told me once a year. One woman said yes, but always knock first. A few especially generous souls have said “Whenever you want.”

When you are lucky enough to fish a “locals-only” spot, watch everything they do regarding exact location of cast, gear used, bait, conditions, and times of day fished. Never tell anyone about a “locals only” spot without getting permission from them first. Otherwise you, your car, or both, may suffer the consequences. Even being respectful and patient, I have had monofilament hand-wrapped around my tire stems which I recognized as being a very effective nonverbal method of communication. Another time, a tall thin man sauntered up to where I was casting for salmon and snarled like Clint Eastwood, “You had better leave now.” and he wasn’t joking. My answer was “Life’s too short to fight about fishing,” and I moved on to find another spot upriver.

A few years ago, I found an angler in my secret all-time favorite summer steelhead run which took a lifetime of trial and error, cliff descents on ropes, ignoring incorrect road signs, intimate encounters with devil’s club, blackberry thorns, poison oak and ivy. “How did you find this place?” I asked, making sure I wasn’t hallucinating. A human voice answered.

“My preacher gave me this spot over 50 years ago, and I’ve kept it a secret ever since.” Even in the year 2015, places like this exist but you must put in your time to find them. Or, you can combat fish with the ever-increasing number of anglers if that is your thing.

Lastly, if you come across a sign on a certain unnamed river in Oregon that says “No Trespassing Except for Blonde Women” do not get a wig from Goodwill, and sport grapefruit breasts. Many farmers, including this one, have taken literature courses, and completely understand the “appearance vs. reality” theme. You may get a few laughs out of him, but unless you really are a blonde woman, he will probably not let you fish there.

Scott T. Starbuck’s blog Trees, Fish, and Dreams is at riverseek.blogspot.com His fishing articles and poems have appeared in Yale Anglers´ Journal, Salmon Trout Steelheader, The Sunday Oregonian, Talking River at Lewis-Clark State College, Cascadia Review, and The Raven Chronicles in Seattle. His book of fishing poems, River Walker, in local libraries, sold out in less than a year. His next book of fishing poems, Lost Salmon, is forthcoming from MoonPath Press in Kingston, WA, in 2016.