I pulled into the gas station.  I surveyed the damage.  I didn’t just blow the tire, it was GONE.  Nothing left but the wheel with plenty of chips and dings on it from me running it bare at 65 mph on Interstate-5.  I was frustrated, but kept my cool. I had my tool box, had my spare, had my tire iron and jack.   Just change it out in about 10 minutes and be on my way.  No big deal, right?  WRONG!!!  I tried to get the nuts off the wheel.  They wouldn’t budge.  I actually began to start stripping the heads.  I tried for 45 minutes.  I succumbed to the fact I was going to need some help.  I called up AAA (as I’m a member).  They looked up my information and informed me that “I’m sorry, sir.  Your membership doesn’t cover RV’s or Trailers.” 

My heart sunk.  Great!  Now I’m going to have some out-of-pocket expenses.  AAA forwarded me to the nearest tow company (Albany, OR).  They said they could be there in about 45 minutes and to hang tight.  The tow-truck driver arrived and he was pretty cool.  I told him what I had done and what I was attempting to do.  I showed him my wrench I was using and I knew that I didn’t have enough leverage.  He tried as well and went “Yeah, we need something a little more substantial.”  He ends up pulling out his socket wrench that had a lever on it that was 4’ long.  After about 5 seconds of grunting, the nut finally gave way and the wheel was off.  He even went “Damn….that was on tight!”

After 20 minutes of getting the tire on, topping off my tires with air, and taking $183 of my money,  the tow-truck driver was gone and I was back on the road.  Over the years in past reports, my great friend and fellow TTH’er Dan McAllister, has always mentioned that superstitiously, he knows how a trip is going to go by the wildlife he sees on the way to his desired lake.  Well, I saw a black dog wandering in the middle of the road by a 7-eleven as I left my house.  Maybe this trailer-tire mishap was that “black dog”.  As I drove away from the exit, I called my wife to let her know what happened.  As I was talking to her (on speaker phone, mind you), I saw something on the side of I-5 that resembled an elk.  And not only an elk, it appeared to be a rather large one.  The bull turned his head and I went “HOLY CRAP HON!!! There’s a 5-point Elk walking along I-5.”  I could tell she cared about as much as air cares about water.  But, could it be a sign?!?!?   That’s when Lenny Kravitz’s song “Believe” came on.  Alright Lenny.  I’ll play along.  I’ll believe.

I arrived at Paulina Lake about 3 hours later than scheduled.  The lake was MUCH lower than I’d ever experienced.  Like 2-3 feet lower than I expected.  I imagine with the hot-weather and minimal rainfall that we’ve been experiencing in the NW this summer, evaporation was taking it’s toll.  Where I normally beach my boat along the shoreline, I was stopped short by about 7’.  No problem, I had a cabin paid for so I was granted access to the Paulina Lake dock.  Only problem was is where the weeds in the docking area would normally be 2’-3’ below the surface, they were now at surface level and the water was only 1.7’ deep.  It made it interesting to dock/depart from the moorage.  But, I was able to do it. 

The lake was pristine and glassy.  Not a breath of wind to be had.    My job was to try and scout where the fish were at as fast as I could.  My time was limited so my game plan was simple.  A) Locate where fish are on the lake,  B) Locate what depth they are at,  C) Find out what tactic works (i.e. trolling, casting, etc.,) D) Find out what pattern they’re biting (i.e. kokanee, chub, rainbow, etc.)  Simple plan…..not so simple to execute.

I spent about 5 hours scouring different places to narrow down where the fish were at.  It appeared the West Side of the lake was the most promising.   I did try going deep (roughly 30 to 50’) for a while, but none of the fish on the graph were interested in my offerings.  I did notice a few fish jumping, here and there in the shallows.  This fish were spread across the board.  And this made sense to me.  With it being September, it’s a transition time for the browns.  Going from the summer drill of feeding down in the thermocline to the shallows to begin their Fall spawning activities.   This can make it difficult to hone in on your quarry.

I began casting towards shore, and I noticed I had a few followers.  I tried different cadences on my retrieves, trying to entice any kind of strike.  I began being super aggressive with my jerking action to make the lure dive and dart all over the place.   “WHAM!!”  Alright!!  15” brown.  Not a monster, but the skunk’s off the boat!  Let’s try it again!  <Jerk, Jerk, Jerk, Jerk…WHAM!>  WooHoo!  Another brownie!   The fish are located, the correct tactic has been found, and the right pattern to entice a strike has been identified!  Game on, Paulina!  GAME ON!!!

Over the next 1-1/2 hours, I caught 5 browns, 1 rainbow, lost just as many, and had probably 20 follows.  The largest fish ended up being a 20”, 3# brown that was starting to get his “Halloween” colors.   He was a fun fish as he jumped multiple times like a steelhead on the Deschutes.   Once that “hot-bite” window passed, it was dead.  I fished and trolled for a couple hours until legal to no avail.

The next day started out SLOOOOWWW!!!  I didn’t catch my first fish until 9:30 AM (I started at 5:50 AM).  In about 30 minutes time, I caught 2 browns and a rainbow and lost just as many.   From 10 AM until 5 PM, I didn’t have a bump trolling or casting.  I didn’t even have a follow while casting.  It was discouraging.  Around 5:30 PM, I caught my smallest fish of the trip so far with a 13” baby brownie.  I fished the rest of the evening without a single bump. 

I sat in my truck and tried to listen to the Beavers and the Ducks respective football games.  As I listened to the games, I was toiling with myself of “Do I even go out tomorrow?” and “Is it even worth it?”  Then, sub-consciously, I slapped myself across the face.  “If you want it, you got it…..you just got to believe…..believe in yourself.”  I fell asleep with those words racing through my head.

I awoke groggily to my alarm.  Still a little dejected from the prior days, I psyched myself up to go “all or nothing”.  I shoved off my boat and said to myself “Alright Brian!  Here we go! Let’s do it!”  5 minutes into my first troll, I hear the clicker on my non-ripping rod start to buzz.  I grabbed it immediately and felt some good resistance.  “SWEET!” I said.  This was by far the most substantial fish I’d felt all weekend.  A short-lived fight later, I had a handsome buck, hookjawed brown of 22” and 4#’s.  It wasn’t the big one, but I was still grateful to get into a nicer fish.

30 minutes later, I was ripping along a drop-off when my rod was nearly ripped from my hand.  I stood up and reared back on my rod.  This resulted in a whizzing line peel off my reel.  I said aloud “THERE HE IS!!  IT’S HIM!!”  I could just tell immediately this was the type of fish I’d been working for all weekend.  The brown was feeling heavy and bull-dogging.  He went from the shallower depths and went straight out towards the middle of the lake to deeper water.  The wind was blowing me into the shallows.  As he got closer, the more I was becoming anxious.  One, because I wanted to see how big he was and two, I knew I had to hurry before I got blown into the rocks on the shoreline.  I spotted him and I knew he was “a good one”!  I carefully guided the fish on his side and slowly scooped my net under him!  He was mine!!!  Knock-out punch landed!!!

No time to celebrate as I had to get away from the rocks.  I hurriedly (but carefully) unhooked the fish, placed him in my livewell, and then engaged the motor into reverse to head to deeper water.   As I knew I didn’t need to worry about crashing into the shoreline, I began to shake with adrenaline and excitement.   I examined the fish.  He was beautiful, getting into his full-spawning camoflauge.  He had the indicative hookjaw of classic, mature male brown.  His build was solid all the way through.  A fantastic specimen in any trophy trout enthusiast’s mind. However, I knew that this fish wasn’t going to crack the 10# mark.  He had the head, the build, but I could just tell he didn’t have the length.  I said to myself “Probably around 8” (meaning 8 lbs).    

I grabbed my flexible measuring tape and read out the final measurement.  “27-1/2”….nice fish”!  I then weighed him carefully in my rubber net.  Gross Total, 11#’s 13 oz.  Deduct 3#’s 14oz for the net’s weight.  7#’s 15 oz!  I was within an ounce of my 8lb guess!  I thanked God for such an awesome fish and released him back to Paulina’s waters.

The bite died down to a stand-still.  It became glass and you could tell the activity of the fish was all but non-existent.   I still had about an hour to kill.  I saw some guys in kayaks catching kokes out in deeper water.  I figured “You know, the kiddos love to eat fish.  Let’s see if I can catch them some dinner.”  I went out to about 225’ of water, saw kokanee spread from 50 to 80’ deep.  In a matter of 20 minutes, I had 4 kokanee in the boat and lost a couple right at the boat.  One was about 80% into full spawning colors, but he was still firm so I decided to keep him.  Then the bite stopped.  I beat the kokes on the head for about 30 more minutes trying to muster that one last koke.  Alas, I was grateful for my catch and went “You know, this is a great trip.  I’m calling it.” 

As for stats on the fish.  I ended the trip with 10 browns (the largest being the 8 lber), 2 rainbows (15” class), and then the 4 kokanee.  The best lures were the Megabass shiner, Bomber long A, and Luckycraft Flash and SP pointers.   The best patterns were BY FAR the gold/chub and rainbow.   Koke patterns didn’t get so much as a sniff all weekend.  All Browns and Rainbows (except 2) were caught casting with a very, very aggressive retrieve.  The kokanee were all jigged with an orange/silver/pearl Gibbs Minnow just doing a basic koke jigging action (nothing fancy). 

As I pulled out of the parking lot and across the one-lane bridge over Paulina Creek, I looked back at “Ol’ Mother Paulina” and thanked her for a great weekend.  With Paulina Peak’s rocky crags looming over her waters, I felt a sense of “Yep….this is where I’m supposed to be.”  I turned on the radio and headed down the mountain.  Then it happened.   As if written for a Hollywood script, I kid you not, Lenny Kravitz came on “…if you want it, you got it…you just got to believe….believe in yourself.”  I smiled, chuckled to myself, and nodded in agreement.

Best of luck in your adventures,

BWild