The Columbia River and Mother's Day Caddis

Words by Greg Thomas

The river’s tendrils drain the east side of the Cascades in Washington and Oregon, and reach as far as 500 miles inland to the uppermost tributaries of the Salmon River near Stanley, Idaho. The Columbia used to host the largest salmon and steelhead runs in the world, along with some of the largest versions of those species ever seen. That, unfortunately, was before a series of dams turned most of the Columbia system into a chain of lakes and encouraged non-native species to take over.

What the mainstem Columbia never offered, at least in my mind, was a decent trout fishery. When I was young, I looked and listened and attended all the sportsman’s shows and asked all the right questions: Am I missing anything, trout-wise, on the Columbia system? I always got the same answer: No.

That changed back in the 1990s when I was working on a book called Fly Fisher’s Guide to Washington and interviewed Jack Mitchell, who was the owner of the Evening Hatch Fly shop and willing to trade some intel for a spot in the book. One of the things he mentioned was an emerging fishery on the mainstem Columbia for oversized rainbows. That stretch was located just downstream from the Canadian border about two hours from Spokane. And how big were these fish, I wanted to know. Mitchell said one word, and I knew I would, eventually, fish that stretch. That word? “Big.”

Mitchell is well established in the Evergreen State, having built his empire on the Yakima River and other locals, including the Klickitat River and the Olympic Peninsula. But he’s never been one to stand still. He’s always looking for more—more killer fishing, more emerging fisheries and the places to offer great trips and accommodation. What he found on the Upper Columbia was an overlooked trout fishery with some monster rainbows included in the mix. In addition, the massive Columbia offered stellar aquatic insect hatches, trout that fought as hard and leapt as high as any in the world, and nearly nobody was working the water. I.e., this was an untapped fishery just begging for infrastructure.

So, Mitchell bought a couple acres on the Columbia and built a four-bedroom lodge right above the banks of the river. By that time, I’d already started to hear more about the river, just general references or an article or two in a magazine where the author tried to mask the location but gave enough detail that I could piece together the puzzle. One article described a green drake hatch with 20-plus inch long, “football-esque” rainbows chowing down on large dries. They’d tried to be discreet but I knew where to look.

In fact, I set a pin on the map and told myself I would visit the river in late June or July. In 2021 I made the trek from Missoula, Montana over to Northport, Wash., and met up with Mitchell. Unfortunately, going in May meant I would see the green drakes, but I would arrive during the Mother's Day caddis hatch and have a good excuse to get my feet wet on the Upper Columbia.

It wasn’t an ideal time; most of the mature fish had moved out of the Columbia and into the tributaries to spawn. My chances of catching a 20-plus inch rainbow weighing five pounds or more were kind of quashed before they ever began. Still, the Mother’s Day caddis hatch is nothing to turn your nose at and we found scads of plump 14-to 18-inch rainbows eagerly taking caddis pupae and emergers.

It was a bobber and nymph game, all cast from Stealthcraft boats (equipped with jet engines and rowing oars). We fished double nymph rigs, including pupa and emergers, just a foot or two under the surface, in giant slicks and current lines formed by massive backflows (“re-circs”) that wound their way around rocky points and then back up the shoreline before returning to the main flow.

The daily insect flights started around noon and really cranked up to a “breathe through your nose” event by 3 p.m., when millions of those Brachycentrus caddisflies were in the air. We saw plenty of trout feeding on the surface, but the river’s varied and heavy currents created massive drag on our floating lines and kept our bugs under the film. Hence the bobber game. In the late afternoons and evenings, we hit some broad flats and found sippers gently taking spent caddis, a scenario that begged for hunting specific heads and the use of realistic, spent caddis patterns, and nothing heavier than 5X tippet.

The Mother’s Day caddis hatch can be a tricky emergence to track whether you're hunting it down on the Columbia, the Yakima, the Spokane, the Yellowstone or Big Hole, or anywhere else it occurs. During mid-to late April and throughout May water conditions vary widely, with one day providing manageable flows and solid water clarity, only to completely deteriorate the next. It’s all a dance between water temperatures, flows, and clarity. In addition, for factors not completely understood, some years the spring caddis just come off better than others. If you can track the weather and water gauges, look for a general warming pattern that raises water temperature without gutting the snowpack. When temperatures spike you may see millions of bugs in the air, but water conditions may quickly deteriorate and prohibit any real chances for a stellar day. A repeated warming/cooling trend is a godsend, offering those desirable temps and plenty of caddis, but not in numbers that blot out the surface and make it difficult for a fish to find your fly. If the hatch is strong each day, begin fishing pupae deep and, as you start to see subtle rises, switch to emergers just in or under the surface film. As the hatch diminishes in the late afternoon and evening hours, look for singles picking off stillborn and crippled caddis. That can be dry-fly nirvana. If the fish are large, so much the better.

When anglers find a consistent flow, with good clarity, that lasts for several days in a row, some might argue that the spring caddis hatch is the best they’ll see all year. Which is one of the reasons the Columbia beckons; it’s a tailwater fishery offering consistent flows and clarity—when the bugs come off, you can’t blame water conditions if you don’t throw down on the fish.

I found May to be a great time to be on the Columbia and the trout were extremely healthy and strong. But I had to think what it might be like if the big boys were feeding on top and we could have hunted them with large dries.

As mentioned, that scenario takes place in June and early July when size 8 and 10 green drakes come off. The action happens in the afternoon and stretches to 10 p.m., which makes for an interesting fishing schedule. Sleep in. Sip some coffee. Enjoy the Montana-esque views from the lodge's bay windows and wraparound deck. Have that mimosa if you please (you’re on vacation, right?). And then gear up around 2 p.m., for what Mitchell and his guides consider to be one of the West’s greatest fly-fishing events.

By June and July all of the big fish are back from the tributaries and trying to gain the strength and weight they lost from the spawn. The green drake is the way to do it and these fish feed casually on the surface. We’re talking 20-plus-inchers in heavy water or on the flats, rising to a highly visible dry fly. Getting them to take is not the issue—holding a fish that size in heavy current is. On good days anglers may take fish at a steady clip until 10 p.m.

If you're interestedd in a trip to Black Bear and the Upper Columbia the town of Northport is easy to reach from the West’s major population centers. Anglers can fly to Spokane and rent a car for the beautiful two-hour drive north, or the lodge can provide transportation to and from Spokane for parties of four or more. Max occupancy at the lodge is six guests. If you're headed to the "dry side" from Seattle, you're only about six hours away.