In search of the ever elusive golden fish

The gold fish came slowly up through the relatively clear water of the upper Columbia River, gleaming like a live ember. Not goldfish – not the orange-gold of a koi in a fishpond – but gold fish, the yellow-gold of a freshly minted double eagle.

I put a little more arch in my graphite rod, and the fish flurried at the surface, throwing water in all directions, then dove and stripped line in a vicious dive. That was about all he had left in the tank, however, and soon a gorgeous 4-pound walleye was in the landing net.

A fat, firm fish. None of the slickness and slime of many other species. None of the fishy smell, either, but only a unique, “clean” scent, a bit like thyme. I admired the gold and the bronze, and the odd opaqueness of the eye which gives the species its name.

“I think walleye make the most attractive mount of any fish in the state,” said river guide and Brewster resident Rod Hammons (509-689-2849). “You notice with most mounted fish that they look dead, phony. But for some reason, walleye remain dynamic.”

I was fascinated by the fish for a very specific reason. In nearly 60 years of hooking and landing just about everything there is available in freshwater and salt, in much of North America, this was my first walleye, on Sept. 16, 2004.

I’m a little embarrassed to admit that although I have fished for walleye on several occasions, I apparently was never able to master the somewhat delicate art of vertical jigging. Walleye – experts have told me – can take a lure into their mouths, register a “no,” and spit it out as quickly as any game species in the country. Others, however, said finding walleye is the challenge; hooking and landing them is easy. Obviously, I’m not knowledgeable enough to know which to believe, but relieved that the monkey is finally off my back.

We caught a number of walleye that day, keeping a trio of 3- to 4-pounders and releasing several others. Some were small fish in the 16-inch range; one would have gone 7 or 8 pounds. A walleye “strike,” I found, is a little like hooking a wet towel – simply a soft resistance on the line that wasn’t there a moment before. And the fight was better than I had anticipated, having been told, over and over again, that walleye are not going to break a rod or leave you raving about their acrobatics. As it turns out, a decent-sized walleye can throw a real attitude at you not, perhaps, with the conviction of a similar-size coho, but certainly enough to get your full attention.

And the next evening, when Judyrae prepared a couple of generous fillets simply, in butter, I found that walleye are every bit as great on the table as everyone had been telling me all these years. Certainly better than any other freshwater fish in the state, and at least on a par with my saltwater favorite, lingcod. Sweet, mild, fine-textured and flaky, the fish was superb. When are we going out again, Rod?

Hammons, who grows cherries and guides salmon, steelhead and walleye anglers, uses half-ounce lead-head jigs for walleye, below Wells and Chief Joseph dams, with a “motor oil” curly-tail plastic worm, and a nightcrawler. He drifts in back-eddies, or uses an electric trolling motor to hold in weak current, while his anglers either fish right under the boat, or make short casts and a jig retrieve.

The heat of mid-summer is about the only time when walleye fishing on the upper Columbia is really slow, Hammons said. Early spring is prime time, and he said that the stretch of river from Wenatchee up to Chief Joseph Dam is “trophy” walleye water.

“You may catch only three or four fish a day,” he said, “but 10-pounders aren’t all that unusual.”

I had actually driven the North Cascades Highway to Brewster on Hammons’ invitation for a combination trip. Fall chinook below Wells Dam – hogs in the 30-pound range – were the big draw, with walleye (now that river temperatures were starting to drop) the gravy.

It turned out to be the other way around, but only because the kings were sulking that particular day. If I had stayed over, we would have probably taken two or three nice chinook the following day, which is how salmon are, particularly in freshwater.

Summer chinook off the mouth of the Okanogan were about through for the year, Hammons had told me, and the fall segment of the run was stacking below Wells Dam. Waiting to meet him early that morning at the Triangle Texaco, in Brewster, I scanned the photo-filled “wall of fame” while sipping a first coffee in the 24-hour snack shop. The largest recent chinook I could find was just under 38 pounds, and there was a shot of a beautiful 37-pounder caught by an Arlington resident. Leann Davis, also of Arlington, was on the wall with a 28-pounder, and Tom Green, of Monroe, with a 31-pounder. Along with dozens of Okanogans, Chelans, Spokanes, and Yakimas. I was starting to salivate.

Heading south from Brewster on Highway 97, we turned left (east) at the Wells Dam road, about 6 miles south of Pateros. Then taking the first right, we turned right again at the railroad tracks. About a quarter-mile south was a small sign “Carpenter Island Boat Launch” on the left, nearly hidden in the middle of an orchard. A narrow dirt road winds down the bluff to the launch below the dam – only a marginal facility, and better used by a 4-wheel drive vehicle.

There are a couple of favorite spots for salmon fishermen below Wells. One is a deep hole about a mile downstream from the launch, 50 to 60 feet deep, with lots of water available, along the west side of the river. Hammons uses 8-pound balls on his Scotty downriggers, fishing at 16 to 22 feet deep in 35 feet of water. He rigs with size “0” chrome dodgers, 5 to 6 feet of leader and a standard, 2-hook mooching setup with red Gamakatsu hooks and plug-cut herring, 40 feet behind the ‘riggers. On his middle rod, he trolls an F-15 Fatfish (no downrigger) in chrome/red, green, or black, with a small piece of herring fastened on the underside with three rubber bands.

Other anglers pull diving plugs alone, such as flame orange Hot Shots or magnum Wiggle Warts.

That spot gets too heavy to handle after the 1 p.m. – usually – dam release which can raise the river 6 or 8 feet in a short period of time, Hammons said. Many anglers then run back up to the dam to troll the back eddy in the bay on the east side of the dam, and just below the fishing deadline sign. That bay, and the shoreline downstream for a half-mile or so offers good walleye fishing in 20 or 22 feet of water, on a gravel bottom. The other top walleye spot is just below the fishing deadline sign on the west side of the river, just downstream from the boat launch.

The half-mile stretch of gravel bar also offers very good bank fishing for chinook, when the dam release begins and enough current develops to allow drift fishing with Vibrax spinners, or bait setups such as Spin N Glo and eggs, or Corkie and eggs.

“They (shore fishermen) actually catch quite a few kings along there, when current conditions are right,” Hammons said.

We saw a handful of chinook caught that day, in the downriver hole, but it was obvious that the bite wasn’t really on. Time of day seems to make little difference in the chinook fishery, Hammons said, except for the fact that the timing of the dam release can affect fishable water.

Salmon and steelhead are the big sellers on his portion of the Columbia River, he said, and even though the salmon/walleye combinations are fairly popular, “it’s awfully hard to leave the side of the river where you know there are 30-pound thumb-burners, to head for walleye water,” he said.

Maybe so but, all things considered, I was happy as a clam to finally force a confrontation with several of those elusive walleye, and I’m sure I’ll give it a shot again one of these days. Kings will be available for another month, and then steelhead, or steelhead/walleye combinations in October and November, and prime walleye fishing in early spring.

There’s a lot on the fisherman’s plate along the upper Columbia and, while the word is starting to get out, it’s still a relatively untouched series of fisheries.