The lower river was big and burly, rising slowly throughout the day as the hot sun melted mountain snow. We awoke to a cold clear sky, scarfed up a meager breakfast and launched the boat. Based on that, and the fact that I like to be as close to saltwater as possible, we agreed to spend our first day floating from our camp at Oxbow down to a gravel bar known as G&L. ![]() That’s a major shift in rainfall, but they maintained that they “love the rain.” They reported that the lower Hoh was producing for the gear guys, but the upper river was slow. They recently relocated from California’s Owens Valley to the Hoh rainforest. A quick stop at the Hoh River Resort allowed us to organize our shuttles for the week, get the latest intel, and enjoy some friendly banter with the new owners, the Ross family. We headed north on a sunny Sunday, arriving at the Hoh Oxbow campground that afternoon. ![]() He also convinced me to leave my jig rod at home and dedicate the week to swinging flies. He convinced me to set aside an entire week. I’ve never felt the need to leave Oregon for winter steelheading, so it took some pressure from my friend Monte to get me out of the state. That’s after 12 years of procrastination and preoccupation with Oregon’s coastal rivers. Continuing with my “ten years behind the curve” theme ( see Intruder Alert), I finally took a steelheading trip to the Olympic Peninsula last week.
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