Like most dog owners who fish, I enjoy bringing my dog on the river with me from time to time. Usually, she comes on family trips—floats where fishing and fishing well play second fiddle to other aspirations, like beating summer heat, sharing a river picnic, or witnessing some of the outlandish shenanigans of a summer Saturday flotillas.

The gap between the end of fall trout fishing and the startup of winter steelheading is the nearest thing we have to a closed season in the Willamette Valley. While trout fishing never officially ends here, there is a stretch of time—usually between mid-November to post-Christmas—where trout get lock jaw, and the anadromous rainbows haven’t quite started their runs in earnest. Fishermen who tune their lives by seasons, flow, rain, and runs find themselves in a holding pattern during these doldrums. We’re waiting for winter storms to bump river levels so steelhead can move even as we debate the merits of trout fishing in the cold

I am not a dry fly purist, but I have my philosophies. When fishing for myself, dry fly fishing is my preferred method for most of the season and in most rivers. That said, I am not above the utilitarian turn when conditions demand change. Of all the alternatives to the romantic dry fly, streamers are my favorite. Sure, they’re not as picturesque as the dry, not as subtle as the soft hackle, and not nearly as productive as nymphing. But, where the streamer lacks in these virtues, it more than makes up for itself in the take—that “holy shit” freight train adrenalin dump of a big fish on a meaty fly where, if you’re lucky, you see the flash after the strike and your rod bends double as line screams off the reel.

A few weeks ago, I had to give Bob a call. My wood supply was getting low for the coming winter. The Oregon ash that I cut down a while back is finally running a little thin. I figured, with fall about half way done, and the leaves still on the trees I still had some room for a wood stacking, splitting, and kindling chopping kind of weekend. Sure, it’d cost me a fishing trip but the price in fish is more than compensated by the reduction in heating bills.

By most accounts, Fall in the Willamette Valley offers the best fishing. Guides, shop owners, club members, old timers, toddlers, liars, and the occasional bartender will tell you how they caught the best fish when the leaves changed color, when the rains rolled in, when the mornings got a little too brisk for dawn patrol, and when late afternoon sun brought October caddis out. Their eyes gleam when talking about late September through November.