Palouse Outdoors:The Bulls of Astoria

September is an incredible time in the Pacific Northwest. Fall is finally upon us, and the heat of the summer fades into brisk, starry nights. Fishing picks up again, and hunting seasons open. While we look forward to fall in our neck of the woods, September on the lower Columbia River also has plenty to offer.

When my hometown buddy, Matt, called with a request to fish the Columbia River for fall Chinook, I had no choice but to invite him out for a west coast road trip that would land us in Astoria for a few days. I had never spent time in the northwest tip of Oregon, and the excuse to see new territory and sink lines for salmon was as good as any.

Trumbo with a bright lower Columbia River coho.

I had heard tales of "Buoy 10", how big and bright the salmon were, and how rough the river under tidal influence could be. To experience it firsthand was something different.

Matt and I jumped aboard a twenty-foot open-hull sled with two other strangers and a guide. The overcast sky was ominous, threatening an unknown amount of rain at any time, but the wind was calm. We motored into the river from the harbor in Warrenton and joined the sea of other fishing boats trolling the same circuit in search of bright coho salmon. Coho were on the keeper list, although catching a big Chinook was an unspoken hope for all.

Cut plug herring behind dodgers were spooled out, and rods locked into holders, allowing the clientele to sit back and chat while the bait and trolling speed worked their magic. I've always found trolling and fishing in crowded areas detrimental to the experience. Still, as a rod that was lifelessly bobbing on the gunnel suddenly slammed over double, the entire world narrowed to a singular focus.

Matt was first on the rod, and upon retrieving it from the gunnel, he locked the spool and leaned into a solid fish. The heavy rod bounced, pulling Matt toward the gunnel, while the drag zinged that sweet, hollow aluminum spool hum as the fish made several moderate runs. Minutes later, a flash appeared, and the guide stepped in with the net. A bright, beefy coho was an exciting catch to kick the skunk and any boredom off the boat.

Everyone aboard had limited out on coho, but it seemed the last of the run had passed upstream when it came to catching my limit. As time passed the six-hour mark, we turned downriver toward the salt. Our guide was determined to put me on a second coho and we had yet to fish Buoy 10. The swells from the ocean were big and rolling, yet tolerable for a certain fisherman prone to seasickness. Only minutes into the drift, one of the stout rods doubled down.

Upon grabbing the rod, my only defense was to hang on. The fight of the fish was bullish, stronger than any we had boated prior. Long, drag-peeling runs repeatedly took back any line gained. Its speed was unmatched by any of the prior catches, and it refused to reveal itself before finally succumbing to fatigue. A dime-bright Chinook rolled along the boat as the guide scooped it with the net.

I had never seen a Chinook fresh from the salt – a stunning sight, boasting a deep teal dorsal, mirror shine on its lateral scales, and inverse coal black speckling – a pure mimic of the riverine environment when viewed from any angle. It was small for a Chinook, but its fight was that of a much larger fish. As it vanished into the rolling flow to continue its spawning migration, I could only imagine the bullish fight of a bright Chinook that was 30 or more pounds.

The Chinook put a bow on the day, and with a bit of encouragement, our guide forfeited the hunt for my coho limit and motored into a nearby inlet to pull some crab pots, the day ending with a haul of fresh Dungeness and some fine salmon filets.

A Roosevelt elk bull looks up from feeding at sunrise on the Columbia River at Fort Stevens.

Matt once again climbed aboard the guide's vessel the following morning while I explored the history of Fort Stevens and sought bulls of another kind. Fort Stevens' prominent Roosevelt elk herd was feeding along the banks of the Columbia River. Five tawny bulls with heads and antlers as dark as molasses fed in the senescing grasses along Jetty Lagoon. The pile dike breakwater, and Astoria-Megler Bridge provided a unique backdrop for the unfettered herd.

Brad Trumbo

A bachelor group of Roosevelt elk feed on Fort Stevens with Jetty Lagoon and the Astoria-Megler Bridge as a backdrop.

Small flocks of waterfowl flew overhead, and the air tasted of saltwater. Sea lions bellowed from the broken-down remains of the Columbia River seawall beyond the surf. Their presence was made clear mainly by the pungent odor of livestock.

The elk couldn't have cared less about being watched as they went about their business. Occasionally, they would test one another with aggressive posture before returning to breakfast. Being accustomed to hunting elk in the mountains made this herd feeding at sea level in the faint orange glow of dawn seem surreal, and packing out could never be easier.

Matt's day concluded with another haul of coho and crab, and we processed the bounty before turning in for the night. The morning would bring more miles in search of waterfalls, rocky beaches, and, eventually, the mammoth northern California redwoods. The cool and damp coastal days were a pleasant break from the heat of the Blues. If you are ready for fall and could use a primer for the upcoming fishing and hunting seasons, experiences to be had downriver are rejuvenating and bound to spark your enthusiasm for the coming months.