Summer on the Hoh

Condensed trip report and interactive map here

*The fishing hole after which this website is named.*

Introduction

The Olympic Peninsula holds a special place in any angler’s heart whose had the privilege to visit the holy waters that flow through it. There are enough creeks, streams and rivers on the peninsula to hold the attention of anyone who wishes to fish them for many lifetimes. From the clear, stable, spring fed rivers like the Sol Duc and the Bogachiel, to those infused with the glacial silt of their creators, there is essentially an endless supply of water to be explored.

What makes these rivers special you may ask? This is a question that has many valid answers. Some might respond with the allure of diminished crowds relative to some of the other systems in the state. Others may cite the seemingly fictional colors that imbue these rivers with a majesty thought only to exist in works of fantasy, or the fishy behemoths that run in and out. In my mind, one of the many attractors that make these waters so sacred is the fact that they flow unobstructed from peak to ocean. No dams, no major cities, no concrete deserts intercept the water on its journey to the Pacific. Instead, their waters are flanked by towering Sitka Spruce trees and bulbous granite boulders. The juxtaposition of color is intoxicating. The emerald green of the deep pools in the Sol Duc, the iridescent teal of the Queets, the cold gray of stone against a backdrop of the deep green ferns and spruce. Each pool, clear or opaque, each forest clearing, sandy bank, looming cloud, they all hold secrets that demand the angler return, even if only to confirm that the mysteries still exist and remain unsolved.

And return I did. With my best bud Gareth and my partner Teagan, we settled on the banks of the Hoh river for a week to see what mysteries we could find, what patterns we could learn. In this post I will recount the highlight of the week, a day spent floating from Morgan’s Crossing to Allen’s Bar on the Hoh River.

July 9th, 2024

The decision to float the Hoh on the specific day we did, was a spur of the moment decision. Originally, Gareth, Teagan and I had planned to do so later in the trip, as a sort of finale. The float itself is fairly straightforward for an intermediate rower, except one series of rapids at the Oxbow. The Oxbow is a section of river that bends almost entirely back on itself, with water laced with large boulders and sneaky stones poking just above the surface. I was very nervous to navigate this section of river as it would be by far the most technical rowing I had done. Even in 90 degree weather this is a dangerous stretch as the water is rough, riddled with boulders and very cold.

The morning of, I awoke in our canvas tent to the soothing sound of the Hoh flowing around the Oxbow, as our premiere campground rests on its bank. This site allows for excellent bank fishing, but also for those eager to navigate it to scout a viable line through the perilous stretch. I exited the tent strode to the portion of bank that jettied out into the bend at the Oxbow that provides a nice view upstream of the technical water. It was clear that river right would be untenable, and that we would need to hug left, then temporarily swing right, then back left to successfully pass the test without incident. I also knew that at the very least we could line through the section. (Note: “To line, or “lining” means to fix a rope to the boat, exit the boat, and guide it while walking along the bank to overcome a particularly nasty section.)

I walked back to camp to see if Gareth and Teagan would be up for the impomptu float. I did not want to worry about it anymore, I wanted to get that section over with. As noted in earlier posts, I struggle with anxiety the night before something particularly stressful and did not want to lose a night of sleep over it. After more strategizing and a quick breakfast at camp, we readied the trailer and raft and began the shuttle process.

Our route would be the same route I had done when I hired a guide to float the Hoh at the end of November in 2023: Morgan’s Crossing to Allen’s Bar, about 8 miles in length. Morgan’s is a relatively rugged put in, with a very narrow and bumpy dirt road through the rainforest that eventually spits the angler out at a gravel bar on a calm stretch of river. I pulled the truck up parallel with the water and then reversed the trailer into position in the shallows of the water. We freed our green raft of it’s restraints and began unpacking the truck so that we could shuttle to the take out and stage the truck at Allen’s Bar. Me and G would shuttle and Teagan would stay behind with the boat to make the necessary preparations (rigging rods, retying leaders, and organizing the boat).

We staged the truck at Allen’s Bar without incident and were ultimately back at the raft within 45 minutes or so. As we were about to launch, a women of the Quileute Nation and her grandson ambled onto the bank. Her grandson, “Germ” as she lovingly referred to, had some toys that he dropped in short order in exchange for some smooth river stones that he began to throw gently into the shallows. We spoke with Lonnie, his grandmother for 10 minutes or so and learned of an old tale that is told in her tribe. The tale refers to the tribe’s creator who turned his pregnant wife to stone when he found out she was pregnant with another man’s child. This stone, one that bore an uncanny resemblance to a pregnant woman laying face up in the river, lay just downriver and Lonnie called for us to keep an eye for it. Naturally, nearly every rock we saw from then on seemed a valid candidate for the woman turned to stone.

The float began around 12pm and the day was already smolderng hot. Considering most of the river in this section lays open and exposed to the afternoon sun, we would find little reprieve from its gaze as the day progressed. Aside from dehydrating and wearing us down, the hot sun would have another effect of critical importance. The Hoh River is fed from the Hoh Glacier on the slopes of the aptly named Mount Olympus, the tallest peak in the Olympic Range. The divine water that flows down the steep slopes of this august mountain carries with it glacial silt that reduces the visibility of the water and also contributes to it’s unique bright teal color. On especially hot days, the river is filled with more silt that reduces the vis further, making it more difficult for fish to detect and strike an angler’s presentation. July 9th was a very hot and clear day, and the water was almost completely opaque.

*This 3/4 oz spoon did not survive the trip, but hooked into 3 or 4 fish on the day.*

We were primarily throwing spinners and spoons. With the bright sun hammering the murky teal water, we started with bronze and gold presentations. These metallic colors tend to be very productive in exactly this type of water as the sunlight catches the metal nicely, igniting the lure with bright reflections. In low visibility conditions it is crucial to take the necessary steps to ensure that the fish are at least aware of the lures being thrown, so loud presentations work well.

Within about 20 minutes or so Gareth had a fish on. A small Dolly found his size 2 or 3 blue fox a welcome treat and decided to snack on it. No skunking for us. I kept us moving and stopping, moving and stopping. This was not the first time I had floated this stretch of the Hoh and I knew what awaited us at the end. A beautiful canyon, about 500 yards in length, would feed us into the Oxbow. The canyon itself had lingered in my consciousness since our first meeting and I knew this would be the grand finale of the float. A truly fantastical stretch of water. A section of river plucked straight from a Tolkien novel, so pure in its scared essence that its existence seemed impossible. Considering that we would want to cover the canyon without rushing, I was eager to keep the pace up. However, I could only fish if we stopped, so I found myself eddying out every 30 minutes or so, even if just for a few casts. A few more stops after the first Dolly, Gareth hooked up to a nice jack sockeye on a bronze spoon and cleanly released after a picture or two. We are not certain that this fish was a sockeye, but have had difficulty identifying it as anything else… At the same spot, I hooked into two fish, but lost both. We kept moving.

The majority of this float winds between sweeping stone embankments and steep silty cliffs. For the most part, it feels very open, without looming trees to provide cover to the inhabitants of the river. There are lots of log jams, shallow riffles, and wide arching turns. It was a very enjoyable, relaxed float for the majority of the water we covered. The cadence of row, eddy out, row eddy out continued as I was in search of landing my first fish of the day. Teagan and G were able to fish from the boat as regulations permitted, but most of the fish we hooked into were while the boat was anchored up. Teagan soon hooked into a nice jack Chinook in a deep hole at the top of a wide bend in the river. This was again caught on bronze, and this color was shaping up to be the hands down favorite of the day.

It was hot out, but the sun was beginning to lower. We were making steady progress and soon found ourselves on the cusp of the holy canyon section. There was a fairly dicey stretch of water that lead straight to the gates of the canyon. This section was studded with large boulders that protruded from the shallow, gravelly river bottom. The most fearsome obstacle in this unforeseen boneyard was the blinding low angle sunlight that served as the canyon’s final guardian. Successfully navigate this and admittance to the sacred canyon would be granted. Teagan and G had rods stowed and were craning their necks and dishing out intel as quickly as they could. “Boulder here!”, “Shallows there!”, the communication was immensely helpful in navigating this unanticipated technical water. Oars dipped into to cut slices of the water’s surface in attempts to not catch or scape bottom, while sun assaulted my polarized but dirty lenses. It was very difficult to see, but as quickly as we had been ambushed by this 150 yard section of river, we had emerged from it unscathed. We found ourselves surrounded by utter stillness and quiet. The final challenge that presided over the canyon entrance was flush with the roar of water ripping over under and along boulders and extruding stones, but once permitted entrance into the canyon, the world seemed to stop spinning and with it, time itself.

*Gareth catches a ray of sunlight that manages to penetrate into the canyon*

The bright teal of the water had turned to a deep turquoise, coated in the shade offered by the canyon walls. The walls were laced with bright green ferns and spruce, with the occasional cold gray stone emerging between. The sun itself seemed only to be granted partial admittance to this sacred grove, as only a few of its rays were able to penetrate the wall that towered over the left bank. The speed of the water seemed almost imperceptible, as the concept of time seemed out of place here, almost as if it was beneath the sanctity of the space. It was perfect drift water, so I pulled out the bobber and bead rig on the 11 ft Okuma Guide Select Pro and began covering water. The bobber remained undisturbed through it’s many drifts, but Gareth hooked up to a nice Rainbow as we departed from our first pull off. The fish had been lurking underneath our raft and found the bronze spoon irresistible.

The day was beginning to cool and despite the unfathomable beauty of the canyon, my stomach felt the dull and unpleasant feeling of a bowling ball dropping to its bottom. I knew the Oxbow lay just ahead, two small turns away, and we would need to get out and plot a line through the final test of the day. The few turns that signal the impending Oxbow section make for truly remarkable fishing. Teagan and G had a double hookup at a deep hole behind a logjam where my father caught a dolly on our first float on the Hoh, and there were several other spots that could have warranted stops. However, my mind had become solely focused on safely navigating the Oxbow, so we continued.

As we passed the final bend that signals the straightaway before the Oxbow, I rowed us off to the left bank so that we could get out and assess the obstacles that lay before us. Even at the time of writing this, a few weeks after the events, I remember the section clearly. The right side of the river is impassable with jagged rocks prortuding like sharks teeth out of the icy blue water. There was no chance of navigating river right, so next we assessed river left. The left was approximately 20-30 feet in width, with a handful of rounded stones and boulders littered throughout. The most space by far was the far left of the river, where the water looked just deep enough for us to hug the bank until we would need to make the necessary maneuvers to surpass the climax of the rapid. This climax took the form of two consecutive boulders that lay on opposite sides of the river, the first about 15 feet upstream of the second, essentially forming an acute S shape. If we are using the letter S as our shape to describe this section, the two C’s that comprise the shape each held a large boulder at their center, meaning that we would want to try to shoot clean between them, performing the necessary hard back rowing to buy space and time to react.

After forming this plan of attack from shore, the three of us turned back towards the boat and made our way back to it. I was very nervous, as it was getting a bit colder and a bit darker out. I had rowed a few big rapids on the Grande Ronde, but in those cases I was woefully, but blissfully unaware and thus unintimidated by what the river had in store for me. This was something I had been thinking about long before even embarking on the trip out to the Peninsula. I was determined to make it through safely, and was buzzing with adrenaline. Once back in the raft, we set off and held true to our plan. I kept the boat close to the left bank, giving us plenty of space and time to position ourselves in a favorable spot to hit our line. We passed some boulders on either side without incident and began to enter the churning water making up the core of the rapid. The nose of our green vessel dipped and bobbed in cadence with the ferocious roiling water. We passed the first big boulder just to the right of it, and I began to back row hard as I knew the subsequent boulder on the right would be where the current would want to maroon us. With excited words of encouragement from Teagan and G, I was able to execute a strong three or four back rows to keep our rhythmically rocking vessel from hitting the approaching boulder, over which water was boiling and crashing.

As was the case with the smaller rapids that gaurded the entrance to the canyon, this final test was over almost as soon as it had begun. I remember the hooting and hollering from Teag, G, and myself after passing that last boulder. I remember the first thought that popped into my head was, “I gotta do that again.” It was pure fun. It was living. It was the culmination of a day on the water with good friends, exploring the creatures and waters of a land that will presumably always feel unknown to me.

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Mayhem on the Methow