CHILOQUIN —

The black Labrador paused on the bank of the Williamson River, its tail straight back in an alert stance as it watched the drift-boat approach from upstream.

The dog could tell that its master, Steve Hilbert, the owner of the Lonesome Duck Ranch and Resort, was in the stern of the fiberglass craft. I was in the prow, and fishing guide Marlon Rampy stood between us, casting a dry fly into the gently flowing waters of this world-renowned trout stream.

It had been a slow afternoon on the Williamson. Along a five-mile stretch, from the confluence of the Sprague River downstream to the Lonesome Duck, we cast a variety of wet and dry flies but had landed only one fish, a 15-inch brown trout. Nevertheless, the three of us had enjoyed the outing as we headed back to our base camp.

And Lori Darling, the little black Lab, was anxiously awaiting our arrival.

The Lonesome Duck

Hilbert, a star defensive back for the University of Oregon football team in the late 1960s until an injury curtailed his career, opened this small Klamath County resort, two hours’ drive south of Bend, more than 12 years ago. He and Debbie, his wife of 37 years and a former UO cheerleader, named it for Steve’s favorite novel and television miniseries, “Lonesome Dove.” Today, most of the ranch animals, from their playful dog to horses and llamas, are named for characters from that saga.

Although the Hilberts’ ranch embraces 200 acres along the east bank of the Williamson, just off U.S. Highway 97, they have kept the resort portion small: three cabins, albeit luxurious, with full kitchens. There’s no restaurant — most guests bring their own food to cook while they’re here, as the nearest fine dining is 25 miles south in Klamath Falls — but there are barbecue grills and horseshoe pits, and abundant bird feeders attract scores of songbirds to the property.

My friend and I stayed in the River’s Edge cabin, which sleeps up to eight guests in two bedrooms, a loft and a hideaway sofa. Of modern log construction, it has no television but offers ample entertainment with the river view from a wide, covered porch.

The Hilberts spent about 25 years after college living at Lake Tahoe, where they had their own interior-furnishings and design business in Incline Village, Nev. They purchased the Williamson acreage in 1995 “as a lifestyle decision,” said Steve, who had taken up fly-fishing in the early 1980s.

“That was before the movie, ‘A River Runs Through It,’ got everybody interested,” the former athlete recalled. “I was impressed by the talent, planning and forethought that fly-fishing takes.”

But he said that he had no idea, when he purchased his property, that the Williamson was revered by serious trout fishermen the world around.

“Year-in, year-out, when you see these fish, you just go, ‘holy cow!’” he said. “There are big, big fish that come out of this river. People come in from all over the country … and internationally.”

Casting a line

Head fishing guide Rampy has spent the past 10 summers at Lonesome Duck. He winters in the Medford area, where he leads Upper Rogue River expeditions with his own Wildwest Fly Fishing company. Rampy took Steve and I to a put-in point upriver from the Lonesome Duck, and we spent four afternoon hours casting wet and dry flies with the drift.

As an inexperienced fly-fisherman, I have much to learn. Rampy, who has fished the Williamson for 16 years, tried to school me — without much success.

“This is early season, and the water’s up, so we’re trying to get down to the fish,” he explained, putting a wet fly (a rabbit-strip streamer) on my line. “It looks like food,” my coach said. I watched Rampy place the fly perfectly at the edge of a foaming eddy, letting out his line as he coaxed it to drift downstream just underwater.

When I attempted to duplicate his accuracy, I repeatedly snarled the line. “It’s all about timing,” Rampy instructed. “When you feel the line all the way out behind you, snap it forward again.” I’m just grateful that the only human being I hooked was myself.

A large, dry salmon fly, powdered to help it float atop the water, didn’t yield substantially better results. But Steve had a couple of strikes, finally pulling in a modest brown trout. “This is quite unusual,” he exclaimed. “First, we don’t usually get browns in the Lower Williamson. They are generally above the confluence with the Sprague. Second, we caught it on a dry fly.”

The vast majority of fish along this stretch of the Williamson are native Klamath Basin redband rainbow trout, which biologists say are genetically related to steelhead. Rampy said he has landed a rainbow here as large as 15½ pounds, 34 inches in length. Larger fish, up to 20 pounds, are not unknown.

Why do fish grow so large here? Because, Rampy said, Williamson trout feed in Upper Klamath Lake, the largest natural freshwater lake in the Northwest. The river’s mouth is at Klamath’s marshy north end, with its delta extending to adjoining Agency Lake. Klamath is a broad but shallow lake, with an average depth of only about eight feet. As a result, it is home to a variety of insects, forage fish and algae. In late spring and summer, when these shallow waters become uncomfortably warm, the fish head upstream into the Williamson and other spring-fed, cooler streams.

Birding tours

While fishing is the main attraction at “The Duck,” as Hilbert calls his ranch, it is far from the only one. Resident managers Marshal and Suzanne Moser see to that. Marshal, a retired environmental consultant, is a wildlife ecologist who, many years ago, set up the first Nature Conservancy office in the state of Ohio.

Long before he joined the staff of the Lonesome Duck in 2006, Marshal Moser had been spending summers exploring the Klamath Basin and Oregon Outback. He has an intimate knowledge of the area’s native and pioneer history, the geology and natural history.

He seems to know every plant on every backcountry road. The day we drove up a pair of poorly marked gravel routes to viewpoints over the Williamson Delta and Klamath Lake, he commanded the territory like a native son. He quickly distinguished between a juneberry (“You may know it as a serviceberry,” he said), bitterbrush and the Klamath plum, and explained the subtle difference between bright yellow balsamroot and near cousins.

But his specialty is the bird life of the region. Indeed, the Klamath Basin is considered one of the premier birding destinations in the United States, and has been rated No. 1 in the West by Sunset magazine. I didn’t realize the esteem in which Marshal is held until we stopped at Henzel Park on the shores of Agency Lake. A group of Audubon Society birdwatchers was on a field trip there.

“Marshal, is that you?” queried one. “What have you seen today?

“We were up on the Modoc Rim above Hagelstein,” said Moser, “and we saw a Bullock’s oriole and a lazuli bunting.”

“Well,” said the Audubon hobnobber, attempting to one-up my guide, “I saw a purple martin!”

Moser took us to see more birds at the Wood River Marsh, where a half-mile trail leads to classic wetland viewpoints, and to that short river’s headwaters at Jackson Kimball State Park, where spring water gushes from a lava outcropping.

Back at The Duck, he led us a couple of miles up a railroad track to see Indian pictographs on a rocky cliff. Archaeologists, exploring piles of shells and other remnants of ancient civilization, say American Indians have lived along the Williamson at least since about 200 A.D.

But our visit to the Lonesome Duck would not have been complete without a little paddling on the Williamson, a gently but persistently flowing stream. Hilbert, inevitably assisted by his frolicsome Lab, helped us carry a couple of kayaks down to the water, where we launched into the current.

A muskrat poked his head above the river as we headed upstream. Freshly cut cottonwoods along the water’s edge showed that a beaver had been recently active. A pair of bald eagles soared overhead.

We paddled upstream until a riffle virtually negated any progress we were making against the current, then let the current carry us back downstream to the resort. And my friend and I agreed: We’d be happy relaxing at The Duck anytime, fishing season or not.

The Hilberts have found a little piece of paradise on the Williamson River. Back at home in Oregon, these Ducks are lonesome no longer.

Visiting the Williamson River

EXPENSES (for two)

If you go

INFORMATION

LODGING

Next Week: Mount Rainier

Gas, 240 miles @ $4.10/gallon $39.36

Lodging (2 nights), Lonesome Duck $500

Groceries (6 meals) $101.38

TOTAL $640.74

Travel Klamath. 205 Riverside Drive, Klamath Falls; 541-882-1501, 800-445-6728, www.travelklamath.com

Lonesome Duck Ranch and Resort. 32955 N. Highway 97, Chiloquin; 541-783-2783, www.lonesomeduck.com. Rates from $250 May 20-Oct. 31 (half-price Nov. 1-May 19).