Where it Started



A last-minute phone call put me on the plane to Jackson Hole with three others.  A week of fly-fishing Idaho and most of Montana made it hard to say no. Being on the western waters in September is idyllic.  Water temperatures are cooling, river traffic is down, and fish are eating.  My companions had never been west, and they soon realized my familiarity with Wyoming, Idaho and Montana would be handy. They had organized the trip and our schedule stretched out over eight days to fish the major rivers.  Site visits were also on the agenda and our start was the observation of activity in Jackson and walking through the town’s main square through the elk antler arches.  As fisherman, a stop at Jack Dennis’ was mandatory, first to walk through the high price goods at the front of the store to find the fishing gear in the back.  None of us spent anything, maybe someone bought some tippet line.  We were relieved to make it back to the Suburban and make our way north in the Tetons. 

Rounding the bend north of the National Wildlife Gallery, and as many have done, they went silent seeing their first view of the Teton Range.  Slightly covered with snow from early September snow they were magnificent making their stretch to the North.  Stops were required to view Dead Man’s Bar on the Snake River and Jenny Lake.  At Jenny Lake we encountered a moose.  Rare to see midday, a crowd had gathered.  We quickly lost one of us and soon spotted him within 20 feet of the moose.  A cow was eating water grass and her behavior indicated she was accustomed to human presence.  The proximity of human to moose also alerted the nearby Park Service employee to take notice.  Quickly, gestures and discussion ensued, and our friend backtracked his way from the moose.  After a polite conversation with the ranger, he walked his way back to the SUV, with us laughing at full intensity.  For the remainder of the trip, we mentioned the encounter numerous times. 

We entered Yellowstone late in the afternoon, procured our National Park fishing licenses and drove our way up to Old Faithful.  Reservations for the night were at the cabins behind the Snow Lodge.  Stops along the way included West Thumb.  Steam rising from the geothermal pools was mesmerizing in the late afternoon sun.   Yellowstone Lake allowed time to stop, giving us the moments to absorb the mountains in the distance, the blue of the lake and the cloudless sky.  We stayed awhile, relaxing in the western view.  Yet it was getting late, and we had to move on.  We arrived at Old Faithful at dusk. 

Morning brought a quick wake-up, breakfast and travel to the Lamar Valley.  The Lamar is the West.  Green and wide, the valley holds the river as it flows south.  Bison in numbers roam here, grazing on the ample grass as they prepare for winter.  Herd sizes can reach 500-600, which on this day treated us to a run across the river.  It is a scene I shall never forget.  Bison moving to the water's edge, thrashing through the river and departing on the other side.  All of us were silent as we watched.  I have never seen anything like this again. 

Slough Creek holds some nice Cutthroat Trout which we all managed to catch.  Their blue green bodies with the familiar orange red slash impressed those who caught them for the first time.  While most ranged in the 9-to-11-inch range, a couple were caught reaching 16 inches.  Good size for a population that feeds on mayflies and baetis to survive the harsh winters.  Restless, we made our way back to the Lamar.  Productive sweeping bends were found to hold fish, again cutthroats.  Gravel bars and no willows choking the banks made our casting easy and efficient. 

The westerly sun told us it was time to exit and head back.  Yet the irresistibility of a few more casts stopped us at the Fire Hole River.  Again, success with some more cutthroats and discovery how the river gained its name.  Not uncommon as we waded the river were bubbles rising amongst our feet.  The bubbles revealed to us the underlying geothermal activity that composes the Park.   Magma near the surface and porous rhyolite combines to give us the creation we observed.  Many moments we just stood their observing the bubbles in both bewilderment and wondering what laid below.  This day was most memorable as we were given the sight to see things we had never seen before.

You exit the Park on the north side through Gardiner.  Hub and headquarters for National Park Service employees.  Roosevelt Arch stands there and is the same when the president arrived in 1904 after his private pullman coach was pulled down from Livingston.  On the back walk of the coach he gave his speech dedicating the park to the American public. 

However, we were not without delay.  Yellowstone is infamous for its wildlife traffic jams.  Bison, bears and elk typically cause the autos to stop and bunch up as people watch.  Today was different.  A wolf from one of the northern pacts had been spotted.  An event of this magnitude creates local hysteria and provides one the opportunity to see, perched on the side of the road, numerous one lense high powered viewing scopes.  We did see the wolf.  It was black and standing and sauntering on the side of a small hill parallel to the road.  A dusting of snow made it easier to distinguish the shape of the animal and observe.  To the naked eye the wolf was a small object, the observing scope brought the animal back to life like proportions. 

Chico Hot Springs was a welcome destination.  Tucked up against the Beartooth Mountains it is unique and still exhibits the rawness of Montana.  Early September requires that you wear your fleece jacket which joins you with the others who are walking in the large green lawn in front of the lodge.  Dogs are numerous, off leash and enjoying the cool air.  Coming into the lobby you are greeted with warmth by the large wood stove along the wall.  We have been booked in one of the fisherman cabins, which are just a short walk up the hill.  Main lodge rooms are trips into the past.  Rooms have a sink, and all rooms share baths located in the hallways.  In the summer when the evening temperatures are warm, you open the outside window and the hallway door to capture the cool breezes.   

Of course, the attraction at Chico is the hot springs.  Actually, the springs are a large pool divided into two segments.  The first pool receives hot water coming from the ground.  It empties into the larger cooler pool where most people soak.  Guests spend hours in the cooler pool, whereas the smaller hotter water requires discipline before overheating oneself.  Almost all of us have never been here and enjoy the extended soak and refreshments from the bar window as the sun drops and the evening comes to the mountains.  Consensus develops the water’s minerals are beneficial to easing the aches and pains of travel from the last few days.  Also, surprising is the lack of smell from sulfur dioxide normally associated with hot pools.  Each night, the pool is drained and refilled in the morning.  Such a procedure avoids the need for adding chlorine to the water, keeping the water in its natural state.   

The next day begins with a western-style all-you-can-eat breakfast in the main dining room.  A Chico tradition.  After multiple cups of coffee to clear our heads, we drive to the Yellowstone just below the Tom Miner drainage to meet our guides for the day.  As is tradition the early morning wind coming out of the park blowing down the river is with us.  So consistent, you can almost set your watch it.  As we depart the guides give us a quick lesson on how to slap cast so that we can manage the wind and yet try to hit drifts in the river holding fish.  Within the hour the wind is gone. 

Blue skies and moderate temperatures frame the valley for us.  Reaching up to our right are the Beartooth Mountains, with them golden leaves of cottonwood trees line the river as it winds its way through the expanse of the Paradise Valley.  Those with me are in awe of our surroundings and revere what has been put before us.  This is why they came to Montana.   

Lunch is at a picturesque spot amongst the cottonwoods.  Our guide has a foldable table which he untucks from the boat and lays a red gingham tablecloth over it.  Fancy attire for fisherman, but we welcome the break to sit down after standing most of the morning casting for trout.  Blue skies continue to entertain us with soft billowy clouds.  River traffic has been low, and we occasionally see others floating down river.  Peak season has passed and perhaps the upriver morning winds have discouraged boats from launching.  All the better for us to spend time casting along gravel bars which are synonymous with the Yellowstone.   Eddys created by the bars is where we cast and give us the most fish.  We catch primarily rainbows, which are beautiful in color and unmarked – a sign of river health river.  Whitefish also are caught, sometimes to the disdain of the catcher.  Yet these are native to the waters here and some reach an appreciable size of 13-14 inches.  On the line their dark backs first make one feel you have a rainbow but bringing them to the boat their dark tan underside gives them away.   

Our day on the Yellowstone has been productive and satisfying and we agree to do it again tomorrow.  The plan is to launch downriver from Livingston and float a stretch that doesn’t see too much traffic.  Risks include lesser fish, but if caught they are sizable.  Also, the terrain is different.  The river opens into a wide valley with a section including cliffs on the side bank.  Lack of cottonwoods can translate to higher surface temperatures, which on warmer days keeps the fish down.  Our discussions welcome the differences, confirming our decision on where to go tomorrow.  For the evening we head back to take a long soak in the hot springs water. 

As predicted, the second day on the Yellowstone brought bigger fish to the dry flies, but fewer.  A sizable brown was caught – nineteen inches.  At that length they show a butter yellow color on their undersides.  The cast was perfect over a small eddy created by a rock along the river's edge.  Large browns sip dry flies, and the take can sometimes be subtle enough to miss it.  At times the rationalization is you have snagged an underwater branch, but then the line starts to move.  In concert with the line moving, the fish realizes this food is different as it has resistance.  The ensuing action is what keeps one flyfishing.  It evolves into a drama where all your concentration is to keep the line tight to keep the fish on, while your corresponding partner is thinking differently.  Times occur where the fish releases and the line goes slack.  However, most often you have the opportunity to admire the fish in the net for a few seconds and then release them to where they belong.   

Ready to move on we head to the Gallatin Valley in search of our evening destination along the Upper Madison River.  You have two ways to make it to the Upper.  Drive through Norris and Ennis, finding places to fish along the Madison Valley or head down the Gallatin Valley.  Both are picturesque and different.  The Gallatin is a narrow valley with mountains creating a canyon for you to drive through hugging the river.  At points you are perplexed on how they got the river and road to coexist in the limited space available at the bottom of the canyon.  As you head to the upper part of the river, the valley opens past Taylor’s Fork.   

Madison Valley is the opposite.  It is broad and expansive allowing the river to hide from you behind earthen benches that run alongside the river.  At other moments you are above the river, and it displays to you its full characteristic of being one long rifle.  Shallow with flow constantly moving over the rounded rocks that make up the bottom of the Madison, the river never gets any rest.  Stretches of calm water exist more towards Ennis, but the restful nature is limited as the shallow river bottom comes up to greet the water creating the infamous riffles.  Fascinating to ones understanding is the productiveness of the river for fish.  Famously boasting 5,000 fish per mile, fish find their existence behind the many mini structures created by the round rock bottom.  With the fish many drift boats come down river.  Often, they resemble a freight train with one boat right after another.   

Our route of choice is down the Gallatin Valley, our target is the cliffs section above Taylors Fork.  We are awarded by minimal others fishing the river.  Coming out of the Park, the water is cold which is beneficial for trout as colder water holds more oxygen.  Nymphing with a long drop becomes the choice to catch fish.  The long drop allows the nymph to bounce among the rocks as it travels with the flow, thereby allowing it to find feeding fish holding in mini depressions along the bottom.  While not large, the fish are wild and fight tremendously for release once they have taken the artificial bug.  We reward their freedom by releasing them from the net.

Enjoying the afternoon, the sun shines brighter on the opposite bank as it makes its way west.  Then they go dark as the mountain blocks the sun, telling us it is time to move on to find our destination before nightfall.   

Just below Quake Lake, we stay at the Slide Inn for the next two days.  One conjures up images of events that transpired here in the summer of 1959, when an earthquake triggered half a mountain side to release and travel into the river valley above us.  Where there was no lake, there became one and the final resting place for 28 people, some entire families.  A reverence comes over you the first time you see the lake with its many dead snags penetrating up out of the river.  Careful observation provides you the opportunity to make out the Madison River where it once flowed between the trees along the bank which still stand.  Old roads, which appear ready for travel disappear into the water.  Subsiding and upthrust of the earth's surface have made their marks here and will remain until disturbed again. 

New to us when we hit the river the next morning is streamer fishing from the drift boats.  Cast and strip, cast and strip become the motion of the day.  The reward for our efforts is larger fish.  Some reach the 20-inch mark.  Brown trout dominate the catch, and the large ones exhibit the behavior we have seen before.  The bait is taken causing the line to stop. It then begins to move, signaling to our brains we have a fish on the line.  Bigger fish taunt us by holding onto the bottom telling us through their non-motion, you will have to come to me, I am not coming to you.  Our guides facilitate the request by maneuvering the boat to bring us closer and giving us the leverage in our rods to bring them to the boat.  They are spectacular when brought to the net and exhibit the wildness that is indicative of the health of the river. 

Experiencing the Madison Valley is unique from the river.  On the river, one appreciates the valley's expanse as it stretches up the mountains to the horizon.  Much of the expanse is treeless, the terrain is a mix of low grass, sage and scattered round rocks.  No trees add to the expanse allowing your line of sight to be unobstructed.  At lunch, the sun, warm temperatures and grass give us the opportunity to catch a quick nap and rest one's casting arm after the morning workout.  Afternoon will bring the same, more casting, more stripping of line and some nice size browns.  We mark this as one of our better days on the river.   

Evening affords some rest, and we head to a local restaurant overlooking Hebgen Lake.  Arriving late we are the only ones there and fortunately the cook says they are still open.  Seated at the window the western sun showcases the blue of the lake and the surrounding green mountains.  Dashes of yellow appear on the hillsides as aspen trees start to turn their fall colors.  These moments allow us to recount the day's activities, the fish caught and the ones that released off the line.  Our talk also recollects the streamers cast and the names which are unique and entertaining.  Boogie Man, Flat Head Kitty, Heifer Groomer, Sex Dungeon, Peanut Envy are a few of the names rattled off by the guides as they tie and switch out streamers.  They comment color makes a makes a difference to attracting fish, and while one day yellow may work it doesn’t mean it will work the next day.  Therefore, the early part of the day can be spent dialing in the color and pattern that will catch fish.  Once derived, all of us quickly switch to the streamer that is working.  Slight variations may be used, which sometimes allows more fish to be caught.   

A member of our group drifts into silence looking out to the lake.  Our conversation goes quiet, and he begins to speak about his wife who is dying from cancer.  We know this, but the gravity of what she is facing, and what he’s experiencing comes to us.  Perhaps our week of being together, sharing laughter, the scenery and the openness has also brought him to sharing life.  The decisions to questions unknown, the hours to be spent with nurses and doctors, and death lay in front of them. Hope for a cure is not in our thoughts - we offer support to them, promises of faith and our prayers.  These moments sear into one's memory. You can recount every moment, the words said and questions with no answers.    Everything goes away and the moment surrounds you.   The lake, the mountains become part of everything heard and unheard.  Silence ends the listening we have given him, and walk out without words.   

Island Park, Idaho is a recreation destination.  It sits on a high plateau in the northeast corner of the state.  Henry’s Lake attracts boaters and water skiers for most of the season, with snowmobilers taking over during winter months.  Horseback riding is popular.  Hunting season brings troves of people to the area with their large game permits.  And fishing whether on the lakes during the summer or ice fishing in the winter creates activity year-round. 

We are here to fish the Box.  Box Canyon is just below the dam holding Henry’s Lake and is the start of the Henry’s Fork River.  The famously named section of the river known as the Ranch is down river from us.  Slow, still water with large trout makes the Ranch section popular and difficult to catch the big Browns and Rainbows.  The section challenges your casting ability as you must be perfect in having your artificial fly land on the water's surface, while minimally disturbing the transparent surface with tippet and leader.  Anything to the contrary will spook the fish.   

Recognizing we are novice to intermediate skilled anglers we elect to fish Box Canyon.  Full of riffles rocks and snags this section of river holds nice size fish as the water tumbles out from beneath the dam.  Short in length, guides will typically run you through twice.  Our first run is spent moving though pockets and holes of water that hold fish.  We are rewarded with vibrant colored rainbows on the upper section that speak to the health and vitality of the river.  As you leave the green sided canyon the water flattens, and brown trout predominate.  During our first run a couple of 20-inch brown trout are caught.  Their take of the dry fly is subtle, yet they exhibit the behavior of large fish by going to the bottom of the river and staying there not wanting to give up their protective hole.  Once you have decided you are not snagged on river grass the dance begins as you keep your rod tip bent and line tight to bring them to the boat. 

A pause is taken to have lunch in the canyon before our second run.  Our guide is new and young.  Being twenty-three years old lets our imaginations wander with a lot of questions.    A former lacrosse player in college, he has the build and strength to handle a guide boat for the lengthy season.  His intent is clear, and his plan well thought out that after obtaining his obligatory college degree he would go west and as he said live the dream.  Classmates have followed the typical business school pattern of launching careers in accounting, finance or consulting.  Yet office walls were never the goal of our guide.  He wanders at times with the thought he will someday return to what is expected of him, but the openness of his voice tells us no.   A local girl has also been found and they see each other regularly.  In later years we find out they are married. 

Wanderlust permeates the west.  Some individuals take it to the extreme of going to a cabin near Lincoln, Montana or Yaak and minimize their interaction with others.  Most come to the west for the openness and the adventure.  They drift through the sport seasons by working as guides in the summer, at the dude ranches as wranglers, then heading to ski resorts to help with mountain operations or tend bar.  Resourcefulness is needed to survive financially, which for many is part of the adventure.  The good paying jobs are in Jackson Hole and Bozeman, yet that is countered by the high cost of living.  If they settle in one of these areas, typical work schedules include 2-3 jobs to make the money needed to stay.  While some wander into their late 50’s and mid 60’s, sometimes older, most exit in their 30’s.  They have seen a number of places during their seasonal travels and become attached to a place offering the activities they desire and where friends made over the years are nearby.  As ambassadors of their lifestyle, friends and other family members sometimes follow.  Divorced parents follow them to the western towns, providing a respite to escape and start over.  Friends show up and sleep on couches for a couple of months until they too get hooked on the lifestyle.  Some return to the east.  Yet, for those that return they cycle back to do it again.  Determination drives them and they find a way to make it work.  For all, they mix into the towns and soon create the fabric that typifies the western spirit. 

Done with our time together, we go to Jackson to board an airplane for home.  Taking the less travelled side we travel through the potato growing areas of Idaho on the west side of the Tetons.  They are visible as we travel through Ashton and Victor and make our way down to Driggs, Idaho.  The roads are empty, rain and drizzle consume the day.  Maybe it is fitting to tell us it is time to go.  We make the final turn south of Jackson to head back through town.  Soon the airport is in sight, home awaits. 

 

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First Time to the West Fork