Somehow or another I had persuaded my employer to provide a sabbatical at ten years. Of course, I do enjoy my job, but when offered three weeks paid I wasn't foolish enough to say no.
And I made the most of it - A, E, and I spent several days at the beach, kicked around Pendleton and hitting the Round Up with my folks, and then to wrap it up spent an entire week living out of the pickup trout bumming with Doug.
Doug flew into Boise Sunday, I picked him up and we were on our way. Some water was to be familiar to us, some new to me, some not seen by Doug in decades.
The afternoon was clear and warm when we rolled into Silver Creek. We pumped up the tubes and floated the "s" curves, grinning like school kids as the trout hit the surface chasing mayflies.
Doug tubing Silver Creek
Monday, we woke to a frosty Idaho September morning and headed east. We rolled into Last Chance, booked our shuttle, and set in at the top of Box Canyon on the Henry's Fork.
Unfortunately, the powers that be had just dropped the river from 750 CFS to 550 CFS, and while we caught plenty of smaller trout we didn't see the big boys we came for. Rather than calling it a total waste, we lit cigars, popped a few beers and cracked ourselves up chatting with the guides and sports sharing the river with us.
Doug nymphing "The Box"
We spent the evening at the TroutHunter bar in Last Chance, stuffing ourselves and getting warmed up for a cool night on the Buffalo River, a tributary of the Henry's Fork. When finally rolling into the sack, we were treated with wolves howling...one of the most eerie yet wonderful sounds I've ever heard.
Tuesday, we checked our bits and pieces to insure the wolves hadn't devoured us, packed the rig and busted out to the Madison. We had intended to hit the Warm River to Ashton stretch of the Henry's Fork, but with the water levels dropping we thought we'd have better odds at big brownies on the Madison.
Last year at this time, the Madison was a boulder field. We literally banged the boat the entire 16 river miles. The year, however, the river was running higher and the fishing was good.
Doug working a seam on the Madison
A beautiful Madison River rainbow
Clouds rolling on the Madison
Tuesday night we were wiped - the Madison wears you out, and an entire day splitting duty working the sticks will cause you to turn in early. We camped just above Earthquake Lake, and were treated to bull elk bugling at last light. I was awakened, though, around 3 AM by something rather large "sniffing" around my tent. Now, I am choosing to believe it was a bear attracted by my rather rancid pepperoni breath, but given that I wasn't able to find any prints the next morning I'll have to just speculate.
Wednesday morning we busted camp and headed south into Yellowstone. The weather was warm and overcast, and while we were excited to wet a line the park always makes for amazing scenery and is a perfect place to bum around.
Gibbon Falls
The view from atop the drive between Canyon Village and Tower Falls
Throughout the drive we were treated to amazing scenery and wildlife - bear, moose, elk, and of course buffalo.
Buffalo along the Lamar River
One of our goals was to land the only native trout in the park, the Yellowstone Cutthroat. Most of the rivers had been stocked with browns and rainbows, but some of the upper tributaries held these elusive trout.
We camped at the Slough Creek campground, just above where Slough Creek meets the Lamar River. Slough Creek had been blocked by a large rock slide years ago, and this had prevented the introduced trout from migrating upstream and provided the Yellowstone cutt's a safe haven.
Rock slide on Slough Creek
The route we chose to hike in was, to be understated, strenuous. We had to pick our way along the boulders, scrambling up while wearing waders and carrying our rods. However, the meadow was certainly worth it.
Doug hiking into the meadow at Slough Creek
The fishing was amazing - sight casting to 16 inch cutt's, pouring through the fly box until a winner was found.
Doug wrestling with a fiesty Yellowstone Cutthroat
Beautiful native trout
Release
On the hike out, we passed a wolf kill. Judging by the size of the rack, this had been an enormous bull. For whatever reason, call it trout bum fever, I was convinced I needed to strap the rack on the front of the drift boat, but fortunately Doug persuaded me otherwise.
The next morning we spoke with a few folks standing beside two foot spotting scopes watching a wolf pack meander along the hillside above camp.
Wolf kill!
We made our way west, through Mammoth and then down through the upper rim of the caldera before cruising into the Firehole basin. While the Firehole holds smaller fish, the scenery alone is worth the price of admission.
The cloud cover had been heavy, and after an hour or so of fishing we were treated with a surreal snow fall on the river. It only lasted a half hour to forty five minutes, but was amazing to be out in.
Snowfall on the Firehole
Looking for the size 22's
Friday morning we busted out of West Yellowstone and headed west towards Last Chance; our intent had been to float the Box Canyon again, but when we learned that the river had again dropped to 450 CFS we opted instead to play around at the Harriman Ranch section of the Henry's Fork and then move on to Silver Creek.
Doug casting to a pod of enormous rolling rainbows
The bugs were thick at Silver Creek, with a light cloud cover and warm temps bringing the trout to the surface. We threw baetis and callibaetis dries for the afternoon before swapping the light rods for 6 weights and streamers.
Afternoon on Silver Creek
We proceeded to work the water around camp, Doug working downstream me working up. All I managed to catch was the ire of a family of beavers, scaring the bejesus out of me with tremendous tall "slaps" about every five minutes. Doug, however, landed an honest 22" brown, and then capped that with a brown just a few inches shorter.
That night was cold - the clouds had rolled on, and we were treated to clear skies and shooting stars.
Of course, the temps Saturday morning hovered in the mid to upper teens, which made the debate to crawl out of the sleeping bag at first light and swing for brownies a tough one.
We again pumped up the tubes and floated the "s" curves; however, with the sun shining and the temps rocketing, the bugs didn't cooperate and surface action was sporadic at best. We hunkered down and waited to see if anything came off...
Waiting for the hatch
Around 2 PM, we packed it in and broke down our gear. Someday's, it just doesn't happen...
I dropped Doug off in Boise Saturday afternoon and headed back to the ranch north of Pendleton. Had a wonderful home cooked meal, took a shower, and then busted back down the Gorge to meet A and E. By the time I rolled into the driveway, I'd logged over 2,000 miles in just over a week, and I was excited to see the girls.
scott
And I made the most of it - A, E, and I spent several days at the beach, kicked around Pendleton and hitting the Round Up with my folks, and then to wrap it up spent an entire week living out of the pickup trout bumming with Doug.
Doug flew into Boise Sunday, I picked him up and we were on our way. Some water was to be familiar to us, some new to me, some not seen by Doug in decades.
The afternoon was clear and warm when we rolled into Silver Creek. We pumped up the tubes and floated the "s" curves, grinning like school kids as the trout hit the surface chasing mayflies.
Doug tubing Silver Creek
Monday, we woke to a frosty Idaho September morning and headed east. We rolled into Last Chance, booked our shuttle, and set in at the top of Box Canyon on the Henry's Fork.
Unfortunately, the powers that be had just dropped the river from 750 CFS to 550 CFS, and while we caught plenty of smaller trout we didn't see the big boys we came for. Rather than calling it a total waste, we lit cigars, popped a few beers and cracked ourselves up chatting with the guides and sports sharing the river with us.
Doug nymphing "The Box"
We spent the evening at the TroutHunter bar in Last Chance, stuffing ourselves and getting warmed up for a cool night on the Buffalo River, a tributary of the Henry's Fork. When finally rolling into the sack, we were treated with wolves howling...one of the most eerie yet wonderful sounds I've ever heard.
Tuesday, we checked our bits and pieces to insure the wolves hadn't devoured us, packed the rig and busted out to the Madison. We had intended to hit the Warm River to Ashton stretch of the Henry's Fork, but with the water levels dropping we thought we'd have better odds at big brownies on the Madison.
Last year at this time, the Madison was a boulder field. We literally banged the boat the entire 16 river miles. The year, however, the river was running higher and the fishing was good.
Doug working a seam on the Madison
A beautiful Madison River rainbow
Clouds rolling on the Madison
Tuesday night we were wiped - the Madison wears you out, and an entire day splitting duty working the sticks will cause you to turn in early. We camped just above Earthquake Lake, and were treated to bull elk bugling at last light. I was awakened, though, around 3 AM by something rather large "sniffing" around my tent. Now, I am choosing to believe it was a bear attracted by my rather rancid pepperoni breath, but given that I wasn't able to find any prints the next morning I'll have to just speculate.
Wednesday morning we busted camp and headed south into Yellowstone. The weather was warm and overcast, and while we were excited to wet a line the park always makes for amazing scenery and is a perfect place to bum around.
Gibbon Falls
The view from atop the drive between Canyon Village and Tower Falls
Throughout the drive we were treated to amazing scenery and wildlife - bear, moose, elk, and of course buffalo.
Buffalo along the Lamar River
One of our goals was to land the only native trout in the park, the Yellowstone Cutthroat. Most of the rivers had been stocked with browns and rainbows, but some of the upper tributaries held these elusive trout.
We camped at the Slough Creek campground, just above where Slough Creek meets the Lamar River. Slough Creek had been blocked by a large rock slide years ago, and this had prevented the introduced trout from migrating upstream and provided the Yellowstone cutt's a safe haven.
Rock slide on Slough Creek
The route we chose to hike in was, to be understated, strenuous. We had to pick our way along the boulders, scrambling up while wearing waders and carrying our rods. However, the meadow was certainly worth it.
Doug hiking into the meadow at Slough Creek
The fishing was amazing - sight casting to 16 inch cutt's, pouring through the fly box until a winner was found.
Doug wrestling with a fiesty Yellowstone Cutthroat
Beautiful native trout
Release
On the hike out, we passed a wolf kill. Judging by the size of the rack, this had been an enormous bull. For whatever reason, call it trout bum fever, I was convinced I needed to strap the rack on the front of the drift boat, but fortunately Doug persuaded me otherwise.
The next morning we spoke with a few folks standing beside two foot spotting scopes watching a wolf pack meander along the hillside above camp.
Wolf kill!
We made our way west, through Mammoth and then down through the upper rim of the caldera before cruising into the Firehole basin. While the Firehole holds smaller fish, the scenery alone is worth the price of admission.
The cloud cover had been heavy, and after an hour or so of fishing we were treated with a surreal snow fall on the river. It only lasted a half hour to forty five minutes, but was amazing to be out in.
Snowfall on the Firehole
Looking for the size 22's
Friday morning we busted out of West Yellowstone and headed west towards Last Chance; our intent had been to float the Box Canyon again, but when we learned that the river had again dropped to 450 CFS we opted instead to play around at the Harriman Ranch section of the Henry's Fork and then move on to Silver Creek.
Doug casting to a pod of enormous rolling rainbows
The bugs were thick at Silver Creek, with a light cloud cover and warm temps bringing the trout to the surface. We threw baetis and callibaetis dries for the afternoon before swapping the light rods for 6 weights and streamers.
Afternoon on Silver Creek
We proceeded to work the water around camp, Doug working downstream me working up. All I managed to catch was the ire of a family of beavers, scaring the bejesus out of me with tremendous tall "slaps" about every five minutes. Doug, however, landed an honest 22" brown, and then capped that with a brown just a few inches shorter.
That night was cold - the clouds had rolled on, and we were treated to clear skies and shooting stars.
Of course, the temps Saturday morning hovered in the mid to upper teens, which made the debate to crawl out of the sleeping bag at first light and swing for brownies a tough one.
We again pumped up the tubes and floated the "s" curves; however, with the sun shining and the temps rocketing, the bugs didn't cooperate and surface action was sporadic at best. We hunkered down and waited to see if anything came off...
Waiting for the hatch
Around 2 PM, we packed it in and broke down our gear. Someday's, it just doesn't happen...
I dropped Doug off in Boise Saturday afternoon and headed back to the ranch north of Pendleton. Had a wonderful home cooked meal, took a shower, and then busted back down the Gorge to meet A and E. By the time I rolled into the driveway, I'd logged over 2,000 miles in just over a week, and I was excited to see the girls.
scott