Trip Report to Yellowstone and Henry’s Fork of the Snake River
I am new to fly fishing. Last summer in Washington was my first foray. To say I was naïve would be an understatement. On that trip I had no concept of mending or dead drift.
My next excursion, also last summer, was to the Lower Mountain Fork River, with 87Flyfisher acting as guide. I learned what a dead drift is, and how to fish with nymphs. This trip is the backbone of my fly fishing education to date. Not long after, I made a second trip to the LMFR with equal or better success, as a result of what I learned from 87Flyfisher. I had intended to make additional trips, but my fly fishing buddy has had health issues and I didn’t feel like going solo.
So now we arrive to this summer, my fourth trout fly fishing excursion, in Yellowstone National Park and in the environs of Island Park, Idaho, through which Henry’s Fork of the Snake River passes. This was not a well-planned trip on my part. The fly fishing would have to take a back seat to family obligations given the kids and the in-laws (their cabin). The Outdoor Board was of course helpful in providing suggestions.
We arrived in Island Park Wednesday before last. Thursday was spent seeing the usual things with the family (Old Faithful, etc.). Friday was my first chance to fish. The first big blow was finding out about the closure of some of the major rivers in Yellowstone, due to poor flows and high temperatures (Gibbon, Madison, Firehole). Of course, these are the rivers best accessed from the West Yellowstone entrance, which was how I was entering the park. Based on 87flyfisher’s suggestion, as well as my guidebook suggesting it as an “easy” place to catch fish, I decided to start with Joffe Lake near Mammoth Springs. It’s nestled behind park ranger housing and storage facilities. Very small and in an idyllic setting. I saw the occasional rise in the lake, so my hopes were up. A tiny stream entered the lake on the far side, and a park employee eating lunch on the road told me it was deeper over there with better fishing. I made the trek to the other side, got settled in and entered the water. There were numerous aquatic plants and the first surprise was the muck. It was like walking in soft playdough. I was sinking with every step. It took great effort just to move 30 feet into the lake. The rises were there, not numerous, but there. I started with a parachute adams style dry fly. And not long after was rewarded with the first brook trout of my life. And then the second. The idea of continuing to stand in this muck and continue to catch the occasional small brook trout lost its appeal and I wanted to get on moving water. After one more family foray at Mammoth, I was on my own again.
First Brook Trout (Joffe Lake)
Second Brook Trout (Joffe Lake)
The Gardner River, in part, stands next to the highway. My first exit was at a campground, but the presence of another fly fisher plus the idea that it might be fished out next to this easy access led me further south. I parked at a small pullout and decided to head out. This was the first area where I felt that I had to be somewhat concerned with bears. I had my bear bell, my bear spray, and some backup insurance as well. I wasn’t scared. I was merely on my guard and trying to be aware as I moved out through the trees and grass to the river. A quick look in the river revealed some likely holes, but I did not see any fish nor any rises. After I geared up and got in the river I realized I was missing two of my tippet spools that had fallen off the main spool holder. Annoyed. But for better or worse, I just happened to be carrying about eight extra spools in my vest (I could outfit a small expedition with the contents of my vest). First attempts yielded nothing. There was no action on the water. And no fish visible, despite the clear water. I was aware that the fish might be easily spooked. As I moved upriver, I noticed that I was not the only person who had been here. Footprints were visible on the bank. I had to be careful as I walked along the river, as there were small side channels that were essentially large sink holes. I almost fell in a few as I didn’t watch my feet and scanned the river. I had no luck whatsoever on the river, but it was a beautiful setting. No rises, no strikes, no fish visibly seen.
Gardner River
Gardner River
I could see dark clouds rolling in from the west. But I thought I had just seen a couple of rises in the first bend, so I continued casting. It was well into dusk and as a few drops started falling I decided to pack it in and make the long drive back to Island Park. By the time I reached the car, I was in the middle of the heaviest rainfall I had experienced in years. If it had not been for my wide-brimmed hat creating an air pocket, I might have drowned.
I decided on Saturday to try Henry’s Fork of the Snake River. The cabin was just a mile or less away from the river, and I did not want to finish the trip without saying I had wet my line on this river. My father-in-law, the occasional worm fisher, mentioned he had had success on the river in an area next to the Upper Coffeepot campground. We all drove together there so my father-in-law could show me the place and his favorite hole (which was occupied by a worm fisher). Then the family took off leaving me to my lonesome. By the time I got on the river it was nearly noon. The river was beautiful. Very wide, shallow and clear. Rises frequent enough to entertain using dry flies. The Orvis web report had suggested caddis flies among others, so I started with that. I remember getting a couple of strikes, but did not have a fish on the line. I switched to a parachute adams without success. Seeing a few white flies on the water that looked like PMDs I switched to a PMD. I had a strike again, but no success after a time. Meanwhile, a young couple with children fishing with worms were bringing in trout every other cast. After a time we struck up a conversation. “I don’t have the patience to do what you do,” he said. “I used to have a fly fishing setup, but I got rid of it and sold it. I just like to catch fish. And my family likes to eat them.” These are trying moments for the inexperienced fly angler such as myself. To be confronted by the apostates of fly fishing, bringing in fish after fish, while I try and take solace from the very rare (missed) strike. But faith, and the undying arrogance that must reside in at least small quantities in every fly fisherman carried me forward. If I would catch any fish, it would be with flies. Not bobber and worm.
Henry’s Fork, downstream view from Upper Coffepot
I asked my father-in-law if he could see fish in the water when he fished. No, he said. And I didn’t see any either. But as I stood in the river, messing with tippet and knots, my eyes adjusted. And I saw that there were fish in the water everywhere. I was literally surrounded on all sides. This helped with my confidence. I was not failing due to lack of fish, I was failing due to inadequacy of presentation. If I could just improve my presentation, I was sure I could catch fish.
Looking down into the water on Henry’s Fork
I switched back to an elk hair caddis. At about 2:15pm, after about 2 hours in the water, I brought in my very first fish on Henry’s Fork. A Rainbow. Which was followed by a second rainbow, also on a dry fly.
First Trout on Henry’s Fork
Second Trout on Henry’s Fork
Same Second Trout on Henry’s Fork (underwater shot)
I had listened to some fifteen episodes of Tom Rosenbauer’s Orvis podcast on the way up to Idaho. I had also read much of his beginning fly fishing book. He talks a lot about the different strategies in approaching fish, i.e. downstream, upstream, cross-stream. I found that my best success was a quartering downstream presentation. No doubt because I was getting the best dead drift with this approach, and minimal slack in the line allowing me to set the hook.
One of the highlights of the day was seeing an osprey crash into the water and emerge with a trout in his claws. A bit later I saw several pelicans in the water.
Pelicans on Henry’s Fork
The fish stopped rising and I moved down the river. There was a long shallow stretch without many fish that I could see. A young couple that had been fly fishing near me earlier in the day were walking up the riverbank trail on their way home and I asked how they had done. The man had been teaching the woman the finer points, and she was not an uncomely lass. “There were some good holes down there with fish,” he said. A generic non-answer. Maybe he didn’t appreciate the buff-look I had gone to under the beating sun. “The big fish are feeding on wet flies. Like wooly buggers.” Ok, I can work with that.
At the next bend in the river I attached a wooly bugger. A fly that I had never caught a trout on before. Should I weight it with split shot? Attach an indicator? Variations of this were not successful on the water. Nor was a hopper dropper earlier in the day. I decided to go to the setup that 87Flyfisher had taught me on the Lower Mountain Fork. Double nymph (hare bead and green copper john in this case) with split shot and indicator. At the evening hole on the Mountain Fork, 87Flyfisher had taught me, as the very first thing, and downstream presentation where the fly is drifted in the same line as the body using extension of the arm and lowering of the pole to ensure a dead drift while keeping minimal slack on the water. Maybe that would work here. Sure enough it did. I caught several rainbows in that bend using this technique including the biggest one of the day which was about 13 inches. In total I brought about six rainbows to net, and hooked another four or five that got off before being netted. All were released.
Rainbow Caught With 87flyfisher’s downstream technique
Biggest Rainbow I caught on Henry’s Fork
The “next bend” on Henry’s Fork
A view of the water on Henry’s Fork
Sunday was a break from fishing and spent time with the family. In the afternoon we went to Big Springs, which is one of the major springs that forms Henry’s Fork. The spring water emerges from the side of the mountain, and usually there are some very large rainbows living in the nearby pool. Fishing is prohibited and people often feed the fish with food from a 25 cent dispenser. The fish were few this time and hiding under the bridge. Two moose were seen however. A very pretty place.
A view of Big Springs, one of the springs that forms headwaters for Henry’s Fork
A Big Rainbow Hanging Out Under the Bridge at Big Springs
Monday would be my last day on Henry’s Fork. I returned to the same place with the intention of bringing some fish home for supper. At about eight in the morning, I was the only one on the river. It took some time, but with the double nymph setup I had success, casting at some distance at a downstream quartering approach.
Rainbow Caught on Double Nymph Rig
Later in the day I was joined by a worm fisherman and a fly fisher. The worm fisherman told me he had been fishing on the river for 17 years. And that this was one of the best holes around. By “holes” I took him to mean “spot.” Although marginally deeper than some spots, the water wasn’t even to my waist in the deepest area. Like the worm fisher the day before, he told me that he used to fly fish, but that he likes to catch fish and his children like to eat them. Does every worm fisherman feel like he has to justify himself to a fly fisherman? Does this stem from some kind of feeling of inferiority? I don’t care if he likes fishing with bait. Just because I am fly fishing doesn’t mean I don’t like to catch and eat fish too. But he was nice, and I kept my thoughts to myself.
The other fly fisher and I struck up a conversation as well. He was using a dry fly, with little success at the moment. I explained that I had been doing well nymphing. He explained that he was visiting from Utah and typically fished the Provo River. I showed him my setup since he had inquired. “Nymphing is kind of frowned on around here.” Hmm, I wasn’t sure how to take that. He said it matter-of-factly. I took it to mean that he didn’t care if I nymphed, but others might think it lame. Whatever. The way he asked about my nymphing rig made me think that he might not be that experienced using nymphs. I asked him as such, and he said “All I do on the Provo River is nymph.” He was using a PMD but said he was getting no strikes. I told him I had had some success with elk hair caddis. He switched to that a bit later, going up and down the little stretch. A couple of strikes but not much. Maybe feeling a little sheepish for using nymphs while there were some rises on the water, I explained that I was too lazy to want to give up my nymph rig after the trouble of getting it set up. “I’m the same way,” he said. After some more time and no fish, he announced that he was leaving for Henry’s Lake. Because he had access to his in-law’s boat. Big fish. Going to use worms. “Good luck,” I said. Another apostate.
I had created a terrific wind knot in my nymphing rig, so I took a break on the bank to eat lunch and repair it. I cut it above the knot and added 2x, 3x, and 4x tippet. Double nymph rig with a thingamabobber indicator and split shot weight. After all this work and getting back on the water, I began fishing. And wouldn’t you know it, the fish started rising. I kept nymphing. But the rises were persistent and increasing. It was getting ridiculous. An elderly couple walking on the trail stopped and commented on it. The river was raining from upside down. I cut off my nymphing rig and went to the elk hair caddis. And I’ll be darned if I didn’t have just a great time catching fish on my dry fly in the middle of the day. It is great, great fun to make a decent cast and see a fish chomp your fly, set the hook and battle him in. Most of the fish were pretty small, so no danger of breaking your tippet. But still just wonderful fun. Since my first evening on the Lewis River last summer in Washington, my two days on the Henry have been the only time I have seen rises and dry fly fished. During one stretch I caught three brookies in a row on the dry fly. I was surprised as I didn’t expect there to be many brookies in there, but further reading confirms that for whatever reason brook trout are not uncommon in this stretch during the summer.
Rainbow on an Elk Hair Caddis
Brook Trout on Elk Hair Caddis
Brook Trout on Elk Hair Caddis
Brook Trout on Elk Hair Caddis
Having limited (6) and released maybe a dozen or more fish I headed back to the cabin for a break. I decided to go to the rapids past the Upper Coffeepot in the later afternoon. It was a much longer walk than I anticipated. When I got there, I was kinda beat and decided that with my very limited time, maybe I would be better served by trying to get to the river below the Island Park Dam where all the fish are wild.
Rapids on Henry’s Fork Downstream from the Upper Coffeepot
Maybe about 15 miles south I put in Henry’s Fork near the highway. It was part of Harriman State Park. It was close to dusk. The water looked darker here. Seeing no rises, I put on a double nymph rig. The vegetation underwater was very intense. Every other time my nymphs would catch on moss and plants and it became apparent that nymphing was not going to work in this stretch. I switched to the elk hair caddis despite the rises. By this time, it was getting darker and the insects were thick on the water. There were tan flies that must have been caddis everywhere. And other flies as well. I have never been around such intense insect activity on any water. And not a single rise anywhere. I cast up from the bridge and at the bridge. I think there are times that you know you won’t catch anything, but you just do it because you can. Enjoy yourself in the water, take it all in. I met a couple of beginning fly fishermen there and they said they had been to the Worm River, some 25 miles away a day earlier and caught some small fish, including many small browns. The light was fading and it was time to go. The air became thick with smoke. To the point that I began coughing. Smoke was coming in intensely from the fires in the west.
View downstream Henry’s Fork at Harriman State Park near highway
View upstream Henry’s Fork at Harriman State Park near highway
The next part of my journey took me to Star Valley in southwestern Wyoming. My first memory of trout fishing was with my grandfather on Spring Creek when I was ten years old, fishing with worms. I didn’t catch, but he did. And then when I was about 13, fishing with my father on Crow Creek, drifting grasshoppers into a deep hole. Not fly fishing, but close to it. Both of these creeks flow into the Salt River. I didn’t get to fish due to family obligations, but I did check out a small stretch of Crow Creek for old time’s sake. I would have loved to have spent some time on the creeks there going after the wild trout.
Crow Creek
Crow Creek
Crow Creek
In less than 3 days fishing, I barely scratched the surface on the fly fishing opportunities in this part of the country. I would have loved to have spent more time in Yellowstone, but it wasn’t convenient given my limited time. And I feel like I could have fished for 30 days straight on Henry’s Fork and never run out of interesting water. I barely scratched the surface there. And without a doubt, the area that I fished was ideal for a beginning fly fisherman such as myself. Shallow clear water with plenty of space for casting. Little in the way of needing to read the water.
After we got back home to Texas, my mother-in-law, speaking to my wife (unknowingly on speakerphone), was deeply critical about my fishing. She said I spent too much money on equipment (I have 3 rods, 3 reels, waders, shoes, vest, net, etc.). They were “shocked.” She said that I had an “addiction” and that my wife needed to “stand up for yourself.” This pissed me off. But now the fires have cooled to embers, I can analyze this issue. I’ve probably spent $1000 on fly fishing gear. I know to some that is a lot of money . It can be done for cheaper, but regardless, it still costs something (for some it is much, much more expensive). But why do it at all? I went to church on Sunday at Island Park, and the lady giving the sermon said that her grandmother who was driving past a jogger had stopped her car, rolled down the window and said to the jogger, “you know, if you would put in a honest days work, you wouldn’t have to do that.” To some, the idea of recreation and putting resources into that will always be foreign. But sometimes recreation teaches us things that we may otherwise have difficultly learning. For example, having a goal, striving to reach that goal, and achieving that goal. I started on Texags last year, with the idea that I wanted to fly fish. I didn’t have anyone to teach me. That first fish on the Lewis River--it will probably be a long time before I experience exhilaration and excitement like that again. Because I had achieved my goal of catching a fish on the fly. The beauty of nature, of land and water and creature. Cold water. Clean wind. Tying knots, crimping barbs, untangling wind knots. Quiet. The physicality of movement, of the line flying. A perfect cast rewarded with a strike. I don’t want to oversell it, but there is something redemptive in this kind of thing. It’s like railroad tracks in our DNA, when we connect to the earth, the locomotive starts moving and the churn and motion stirs us in ways that our ancestors have been stirred for millennia. I could never explain this to my mother-in-law, because she would never understand it. And that makes me sad. But my children will understand it, if they give it half a chance. And that will be a gift.
So with that, I would like to thank you for reading and also thank the Outdoor Board for its mentorship and helping me be able to pass this on to others, God willing.
[This message has been edited by shiftyandquick (edited 8/20/2012 5:15p).]
I am new to fly fishing. Last summer in Washington was my first foray. To say I was naïve would be an understatement. On that trip I had no concept of mending or dead drift.
My next excursion, also last summer, was to the Lower Mountain Fork River, with 87Flyfisher acting as guide. I learned what a dead drift is, and how to fish with nymphs. This trip is the backbone of my fly fishing education to date. Not long after, I made a second trip to the LMFR with equal or better success, as a result of what I learned from 87Flyfisher. I had intended to make additional trips, but my fly fishing buddy has had health issues and I didn’t feel like going solo.
So now we arrive to this summer, my fourth trout fly fishing excursion, in Yellowstone National Park and in the environs of Island Park, Idaho, through which Henry’s Fork of the Snake River passes. This was not a well-planned trip on my part. The fly fishing would have to take a back seat to family obligations given the kids and the in-laws (their cabin). The Outdoor Board was of course helpful in providing suggestions.
We arrived in Island Park Wednesday before last. Thursday was spent seeing the usual things with the family (Old Faithful, etc.). Friday was my first chance to fish. The first big blow was finding out about the closure of some of the major rivers in Yellowstone, due to poor flows and high temperatures (Gibbon, Madison, Firehole). Of course, these are the rivers best accessed from the West Yellowstone entrance, which was how I was entering the park. Based on 87flyfisher’s suggestion, as well as my guidebook suggesting it as an “easy” place to catch fish, I decided to start with Joffe Lake near Mammoth Springs. It’s nestled behind park ranger housing and storage facilities. Very small and in an idyllic setting. I saw the occasional rise in the lake, so my hopes were up. A tiny stream entered the lake on the far side, and a park employee eating lunch on the road told me it was deeper over there with better fishing. I made the trek to the other side, got settled in and entered the water. There were numerous aquatic plants and the first surprise was the muck. It was like walking in soft playdough. I was sinking with every step. It took great effort just to move 30 feet into the lake. The rises were there, not numerous, but there. I started with a parachute adams style dry fly. And not long after was rewarded with the first brook trout of my life. And then the second. The idea of continuing to stand in this muck and continue to catch the occasional small brook trout lost its appeal and I wanted to get on moving water. After one more family foray at Mammoth, I was on my own again.
First Brook Trout (Joffe Lake)
Second Brook Trout (Joffe Lake)
The Gardner River, in part, stands next to the highway. My first exit was at a campground, but the presence of another fly fisher plus the idea that it might be fished out next to this easy access led me further south. I parked at a small pullout and decided to head out. This was the first area where I felt that I had to be somewhat concerned with bears. I had my bear bell, my bear spray, and some backup insurance as well. I wasn’t scared. I was merely on my guard and trying to be aware as I moved out through the trees and grass to the river. A quick look in the river revealed some likely holes, but I did not see any fish nor any rises. After I geared up and got in the river I realized I was missing two of my tippet spools that had fallen off the main spool holder. Annoyed. But for better or worse, I just happened to be carrying about eight extra spools in my vest (I could outfit a small expedition with the contents of my vest). First attempts yielded nothing. There was no action on the water. And no fish visible, despite the clear water. I was aware that the fish might be easily spooked. As I moved upriver, I noticed that I was not the only person who had been here. Footprints were visible on the bank. I had to be careful as I walked along the river, as there were small side channels that were essentially large sink holes. I almost fell in a few as I didn’t watch my feet and scanned the river. I had no luck whatsoever on the river, but it was a beautiful setting. No rises, no strikes, no fish visibly seen.
Gardner River
Gardner River
I could see dark clouds rolling in from the west. But I thought I had just seen a couple of rises in the first bend, so I continued casting. It was well into dusk and as a few drops started falling I decided to pack it in and make the long drive back to Island Park. By the time I reached the car, I was in the middle of the heaviest rainfall I had experienced in years. If it had not been for my wide-brimmed hat creating an air pocket, I might have drowned.
I decided on Saturday to try Henry’s Fork of the Snake River. The cabin was just a mile or less away from the river, and I did not want to finish the trip without saying I had wet my line on this river. My father-in-law, the occasional worm fisher, mentioned he had had success on the river in an area next to the Upper Coffeepot campground. We all drove together there so my father-in-law could show me the place and his favorite hole (which was occupied by a worm fisher). Then the family took off leaving me to my lonesome. By the time I got on the river it was nearly noon. The river was beautiful. Very wide, shallow and clear. Rises frequent enough to entertain using dry flies. The Orvis web report had suggested caddis flies among others, so I started with that. I remember getting a couple of strikes, but did not have a fish on the line. I switched to a parachute adams without success. Seeing a few white flies on the water that looked like PMDs I switched to a PMD. I had a strike again, but no success after a time. Meanwhile, a young couple with children fishing with worms were bringing in trout every other cast. After a time we struck up a conversation. “I don’t have the patience to do what you do,” he said. “I used to have a fly fishing setup, but I got rid of it and sold it. I just like to catch fish. And my family likes to eat them.” These are trying moments for the inexperienced fly angler such as myself. To be confronted by the apostates of fly fishing, bringing in fish after fish, while I try and take solace from the very rare (missed) strike. But faith, and the undying arrogance that must reside in at least small quantities in every fly fisherman carried me forward. If I would catch any fish, it would be with flies. Not bobber and worm.
Henry’s Fork, downstream view from Upper Coffepot
I asked my father-in-law if he could see fish in the water when he fished. No, he said. And I didn’t see any either. But as I stood in the river, messing with tippet and knots, my eyes adjusted. And I saw that there were fish in the water everywhere. I was literally surrounded on all sides. This helped with my confidence. I was not failing due to lack of fish, I was failing due to inadequacy of presentation. If I could just improve my presentation, I was sure I could catch fish.
Looking down into the water on Henry’s Fork
I switched back to an elk hair caddis. At about 2:15pm, after about 2 hours in the water, I brought in my very first fish on Henry’s Fork. A Rainbow. Which was followed by a second rainbow, also on a dry fly.
First Trout on Henry’s Fork
Second Trout on Henry’s Fork
Same Second Trout on Henry’s Fork (underwater shot)
I had listened to some fifteen episodes of Tom Rosenbauer’s Orvis podcast on the way up to Idaho. I had also read much of his beginning fly fishing book. He talks a lot about the different strategies in approaching fish, i.e. downstream, upstream, cross-stream. I found that my best success was a quartering downstream presentation. No doubt because I was getting the best dead drift with this approach, and minimal slack in the line allowing me to set the hook.
One of the highlights of the day was seeing an osprey crash into the water and emerge with a trout in his claws. A bit later I saw several pelicans in the water.
Pelicans on Henry’s Fork
The fish stopped rising and I moved down the river. There was a long shallow stretch without many fish that I could see. A young couple that had been fly fishing near me earlier in the day were walking up the riverbank trail on their way home and I asked how they had done. The man had been teaching the woman the finer points, and she was not an uncomely lass. “There were some good holes down there with fish,” he said. A generic non-answer. Maybe he didn’t appreciate the buff-look I had gone to under the beating sun. “The big fish are feeding on wet flies. Like wooly buggers.” Ok, I can work with that.
At the next bend in the river I attached a wooly bugger. A fly that I had never caught a trout on before. Should I weight it with split shot? Attach an indicator? Variations of this were not successful on the water. Nor was a hopper dropper earlier in the day. I decided to go to the setup that 87Flyfisher had taught me on the Lower Mountain Fork. Double nymph (hare bead and green copper john in this case) with split shot and indicator. At the evening hole on the Mountain Fork, 87Flyfisher had taught me, as the very first thing, and downstream presentation where the fly is drifted in the same line as the body using extension of the arm and lowering of the pole to ensure a dead drift while keeping minimal slack on the water. Maybe that would work here. Sure enough it did. I caught several rainbows in that bend using this technique including the biggest one of the day which was about 13 inches. In total I brought about six rainbows to net, and hooked another four or five that got off before being netted. All were released.
Rainbow Caught With 87flyfisher’s downstream technique
Biggest Rainbow I caught on Henry’s Fork
The “next bend” on Henry’s Fork
A view of the water on Henry’s Fork
Sunday was a break from fishing and spent time with the family. In the afternoon we went to Big Springs, which is one of the major springs that forms Henry’s Fork. The spring water emerges from the side of the mountain, and usually there are some very large rainbows living in the nearby pool. Fishing is prohibited and people often feed the fish with food from a 25 cent dispenser. The fish were few this time and hiding under the bridge. Two moose were seen however. A very pretty place.
A view of Big Springs, one of the springs that forms headwaters for Henry’s Fork
A Big Rainbow Hanging Out Under the Bridge at Big Springs
Monday would be my last day on Henry’s Fork. I returned to the same place with the intention of bringing some fish home for supper. At about eight in the morning, I was the only one on the river. It took some time, but with the double nymph setup I had success, casting at some distance at a downstream quartering approach.
Rainbow Caught on Double Nymph Rig
Later in the day I was joined by a worm fisherman and a fly fisher. The worm fisherman told me he had been fishing on the river for 17 years. And that this was one of the best holes around. By “holes” I took him to mean “spot.” Although marginally deeper than some spots, the water wasn’t even to my waist in the deepest area. Like the worm fisher the day before, he told me that he used to fly fish, but that he likes to catch fish and his children like to eat them. Does every worm fisherman feel like he has to justify himself to a fly fisherman? Does this stem from some kind of feeling of inferiority? I don’t care if he likes fishing with bait. Just because I am fly fishing doesn’t mean I don’t like to catch and eat fish too. But he was nice, and I kept my thoughts to myself.
The other fly fisher and I struck up a conversation as well. He was using a dry fly, with little success at the moment. I explained that I had been doing well nymphing. He explained that he was visiting from Utah and typically fished the Provo River. I showed him my setup since he had inquired. “Nymphing is kind of frowned on around here.” Hmm, I wasn’t sure how to take that. He said it matter-of-factly. I took it to mean that he didn’t care if I nymphed, but others might think it lame. Whatever. The way he asked about my nymphing rig made me think that he might not be that experienced using nymphs. I asked him as such, and he said “All I do on the Provo River is nymph.” He was using a PMD but said he was getting no strikes. I told him I had had some success with elk hair caddis. He switched to that a bit later, going up and down the little stretch. A couple of strikes but not much. Maybe feeling a little sheepish for using nymphs while there were some rises on the water, I explained that I was too lazy to want to give up my nymph rig after the trouble of getting it set up. “I’m the same way,” he said. After some more time and no fish, he announced that he was leaving for Henry’s Lake. Because he had access to his in-law’s boat. Big fish. Going to use worms. “Good luck,” I said. Another apostate.
I had created a terrific wind knot in my nymphing rig, so I took a break on the bank to eat lunch and repair it. I cut it above the knot and added 2x, 3x, and 4x tippet. Double nymph rig with a thingamabobber indicator and split shot weight. After all this work and getting back on the water, I began fishing. And wouldn’t you know it, the fish started rising. I kept nymphing. But the rises were persistent and increasing. It was getting ridiculous. An elderly couple walking on the trail stopped and commented on it. The river was raining from upside down. I cut off my nymphing rig and went to the elk hair caddis. And I’ll be darned if I didn’t have just a great time catching fish on my dry fly in the middle of the day. It is great, great fun to make a decent cast and see a fish chomp your fly, set the hook and battle him in. Most of the fish were pretty small, so no danger of breaking your tippet. But still just wonderful fun. Since my first evening on the Lewis River last summer in Washington, my two days on the Henry have been the only time I have seen rises and dry fly fished. During one stretch I caught three brookies in a row on the dry fly. I was surprised as I didn’t expect there to be many brookies in there, but further reading confirms that for whatever reason brook trout are not uncommon in this stretch during the summer.
Rainbow on an Elk Hair Caddis
Brook Trout on Elk Hair Caddis
Brook Trout on Elk Hair Caddis
Brook Trout on Elk Hair Caddis
Having limited (6) and released maybe a dozen or more fish I headed back to the cabin for a break. I decided to go to the rapids past the Upper Coffeepot in the later afternoon. It was a much longer walk than I anticipated. When I got there, I was kinda beat and decided that with my very limited time, maybe I would be better served by trying to get to the river below the Island Park Dam where all the fish are wild.
Rapids on Henry’s Fork Downstream from the Upper Coffeepot
Maybe about 15 miles south I put in Henry’s Fork near the highway. It was part of Harriman State Park. It was close to dusk. The water looked darker here. Seeing no rises, I put on a double nymph rig. The vegetation underwater was very intense. Every other time my nymphs would catch on moss and plants and it became apparent that nymphing was not going to work in this stretch. I switched to the elk hair caddis despite the rises. By this time, it was getting darker and the insects were thick on the water. There were tan flies that must have been caddis everywhere. And other flies as well. I have never been around such intense insect activity on any water. And not a single rise anywhere. I cast up from the bridge and at the bridge. I think there are times that you know you won’t catch anything, but you just do it because you can. Enjoy yourself in the water, take it all in. I met a couple of beginning fly fishermen there and they said they had been to the Worm River, some 25 miles away a day earlier and caught some small fish, including many small browns. The light was fading and it was time to go. The air became thick with smoke. To the point that I began coughing. Smoke was coming in intensely from the fires in the west.
View downstream Henry’s Fork at Harriman State Park near highway
View upstream Henry’s Fork at Harriman State Park near highway
The next part of my journey took me to Star Valley in southwestern Wyoming. My first memory of trout fishing was with my grandfather on Spring Creek when I was ten years old, fishing with worms. I didn’t catch, but he did. And then when I was about 13, fishing with my father on Crow Creek, drifting grasshoppers into a deep hole. Not fly fishing, but close to it. Both of these creeks flow into the Salt River. I didn’t get to fish due to family obligations, but I did check out a small stretch of Crow Creek for old time’s sake. I would have loved to have spent some time on the creeks there going after the wild trout.
Crow Creek
Crow Creek
Crow Creek
In less than 3 days fishing, I barely scratched the surface on the fly fishing opportunities in this part of the country. I would have loved to have spent more time in Yellowstone, but it wasn’t convenient given my limited time. And I feel like I could have fished for 30 days straight on Henry’s Fork and never run out of interesting water. I barely scratched the surface there. And without a doubt, the area that I fished was ideal for a beginning fly fisherman such as myself. Shallow clear water with plenty of space for casting. Little in the way of needing to read the water.
After we got back home to Texas, my mother-in-law, speaking to my wife (unknowingly on speakerphone), was deeply critical about my fishing. She said I spent too much money on equipment (I have 3 rods, 3 reels, waders, shoes, vest, net, etc.). They were “shocked.” She said that I had an “addiction” and that my wife needed to “stand up for yourself.” This pissed me off. But now the fires have cooled to embers, I can analyze this issue. I’ve probably spent $1000 on fly fishing gear. I know to some that is a lot of money . It can be done for cheaper, but regardless, it still costs something (for some it is much, much more expensive). But why do it at all? I went to church on Sunday at Island Park, and the lady giving the sermon said that her grandmother who was driving past a jogger had stopped her car, rolled down the window and said to the jogger, “you know, if you would put in a honest days work, you wouldn’t have to do that.” To some, the idea of recreation and putting resources into that will always be foreign. But sometimes recreation teaches us things that we may otherwise have difficultly learning. For example, having a goal, striving to reach that goal, and achieving that goal. I started on Texags last year, with the idea that I wanted to fly fish. I didn’t have anyone to teach me. That first fish on the Lewis River--it will probably be a long time before I experience exhilaration and excitement like that again. Because I had achieved my goal of catching a fish on the fly. The beauty of nature, of land and water and creature. Cold water. Clean wind. Tying knots, crimping barbs, untangling wind knots. Quiet. The physicality of movement, of the line flying. A perfect cast rewarded with a strike. I don’t want to oversell it, but there is something redemptive in this kind of thing. It’s like railroad tracks in our DNA, when we connect to the earth, the locomotive starts moving and the churn and motion stirs us in ways that our ancestors have been stirred for millennia. I could never explain this to my mother-in-law, because she would never understand it. And that makes me sad. But my children will understand it, if they give it half a chance. And that will be a gift.
So with that, I would like to thank you for reading and also thank the Outdoor Board for its mentorship and helping me be able to pass this on to others, God willing.
[This message has been edited by shiftyandquick (edited 8/20/2012 5:15p).]