“A good omen,” John (our personal Calchas) says as the three of us watch the Bald Eagle skying the thermals. The low mountain range to the west flashes orange and red in the early light.

Gilded hills and fields are punctuated with the dull greens of sage and dusty yellow blossoms of rabbitbrush. Dark basalt outcroppings jut here and there. Woven through it all is a verdant ribbon of water, its edges laced with greens.

Yes, our augur seems to have made the call, and we follow the auspices of the eagle to the river. The old bridge is long gone, but the concrete abutments remain. The only testament of the old Croney Road: a faint track on the far side snaking into the chromatic foothills. We wade across the river.

Terra tarsus—it rained a little last night, enhancing the pungent sage coming in bursts as we make our way over a small hill, then past the natural hot tub. The river is about 20″ lower than when I last fished here. As with so many waters in the west, the Portneuf is at the mercy of farmers and ranchers. But unlike most rivers, when the water demand is up, so is the river. Instead of drawing off water for irrigation, the river becomes the delivery system, so flows are higher in mid to late summer, when I was here last. With peak water needs met, the river returns to its lower flows.

The fish are forced to seek cover under river weed beds and moss blooms instead of the deep channels through this section. Last night’s storm may have put the fish down as surface action is almost nonexistent. A few midge clusters swarm. An occasional caddis flits about. But no insect near the water with any frequency.

Based on my last trip, Danny and I have tied on large Adams. John is working a caddis pattern. We walk the first 70 yards of river spotting ahead what I first take to be rises. But it’s just springs bubbling up. Discerning springs from rises is difficult, but we finally see a small, consistent, rise from a fish cruising an 8′ by 8′ patch of water near a small spring.

Danny casts to it a few times with the Adams, but nothing. As he continues casting, John casts the caddis and I switch to the Sprout midge emerger. They are finished, so I cast a couple of times. The sun is clouded over giving my nearsighted eyes a surprisingly clear view of my #20 midge from 25′. On the third cast a small bulge in the water under my fly is followed by another bulge. It’s hard to tell if it is surface percolations or fish, but it focuses my attention. The water curves down and the fly vanishes. Even though I’m intent on the fly, this takes me by surprise because there is no sign of a fish. I finally react and a large rainbow boils the surface. I feel the thrashing vibrate through the line and rod. Then nothing.

We fish back to the missing bridge seeing only a rise or two, but no fish other than one six incher somersaulting over the grasshopper pattern I switched to.

After two hours I’m beginning to doubt our graybeard’s auguring skills. We journey to Toponce Canyon to fish the small creek.

A shock of yellow splashes the mountains.

Wild rose leaves are turning and their bright red rosehips brighten the creek banks.

A few blueleaf aster still bloom.

We spread along the little creek and each fish our way upstream. I pick up a handful of hand-sized fish: three rainbows, two cutthroat and one brown. The largest is maybe 12″. We meet up where the canyon opens into a wider valley. Danny and John have also caught fish, Danny landing the largest about 14″.

We eat what passes for lunch and relax for a few minutes enjoying the cool air and bright colors of the creek, before heading back to the Portneuf.

(read part II)

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