The air was heavy. Literally pressing down into the valley. The snow-covered ground doesn’t absorb any radiant heat. It’s a cycle: fog and pollution combine to block the sun’s rays and what little makes it through is not enough to melt the snow or warm the ground. Temperatures only get into the mid-twenties on the valley floor. But 1000 feet above, the air is clear and the temperatures are in the mid-forties.

We’re suffering from a classic case of Cache Valley Inversion. The cold, dirty air is trapped, and the warm, clean air is above. Several days every winter, our beautiful valley suffers from some of the worst PM2.5 pollution readings in the nation.

Some resuscitation was definitely in order. A place to suck in great gulps of clean air. What better place to put the mouth than at the river! (As if I need an excuse to go fishing.)

My goal was to get above the inversion. Fishing was secondary. Logan River is not my favorite place to fish in the winter because there aren’t many reliable hatches. But I really didn’t care, I just needed a reason to get out.

I made my way to the Dugway. One of my favorite areas to fish in the summer, I had never fished it in the winter. The air was crisp. The sky a vibrant blue—much better than the dusty gray smog of the valley.

There is a large (1/4 mile?) sweeping bend and the sun was only lighting the upper half, my favorite hole still in shadow. (You can see the canyon section on this Google map which is set up to follow along the road with their “street view” feature.) I geared up and walked along the shoulder about 100 yds. then bailed over the safety railing and down 150′-200′ below the road at a fairly steep angle. Enough snow was there that I could posthole my way down without slipping or sliding.

At 11:00 the temp, in the sun, was about 30°F. When I left home 35 mins. earlier, and 2000′ lower in elevation, it was 9°F. The river was exceptionally clear. The air fresh. The fish hidden. But I did catch a moose for you.

After an hour I struggled back up the steep slope an 1/8 mile further upriver from where I hopped in. I drove downriver to a place called Wood Camp. There are some springs along the northwest bank of the river where I have caught a few fish in the winter before.

The temp was now around 40°F and I was in my shirt sleeves (okay, a thermal top and long-sleeved turtleneck t-shirt). Still no fish. But I did  catch some nice chunks of lose ice in the shins and saw lots of anchor ice forming on the bottom of the river when I got past the springs.

I could have gone several places in the canyon, strapped on my x-country skis to get some fresh air. But I find myself doing that less and less the older I get. Same with hiking in the summer. It seems that when given the chance, I’m pulled to the water (I blame that on having been born Aquarius – the water-bearer; or maybe because my dad was in the navy; or maybe from so many months in the embryonic fluid—okay, I’m reaching a bit here). Whatever the reason, I am indeed pulled to water and would rather spend my time in it not catching fish than skiing or hiking (whether near water or not).

I spent time leisurely changing flies as the sun warmed my shoulders. I leisurely changed flies—so different from the frantic changing that comes when a hatch is on and the fish are rising to everything except my fly. It doesn’t matter how many times I switch or how long it takes on these kinds of days.

When I don’t expect to catch anything, I spend time practicing my very lacking nymphing or streamer skills.  There’s a control to my casts that I usually don’t get when I’m actually trying to catch fish. When I’m rigged up for nymph fishing at those frenzied times, I often get incredible knots as my fly and bobber strike indicator (and sometimes weight) tangle together. Not so when I’m strolling the river.

I kept looking into the blue sky to remind myself what it looked like, having missed the unsullied blue expanse for so long. I swigged the air, alternating inhaling through my nose and my mouth trying to coat as many sensory receptors as I could with the vestal air.

It was a fine day to resuscitate mind and lungs.

 Email This Post ⋅  Print This Post ⋅ Post a comment