Saturday we rode to southern Idaho for a look at the wild and scenic Bruneau River. We only fished about 45 minutes there and didn’t raise a thing. The water was a bit high and off-color. But it sure was beautiful at the overlook in the gorge section!

Here is a Google Earth view of the area. The overlook is the blue box on the right. The Matterhorn in the distance. Notice the discolored circular area to the lower right? Bombing range for the air force base at Mountain Home, Idaho.

[The following video requires MS Silverlight.]

Play Video

The gallery below contains more pictures from the trip (including a “cartoon” version of many of the pics—apparently someone was a bit bored).

We arrived on the South Fork Boise a few hours ago, after our annual stop at Wal-Mart in Mountain Home so Dan could pick up his license. (We were pleasantly surprised that Judie was there to sell the license for the third year in a row.) We hurried to the river and made it here about 11:00. We hoped with it being a Thursday that plenty of our favorite spots would be open, but they were all taken.

We passed Dan’s Deli, Popcorn Hole and then made it to Indian Rock, the first available location. We pulled in. Indian Rock is a large rock formation that the river runs smack into, sending the water at a 90 degree angle to the right. A deep eddy forms there and small silvery trout often rise in the pool.

We hopped out of the truck and into a stiff breeze and cold temps. We hoped for a BWO hatch with the cloud cover, but the wind was just too strong. There were, however, quite a few midge hovering and swirling with the eddy. Dan saw a rise and eventually hooked, then lost a little fish.

I was fishing a deep stretch down below Dan, more out of something to do to keep me moving than anything else. I had a nymph on trying to hook into something from the depths. There was a little orange  bobber strike indicator along the bank that I attached to my line. I moved into the big eddy after Dan lost the fish. I tossed the line a dozen times or so when the bobber strike indicator came off. It was caught in the vortex and slowly made a few revolutions around the pool. I snipped off the nymph and reeled in. Dan was back at the truck and hollered out, “Hey, a fish took the indicator!” I looked up and couldn’t see it. I watched the water and about 30 seconds later it bobbed to struck for the surface.

We packed up and headed downriver hoping Icebox would be free. But a white truck was parked just above it. Icebox is where a side channel forms during high flows that Dan likes to fish. We didn’t see anybody downriver of the truck, so we stopped, walked to the now empty channel and followed it a hundred yards up to the main river. Looking downriver, then back upriver toward the white truck, we didn’t see anyone else. We stood at the tailout on the outer edge of a nice bend in the river. We made our way to the far side so we could fish the deeper channel of the outer bank.

And here we stand, watching fish porpoise. We wade toward the middle of the river until we are a bit more than waist deep, leaving us to cast about 25 feet. That seems a pretty manageable distance, but ’s as difficult as casting across three time zones: the fish are mostly rising in the slack water on the far shore or in the seam of the slack water and fast current. We stand in the medium speed water. Our float line lands with 5-10 feet in the slack water, 10 feet in the fast water and about 8 feet in the medium. Each cast has a 2-4 second drift before the fat water rips the fly through the slack water leaving a wake in its path.

As I said, there is nothing better than fishing to risers. And it can be frustrating. These fish are not rising to a particular count: a fish rises, then rises again one second later, then doesn’t rise for a minute then rises 30 seconds later then again two minutes later. Any poorly cast line seems to put the fish down, but only for a couple of minutes, then they are on the feed again. Combine the inconsistent rises, the variable water flows, the rise and fall of the wind and the unknown fly they were feeding on and this is our frustration.

However, I would rather have a day with these conditions than no risers at all. I like mystery books, puzzles and chess. These all have corollaries in fly fishing. It’s the cerebral challenges that captivate me most about fly fishing. I’m sure if I were a kid today, I would be diagnosed with ADHD, with emphasis on the H (hyperactive). Luckily that has mellowed quite a bit with time, but I still can’t sit still for more than a couple of minutes without doing something. So fly fishing gives me the physical outlet I need with my desire to keep moving. These mental and physical challenges are in high gear today.

We’ve seen midges off and on, and the occasional BWO. With my vision slipping, it’s hard to see across those 25 feet and determine what the fish are taking. The feeding pattern makes me think they are taking flies in the surface film. I have on a midge emerger pattern: black body, white trailing shuck. Seems like a good choice to me. I think Dan has on the double midge pattern.

Some of our casts appear to be perfectly placed but the fish rises seven inches to the left and a foot upstream from the last rise. I alternate between five fish that are rising, casting a dozen times to each before cycling to the next one. By doing a little mending and reaching I’m getting a good five to six seconds of drag-free drift on most of the casts except to the largest fish in the slowest water the farthest away. He gets about two seconds of a drag-free look. I figure the fish have seen enough of my fly that they aren’t too interested so I switch.

Dan is casting to three or four risers 15 feet below me. He’s a little more patient than I am when it comes to changing flies. It must be part of that ‘H’ issue. I’m not terrible, I can fish to one fish for 20-30 casts before changing a fly. But Dan has patiently worked his one pattern and catches the first fish. It’s a nice 13″ beauty. I’ve noticed these redband trout (a subspecies of rainbow) aren’t nearly the jumpers that other rainbow are, but they can be a lot more colorful.

I head back to my spot with my third midge pattern on. This one has a little less trailing shuck and a CDC wing tuft. I’ve been at it for a good hour now with nothing to show for it except some practice tying knots. The frustration level is building, but again, I’d rather be thinking through this problem than blind casting a dry. Or swinging a nymph. Or yanking a steamer. Or working. Or…

I try to hold a my language in check, but the fish foiling my every attempt are starting to get under my skin. I missed a couple of takes earlier, which is more frustrating than not getting any looks or takes. I finally have a take, set the hook, and the fish does one of the few leaps I’ve seen. He barrels deep into the channel and takes me downriver a couple of dozen yards. And throws the fly. I let loose a few SHD’s (shits hells and damns). Conveniently pronounced “SHiD.”

Having worked with cows on occasion, I know the power of a good cuss word or two. But I’ve always felt a little guilty imbibing in such delinquency when on the water. Fortunately, Sparse Grey Hackle has come to my rescue. In a missive to one Mrs. Lewis Hull dated August 14, 1951, Sparse confides,

“For your solace, words spoken within thirty seconds of raising and either hooking or missing, and then either holding or losing a fish, are not recorded.”

Not only are they not recorded in such situations, more importantly, my wife can’t hear them when I’m on the river. I feel great solace in Sparse’s words and plan on releasing all guilt heretofore harbored when SHDing on the river.

Muttering I move to the shore. My slowly leaking waders have completely soaked both feet now. The air is cold. The wind is cold. My legs and feet are even colder. I stomp around on the bank a bit, but I can’t resist the challenge of the still-rising fish and head back to my spot a couple of minutes later.

I work some line out and fish to one of the closer fish in the faster water. My little midge floats past him as he takes a natural within inches of my fly. I continue casting to this fish, with liberal pauses between casts to make sure I don’t put him down. If I keep the float line a good four feet away, he seems to stay pretty active. But if it gets much closer, he’ll stop for a couple of minutes. It takes me about ten minutes, but I have him on. I land this one without much problem, a nice 14″ beauty.

I slap around on shore again, tie on a double midge pattern, move into the belly-deep water and start working a fish at the head of the slack section. A small protrusion of rocks from the bank is littered with a mat of small dogwood branches. They’re submerged a couple of feet, but they must be about three feet thick and sticking out six feet from the bank. They form the top of the pool where an indentation into the bank runs about 20 feet downriver from there then sweeps back toward the center of the river. This area is the slack water with the faster channel running from the branch pile at the top directly to the bottom of the sweeping bank. In the middle of this sweeping bank it is about ten feet wide from the fast channel to the bank.

The largest fish has been consistently feeding in the slack water and another good-sized fish is working right on top of the branch pile. I have cast enough for the big guy, it’s time to try this fellow since I don’t have to navigate three speeds of water, only two. My second drift past him brings him up, only to take a natural within inches of my fly. SHD! A good ten casts later and I lip him, feeling his weight and bringing his body to the top of the water. He shakes loose and gives me the fin as he rolls away. SHD! SHD!

I noticed that the natural he took had some upright wings. It appeared to be a BWO from here. The fish are still porpoising in their rises, so I tie on a BWO emerger.

Having put down my target I work the far edge of the fast seam where two are rising. From the corner of my upstream eye I notice a fish make a splashy rise. I pivot and cast above where I think the rise was. My fly floats toward me and the fish rises again with a little less show, but still with more aggression than the ones I have been casting to. At least I can clearly see his position now, a couple of feet from where I originally thought. I pull the fly from the water and throw it to what I think is about six feet above the rise.

The sun reflects a little stronger from this angle, like hundreds of lights strobing at me from the riffles. Where is my fly? I create an imaginary 3′ by 3′ box around where I think it landed—anything moving within that box will get a tug on the rod from me. The box rapidly glides downriver. The intensity of the moment—the all—consuming focus as I hunch forward, eyes squint and dart, shoulders knotted and left hand stripping slack line—is part of the thrill for the stalker.

A small bulge forms in the water looking slightly less natural than the riffles. I would like to think my reflexes are fluid, that I see, and my arm immediately, smoothly, lifts the rod tip. Instead, there’s this pause as my eyes see, brain registers the pictures, interprets it as a potential rise, then sends the impulse to my arm which gives a jerk. SHD and fly simultaneously pock the sky. My fly was a good two feet below the bulge, leaving a momentary bubble trail.

I repeat the process. I find myself mussitating, “Come on, come on…grab the D fly!” I’m a self-talker, a trait I inherited from my father. Actually, it’s probably learned behavior and not inherited as I spent many hours helping Dad work on a car or fix an appliance, patch a hole in the wall or build a house. Though he has a much more civil tongue than I. I’m not quite sure where I picked up the potty talk, but it definitely wasn’t from my parents. I blame it on peers.

I’m not sure if it’s the talk, or what, but another bulge appears. Optics wired to synapses mated with neurons and dendrites connected to the cerebellum fire an impulse through the nerves and tensed muscles which again jerks the rod. But this time a weighty splash is attached to the end of my line, and not just a fly.

Dan tapes this one at about 17 1/2″.

I leave the BWO emerger on and take two more of the risers. Three hours of fishing to risers is the best kind of frustrating I can imagine.

Post Script

We moved up river to Beetle Bank where I caught another four redbands to end the day. The next two days brought similar results with fish feeding at our new hole which I dubbed “The Curse-ed Hole” (I think I’ll rename it to “The Cursing Hole”). These fish were rising from about 11:30-3:00 each day—the only place on the river where we found consistent risers. The second day we scouted some other water and picked up a few fish here and there. The third day I went back to Beetle Bank after fishing Cursing Hole and picked up another four fish, one of them a real beauty at just a shade under 19″, but beautiful coloring. I’m trying to leave my fish in the water for shots when I’m alone instead of putting them on the rocks (you’ll notice an exception below). I had the fish in the shallows, unhooked and my camera on him when he slipped away. I ended up catching about 8 fish per day from 14″-19″. Not quite the numbers as other years on the South Fork Boise, but some great fishing nonetheless. Mike, Dan’s friend from Boise, met up with us Saturday and I had a great time fishing with him.

As we rolled into Mountain Home, Dan and I were wondering what the odds were that we would get to hook up with Judie again this year. She has an open door policy (literally…we walked right in) that runs 24/7, but one never knows when one’s luck might run out, so we were pretty excited when she was there.

But after this trip, I’m not so sure the feelings are reciprocal. Judie wasn’t looking up when we approached her. As she started to turn toward us, Dan said, “Marbles,” at about the same moment her eyes came in contact with us. I’m pretty sure we were both standing there with sappy grins pasted on. But I could swear I heard a groan. And she kind of rolled her eyes then looked at the floor. I’m sure she hunched her shoulders, maybe even shuffled as she came toward us. Maybe the bizarreness of it was getting to her. Maybe I’m just imagining it all.

She glanced up, and I think I saw a little twinkle there, just a hint, mind you, as she said, “Do you guys really want to do the marbles again?”

Sensing her earlier hesitation, I was ready to give her a break and say no, but Dan thought marbles were a good idea. The way I remember what happened next was that she had a definite twinkle (that’s the way I like to remember Judie) as she dropped the bombshell, “I don’t know where they are.” Like I said, that’s the way I remember it.

Marbles. They’re a funny thing. Originally made of stones or clay in the Egyptian, Roman and Aztec empires. Occasionally made of glass in the ancient world, by the mid-1800′s that’s been the most common material. Glass beads—so beautiful, and so utilitarian too.

I excused myself to use the john and let Dan and Judie finish their business. I still didn’t think Judie was in her usual chipper mood when I got back, so I’m not sure how things went between them, or what was said, but I figured it was time to leave. Maybe we catch Judie in a better mood next year and we can try the marbles again. We grabbed the fixings for a sandwich and hurried out of there, eager to unload our flies on the South Fork.

Stay tuned for the rest of Day 1 on the South Fork of the Boise River—where we actually fish.

The river near Rigby has some very easily waded sections this time of the year (I don’t think the same could be said of those sections in mid-summer). There are several spots where the river splits into channels. There are a few pools and some riffles. There is also lots of flat water. The flat stuff was pretty unproductive. The riffles were better, especially at the heads. There was some occasional success along deep undercut banks also.

Long flats (Dan is way back there at a riffle): .

We are a couple of dry fly fishermen, so that was our hope for the river. There were no risers when we hopped in the river at 10:00AM, so I threw on a zebra midge. I caught a whitefish and rainbow with that in about two hours of fishing. We were mostly killing time, awaiting an anticipated 1:00 baetis hatch. But that never materialized. Some bugs came off the water, and there were fits and starts, but never anything big enough to get the fish consistently feeding on the surface. The temps were in the upper 60′s and the skies as blue as could be. We figure if it was a bit cooler and/or some clouds materialized, that would have helped us, but no such luck.

It seemed like a lot of time was spent doing this:

We found a couple of good riffles that started to produce and we both picked up a couple of decent fish. I was able to pull a couple of cutts of 16″ and a rainbow of about 13″ using a midge sprout pattern on the surface from a hole right behind where the long slick picture was taken. Dan also pulled a few out of there.

In the long slick in the picture above, on the far left, was a channel. Fish started to rise more frequently through there and we picked up a few more smaller fish. We moved from this side channel back into the main stem and Dan caught a couple more.

Dan did get the hairlip award for catching this specimen:

Around 3:30 we hopped in the truck and moved east looking for a few other accessible spots. We found them and fished some more and caught a few.

We spent almost eight hours on the river, so we averaged about one fish every 30 minutes. We mporbably waded close to two miles of river.

And we were rewarded with a beautiful evening on the snake:

Dan’s brother-in-law and his wife live on the eastern edge of Idaho Falls. So we crashed there for the night (thanks for the dinner, movie and bed Trevor and Kimber).

Kevin is the self-proclaimed Fishing Nazi (by the way, the moniker is nowhere near the truth, more like the fishing Ghandi), so we were up at 5:30 and on the road about 6:20 to try to get to the Henry’s Fork at sunup. We met Kevin at a gas station (only about 12 minutes late), but it took forever to get the pump working and pick up a bite to eat. So by the time we left Rigby it was about 5:50.

Meeting Kevin was a pleasure. He is a great guy and an excellent fishermen. We were impressed with his willingness to share info and his waters with us. He really wanted us to get in tom some big fish that day.

For those of you who have not been in this part of Idaho, it has the best view of the Tetons. With some red clouds, the sunrise was spectacular. I wanted to stop and take pictures, but I didn’t think Fishing Nazi would want to stop.

This picture is from the afternoon, but you get an idea of the grandeur of the Tetons from the west side:

We made it to an undisclosed location on the Henry’s Fork about 8:00, and it was quite nippy, definitely below freezing. We suited up and made it to the water, which was quite stunning with the slight mist hanging above the water:

Kevin was the first to hook into a fish on the beautiful spring creek waters:

This was mostly zebra midge fishing. Kevin hooked into a couple of more

before Dan and I got warmed up. Pretty soon we each caught a few. Dan switched to a dry and landed this little beauty:

We continued to fish the beautiful river for a couple of hours and picked up some nice fish, but none of the real big ones Kevin was hoping for. But that was okay with us, because we fished some new water, had excellent company and were in some pretty incredible scenery.

We moved below the Ashton dam and fished a couple of more hours. We each picked up a handful of small fires (4″-10″) and a few more in the 10″-12″ range, but never got into anything substantial. We left the water about 3:00, parted company with Kevin and headed home.

We had a great time and look forward to meeting up with Kevin again this winter or for the salmonfly hatch next July.

Thanks Kevin!

If you read the route and map from the last post, you would know that we planned on fishing in Idaho on the upper Blackfoot River and some areas around it on day one, then McCoy Creek and some areas around it on day two. Not so fast—things are not what you will expect them to be when fishing with Talking Bull. Day two actually found us in Wyoming, not Idaho.

Kevin (visit him at Coach’s Caribou County Fly Fishing Journal [new window opens]) has been giving me information about fishing around the Blackfoot River and the areas around McCoy Creek. He also gave us great information before our trip to the Portneuf River. Thanks Kevin!

The original plan was to head out fishing as soon as Dan got back from his eight day trip to Ohio. Yes, Dan was willing to suppress his urge to curl up in a ball and rest his weary bones after the long flight and car drive home, just to fish.

Plan: plane lands at 2:00PM. Dan Drives home and arrives at 4:00PM. Dan loads gear, hooks up trailer. Scott arrives at 5:00 and the stalkers are on the road.

Reality: Dan lands at 3:30PM (delay in Las Vegas because of the earthquake in SoCal. Dan Calls Scott and explains there was a delay. Dan gets behind a tanker that rolls over [new window] on the freeway and is one of the last cars before freeway closes and traffic is rerouted. Dan calls Scott and explains. 6:00 Dan calls Scott again because he is still in traffic (sporadic air conditioning, inoperable windows, etc.). 7:30 Dan calls Scott. We decide leaving in the morning will be better.

6:00AM Scott arrives at Dan’s house. Dan is sitting in the truck waiting. Load gear, and get out of Dodge.

8:30AM We arrive at the Blackfoot River Road. The road is paved for quite a few miles. The terrain is gently rolling hills with a few large hills/small mountains surrounding the river creating multiple valleys. There is a lot of ranching through here.

I fish to the right of the main current to a fish I see rise. I cast a beetle toward the fish and surrounding water about 20 times with no luck. There are bugs in the air, but no rises. I fish the foam, then the seam between the foam and current with a stimulator. I have a strike. The fish puts up a nice struggle, and I try to be gentle because I have on 6x tippet. The 16″ cutthroat is almost to hand when the tippet breaks and the fish leaves with my best stimulator.

I catch and release a 10″ cutt to the right of the current and then a 12″ in the next stillwater above the foam.

Dan comes around the bend from fishing above me. He has no luck there. We head downriver to The Narrows and fish several sections. We get into a bunch of fish, but nothing much bigger than 6″. I think Dan gets one about 10″

We mosey upriver a bit to check things out. Dan brought along some tasty cherries we snack on as we drive. We cross the river just above the Stocking Ranch where the road splits into the Diamond Creek Rd. and the Lanes Creek Rd. We follow the Diamond Creek Road along some fenced land with grazing cattle. At the end of the fence we find a spot to fish.

We bushwhack through willows, but never come to the creek. We take the truck upriver a ways and turn off at a little road toward Campbell Canyon. We come to the creek and hop out to fish. We walk upstream a bit but can’t find any fish. The water is off-color and it is very brushy. Dan keeps track of my progression by spotting the narwhal (my fly rod poking up above the brush). We drive upstream a bit farther o the Hornet Canyon Rd. A bunch of cows lounge about. (Yes, we brought the wristrocket (actually, Dan bought a new one when we stopped for groceries), but we forgot the marbles. Yes, little pebbles work just fine.) The water in this area looks just as discolored as the rest of the creek. Kevin said the water was crystal clear on this creek, but I forgot to ask him where on the creek he fished. The map I brought doesn’t go upriver any farther, and we don’t want to keep looking, so we head downstream.

We stop a little ways below Yellowjacket Creek, where the road splits. We each get into a couple of little cutts. We decide to head towards our day two spot a bit early since the fish aren’t active and mostly small. We have basically accomplished our goal at the Blackfoot area: see what the area is like and see what the fish are like. As we drive north, Dan brings forth Plan B (also known as “The Wild Hair” or “Talking Bull Speaks).

“It’s only 3:00. How about driving over to the South Fork of the Snake River, checking it out, do a little wade fishing, then go to McCoy Creek from the Palisades side access.”

“Yeah, sure, works for me,” I say.

By this time the cherries are working pretty good on me and I have to make an emergency stop at the porta-potty on the Stocking Ranch. It’s mostly gas (I know, too much information).

We take the cutoff road to Rt 34 and follow Tincup to Star Valley. We get into Alpine Junction. I show Dan one of my favorite cutthroat rivers to fish, Greys River. I have told Dan about it for years and we always talk about getting there to fish, but we never have. We zip through Alpine Junction and about two miles out of town Dan turns to me. “When are you going to fish the Greys this year?”

“It probably won’t happen,” I say.

(The following is known as “Plan C,” “Another Wild Hair” or “Talking Bull Speaks Again.”) “How about tomorrow?” he asks. “We fish the Snake today, head up to the Greys, camp there tonight, then fish it tomorrow.”

“Sure, that works for me.” (I find it’s best to follow Dan’s wild hair moments because they usually turn out enjoyable memorable.) Final trip route map here [new window]—make sure you zoom in and click on the placeholders (tacks/fish) for more information.

We make our way back into Jackson to pick up a Wyoming license to fish the Greys. At the fly shop we ask about the Snake. The flows are up (13,000 cfs). Dan has fished the Snake here before, but I haven’t, so I have no clue if 13,000 is good or bad.

“Not good for wade fishing,” Dan says. “But let’s see if we can find a place on the far side of the river, a back channel or two.”

We zip north out of Alpine for the second time in 20 minutes. The cherry gas pains are still with me, a sharp pain in my lower abdomen. I just can’t seem to shake it.

At Irwin we stop to find an access point. There is little access here for wade fishing, mostly just put-ins for floaters.  Dan notices the tire on the trailer is a little low, so we put in some air, and I get some Tums. Then we head south. We zip through Swan Valley until we get to the northern end of the valley where Rt 26 crosses the Snake River. We head south on a dirt road on the west side of the river. We keep looking for a spot to fish, but don’t really see anything too promising in these flows. Somewhere near Indian Creek we turn around.

Dan wants to show me Fall Creek Falls so we stop at the overlook turnoff. When we hop back in the truck, Dan notices that the tire is almost completely flat. Luckily he has an air pump that plugs in to the lighter. He has to unhitch the trailer and move the truck closer to the tire so the hose will reach. He fills it up, hooks back up, and we take off.

In Swan Valley we stop at Rainey Creek Country Store and gas station (home of the famous square ice cream cone [new window]) to check the tire. Dan puts in some stop leak stuff and fills up the tire. And notices that the adapter between his truck’s electrical mount and the trailer is missing. Oh boy. We don’t worry about it now, but instead head back toward Alpine Junction and Greys River.

On the way to our camp site (I won’t disclose where on the Greys we camp and fish) we stop at one of my favorite fishing holes. We get into a couple of nice fish that are rising. I Want Dan to catch a larger fish here since I’ve been talking it up for so many years. We each catch a couple of decent-sized fish (13″) and Dan misses a couple of bigger ones. It’s nice to finally fish to rising fish. I have had very little chance to do that this year, so I’m pretty excited at the prospects.

We continue upriver and someone is in my usual camping spot. In fact, since the last time I was here (about five years ago), it seems like there are a lot more people. I fished the river about three times a summer for six years straight, and have never seen so many people.

We make camp about 8:00 a little farther upriver at a place i have camped at a couple of times. A nice little hatch is going on in the hole behind camp, so I fish while Dan sets up the trailer (thanks Dan!). I get into a couple 10″-12″ fish. I notice a larger fish tracking the elk hair caddis I have on and decide to switch to something larger—the Struggling Salmonfly! (For you faithful blog reader, all one of you, you would know this fly from before as the “Foam Cross.”)

I immediately had an 8″ fish on. Then another 10″ fish. I finally hooked in to the bigger fish (about 16″) but he threw the hook after 5 seconds of fight.

My gas pains have finally subsided but I’m not interested in dinner (Dan picked up some nice steaks, asparagus, potatoes and onions for dinner—Drats!). I have a piece of bread.

Dan pops in “A River Runs Through It” and we watch until just before Paul’s big fish scene, when the battery dies.

It’s a cold night and sleep is a bit sporadic because when my head is out of the sleeping bag, it’s too cold, and when it is in the sleeping bag, it’s too hard to breathe. There is a bit of frost on some of the items in the back of the pickup in the morning.

Dan starts breakfast and I check to see if there is a caddis hatch (there often is a nice early morning hatch in this hole). No such luck this morning and I only bring one 6″ fish to hand.

When I return Dan is working on breakfast. My stomach is much better so I eat my fill. We tie up a few dark caddis flies.

We decide to head upriver to one of my usual holes. I see a small rising fish. Dan casts a couple dozen times but comes up blank. He heads upriver. and I stay behind. I catch 8″ triplets in succession on the Struggling Salmonfly. I catch up to Dan and he has got into some decent fish.

We fish together for a short ways. We each catch a fish or two.

We take tturns fishing every other hole or sometimes fish together since Dan has switched to a nymph for the time being. We pull a few more from some of the holes. I hook into a nice 16″ but lose it when it heads downriver.

I love the look of this river with the gold riverbed, the cutts in here really blend in well:

We drive back to camp and have some lunch then head downriver to where we fished last night, but somebody is fishing there. We stop at a few other spots and pick up a couple of fish here and there. We scope out last night’s spot again but the bloke is still there.

We find another likely spot I haven’t fished before. Dan heads upriver and I head toward a side channel. I toss my fly into the slack water where two channels meet. My fly swirls under the surface and into the current. I see a flash and feel a tug. It’s a nice 15″ fine-spotted cutthroat. I decide to toss the fly in the water and let it sink a bit. Another fish, same size. I drop the fly in a third time, let it sink, and have a third fish, barely smaller. So, the Struggling Salmonfly also works great as a streamer—who would have thought!

I go around the bend and see a small pocket on the far bank. This is a 12″ wide by 20″ long piece of water that has a couple of roots dangling at the head and tail of the pocket. It is hard against the outside bank, but enough of the banck prtrudes fore and aft that it creates a small bit of holding water. I see a dark shape moving in it. I reach across six feet of current and dab my fly at the head of the pocket. A violent strike and this 16″ beauty comes to hand.

Another little pocket is right below the first and I see another fish working it. The Struggling Salmonfly plops in the hole and out comes this 16″ lovely.

So in 15 minutes I bring in five fish 15″-16″. When I catch up with Dan he says he has also caught a handful of fish and has one on. I take a 12″ cutt then proceed to take this 15″ golden-hued fish. I like when they have this color about them.

We head back to camp and take everything down and hitch up the trailer. Dan checks the tire and it looks good.

Heading downriver we see that the fisherman who was in last night’s spot is finally gone. We go ahead and give it a try. We pull several more nice fish out of a 200′ stretch of river but I forgot the camera so we can’t take any pictures.

It’s about 5:00 and we figure it’s time to head home, although we would love to stick around for the evening hatch. We decide to stop at a few spots that look nice on the way down, although I have never done well in those places. Dan does have the opportunity to practice his trailer backing skills when we zip past a place and have to back up to it.

We make it to Alpine Junction about 6:00 and stop so Dan can get some wiring (an extension cord) and masking tape (where’s the duct tape, Dan?). Dan checks the tire when he is heading into the store and it is looking low. By the time he returns from the store, the tire is completely flat.

Dan works on the electrical while I try to figure out how to change the tire.

Unfortunately, the lug wrench on Dan’s truck is different than the one required for the trailer. I purchase another bottle of Fix-A-Flat and pump it in. Dan has all of the lights working except the running lights. We fill the tire up with air and leave Alpine at about 8:00. The remainder of the trip is uneventful and I make it in my door at 11:30PM. In a few hours I will be heading right back in this direction for a motorcycle trip to Jackson Hole for two days.

South Fork of the Boise River below Anderson Ranch Reservoir

March 20, 2008

My fishing buddy, Dan, picks me up in Mendon, Utah at 6:00 am in a small blizzard. We’re heading on a three day, three river fishing trip in Idaho: South Fork of the Boise, Big Wood and Big Lost. The first leg is filled with the usual fish banter, and an interesting experiment by Dan in tying flies with his vise mounted to the door handle (he successfully designs and ties a double midge CDC pattern). The sky is cloudy with snow flurries for the first couple of hours.

Dan’s double midge CDC fly.

After a five hour drive we arrive at Mountain Home, Idaho where we stop and pick up fishing licenses at the local WalMart (and a check for round, decorative marbles – more on that in a later post). Interestingly enough, the lady who sells us our licenses sold them to us last year on our trip. She doesn’t remember us, until we ask about marbles, then it all comes back to her. Map from Mountain Home to the tailwater of the Anderson Ranch Reservoir. From Mountain Home it’s another 45 minutes or so to Danskin Bridge at the far western end where we begin fishing. The river is running a nice 300 CFS or so. The temperature hovers around 40 ° Fahrenheit with little to no wind. The skies are clear. Map from bottom of reservoir to Danskin Bridge.

Copper John-ish. (I usually tie it with peacock herl closer to bead and not the rusty thread).

On the south side of the bridge is a good place to park. We suit up and hit the river east of the bridge. It’s about 12:00 with quite a few midges swarming the water, but no rises. I tie on a size 20 modified Copper John (brass bead head, peacock herl thorax, copper body, white Z-lon "emerger" tail). I fish a 20 foot section between two boulders and pull out a 14" rainbow.

We cross the bridge and move downriver 100 yards. I work my way back upriver. Dan continues past me an additional 100 yards to a promising riffle on the sweeping bend to the south. I work back up to the bridge with the nymph with only one strike, but I miss it. Dan’s friend Ron, from Boise, arrives. Dan makes his way back to the truck and says that he had no success downriver.

We hop in our vehicles and head upstream a couple of miles to a hole that looks promising. We make our way to the water. We see fish taking in a nice stretch of slack water on the far side of the river. I cast a few times with my nymph and soon hook a 13" white fish while trying to make my way to the other side. Ron also hooks a white fish. Dan is trying to cast across the current to the risers on the far side, but can’t get a good drift.

I hurry to release the white fish and tie on a #20 midge emerger. The whole time Dan is harassing me about being slow playing with the white fish and threatening to catch all the risers. I finally get rid of the fish and rigged up. I make a few casts to a riser to the left of a protruding rock. He nips at my fly, then disappears. I work to cover a larger riser above the rock, but end up putting him down. I work my way upstream another 50 feet then we head out of there. (I’m not sure how Dan fares.)

We find a stretch close to the road and hop out. Dan and Ron have fished the river for years, but haven’t fished this section. We take a look and see a few rises close to our side of the river, so park the trucks and head to it.

Sprout Midge.

The river pinches into small rapids that direct the water to the far shore toward a large rock. The current slows and pools against the rock with a small back eddy forming on the near shore. We are 60′ downriver at the tail of the pool. There are risers and I catch a couple of rainbows on my modified "Sprout Midge" emerger pattern (original pattern here at the Westfly site – I use a white Z-lon tail, no thorax, and a grayish parachute hackle). Dan hooks into some.

Ron has moseyed upriver to the rapids and announces there are rises all over the place. Dan moves up but I stay put and catch a couple more. The smallest I have caught so far is maybe 13" with the largest about 16" and most about 14". Most of the risers are now on the far side of the fast water causing drag on my line. I move upriver with the others.

Wow! They are rising in all manners: porpoising, sipping, leaping, etc. There are some nice fish in here, some probably going 20"+. Dan hooks a couple and I get into some too. Ron has to head back to Boise. Dan moves into the head of the rapids and crosses to the far side where most of the action is and the larger fish are. He sits on the large rock to the side of the pool and harvests the run with his double midge CDC experiment. I continue to pick up a few here and there. Dan lands the largest of the day at 19". These are all rainbows with one or two cuttbows tossed in. Dan loses his double midge and effectively switches to a blue-wing olive emerger. I use the midge emerger, blue-wing emerger and a callibaetis pattern.

I finally talk Dan into trying another spot. We head upriver to "Indian Rock." In a large, calm pool, two pods of 15 fish each are working, sipping off the surface. I sneak down to the river and cast, but the water is so clear and calm, the fish ignore my fly. I cast a dozen or so times then leave.

Because someone is parked in that section, we pass "Dan’s Diner" (the name I gave to a 10′ x 20′ section of water where a couple of years ago Dan pulled out 11 fish all over 16", I went later that day and pulled another 5 out). We continue upriver pulling over in a spot or two, but the hatches have died out.

We head toward Ketchum where we will sleep at Dan’s friend’s cabin for the next two nights.

Total fish count: about 20 fish each averaging 14"-16" with 5 or so 16"-18" and 5 or so under 14".