Wyoming flatlands trout

I'd heard Casper called things like "Wyoming's butthole," but I thought it was lovely.

I and a media crew were recently dispatched to Casper and the North Platte River to fish and spread the good news. Beyond me, it was the wonderful Tia Troy, our gracious liaison and wrangler, Mike Sepelak (you might know his blog), and Kent Danjanovich who does Sportsman's Warehouse's in-store magazine - he said he travels 160 years a year on trips like this!

I'll get to Casper, but we were there to fish.

The North Platte River doesn't exactly have Casper's notoriety and it was poised to surpass its reputation, as Wyoming fisheries usually do.

To me, the North Platte is like a mini-Missouri River - an industrial insect mill loaded with 15- to 22-inch rainbows, though smaller water than the Mo'. Mix in the occasional cutthroat and 20-plus-inch brown, scuds and sowbugs and blanket hatches and you can see why it's one of the West's best trout rivers. There were excellent baetis hatches throughout the weekend we attended, but virtually no fish rising. We caught so many 16- to 21-inch trout (like the one below) on P-tails, Periwinkles and wire worms. Our guides from the Reef Fly Shop worked hard to get us into that many fish - innumerable slight depth changes, subtle split shot adjustments and upstream oar strokes. My only regret is that we did not fish the Miracle Mile or Fremont Canyon, which looked so ripe.

On a media trip, you can count on a paparazzi scene now and then

Baetis weather!

Eric from the Reef Fly Shop floating us down.

Release.

Fremont Canyon. Ooh la la.

Some say that the North Platte is becoming a bit crowded, but that seems like an overreaction. A few boats of course, especially at Grey Reef Dam, but it's pretty easy to spread out on the myriad sections.

Casper seems to have plenty of money to fund arts, culture, history and restaurants. There's a tasty brewery making novel beer, a distillery that stands out for it's creative designs and cocktails, an unexpected modern art gallery, an awesome last-of-its-kind western store, and the National Historic Trails Interpretive Center was truly fun and engaging with all of its life-size dioramas and interactive exhibits.

Aged men looking more authentic than Sam Elliot approached to tell you
about the store or ask about your hat, at Lou Taubert's Ranch Outfitters. That leather smell... 

The National Historic Trails Interpretive Center is all about the
Oregon, California, Mormom and Pony Express trails, and is very cool.  

And everything but the guide tip was comped. Yes, I am a big deal, and the dream of fishing for a living feels one step closer.

The high motivation of creamy Jif

My shoulders spelled my soul, and we started uphill for four days and three nights in Wyoming's Wind River Range.

It was my first back-country camp-trip since a 2002 Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness trip, and it was different. This was no Duluth Pack, float-and-paddle vacation. I bought a Go-Lite backpack, had my packing list quartered then halved, and researched food that offered high energy in small packages. 'Twas then that I discovered my true motivation: Peanut butter.

A couple years ago, I abandoned certain foods like bratwurst, macaroni and cheese, and my beloved creamy Jif. I grieved like a mother dolphin, but it was worth it and I lost weight.

I found alternatives like PB2 - a low-calorie powdered peanut butter. It's fine. Perfectly edible, and great for low-calorie Asian sauces, but not a suitable substitute for p.b. connoisseurs. Incidentally, PB2 is usually ideal for this kind of lightweight trip, except that I might actually need more calories. Why waste the opportunity?

I turned into a dopey mule behind a dangling carrot, bounding uptrail, counting down until snack time, and spreading on a little too much. If the bears could've smelled my thoughts, I'd have been scalped.

The manifestation was truly exquisite... Mmm... Let us take a moment for silent reflection...

Guardian.

Beyond the back-country delicacies, we celebrated the 50th anniversary of the Wilderness Act in the Bridger Wilderness of the Bridger-Teton National Forest. We fished, thanks to Finis Mitchell's pre-fisheries-enlightenment bucket biology. No golden trout were hooked, but a low-pressure front and thunderstorms were certainly to blame (#sarcasm?). We did find eager rainbows and a stunning brook trout.

Hooked up at Seneca Lake.

It's not a golden, but it's not so bad. 

 Home again, the blisters are healing and the peanut butter has returned to the shelf. Until we start uphill again.

Pinedale 82941

In Pinedale, Wyo., everybody plays an instrument (or so it seems). Every bar has a band and every band is at least excellent. So happened the band we patronized was the most excellent. We stayed with the front man (and his lady), who happened to be the Sublette Examiner's 2012 People's Choice Musician of the Year which, despite what it might seem, is quite an accomplishment in this hip community. Also in this band was a hilarious, bluesy bass player who apparently played gigs with the knee-high Jackson Five and Don Cornelius (let me stress apparently). The fishy fiddle/mandolin player rocked the strings, and the lead singer and the drummer flew in from New York City for the performance - no jive, it was excellent music for a metropolis of under 1,500 residents. If "6 Foot 2" comes near you, you might consider it.

And we fished. The upper Green, was in fact frozen up at Warren Bridge, but we found some access on a nearby creek where it seemed there was nothing under 15 inches. I had one of those days where I couldn't keep a hook in a fish, but Liz's 'set was solid...

We fished our way home Sunday through a wicked wind and snow shower. The fishy water proved fruitless, save for a handful of photos.

Pinedale is a hip, fishy community where the cure for the blues is to wail on the didgeridoo.