With a little help from a friend

I was really feeling down the other day, so when a friend asked if I wanted to wake up at 5am to go fishing in Yellowstone National Park, I figured it couldn't hurt.

Around 6am that morning, while Brady was grabbing a sandwich for lunch, I read an e-mail that said that a road in Yellowstone had closed due to a fuel spill. I asked Brady if that would affect our day, and he said, "Yeah, that's the road we're taking."

So we drove down the valley cursing anything and everything -- gasoline, truck drivers, YNP maps, roads, combustion engines -- while trying to figure out a plan B. Yellowstone has a ton of fishing options, but we had a quick decision to make. We could still go to our original location, but our drive time would triple. We could go somewhere else that would still be good, but it wouldn't be the specific goodness we'd yearned for.

We ultimately planned to do the long drive around, but the ranger at the gate had some intel: we could get closer to our original target, on the original route, than we'd read.

So we drove as far as we could and started hiking, fishing the promising water while looking for trout to cast to. And after a couple of hours and a few miles, we'd actually arrived at our original destination. 

And so had the fish. And because the road was closed, other people did not. Most days, we'd literally have seen hundreds of people here; this day, just each other.

Float a stonefly nymph or Pheasant Tail under an indicator through the buckets and hold on. I was grateful that a different friend had advised that I bring my 5-weight Sage Z-Axis switch rod, that fishes more like a 7-weight. We took turns netting, snapping photos, and bumping fists. Twelve or 13 large native cutthroat later, we figured we'd head back before the bears got us. 

My feet were blistered and my legs were tired but I was smiling. The healing power of fishing was apparent that afternoon. That's what friends are for, I guess.  

Big, dark rocks: Backcountry bearanoia

I spent some time hiking and fishing in grizzly-bear backcountry this past summer and experienced all the magic of co-exisiting with these grandiose creatures, short of an encounter.
Heart jumping at every snapping twig, blood draining when you might've glanced one, every big dark rock, one hand on the pepper spray, the awe of being mid-food-chain, knowing the odds are low but real, the camaraderie of hiking partners, of hoping to avoid them while hoping to see one, that one could be 10 feet or 10 miles away, of being miles from from your car, which is miles from health care.
And I didn't even see a black bear, all summer long.
Don't be afraid to venture into griz country, at least for a few days. It's completely exhilarating, despite the nerves.

The only wild grizzly I've seen in person. From a car in Yellowstone National Park's Hayden Valley.

Grizzly-bear book recommendations:

• The Grizzly Years, by Doug Peacock
• Mark of the Grizzly, by Scott McMillion
• The Lost Grizzlies, by Rick Bass

Fading into winter

During the week, life takes its toll. But at the end, we fish places like the Firehole River and concerns fade as the circles of a trout rise fade into the geyser steam. We cast our flies at these circles among the peaks, cliffs, fields, pines, boulders, smells and sulphury mist within a couple hours of our home.
About a week ago, in fact, we fished the Firehole River for Yellowstone National Park's closer. Even in November and probably well into the high-country winter, the Firehole is reliable for mayflies and low angler density (it closes the first Sunday, to be sure). Muleshoe Bend is the only place to be this weekend.
Then we gorge on a giant calzone, drive north through the Gallatin Canyon, and the week starts again...

Sulphur and sage

Yellowstone National Park is a carnival for the senses. The ears ride the quiet of the night, the bugle of the autumn elk, and the swishing of the tumbling river. The nose plays with aromas of sage and odors of sulphur and buffalo shit. The skin likes the cold water that wraps around its legs and the geyser steam that dances upon it. And the eyes trip out on the visual Arcadia - the colors alone can consume the retina. Yellowstone, black canyon, orange slashes, whitefish and rainbow trout, grey wolves, brown bears and red foxes. Blues and oranges of hot springs, browns of mud pots, and azures of rivers and lakes. Every shade of green plus a few proprietary ones. Yellowstone is a gold mine.

We fished the Black Canyon of the Yellowstone River on Friday with family from Duluth. We got most of the fish on Chubby Chernobyls, Humpies, Bloom's Parachute Flying Ant, but Liz successfully manipulated the Woolly Bugger a few times. A few whities, a few rainbows, but mostly cutthroat. I'd go back...

Walked directly through our site, #82, and did this on the adjacent hill...

Not Yellowstone, but the morning after.

No limit

The limit on non-native fish in Yellowstone National Park has been quashed in an advanced effort to preserve native fish. This applies to all park waters, except the Madison and Firehole rivers, the Gibbon below the falls, and Lewis and Shoshone lakes. Additionally, rainbows and brookies in the Lamar Drainage (including Slough and Soda Butte creeks) must be harvested, similar to the mandatory-kill-of-lake-trout rule in Yellowstone Lake. Bring your lemon juice.

In the middle of the great park snakes a river like no other...

These words in the post title commence chapters 1 and 50 - the first and last - of Nate Schweber's recently released book, "Fly Fishing Yellowstone National Park: An Insider's Guide to the 50 Best Places".  They reference the renowned Firehole River - one of the park's most iconic fisheries.

Schweber's book is a non-partisan (both Jimmy Carter and Dick Cheney share stories) look at special places and experiences fly fishing in Yellowstone National Park. It brings Yellowstone's fly fishing community together as if they were swapping stories over cocktails at Yellowstone Lodge on the first Monday in November. And as such, you'll probably catch wind of valuable information.

The author put in his leg-work. Fifty chapters resulting from finding the right people and interviewing them, and hiking about 300 miles to try to fish all of the included locations.

Tips on how to catch lakers, the reason westslope cutthroats are native to part of the east side of the continental divide, the real story of "Yellowstoner", and more stories and tips are sprinkled throughout, with a special emphasis on Yellowstone cutthroat conservation.

If you want a thorough where-to guide to fly fishing in Yellowstone, buy Ken Retallic's Flyfisher's Guide to Yellowstone. If you are interested in unique perspectives and intriguing stories on several fisheries along with good information, buy a second copy of Retallic's book and I'll lend you my copy of Schweber's (I work for a competing publisher) :).

The other Firehole

Yellowstone National Park's Gardner River does not have the reputation nor the number of springs (or anglers) of the Firehole River, but it, like the Firehole, is influenced by the warmth of the park's thermal features, keeping fishing excellent clear up to closing day (last Sunday).
One of the thermal inflows - the Boiling River - is the park's largest constant output of thermal discharge. People soak in the Boiling River where it meets the Gardner throughout the winter. Downstream of the Boiling River, the Gardner remains warmer than most YNP streams year round. It makes an especially big difference to anglers at the beginning and end of the park's fishing season, when temps tend to be a bit cold for great fishing elsewhere. Mayflies will hatch from May to November, which makes it a unique experience, not unlike the famous Firehole.

On Sunday (closing day), we fished it to an excellent baetis hatch and hot fish (instead of the usual Firehole-on-closing-day event). Even cutthroats were aggressive on streamers.

And with sundown on Sunday, the curtains drew nigh on another fishing season in Yellowstone. Here's to a mild but snowy winter and healthy fish next May.

Indecision Montana

“Killed on salmon dries lyons to pal yesterday,” said the text message that beeped at 11:49 on Wednesday morning, kicking off another round of agonizing decisions about where to fish this weekend. Make no mistake - this is serious soul searching. Anglers must look deep within themselves to sort out simple desires from absolute biological necessities.You could leave wondering if it might've been better elsewhere, and that can haunt you (for a week or so). Join me on last week's decisions...

One buddy wanted to float the Jefferson, but instead decided to scout a potential gem around Missoula. It's his boat, so the Jeff is out, and would be tough anyhow (not that that's ever stopped anyone before).

Raynolds and $3 on the upper Madison are out as I don't like to fish the same place consecutively even though I received glowing reports from buddies: Ben at the Chronicle; Will with Montana Sporting Journal.

The Gallatin is coming back into shape, but still not great. And tough wading.

The Missouri is always an option, but will be busy, and apparently hasn't been great lately.

The Big Hole is there, but is still pretty huge, so it's tough without a boat.

The Blackfoot sounds good to me – back in shape, big, green, fishing well. Salmonflies are late here as everywhere else, so there's definitely a shot.

The full spectrum of drakes are on the Bitterroot.

The Yellowstone is still blown out - that helps.

A certain Smith River tributary was mentioned, as was a certain Big Hole trib, a certain Blackfoot trib, and few certain other tributaries. But all require a long drive and a hike - not sure that'll work this weekend.

And I still haven't set foot in the park yet this year.

Woe is me. How does one winnow out the best from the rest? Fly fishing isn't supposed to impose these burdens.

I ended up at a couple townie streams on Friday, the Beaverhead on Saturday, and the East Gallatin on Sunday. I didn't shower all weekend so I smell like whitefish turd (but I saved on sunscreen).

Too many people in your neighborhood, in your neighborhood...

There are now only 10 weeks left of summer and thousands of miles of water to be fished. So it begins again...

Trout Lake

Yellowstone's Trout Lake is quite a place.