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.  

Adieu et c'est la vie

Starting now and continuing for a few years, the non-native-but-wild cutthroat trout present in an unnamed drainage are going to be euthanized or relocated in an effort to help conserve an even more endangered native fish. Limits are high, and a mandatory-kill law, like the one at Yellowstone Lake, was apparently on the table (though decided against). Non-native trout removal is happening nationwide and it is what it is.

But liberal limits and a fish trap are certain not to guarantee elimination of the big, beautiful fish, which are currently planting and fertilizing eggs. And there are undoubtedly hundreds more - maybe thousands - that are too young to spawn this year, thus making them difficult to capture. Fisheries management is an inexact science and managers admittedly don't really know how to handle this situation in a multiple-use/conservation-minded area keeping as many folks happy as possible. It's an experiment that will be evaluated when it's over.

So we fished. Within 15 minutes, Liz landed three around 20 inches - it probably goes without saying that the level of "sport" was low (we didn't fish over redds or anything, but we might as well have). These fish were absurdly aggressive - in some holes, two casts was an extended dry spell. But this trip was more about having fun while helping conserve a unique fish in an incredible place, than it was about sport-fishing. We have no illusions about our success.

Big smile now...

Fish til you giggle...

Gratuitous

Like a boss

And they tasted great...

At the fishing access site...

Caviar!

If you recognize this fishery, have at 'er and help conserve an endangered fish. Keep in mind, however, that it's small water and a fragile ecosystem that probably wouldn't appreciate throngs of anglers.

We hate to lose this tremendous fishery, but if not for the efforts to rid the big and beautifuls, the creek would be closed this time of year and we'd never have the opportunity in the first place.

Regardless, we indulged for one weekend. It was something most lifelong fly anglers will never experience, and we appreciated every second and every fish. Hopefully this was not a final goodbye.

Copyright Liz Juers

More photos

God willing and the creek don't rise

Sometimes ya just gotta go get lost. A buddy and I went to see about corroborating a local fable that speaks of big cutthroat trout in a certain small, remote water.
"They're in there" was the mantra.

The tale says getting there early is key, so we went on the general season opener. With size-2 rabbit-strip cone-head sculpin fakes, we marched in and through the turbid but fishable water. After all, they're in there right?
Within a couple hours, I happened into a slow, deliberate chase and eat of a big cutt; it was quickly thrashing the end of my line. But my dog's zeal sent him splashing off the cutoff bank into the creek - sure enough, this caused a furious reaction and the fish popped off.
For Boges' sake, redemption came my (his) way. I later hooked and landed two that each went about 20 inches from the same little pocket upstream of the first hookup. The dog was in the clear, but the myth of big cutts was obliterated. We had confirmation.

This morning, the creek had gained 50 percent in flow and the radar showed rain. Seems we'd somehow pleased the fishing gods, and they rained cutthroat upon us.