Our last planned day of fishing found us once again on the Teton. John would fish the Henry's the next day before heading to Idaho Falls for a flight out the following morning. I, however, would leave in the morning as soon as I could get packed up. It seemed I would have to wait to fish the Henry's until my next trip, whenever that would be.
It was a day of shifting light and shadows, intermittent showers, and distant thunder.
Our plan was simple: to bust upstream as far as we could get, fishing every inch of water there and back.
Every bend revealed new sweeping banks, tumbling riffles, and tantalizing runs.
We discovered that bead head nymphs drifted deep would bring up the fish. Prince nymphs couldn't miss.
There were also occasional risers, and an Elk Hair caddis would elicit enthusiastic and entertaining takes.
I finished fishing this section downstream, turned, and saw the moose standing in the river ten yards upriver from me. This time he bent down, took another drink, then waded to the four foot bank, stepped over it like it was a mere curb, and wandered off into the riparian meadows. That's the last we saw of him.
While we fished, we soaked in the view of the Tetons. Every time you looked, the view was different.
We finally turned and fished our way back downstream. We continued to catch small trout all the way back. The last trout I caught was another brilliant cutthroat.
Then it was time to pack up and start the drive back to the campground. We would stop in Driggs, we decided, for a farewell Mexican dinner.
As we made our way down the gravel roads leading to the pavement that would take us into town, the sun broke low out of the clouds and a double rainbow filled the sky.
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