Trout Lake Report: Maybe I Should Have Shared

Had to get back to home waters after a tough time on the Henry's. There were only two of us fishing in spite of it being Labor Day weekend: me and the eagle. She perched here after making a pass and missing a fish.

I managed to get a few. It felt good to have a little weight straining my wrist again. These weren't huge, but they weren't pleeps, either. The last one was a long, lean eighteen incher.

I know she catches more fish than I ever will, but maybe on this day, in honor of all her labor, I should have shared with the eagle.

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Henry's Fork: Departure

Please scroll down for Henry's Fork: Days One, Two, and Three.

That final morning arrived all too soon. Pete would leave by 9:00, and the rest of us had finally decided the night before that we would pack up and leave as soon after that as we could.

So we had breakfast...

Said our goodbyes...

And hit the road. John and Mark and I had a great trip through some of the most beautiful country in the world. We made a minimum of stops, but took time at one Rest Area to take a close look at the Clark Fork. We counted; I90 crosses it 15 times.

We came over the last pass at dusk and got home just in time to hear the final horn of Isaiah's first game of the season. The home team had pulled off a 33 to 0 victory, and Isaiah, a Freshman, got to play a few downs for the Varsity. We missed that, but we were in time for a photo with the uncles.

That was an interesting and unusual ending for a fishing trip, but it emphasized the fact that, when all is said and done, it's all about the people you care about.

Even if the fish of the trip had turned out to be a lot bigger than it was this year, that isn't what we would remember most about our time at the Henry's Fork.

No, what we'll remember most is that four brothers were together at the Henry's Fork for the first time, and had a blast.

Henry's Fork: Day Three

We got another early start and went back to the Ranch. This little Baetis was on my hat in the van, his shuck still stuck to the dash. It turned out to be an omen: the river was dotted with Baetis when we got there. Best of all, there were some good fish working everywhere we looked.

I was the first one in the water, and, to our chagrin, as soon as I approached casting range the good fish went down. All of them. We saw no more steady risers after that. The pleeps were hard at it, but the big fish played it very cagey. They were there, but, as before, they would come up and take a bug with a big ploop or clop, once, maybe twice, then disappear.

We worked hard to find them and bring them to a fly, but nothing, not even the tried and true, worked. As an example, I drifted an ant around a weed mat, and, just where it should have, a fish came up and took. But it was a little tiny pleep. There should have been a big fish there. In past years, there has been.

All too soon it was time to wade out for lunch. The good thing was that we were expecting Pete to meet us. He was waiting for us when we got to the ford.

That was a good time.

Pete's time with us would be short, and he decided, based on our fishing report, not to mess with fishing. So he and Mark went off to buy some big ribeyes for supper and hang out back at camp building up a big bed of coals. John and I waded back in for what would be the final push.

As John and I were heading down the path by the river a large fish took something with a big splashy rise right along the edge of a weed mat on the other side of the river. I waded in and drifted an ant right along that very edge, once, twice, three times, four... nothing. Once again, it should have worked, but it simply didn't.

We covered a lot of river, checked out all the good spots, and pulled out all our tricks, but nothing worked. There were precious few bugs on the water, and even when a few PMD's started popping neither of us found any steady risers. I even went back to that first weed mat and drifted a PMD along its edge. John went after a big rise--one big rise--and tried everything, even a streamer. But, in the final analysis, nada.

There was only one thing to do: we headed back to camp for some brother time--and an excellent supper.

Henry's Fork: Day Two

Thunder crashed and rumbled during the night, but the heavy rain missed us, and morning dawned bright and beautiful. We got up early, eager to get a jump on the hatch.

We had a plan: to hike down to Bonefish Flats and catch some big fish. We make the pilgrimage to the Flats at least once a trip, and we also wanted Mark to see it. So, once again hopeful and optimistic, we geared up and started out.

It was a gorgeous morning. But we did notice that even that early it was getting a little breezy.

By the time we rounded the big bend the wind was picking up, and by the time we were halfway to Bonefish it was blowing a gale. We went ahead and hiked all the way down, but Bonefish was blown out, a raging, whitecapped  torrent.

So, when life gives you a grasshopper wind, fish hoppers. That's what we did. We started back up the lee bank watching the hoppers we kicked up splat out in the current and flow away downstream. Every once in awhile there would be a big swirl and the hopper would be gone.

We worked that bank pretty good, sometimes having to hold onto our hats--but to no avail. At one point John and Mark were watching a natural hopper drift past a weed mat and saw a big fish calmly come up and engulf it. They went right to it with their flies, but couldn't get a rise. That's also something we were to observe every day: things that should have worked just didn't.

So we sat on the bank out of the wind and thought things out, then went out and tried some more. Once, while we were on the bank, a flock of little shorebirds that had been on a big weed mat upriver came rushing over us peeping in alarm. I looked up and saw the reason for their alarm: a Peregrine was swooping after them, but, maybe because it saw us, it pulled up and hung in the wind for a moment. Then, giving up the chase, it banked and sailed swiftly downstream in search of other prey.

That was lovely.

Inevitably, we ran out of bank before we had caught any fish. We were hot and tired and wind-blown and decided to take a supper break, then come back to see what was happening in the evening.

We made a quick stop at the Mountain Deli, sparked up the fire, and had a good supper.

We went back to the river at Last Chance and parked upstream from the viewing deck. The sunset was superb, and a few caddis were fluttering along the bank.

As John was gearing up to go out and I was watching for rises from the high bank, a big trout came straight up out of the river and fell back with a big splash. I hope I never forget the sight of that fish hanging in midair silhouetted against the sunset water.

John went in and covered a good deal of water trying to find that fish. He drifted a caddis and a small stimulator, and even stripped a streamer. But it was not to be.

So we headed back to camp and did some more strategizing around the campfire.

Henry's Fork: Day One

We got on the road by 3:00 and drove to a rest area between Missoula and Butte, slept for a few hours in the van, drove on before first light, and rolled into Last Chance by mid-morning. After getting our licenses and a campsite we headed for the Railroad Ranch section.

It's a beautiful thing to be gearing up for your first shot at the river. Hope runs high; optimism rules the day.

We made the ford and walked up the shoreline.

We knew we were late for the Tricos, but hoped for more than we found. There were very few bugs on the water. A few fish were up and working, but they were pleeps (the little fish that go pleep when they rise.) We wandered all over that section searching out good fish but found precious few. And we observed something we were to see every day: the big fish would come up once, twice...and then disappear.

Mark had a good fish come out from under a weed mat and go for his fly just as he was lifting it off the water to recast. He says the head came clear out of the water. That got him going, and kept him going for awhile. He worked that weed mat over pretty good but failed to raise any more fish.

So it was a day of wading and searching and going through fly boxes in hopes of finding something that might entice a reluctant fish to come up.

Eventually we decided to walk out and drive over to the Last Chance stretch to see whether there might be something happening there.

There wasn't.

We gave it some time, but finally retreated back to camp for supper and some tactical planning around the campfire.