One of my favorite places, but I've never seen it like this. Another wowza.
GRAND TETON 8K from More Than Just Parks on Vimeo.
GRAND TETON 8K is the culmination of nearly a month spent filming in the spectacular Jackson Hole Valley and the foothills of the Teton Mountain Range. Encompassing nearly 500 square miles, Grand Teton National Park boasts an awe-inspiring array of pristine wilderness, glacial lakes, winding rivers, diverse wildlife, and the magnificent Teton Range. Journey with More Than Just Parks as we explore a land dominated by towering peaks, apex predators, and majestic beauty. This is Grand Teton. Filmed primarily in 8K. To see more National Park films or learn more about More Than Just Parks, visit our website: morethanjustparks.com/ Music: Ryan Taubert "Becoming Human"
For the first time in a week it feels like the fire situation is beginning to come under control. Fires are still burning, and some areas are still under evacuation orders, but other areas are now out of harm's way. That includes our home and town, for which we are very grateful.
So it's time to resume my report on my trip to the Henry's Fork in July. We're just getting to the good part of the story.
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Friday morning. The four days of fishing with my brother have come to an end. Only one of those days was spent on the Henry's because of a three day dam release that blew out the river.
John takes off. He's going to fish the Henry's today. He's sure it's back in shape, and he can hardly wait. I stay back and break camp. I'm heading to Spokane today.
When I'm all packed up I swing by the Last Chance stretch where John said he would be. I look at the river. It looks good. Then I recognize the figure walking along the bank. It's John. He's striding purposefully, and I'm pretty sure he's decided to hike down to Bonefish Flats, one of his favorite places. I wish I could go with him. Then I wish him luck, and head for the highway.
It's an eight-hour drive to Spokane. I make it in good shape. I meet my wife, Kim, and my son, Isaiah, in a motel. Later my daughter, Lidia, comes with her son, Sebastian. We're all in Spokane for Isaiah's soccer tournament that begins with a 7 AM game on Saturday and will conclude on Sunday.
The first thing I do is take a long, hot shower. Ah. Then we all go out to eat. And then I sleep on a big soft bed for the first time in a week. A beautiful thing.
Saturday morning bright and early we're at the soccer pitch. We're dealing with an unknown. Isaiah had injured himself in practice earlier in the week. He's been icing it and resting it. He wants to play, he thinks he can play, but he won't know until he gets into game conditions.
He doesn't start, but goes in before halftime. It's painfully clear right away that he won't be able to play. The tournament is over for him. We're all disappointed, especially Isaiah.
After the game we meet some friends from the Midwest who are vacationing through the West. We have lunch together. Then it's time to go home.
So I stand there next to the van and think things over. The van is all packed. Along with camping equipment I have groceries and firewood that we never used. I have a few more days off before I really need to get back to my work. I'm already three hours from home on the way to the Henry's Fork. Why not just go back?
I tell Kim what I'm thinking. She says, "OK." I Love her.
I say goodbye to my family again and get back on the highway heading east. I decide to go straight back to the Teton River first. There's a camping area where we were, just a big open field that won't cost anything. And I want to fish under the Tetons again at least one more time.
I pull into the camping area late. It's Saturday night, so it's crowded. I find an open area on the edge of the field to park in. I get out of the van and stretch. There are people sitting next to campfires, laughing and talking. A canopy of stars glitters overhead. It's good to be back.
I don't mess with the tent. I climb back in the van, recline the seat, close my eyes and go to sleep. I wake up once in the middle of the night. All is quiet, and it's chilly. I pull a sleeping bag over me and go back to sleep.
When I wake up next it's light out. I climb out of the van and see the Tetons in the morning light.
Since it's light I walk to the Forest Service restroom. As early as it is there are already people lining up. I walk back to the van and begin to gear up.
I wade into the river as the sun is breaking out of the clouds. My phone says 7 AM. There is no one else around. I see only one other fisherman all day. Amazingly, it seems that all those other campers came just to camp and hang out by the river.
The first thing I do is text John back in Maine. He had sent me a text on Friday saying that the Henry's had been clear and in good shape, and that he "had shots at 3-4 nice fish but failed." I now send him that photo and tell him where I am. He soon texts back: "Do try the Henry's Fork. It was looking pretty good on Friday. I completely wore myself out walking down to the flats or I would have stayed longer. Have fun."
I decide right then to head back to the Henry's first thing in the morning the next day. I figure I can take Monday and Tuesday to see what I can do there.
But today I have the Teton at my feet. I fish it hard, hitting all the spots we had tried before, and finding some new ones. There are no moose this time, but there are many, many Sunday floaters. Still, there is plenty of space to relax and fish and enjoy the day. I'm still looking for the Big One, but I catch only small, gem-like fish. But each one, whether taking a nymph drifted deep, or flipping into the sunlight to take a PMD or caddis, is a happy interlude in a happy day.
Evening brings another heavy hatch and many rising fish. I hook my best fish of the trip so far. It takes a little PMD on the surface. It fights hard and I get excited. But when I get it close I see that it's a whitefish.
I wade out at twilight and walk back to the campground. Many folks have packed up and gone. I drive the van over to a stone fire ring and sit by the fire until the stars come out. It was another wonderful day. I climb into the van, put the seat back, and drift into a deep sleep.
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.
And so we said our goodbyes to the Teton River under a cutthroat sky.
We were up bright and early on our second morning. With the Henry's due for a flush we had our sights and hearts set on the Teton River.
We loaded up my trusty van for the road trip. This would be our office//kitchen/living room for the next few days.
We made another stop at Henry's Fork Anglers to glean whatever free advice they might have on fishing the Teton. After determining, in consultation with a couple of their guides, that we would go clear up to the meadow section, one of them said, "Hey, if you're going up there be sure to show 'em a Purple Chubby."
I bit. "What's that?" I asked.
They showed us. John turned and started for the door. But I went against type for once. We were on an adventure, after all. What better time to get wild and crazy? And, you know, (as they used to say in the movies) it's just crazy enough to work! So, even though I am not a foam fly kind of guy, I sprung for a few, tucking them away in my terrestrial box.
Then we were on the road. To Ashton, then on toward Tetonia and Driggs, as the Teton range loomed closer.
We stopped for a minute to look at Bitch Creek. There were some guys gearing up when we arrived and we watched them wend their way down to the water. It looked good, but it just made us more eager to get to the Teton.
It wasn't long before we were parked by the river. We weren't the only ones there, so we headed cross country paralleling the river.
We cut over through the trees, parted the screen of tall grass, and stepped into the river of our dreams.
The sprightly current made a wide sweeping turn here forming a long, deep run along the opposite bank.
We didn't waste any more time. We fished.
John hooked up first.
We caught small brookies, rainbows, and cutts, every one glittering like a jewel in the sun.
We worked up and down that section discovering more and more about the river with each pass.
One thing we discovered was that it was a popular floating river. Most of the floaters were courteous and thoughtful, and knew enough about fishing to try to give us ample room. We returned the favor. We were having too much fun to be cranky about sharing the river.
We took a break at the van for lunch, relaxing in our front seat easy chairs in the shade, then headed back to the river. The afternoon swept along like the river, carrying us along in its shifting current.
We fished on top, with little PMD's and caddis, ants and beetles. Most of the fish we caught were small, but once I hooked up with something that broke me off.
The afternoon wound down, and we took another break for a snack and a stretch. We debated whether to stay here or try another place. We decided to see whether there would be a good evening hatch here before deciding to go someplace else.
When we got back to the water the Tetons were bathed in evening light, and the air was full of bugs. The hatch was on.
It seemed like Purple Chubby time. I tied one on and began to work the bank, letting it drift and swing. My expectations were high, but after twenty minutes of rejection I began to feel embarrassed and switched to a cdc PMD.
I was catching fish on that, and thinking about the fish that had broken me off earlier, when John called to me. I hurried upstream and found him hooked up with a good fish. A very good fish. He had been standing in one spot at the bank for the last half hour working an elusive riser moving lots of water, and his work had paid off.
What followed was what we come for, and what will always keep us coming back.
We fished a little longer, but everything was an anticlimax now. So we packed it in, sadder but wiser, and eager to get back in the morning.
We drove through the dark thinking about supper back at the campground. It was late, and would be later still when we got back. We were tired, and neither of us was in the mood to cook.
We turned down Ashton's main street, and there ahead, at the junction with Highway 20, looming into the night sky, was a great big frosty mug of root beer. The Frostop Drive-in!
And a new tradition was born: Cheeseburgers every night.
