On a Road to Nowhere

This is What Heaven Looks Like

It's easy to fall out of touch and lose track of old friends - even the really good ones.  Thus, when some friends recommended we set up an annual fishing trip reunion, I was all over it.

This year's destination - Yellowstone National Park.

Select members of the old Gainesville posse flew into Idaho Falls and we packed up the truck and camp trailer and headed for the park.

After setting up a base camp, we hiked into an area where we thought the salmonflies would be hatching.  They were right on schedule.

The reward for our long hike? Dozens of cutthroat trout that were eager to rise from the depths to our dry flies.

 

 

Wildlife sightings included bison, a grizzly (too quick for the camera), elk, an osprey and an extremely aggressive marmot.

"Hey, Nice Marmot!"

I can think of no better place to spend time with old friends than in the backcountry, 

on the water.

Thanks for a great time, gents.

The Descent

26 miles, three friends, one boat, a deep canyon and a hell of a lot of rain...rain like the sound of trains.

As the weekend approached, we wondered if Mother Nature was going to continue her four-month long streak of havoc over eastern Idaho.  After the fifth or sixth bolt of lighting cracked over our heads on Saturday, the guessing game was over.

Time to Set Up Camp

We are talking about the kind of rain where even the best rain gear is useless, serving only as another saturated reminder that you are, in fact, soaked to the bone.  The kind of rain where you spend the remaining daylight hours in a sleeping bag in your tent, like mountaineers trapped in a high altitude blizzard...waiting.  The kind of rain where you wake up all night in sync with each incoming thunderhead, hoping tomorrow will be better.  

 Fortunately, tomorrow was better...a whole lot better.

New Day Rising

All this ruckus was not enough to keep golden stoneflies from performing their eons-old rituals...or yellow sallies...or pale morning duns.  The same goes for the trout.

They are much better adapted to life in the elements and they've got lots of things to do during our short summer season.

Thus, we pounded the banks of 26 river miles with dry flies and were rewarded by feisty cutthroats.