The Henry's Fork of the Snake

Day 2 of our Eastern Idaho trip started early. Camron wanted to hit a diversion dam on the Henry's Fork early in the morning when the browns are most active. The sun was just reaching the horizon by the time we were rigged up and wading into the river.

 

Camron had built up the hype; brown trout with massive size potential, pre-spawn aggressive nature, gorgeous yellow-orange colors and all congregated below the diversion dam with nowhere else to go. I was focused and in the zone as I stripped my streamers through the fast, oxygenated water. I was quickly rewarded with a small brown that fought like a 24 incher.   

  

 

I continued downstream after releasing the little brown, while Camron worked his way closer to the churned up whitewater directly below the diversion. A fish rose within range and I bombed out a cast, hoping to intercept the fish. Strip, strip, strip, BOOM! The rod nearly jolted out of my hands as I tried to freeze up and let the fish set the hook by itself. Once I felt the weight of the fish, I lifted the rod and the battle was on. The fish made a screaming run and I couldn't help but wonder if I had hooked a monster. After taking me within sight of my backing, my 6 weight muscled the bruiser back in. Camron must have noticed how excited I was and came down with the net. I worked the fish within sight and my excitement fell a bit; I had snagged a fatty rainbow with my bottom streamer. This is a fairly common occurrence when fishing tandem streamers. The fish takes the top fly, and if you don't get a good hook-set, the bottom fly snags them. Regardless, I was still happy to have a nice fish on my line. Camron scooped the pig in the net. As I grabbed the fat rainbow and my fingers squished into her soft belly, I couldn't help but conclude that rainbows are the true gluttons of the trout world; they clearly don't know when to stop eating.

 

 

I released her and she waddled away into the depths of the river. We fished awhile longer without any success before deciding it was time to go float the Henry's Fork from Warm River to Ashton.

 

We left Camron's car at the take-out and drove up to the put-in. There were already 4 trucks in front of us, waiting to launch their boats.

"Welcome to the Henry's Fork!" Camron exclaimed with sarcasm.

"Dang. But we have a raft!" I said triumphantly. "And... we still have to pump it up."

"Oh man, I hope we can do it faster than yesterday." Camron replied, with a tone of dread.

 

As we rigged up the boat, guides and their clients shot us looks and chuckled amongst themselves. I imagine them saying things like, 'I'm sure glad we have this nice comfortable drift boat that floats without all that work' or 'I'm not envious of them'. Camron and I made good time this morning pumping up the raft by hand and the boat was now ready. However, all the boats that were waiting had now launched, and 5 more were in line now.

 

"Let's sneak in now," Camron said, as we each grabbed a side of the boat and drug it into the water.

I jumped on the oars and Camron was fishing immediately.

"There's usually some pigs right here at the put in that no one fishes for." Camron said, as he stripped his streamers through the dark, deep water.

BAM! Camron set the hook.

"OOOHHHHHH, Hawg Johnson! Dude, I've got a monster here! Did you see it flash down there?" Camron shouted, as he tried to muscle the big fish out of the deep.

"No, I didn't see it. Hawg Johnson?" I chuckled, as I tried to hold the boat in position.

"Yeah dude, he's a monster. Oh no, I think he's stuck now." Camron pulled on the line and it was solid. The fish was clearly wrapped around something. "I can still feel him pulling down there, he must be hung up on a rock or a stick."

I held the boat in position as Camron tried different angles with the rod. I then let us slide downstream and across the river, hoping to back the line around the obstacle and free it. The line was still stuck as Camron pulled.

"Come on! Dang it, I had Hawg Johnson!"

"Sorry man. I'm trying."

I pulled as much upstream as I could but Camron no long felt the fish. I slowly let the boat slide downstream in a last ditch effort. Camron pulled until the fly broke off. Camron sulked as he tied on another large streamer.

"Get another one man!" I said, as I put us back into the main river and Camron got back in the game.

"There's one!" Camron said, setting the hook on a decent brown.

We pulled over and netted the 17 inch male and snapped a picture. 

 

 

Camron jumped on the oars and it was my turn. I worked the water and managed to grab a small brown. 

 

We continued down the river, splashing streamers into every nook and cranny that might hold a meat-eating trout.

 

 

We pulled over at a nice run and decided to nymph for awhile. I was quickly rewarded with the most handsome fish species in the Henry's Fork; a Large Scale Sucker fish.  

 

The run only produced another small whitefish, so we continued downstream. Fishing slowed the further downstream we went. We grabbed a fish here and there, but overall, both streamers and nymphs were not producing like we had hoped. After talking to guides as they passed, we discovered they weren't doing very well either.

 

It wasn't until we approached the take-out that we found a few small fish rising. We switched up flies and quickly hooked into a few. They were indeed small and one of them even slipped through a hole in the net.

 

We made it to the take-out and rushed to pack things up. Camron had a plan for the evening and we didn't want to waste anymore time. Once the boat was loaded up, we headed downstream to one of Camron's favorite evening streamer spots. Dark clouds began to roll in as we pulled up and grabbed our gear for nighttime "hawg hunting". We waded into the river just as it started to sprinkle rain a little. From my experience, a light rain dramatically improves streamer fishing. BAM! My line stopped as I was retrieving my 3rd cast. A small brown came thrashing to the surface. 

 

We continued casting and slowly working our way out into the river. Camron missed a few fish as darkness approached. I made a cast towards some cover and began stripping the streamer back towards me. I was stripping the fly as fast as I could to keep up with the current when one took. Immediately I felt the weight and power of the fish. He took off and my fly reel played that sweet song we all love. He fought hard, but in a few minutes we had him in the net.

 

 

I was more than thrilled to land a great Henry's Fork brown.

 

 

We continued fishing into the rainy night without as much as another sniff from a fish. When we were completely drenched from the rain, we finally called it a night. As happy as I was to have caught a great Henry's Fork brown, I was even more thrilled because we were going to fish the famous Teton River tomorrow. The trip could only get better!     

The South Fork of the Snake

All year, I'd heard nothing but fantastic reports coming from the South Fork of the Snake River. I had never fished it before but it had been on my list for a long time. These reports inspired me to plan a trip with my best fishing buddy, Camron. Camron had lived in Rexburg for several years and became very familiar with the area. I would provide the boat, and with his expertise of the area, we were sure to reek havoc on some Eastern Idaho fish.

Day one of the trip, we would hit the South Fork of the Snake with Camron's friend Shane. Shane is an avid fly fisherman and blogger. I had followed Shane's blog, The Fish Hunter Chronicles, for a year and couldn't wait to fish with him.

We picked up Shane, arranged our shuttle and were rigging the raft by 9 am.
"How long will it take to get the raft ready? We don't have to pump it up by hand do we?" Camron asked.
"It shouldn't take long at all, I have an electric pump!" I responded, with relief and excitement.
I popped the hood of my truck and hooked up the old electric raft pump to my battery. It roared to life and began pushing air into the raft.
"I'll man this and you guys can get your waders on and rods ready." I said, as the raft began to expand.
The pump was working hard and getting very hot, but I began to notice the progress slowing. I decided to let the pump rest a minute before starting again. I fired it back up and progress was once again being made, but the bladder I was working on was only a quarter full. This was taking a little longer than I hoped. As the pump began to heat up again, I remembered how old it was. I had seen this thing in the garage since I was a little kid. This thing must be over 20 years old, I thought as Camron and Shane came back over.
"Taking it's time, eh?" Shane asked, slightly concerned with the raft still being nearly deflated.
"Maybe you guys could grab the hand pump and we'll speed this up a bit." I said, staring at a half inflated bladder that had taken almost ten minutes to achieve.

 

We began taking turns with the hand pump and the electric pump. The raft slowly began to take shape. It was clear that the electric pump was nearly worthless and we inflated 3 bladders by hand in the time it took the electric pump to inflate 1 bladder.

 

By 10 am, we finally had the boat inflated and ready for the river.

"Sorry guys. That took a lot longer than I expected," I said apologetically.

"No worries. I'm glad I could get my work out in today!" Shane said jokingly.

We pushed the boat off and Camron took the oars first. Shane is a stage 4 streamer junky and was not about to test his sobriety today. He was chucking a sink-tip line and double streamers to the bank. I started with one of my bumble butt bee patterns. 

 

We only made it a couple hundred yards down the river before Shane was hooked up. The fish fought hard, but Shane quickly skated the nice brown trout in.

 

 

The skunk was now off the boat, but so far my bee had received no love. The boat was approaching a small island where most of the river flowed to the right, creating a soft side channel on the left. As we came closer, we noticed heads coming up on the scum-line. We anchored the boat in the shallows and re-rigged our rods for rising fish. A blue-winged olive landed on the boat, making my decision easy to tie a suspended BWO on. Camron and I worked the rising fish with only a couple refusals, while Shane worked the main river with his streamers. I switched to a size 22 RS2 and was quickly into a small fish.    

 

 

We worked the rising fish awhile longer with only another small rainbow to hand. Our float was a long one and we would need to cover a lot more water. I tied on a large grasshopper and we continued down the river.

 

We pulled over at the next gravel bar and worked the fast, riffly water. I made a short cast and tried to follow the hopper through the choppy water. I lost track of my fly and saw my line straightening out. I then felt the pull of a fish before I could even set the hook. Line began peeling off the reel as the fish tore across the riffle. I was still in shock when the line went slack.

"Dang! I didn't even see that fish take my fly. I must have been sleeping," I said, casting back to the same spot as if the same fish might grab it again.

Shane picked up another fish on his streamer while Camron set up a nymph rig. I tried another area of the gravel bar before returning to where that fish grabbed my hopper. I made a short cast further downstream and watched as a large cutty slowly rose and ate my fly. After a great battle, I admired the fish and watched him swim off. 

  

 

We continued down the river, enjoying the beautiful canyon.

 

 

 

 

So far the fishing on the South Fork of the Snake had been fair. The weather had called for overcast all day, but the "hatch killing" sun had broken through and we hadn't seen a bug since earlier in the morning.

 

We floated down a side channel and popped back out onto the main river next to a small gravel island. The soft water next to the island revealed many rising fish and we quickly pulled the boat over. BWO's were hatching sparsely, but every cutthroat was up on them. Camron was into a nice one right away. 

 

 

I tied a suspended BWO on and was quickly into a fish as well.

 

 

"Dude, I don't think Shane even brought any dry flies. I'm telling you, he's a total streamer junky." Camron said, as Shane worked the outside of the bar with his streamers. "We better give him a suspended BWO."

I offered Shane one of the BWO's.

"Uh, sure, I'll try one of those." Shane said hesitantly as he took the fly, likely questioning if it was worth tying on.

Shane tied on the BWO and was quickly into a decent cutty.

 

 

We put the hurt on the rising fish as the BWO's continued to hatch.

 

 

 

 

 

After an hour and a half and 10 or so fish, we hopped in the boat and floated down through where all the fish had been rising. Shane was back on the streamer and getting action on every cast. The water was very clear and lots of nice cutthroat could be seen as we drifted by. 

 

We pounded the banks as we drifted down the river, picking up a fish here and there.

 

 

We reached the take out with a few hours of daylight to spare. The South Fork had not disappointed us. The beautiful cutthroats were in a class of their own. Although the BWO's had produced a lot of fish on the one gravel bar, Shane's streamers consistently caught even more. After loading the boat into my pickup, we headed back to Rexburg. Shane had been a pleasure to fish with, and he taught me a couple of tricks while catching all those fish on streamers.

 

We dropped Shane off with just a few minutes of daylight left. Camron knew a small stream nearby that held a few fish. We decided to spend the remaining light fishing there. Two pools down, I stumbled upon the largest cutthroat I would catch all day. I was stripping my small bugger out of the shadows of an overhanging bush when my line stopped. I set the hook and what came thrashing near the surface shocked me. A gorgeous 19 inch cutthroat tore through the hole, deeply testing the 4 weight rod I was using. After a great battle, we netted him. What a great fish to finish the day on! 

As we walked out in the dark, we talked about where we would fish tomorrow.

"I've got a spot on the Henry's Fork that should be loaded with big browns this time of year. Let's hit that in the morning," Camron said, with a glow in his eyes.

"Sounds good to me!"   

 

Kokanee Salmon in McCall

 

I awoke in the middle of the night to the sound of a raven beating it's wings on the top of the tent. Wait, that doesn't make sense. It's night, ravens wouldn't be flying around at night. Where am I? I pondered as I opened my weary eyes. It took me a moment to wake up enough to remember where I was. Katie and I were camping in McCall near the Crestline trailhead. What was that noise? What would be messing with our tent in the middle of the night? Whack, Whack, Whack! There it was again! Katie rolled over and responded by beating on the inside of the tent several times. Apparently she wasn't even slightly afraid of what might be attacking our tent.

"Honey, what was that? It sounded like a bird beating it's wings on the tent." I said, with a confused look on my face.

"I don't know, sounds like something was brushing the frost off of the tent."

Just then, I heard a noise I recognized. Something was messing with the cooler. Crap, I left the cooler out? I quickly grabbed my headlamp and prepared myself for what might be rummaging through our camp. I zipped open the tent and peeked my head under the rain-fly. Two glowing eyes shone back at me 15 yards away. I readjusted the headlamp and discovered the culprit.

"Well hello Mr. Fox!" I said with relief.

At the sound of my words, the fox ran towards me halfway and stopped again. Startled, I grabbed the nearest rock and prepared myself to fight. This is strange fox behavior. The fox took a few steps back, now unsure of how friendly I might be. I hurled the rock at the fox, missing him by just inches. I expected the fox to run off out of fear for his life. Instead, the fox pursued the rock.

"Well don't FETCH it!" I said, almost laughing.

"What's going on?" Katie asked from inside the tent.

"The fox tried to grab the rock I threw at him."

"Strange."

I grabbed a golf ball sized rock, this time determined to 'educate' this fox. I missed him again by inches and again he chased the rock, mouthing it and deciphering it's edibility. Very strange behavior. Someone has been feeding this fox. 

I slipped my shoes on and prepared to exit the safety of the tent. No fox is going to get away with this behavior. I'll grab my shotgun if I have to!

I peeked my head out again to find out where the fox was now. He was under my truck peering at me with those glowing eyes. Attempting to add more humor to the situation, I said what any self respecting fox would be terrified to hear. "Trevor would trap you!" At those words, the fox bolted into the darkness.

I chuckled as I exited the tent. Katie's brother, Trevor, must have a reputation amongst animals now as a deadly trapper, I thought as I placed the cooler into the back of my truck. On the top of the cooler were the foxes cute little tracks.

 

 

I quickly went back to sleep and when I awoke, it was light outside. I exited the tent and found scrape marks on the rain fly of the tent. There were also fox tracks around camp and he had even tore off the warning label on the propane tank. Quite the mischievous fellow.

 

After breakfast, we packed up camp and drove down the road to the next adventure. Our legs were fairly tired from the previous days hike, so we opted for an easier activity. Katie's dad had told us about a small stream that kokanee salmon would likely be spawning in. Katie had never caught a kokanee, so we decided that's what we would do for the day. 

 

Our drive through McCall came to a halt when 2 mule deer bucks brought the tourist out of me. I pulled my truck over to get a picture of the two deer feeding right next to the road.   

       

 

We continued driving to the kokanee salmon spot. Most of the kokanee closer to Boise had already finished spawning, so when we got there, I immediately walked up to the stream to check if the salmon were there. They were indeed there and small red fish were scurrying around everywhere, spawning and chasing each other.

 

 

Some of the fish, not yet ready to spawn, were schooled up in the deep pools. Like a maroon amoeba, they moved slowly to and fro.

 

 

Kokanee salmon are notoriously difficult to catch. Sometimes they are aggressive and will attack anything you throw. Other times you can't get them to bite anything. From my experience, bright egg-like patterns and nymphs are the ticket. I tied on a couple of weighted flies and we walked downstream to a run full of kokanee salmon.

 

We began casting to individual fish to see their reactions. The males would practically swim away from our flies while the females were showing very aggressive behavior. It wasn't long before Katie was into her first kokanee. Immediately the fish was flying through the air, trying to throw the hook. It seemed the fish spent more time in the air than the water before it beached itself. Kokanee salmon are known for their acrobatics and this small female didn't disappoint. 

 

Once we discovered the females were the ones biting, they were all we focused on. The fishing began heating up and we were having a blast catching the little kokanee.

 

 

We moved upstream to a deep pool to try for some fish that weren't actively spawning. There must have been over 300 kokanee in this school and they were very skittish. Every time I would cast, the whole school would scatter. I then began to cast and let my fly sink, waiting for the school to return before I began retrieving my fly. It worked like a charm. I was soon hooking fish after fish out of this large school.  

 

Determined to catch a male, I moved back downstream to some spawning activity and began targeting only the males. It wasn't easy, but eventually I caught one. This guy was small and barely 'humped-up', but a male he was.   

 

We continued fishing and catching the small kokanee. Katie was into double digits now and having a blast.

 

 

 

 

 

 

We fished awhile longer before the novelty wore off a little. Kokanee are a fun, acrobatic fish, available only a few weeks out of the year. It's a unique experience everyone should try at least once.

 

We packed up and joined the train of cars headed back down to Boise. It had been a wonderful McCall trip I hope we can repeat next year.    

Marge Lake

My wife and I have started a tradition of hiking into a high mountain lake every year for her birthday. This year we chose one we had never been to, Marge Lake, North of McCall. I had to work until 6 on Friday evening and we planned to hike on Saturday. Instead of doing the logical thing and leave early Saturday morning in the daylight, we choose to leave Friday night and drive in the dark to a brand new place, setting up camp in the dark. But when you're excited to get out of town, you just want to get out of town.

We found the trailhead no problem and found a suitable spot to camp nearby. At 11:30 PM, we crawled into the tent, just as frost was starting to cover everything.

 

We awoke early the next morning to find the sun nearing the horizon and beginning to melt the frost covered woods. We packed our things for the day and set out on the trail. It was grouse season, so I brought my shotgun. I debated carrying the thing all the way into the lake, but if I didn't, we would surely see a lot of grouse. Worse yet, we might see a pack of ferocious, rabid wolves. Ok maybe not likely, but it never hurts to be prepared.      

 

 

The area had been burned in the last 15 years and there were a lot of standing snags.

 

 

 

The trail was relatively flat and easy going as it meandered through the burnt trees and colorful fall bushes.  

 

 

The path took a turn and crossed the small creek coming out of Pearl Lake. We knew we were now getting close to Pearl Lake. The trail began to head uphill and gain elevation. We reached the top of the hill and had a wonderful view of the valley and surrounding mountains.

 

 

We hiked a little further and Pearl Lake was before us.

 

 

We knew the fishing in Pearl Lake was good, but we were in search of larger, less educated fish. Marge Lake was only another mile or so, but there was no marked trail. I got the map out and made a few bearings. 

"Ok, honey. You up for this?" I asked, as we stared at the so called "trail" in front of us.

"Yes, I think we should. We've come this far. We need to check out that lake." Katie said with optimism.

 

 

We began to work our way through the fallen trees, bushes and rocks, slowly gaining elevation. According to the topography map, we would need to gain almost 500 feet of elevation to make it up and over the mountain in front of us.

 

 

It was difficult to navigate without a trail, but we eventually made it up to the top.

 

 

We took a moment to catch our breath and enjoy the beautiful view.

 

 

The fresh snow at the top reminded us that winter always has a grip on the mountains of Idaho. 

 

 

We could see Marge Lake below us now and my excitement grew. Now we only had to drop another 500 feet of elevation, a detail I knew I would dread on the way out.

 

 

The lake was crystal clear and I couldn't wait to peer into the water in search of cruising fish.

 

 

It was nearly noon and the strenuous hike had given us a fierce appetite. Of course, I didn't know I was hungry because there was a lake with fish in front of me. My wife usually has to remind me it's time to eat in these situations. While I rigged up the fly rods, Katie made us a couple of sandwiches.   

 

 

I "woofed" my sandwich down, drank some fluids and had a fly rod in my hand in about 3 minutes flat. I walked out onto a log that extended into the lake and began casting a small black beetle pattern. I was just about to lift the fly off the water to present my 3rd cast, when a large shape emerged under my fly. The large cutthroat trout sipped my fly slowly, but deliberately. I set the hook and was amazed at the size and fight of this fish.

 

 

The little 4 weight reel was whining as the fish pulled with all it's might. I slowly worked the fish in and apprehended him. I was thoroughly satisfied with the quality of our first fish at Marge Lake.

 

 

After releasing the fish, we worked our way further down the lake towards a small wooded cove. We walked out onto some logs and began casting. My eyes were scanning the clear waters for a cruising fish to cast to, when something strange caught my eye. A fish, no 2 fish, 3, 4... a whole school of trout was swimming towards us!

 

    

The school of 10-16 inch cutthroat swam right towards us and passed directly under the log we were standing on. They then swam around behind us in search of food, surprisingly unafraid or unaware of our presence. Katie made a soft, short roll cast towards the fish. A quick twitch brought the "Bumble Butt" fly to life and a cutthroat responded favorably.

 

 

Katie set the hook on the 14 inch fish and the battle was on! The fish immediately dove for the submerged branches twisting and turning. Katie did her best to control the fish but it was no use. The fish swam around a branch and the line was stuck. The fish was still on the line though, still spinning and kicking. I carefully walked out onto the log, trying to keep my balance. A fall in the snow chilled water at this point would surely ruin my day. I slowly knelt down where the fish was stuck and reached into the water to unwrap the fish. I was able to get the fish unwrapped, but now I was out in the lake on a thin log and unable to turn around. I carefully began crawling backwards on my knees until the log was wide enough to get my balance to stand up, a task that quickly reminded me I wasn't as young as I used to be. Like a newborn fawn, I slowly wobbled myself to a standing position and turned around to get a picture of Katie's fish.

  

  

Katie released the fish and we waited for the school of cutthroats to return. It only took a few minutes before the school was back and cruising around at our feet amongst the cover of the sunken branches. Katie dropped the fly off the tip of the rod and gave it a couple twitches. A fish materialized beneath the fly and slowly rose to devour it. 

 

 

 

We both giggled as Katie set the hook.

"That was so cool! That fish ate the fly right here!" I said, as I looked through the photos I had just taken. "And I got pictures of it all!"

 

We didn't want to spook all the fish again, so Katie gave the fish some slack, letting it shake the hook. It shook it quickly and she placed another cast to the school of fish still in the area.

 

We had fun playing around with these fish for some time before we decided to move on. We crept around the lake to another cove, this one covered in submerged grass. We couldn't see any fish and nothing was taking an interest in our flies, so we kept going.

 

 

We reached the rocky side of the lake where the mountainside seemed to disappear into the depths of the lake. Large, granite boulders became our trail, as we hopped from one to another. We made casts here and there in search of guilable fish. We kept hearing loud squeaks behind us and I turned around, catching a glimpse of an illusive Pika, the "gerbil" of the alpine country. 

 

 

 

We kept moving around the lake with no success. While one end of the lake was deep and rocky, the other side was quite shallow with prevalent weed growth. This is a great balance for a high mountain lake, ensuring the fish have cover and great areas for feeding.  

 

We made it all the way around the lake, with only having success on the side we had started. We decided to try the cove where we had caught all the fish before. We walked out onto the logs and stood waiting for the school of fish to reappear. The school never reappeared, and I noticed it was starting to get late. I knew we better start hiking back so we wouldn't be stuck hiking in the dark. We packed up and began the trek up the steep mountain, which seemed even more steep than before. We huffed and puffed our way to the top, where we could see Pearl Lake below us.

 

When we reached Pearl Lake, we stopped to take a short break. I couldn't let myself walk past the lake without throwing a few casts. I rigged a rod back up and made some casts.  

 

Immediately, I was rewarded with a fish that shortly shook the hook. My next cast also produced a take that I wasn't able to set. Pearl Lake showed promise, but as quickly as the action had heated up, it died down. Despite trying a couple other areas around the lake, Pearl Lake was giving us a sign it was time to head back to camp.

 

I packed up my rod and we set back on the trail. With the motivation of fishing now gone, my legs told me they were weary and tired. We finally made it back to camp, where the once cold, hard slab of granite barely worth noticing was now an inviting bed to relax our tired bodies.

 

We made a fire, ate a healthy sized meal and watched the sunset. The day had been a blast and we couldn't wait to see what tomorrow would bring.