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I'm not even sure where to start so I guess the beginning is as good as a place as any. Last summer I hauled my wife and kids out to Yellowstone for vacation. While it was an awesome trip within itself, it really only made the itch for fishing out west worse than I already had it. So pretty much as soon as I got back I was already planning on how I was going to execute and properly scratch my itch for Oncorhynchus clarkia AKA the Cutthroat Trout.
Before I go any further I must thank my awesome wife and higher powers for many reasons. First for my wife being in good health again, second for my wife putting up with my water related obsessions, and third for continuing to be employed and getting more responsibility dumped on me at work. Basically I am thankful for many things the least of which is that this trip happened at all. Also a big thanks to all the people who provided tips and ideas on where to fish.
So the general plan was for me and one of my best friends Al to go fishing out west. He has dragged me around chasing his saltwater obsession. Not that I have or had a problem with it, but it was my turn now and one of the objectives was to him get back to what started our insanity many years ago and do some real trout fishing again. He allowed me to do the obsessing and planning. Honestly even though I spent way too much time planning, I tried to keep it simple. I did some research, talked to a few people, and devised a plan that centered around several species of Cutthroat trout. A bit of a second thought or goal was to try to get the Wyoming Cuttslam, which is catching at least one of the four native Cutthroat species in Wyoming. After much research and obsessing I found what I hoped would be ground zero for a plethora of trout fishing opportunities and poising us to get the Cuttslam.
I wasn't exactly wrong by any means, but the location did prove to have some challenges. Namely you had to drive past of nowhere to get there. Then due to winter avalanches and the landslides associated with them, even getting there became questionable. It turned out that we were able to get to ground zero, but in order to get there we had to drive back from past nowhere, back to nowhere, then drive 60 miles and 2+ hours down a dirt road to get to beyond nowhere. If you haven’t figured it out by now, this place is pretty far away from civilization, which was a welcomed by both of us. This is where the pavement ended and our adventures began. We started shed technology and the responsibilities that tie us to it. It was a good feeling!
   After dealing with gathering our gear, getting supplies, and making the lengthy trip across country and state we finally arrive to our destination and we believed everything was perfect. 
That thought of perfection was short lived. Let’s just say the bugs were thick. It was pretty much like the scenes from Amityville Horror, and that was just the flies. By time we cleared the flies out of the cabin, the mosquitoes soon followed. The cabin wasn't the cleanest but it just needed a little straitening up. As we were cleaning we kept hearing a critter behind a wardrobe. I figured mice, since there were warnings about hantavirus all over the place. It turned out being some kind of wood pecker that lived in the exterior wall. Believe me not it raised all kinds of unholy hell circa 5:30 AM.
Despite a few inconsequential setbacks we were more than thrilled to be in the humble little cabin in the middle of nowhere. As darkness fell, we got the cabin in order and started unpacking all of our gear. As were doing so we came across an ax handle labeled "In Case of Porcupine." Needless to say this was going to be an object that jokes and stories were destined to be spun around. After much debate I determined porcupine was actually the local drunk that lived down the road a bit. Not sure if you have heard the recent stories of the bigfoot sighting in Cleavland County NC but as the beer and bourbon flowed our conejecture started emulating the bigfoot story. All you needed was the porcupine stick, a little rough talk and recite the words "go on now get!" in your best drunken hillybilly accent and all your porcupine troubles would we solved.
The next two days were spent fishing for Fine Spotted Cutts which were a bit of a drive away. We made the drive to our first spot, geared up and hit the water.
The first location turned out to be a dud, lots of fast water and no fish that we could get to rise or bite. After fishing the section for about 30 mins I made the decision to pick up and move to another section of water that I had my eye on. After moving to another location we quickly zeroed in to a sweet part of the river which just looked fishy.
  
I couldn't even tell you numbers, nor did it even matter. We were both catching good numbers and good sized fish, both were days were excellent. Al couldn’t believe the sized flies they were eating, he thought they were more appropriate for bass fishing. Large ugly stonefly dries seemed to be the ticket with a dropper underneath. The real trick was reading the water, and knowing where they fish would be holding. Once you figured that out the fishing became easy, though getting to them not so much. You were best served hiking up past the faster water and finding meadow sections with big S bends. The trade off though navigating through the meadows were no small feat. At any point I fully expected to meet a moose eye to eye.
My first Oncorhynchus clarki behnkei, AKA Fine Spotted Cutthroat, and a taste of the first two days of our trip.
After fishing hard during the day, we would see various species of wildlife on the drive back to where we were staying. We had a moose that was clearly his backyard and not ours, deer, antelope, and a myriad of other critters.
We even managed a hike one evening; well I should say I did, since Al bailed about 10 yards into the hike. The hike was pretty cool, it was on a section of the Lander Cut of the Oregon Trail, and I couldn’t help but to feel the history associated with it. Lots of wild flowers and awesome scenery. I hiked up about a mile or so to a nice view and then headed back down before it got too dark.
I think Al made it about 10 more feet when he declared that I was crazy and that I hated the cabin.
At this point I was truly starting to feel like I was on vacation. It was pointed out to me that I was having trouble just sitting back and relaxing. I tried to take it to heart and after pondering what my vacation meant to me and what was giving me enjoyment, I realized after the fact that it wasn't the being able to sit back and relax that was truly pleasurable but it was the act and involvement in everything this trip turned out to be. I guess I will never be cut out for just sitting around, well for too long that is.
After making it to the wild flower covered ridge line, I snapped a few pictures and made my way back down to the cabin, and prepared for sitting back and relaxing. By the second day we had realized that taking the screens off the cabin was much better at keeping the bigs out than with them on. The wind would trap the flies and other insects against the screen. A fair number would find their way into the screen. Then a small portion of those would find a way in through the tiny cracks in the windows. As darkness would fall we planned on sitting outside, relaxing, and making a small campfire. I even rebuilt a stone fire ring and hauled more stone to finish it out. I chopped firewood, and made ready for an evening fire. Then I realized dinner needed to be made. We cooked up a few steaks and opened a nice bottle of wine which Al had picked out. After dinner, we tied up a few flies and started preparing for day three of fishing.
The morning of day three started much like the other, the woodpecker would wake me up about 5:30 and I would start trying to wake Al up as he cursed me for not being able to relax and sleep in, so I actually went back to bed and slept in for a bit since today's stream wasn't too far away. For day three we were going after a different species, the Oncorhynchus clarki pleuriticus, or commonly known as the Colorado Cutthroat.
As indicated by the signage, we were fishing a restoration area that had been cleansed of non-natives and restocked with native cutthroats whose linage is from a nearby lake. After fishing about a mile of good looking water with only one rise between the two of us, a no bite, I made the call take stock and go with plan B. I have to admit I was a bit disappointed. After getting back into the SUV, we started making it down the road and noticed two Forest Service employees pulled over on the side of the road. We stopped and chatted with them for a few and they indicated that the cutts just hadn't taken like they had hoped they would. They said there were a few here and there but no real numbers. Even though we decided to go with plan B, I hope the stream recovers one day, as it is a beautiful stretch of water. I can only imagine what it was like in it's hayday.
We made it to stream plan B around high noon. The stream was basically one series of meadows and beaver ponds after another. We stopped and fished on of the beaver ponds and I had probably the largest trout I have ever seen gently rise and take a dry fly. I had him on for all of about five seconds when it came unbuttoned for no apparent reason. We fished on up above the beaver pond and started running into other anglers that were throwing hardware. We also had a storm rolling in so we made our way back to the vehicle to take stock yet again. When we got back I noticed we had a flat tire. Luck fully the spare was a real tire. That said we narrowly missed disaster as the truck started to shift in the dirt right as we got ready to put the spare on. Right as the spare went on the rain started. We figured to go ahead and make it to the closest town, try to make a few calls to let people know we were alive, gas up, get a few supplies, patch the blown out tire, and then head back to stream plan B for the evening hatch.
After taking care of business, and eating a pretty lousy lunch at the only restaurant in town, we made our way back to stream plan B. Despite the spincasters we figured we would have a decent chance if we hiked in a ways, and that is exactly what we did. The first hole I came to I had a nice cutt hit immediately. Once again it was short lived. Then another, and then another. It seemed like it was just going to be that kind of day. Finally after missing a few, I started getting in to the brookies, as was Al. We caught our fair share of brookies and both of us managed to catch our fist Colorado Cutts.
It turned out to be a tough day fishing but we both caught a few Colorado Cutts and more brookies than you could shake a stick at. By time we pulled off the stream it was dark, and by time we made it back to the cabin we had a few drinks, at a quick bite and got in bed so we could get some sleep for day four.
On day four we got and early start and made our way to another stream that proports to hold Colorado Cutts. The stream was probably 10 miles or so past the one we had fished the previous day and was restricted to fly fishing only. After making it to the trailhead we had a little over a mile hike to the stream. Once we got to the stream we continued to hike until we found nice look stretch of water that covered a large meadow with numerous S bends.
The fishing started well, we were hooking up with good sized brook trout in just about every run. The fish were plentiful and Al was having a blast. I have to admit I was getting a little impatient with all the brookies, I love fishing for brook trout and these would be monsters by eastern standards, but I was there for the Colorado Cutts.
I started getting a few looks from large cutts that were holding in deepwater beneath undercut banks, but no takes. We came around a bend and Al was up. He decided to move up to some deeper looking water,and left me with a decent run with a few bushes that formed a nice undercut. I sat back, re-tied and switched to one of my goto flies that I always use on my home waters when targeting big fish, which is a nasty looking golden stone fly nymph. I made a cast above the run and drifted my nymphthrough it. FISH ON! A nice one at that. The fish was trying its best to get into the bushes to break me off, it was jumping surging, diving and pissed. It was all I could do to keep the fish out of the bushes that formed the undercut. A couple of times I had to palm the reel and risk breaking him off, had I not he surely would have gotten into the limbs and debris which would have been the end of the fight. As it turned out I was able to keep it away from the dangers and netted the beast. This is what I had come for!
We continued to fish, catching numerous brookies, but the Colorado Cutts were eluding Al and I only had a shot at one or two more, one of which was played but came off right before it was netted. I'll count it as a soft release. All in all it was a great stream, I wanted to make it up to the lake that held nothing but cutts but time and distance just were going to work in favor of it.
That evening we cooked up a mess of brook trout which we kept and discussed our options for day five. We broke out maps and weighed our different options. I really wanted to catch a Bonneville Cutthroat now. Unfortunately, the getting to the watershed by vehicle wasn't going to be an option. When we chatted with the forest service guys the previous day they said they barely made it through the washout in their jacked up Ford F250, and that we would be over our axles in no time. Giving the remoteness and the distinct possibility that we would get stuck with no assistance for miles we succombed to the reality that driving there wasn't going to happen. As we looked at the map we realized that the watershed was only on the other side of the mountain as the crow flies and that we could connect to a trail that would get us there from the Lander Cuttoff Trail which was practically at our doorstep. We hastily made plans to backpack over the mountain and give it a shot. We made out gear ready and hit the sack.
When I woke up the next morning I started really thinking about this and weighing the pros and cons. To even get to the stream it was going to be an eight mile hike up and over some rough terrain. Then it was likely going to be a few more miles to get to fishable water. If we choose to backpack over it would commit us to at least 2 days of out trip. I decided that it was just too much of a gamble on a stream I had never fished.
With that conclusion, and despite my desires to catch the Bonneville Cutthroat, I began to try to convince Al that we need to pack up, leave the cabin and head to some waters that I did know in the Yellowstone National Park. It took some convincing but Al agreed that it was a gamble to burn two days on an unknown stream, not to mention the grueling hike that would have been involved. I have to admit that there is a part of me that regrets not taking the chance and exploring the waters. Reluctantly Al agreed to end our stay at the cabin which I "hated". We packed our gear, cleaned the cabin, and made our way back towards civilization. This ended our visit at the cabin and out time in the South Western part of the state.
We now began our adventures into the park and the more northern reaches of the state. We stopped back through Jackson and the only good grocery store I have visited in the region and resupplied. We were planning on fishing in the North East part of the park so we had to drive all the way through it from one corner to the other. Traffic into and all through the park was horrendous. My disdain for tourist and bison grew. Despite being a weekday my fears were reality that all fist come first serve campsites were filled to capacity. No big deal we kept driving, I had plan B which was to stay on the Soda Butte forest service camp ground outside of Cooke City, MT. Well it was full too, as were all the camp grounds which were nearby. We ended up finding a small forest service road which allowed camping. We made camp, ate some dinner and I thanked Al for letting me drag him across state to try our luck at a different fishing hole.
Day six, we woke up early to find this view from our campsite.
We loaded up and headed to a stream that I hoped would make all the efforts and leaving the cabin worth it. I was quite confident that we wouldn't be disappointed but Al had his reservations. When arrived at the trailhead geared up and set out for the five mile hike to the second meadows.
The feeling of familiarity began to set in, I started remembering the last time I was here and how I was thinking then would I ever make it back. I knew then that I was back, as I also knew that I would certainly be returning in the future. About that same time we spotted a creature a couple hundred yards away. At first I thought it was a coyote, but this was much too large. It was a wolf! We both sat there in awe as we watched it travel down a fisherman's trail. I am unsure if Al realized how rare and special this was, never the less I think he started to realize just how special this place is.
After making the two and a half hour hike in we made our way to a sweet looking spot of the creek. The bugs were unbelievably thick, mosquitoes, flies, you name it. Of course we had both managed to leave the deet in the car. Had it not been for me handing out some mosquito head nets at the beginning of the trip, which was laughed at, I don't think we would have been able to fish. As it stood the number of flies that were swarming around your head were enough to drive yo mad. What happened next was the beginning of what was probably one of the best days of fishing that either Al or I have ever experienced. Nice large Oncorhynchus clarkii bouvieri or Yellowstone Cutthroats were being caught one after the other. I have no idea how many fish were caught that day but it was well over 100.
It was just one of those days where everything fell into place, even with the bugs the strong afternoon winds, the two idiots who thought hiking 5 miles to fish on top of someone else is acceptable, it simply didn't matter. We were not going to be denied, nor were we. Al now knew why I wanted to leave the cabin, and go across state to fish this magical place. The fishing continued until dusk and probably would have continued had Al not broken his rod. It was just as well since we ended up having to hike out in a thunderstorm in the dark.
I think we finally made it back to the car around 11 PM. I can tell you every bit of it was worth it. I made Al drive back this evening which was probably a good thing. As I was actively changing the music on the Ipod I fell asleep and apparently went into a deep loud snore. Al's laughter woke me up, I was a bit dazed but realized what happened. All I could do was laugh and tell him, "I just needed a little break."
Day seven we hit the same stream as the day before. We got a bit of a late start since we didn't get to sleep until quite late. Then we go stuck behind a herd of bison that chose to use the road as their path to greener pastures, which ended up being almost a two hour delay. Not a whole lot you can do in that situation accept it and take it with a grain of salt. Even though we got to the trailhead late. we had delusions that we were going to hike to the third meadows. We made good time to the second meadows proper at just over 2 hours when we ran into a guide that was packing out from the third meadows. I inquired about how much further they were and he said about another 3 miles or so. Al looked at me and said he wasn't sure he had 3 more miles in and out in him. My knees and blisters which were developing were secretly hoping he would be the one to bow out. Admittedly he got no argument from me, and we made our way to the creek after applying first aid to our blisters.
The fishing proved to be more difficult this day. Not sure if it was because the winds never really died down or if we had sore lipped most of the fish the day before. It may have just been that we were pretty worn down by this point. We caught good numbers of fish but nothing like the day before. Al caught a couple of very nice fish, but the big ones had eluded me. He was most please with the one where he heeded my advice by taking a step back after a rise but no take. Tying on something different and take your time to make a well placed cast. This carried on through four fly changes but ultimately paid off with a hook up and netting of a brute. I had my shots at a couple of monsters that day, but none to net. Between the fishing being slower than the first day and both of our physical conditions we actually started our hike back a little bit before dusk. We both had a leisurely pace, this was in part trying to soak up the specialness and in part it was the fastest our bodies could muster. On our way out we had a fox, with a mouth full of some kind of rodent, come right up the trail with us. At one point it was so close I could have reached down and touched it. We actually made it back to our car right as daylight faded.
That night we sat by the campfire, reliving and recounting all the fishing and other wonders that had transpired the past seven days. I have to admit, everything felt right in the world and I was finally able to sit back and relax.
Day eight was destined to be another travel day, we had to get back to Jackson so we could be prepared for a float trip the following day. We pondered whether or not we could make it to a stream with the Bonneville Cutts, the reality was that it would take about 7+ hours to get there and we also had to get most of our stuff packed up and dropped off at the UPS store. By time we got all of errands taken care of it was pushing 6 o'clock so any shot at the Bonnevilles would have to be destined for another trip.
I have to say I am not a huge fan of Jackson, way too touristy for me, the prices on everything are exaggerated. While it is convenient to the park and other great areas of Wyoming if I fly into there again it will be in and out. Its just not my cup of tea. That said we enjoyed out stay and had a nice dinner that evening. We got to be early so we would be rested for our float trip.
Day nine, the last day fishing and float trip. We had planned a trip on the Upper Green. I have to admit it was't quite what I was expecting. The fishing proved to be very tough. For what ever reason they just weren't biting. We picked up a few trout here and there but kept getting into whitefish, while the whitefish were fun they weren't the trout we were after. All of this was no fault of the guide. I knew going in, that the Green can be a finicky and technical stream, but that was the roll of the dice I took at a chance for some large browns and bows. The guide did his very best, he worked hard, and worked with Al on his technique etc. He even took us breaking on of his rods in stride. He was a true professional through and through. I think the only thing I might have changed would have been my choice of rivers, I guess there is always next time!
Day 10 was traveling back, our fishing was done and as Al and I always say at the end of a great fishing trip, "NBC!" Nothing left But the Crying. I was actually pretty much fished out, missing my wife and kids, and missing my bed. You know it has been a good vacation when you are ready to get back home.
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