Heidi Went Home

Celebrating our 38th anniversary; dinner at Old Faithful Inn

Heidi flew home from Bozeman on August 15^th, about a month early. She never got her work and work schedule to a manageable point. The draw of getting back to Washington became the tipping point when Gigi, our second granddaughter, was born a month ago. I have fishing to keep me here through to the end of the season. She didn’t.

We enjoyed exploring Yellowstone’s surroundings in the two and a half months she was out here. Cody; Cooke City; Jackson Hole; Bozeman; West Yellowstone. And, the Park itself. Lamar Valley; Yellowstone Lake; evenings on the geyser basins.

The kitchen at Old Faithful Inn will do just fine without her. I am not so sure about myself. A new roommate will probably be assigned to share my dorm room for the balance of the season.

Fishing Summer’s Peak: Cutthroat Trout on the Lamar River, Early August

Yellowstone’s northeast corner is known for its cutthroat trout fishing, the Park’s native trout. Rainbow, brown and brook trout, all introduced in the early 1900’s with the best of intentions (many of Yellowstone rivers/lakes were barren), have pushed the cutthroat trout aside.

Lamar Valley, Yellowstone's Northeast Corner

Up in the Lamar River and its tributaries, though, the cutthroat trout is still dominant.  A beautiful fish with handsome coloration, it is a favorite to fly fishermen for its ready take of the dry fly.  Bob Jacklin, noted Yellowstone trout fishing outfitter, describes it as the cutthroat’s ‘deliberate rise’ that adds to the anticipation of ‘fish on!’

Or, ‘missed a good one!’ For, though they readily feed on the surface, cutthroat soon become very selective when fished hard. It is great top-water fly fishing at the peak of the summer season.



The River itself, not much to look at

Although the Lamar’s broad, open valley is often called ‘the Serenghetti of North America’ for its bison, wolves and panoramic vistas, the river itself is not a particularly handsome trout stream.  Don’t go to this river looking for glassy pools, weed-filled glides, and gin-clear water. High-water flows from heavy springtime snowmelt and flashy summer thunderstorms gouge deep-cut banks and scour long, featureless runs, leaving a cobble rock bottom that vexes the wading angler.  

By early August, though, the Lamar’s flows have relaxed. The water is still cold, and the trout lie in the protection of deep runs, feeding readily on whatever insects this infertile trout stream serves up. 


The Lamar does't exactly roll out the red carpet for you

Such was the river I found on August 3^rd. It was a cloudy, cool day (unusual lately) with plenty of time on my hands to figure things out. I found one of those long runs, and fished it for an hour working upstream.  

Nothing.  

1st cutthroat; on a beadhead Prince Nymph

Switching to nymphs, I immediately started getting hits, landing a nice one. At least they are here, I thought. As I released it, I noticed rising fish…repeatedly…multiple fish…and not just dinks. A hatch was on…but what insect? With binoculars, I noticed several mid-size mayflies drying their wings in an eddy. Wow, a mayfly hatch at high noon on the Lamar…about the same odds as winning the lottery! 

Most of the rises were coming close to the other bank on the far side of the current’s tongue. To improve my chances of a good presentation, I walked down to the tail of the run, waded across to the far bank, and walked back up to the pod of feeding fish. I have never seen so many trout feeding on the surface midday.  

Nor, have I had such success catching them on a dry fly.  

Three more nice ones; on a Parachute Adams

Over the next hour and a half, I hooked ten more trout on a Parachute Adams. That many more came up for a look. Three of them were hefty fish. It was non-stop action in the middle of a summer’s afternoon. And, great choreography too. A trout would appear magically from the rocky bottom in less than two feet of water. Never more than two rod lengths away, I was eye witness to their graceful, deliberate rise. 

I stopped to eat lunch and to ponder such success. All the pieces had fallen into place. An hour later, I tried another run further downstream. By then, the magic had worn off. The mayfly hatch was over; the sky had turned cloudless and brightened; I was too tired or it was too late to wade across to cast from the soft side of the run.  

Such is the way trout fishing goes.  



The drive home; evening off the shoulder of Mount Washburn

What a day.

Down the North Fork of the Shoshone to Cody, Wyoming: August 1-2

Yellowstone’s East Entrance is the last of the Park’s five entrances for me to get to. It leads to Cody, Wyoming fifty-five miles and 3,500 feet below Sylvan Pass. We spent last weekend exploring the area, making new discoveries of amazing geology and wonderful American history. 

East Entrance Road winds through another unblemished expanse of Yellowstone. A vast forest of lodgepole pine; thirty miles of Yellowstone Lake seen from Lake Butte Overlook (Grand Tetons on the horizon sixty miles away); Sylvan Pass sitting at 8530 feet elevation (few trees left this high up). Snow will close the road in early November, won’t reopen til next May.

Buttes along U.S. 20, Shoshone National Forest

Big Land, Big Sky

Once outside the Park, it’s a fast downhill run into the Shoshone National Forest, the nation’s first. Buffalo Bill Cody called it ‘the gem of the Rockies.’ Lying in the rain shadow of the Continental Divide, its parched brown, sparsely vegetated landscape is shocking to Eastern eyes, disappointing at first after Yellowstone’s pine forests. Then, Shoshone’s geology comes into focus. Rock…everywhere; hewn by ancient volcanos and inland seas, timeless wind and water erosion. Massive buttes thrust upward taking thick layers of ancient sedimentary rock with them, testament to the incredible geologic forces that once ruled the Earth. Majestic hoodoos, craggy ridgelines in all shapes and hues. And it’s huge, a vast expanse scarcely penetrated by trail and two-track. It is true backcountry here; lots of it accessible only on foot or horseback. Elk, mule deer, bighorn sheep and bear abound. 

As General MacArthur once said, "I shall return."

Across this dry, rocky expanse runs a narrow band of water, the North Fork of the Shoshone River. It is a thin green ribbon thrown across a sea of brown. Just outside the Park boundary, it’s already another nonstop river born high up in the Rockies and in a hurry to get to the bottom. As arid as the landscape is, the North Fork’s flow is incongruous, still running strongly in August. Deep, long runs of slate green water lie below cascading riffle sections. A commitment forms in my mind to fish here someday. 

Stunning collection of Western art, part of Buffalo Bill Historial Center

Cody, Wyoming (population just 30,000) is named, of course, after Buffalo Bill Cody (1846-1917). A world-class museum in town (and I do mean world-class; www.bbhc.org) captures the life and times of an amazing man living in an amazing time in American history. Wagon trains, Pony Express, Gold Rush, Civil War, buffalo hunter, Indian fighter, international showman (rock star status in his time with tours of New York, Paris, London), visionary developer/investor in Wyoming’s Bighorn Basin. Paralleling his world-wide fame and fortune was his tragic personal life. We just scratched the surface of this five-wing museum. After dinner, Heidi took in Dan Miller’s Cowboy Music Revue. I took in Main Street’s sight, sound, motion as evening descended upon this iconic western town. 

Heart Mountain Interpretive Center & Memorial outside Cody

Next day, we drove fifteen miles out of town to Heart Mountain, site of one of ten internment camps built to incarcerate 120,000 Japanese Americans when the Pearl Harbor attack started WWII. Two-thirds of them were American citizens, stripped overnight of their personal property and thrown behind barbed wire. Over 14,000 lived at Heart Mountain, Wyoming 1942-45 until the Supreme Court ruled it unconstitutional. A great museum and memorial here tell this incredibly complex story of racism, war hysteria and failed leadership on one hand; of self-determination, community spirit, and patriotism on the other. Incredibly, 800 left the internment camp to serve in the Armed Forces and fight in Europe. A special exhibit about the lives of Muslim-Americans draws current relevancy to this piece of American history. 

Atop Buffalo Bill Dam on the North Fork of the Shoshone River

We stopped at the Buffalo Bill Dam Visitor Center on the way home. It’s where the North Fork of the Shoshone comes to a screeching halt behind what was the highest dam in the world when it was completed in 1910. An astonishingly small plug of concrete in the river’s narrow canyon gap forms a life-giving reservoir of 650,000 acre feet of water. Here is the story of how major federal water projects transformed near-uninhabitable land through irrigation and hydroelectric power. It’s a mandatory stop for anyone who questions the ability of federal projects to create jobs and energize commerce. Now, we shall see whether climate change shall undo these miracles of the 20^th Century across the American West. In the meantime, cities flourish and the alfalfa fields grow lush and fragrant in the once-arid Bighorn Basin.