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.