The Way Home: Down from the Mountains, Across the Plains

The fact that my Yellowstone season is truly over has sunk in. I look forward to the drive home. It will be a different route home (I-80 instead of I-90), the chance to see new territory. Unlike the firm deadline of new employee check-in last May, my eastbound timetable is carefree. So is the weather forecast which calls for fair, calm skies the next several days.

The first day is spent crossing Wyoming on a long diagonal along US 287. The drive down to Dubois last night from Yellowstone was just a down payment; it takes six hours to reach I-80 at Rawlins and on to Cheyenne in the state’s southeast corner.

Along US 287, east of Dubois

The landscape here is stunning! Panoramas composed of rock, cliff, and sagebrush stretch to the horizons. Trees cease to exist other than a narrow band of cottonwoods here and there clinging to the edge of a watercourse. This begins the High Plains of America, a vast expanse of land robbed of moisture by the Continental Divide lying just to the west.

Here, elevation matters. It alters the weather and determines the habitat. On the highway, it strains the engine and reminds you of the importance of good brakes. We are talking big numbers here. I pass through Lander, a respectably sized city where the elevation is 5,357 feet. A stone’s throw to the west lies Wind River Peak, cresting at 13,192 feet.

Wind River Indian Reservation, north of Fort Washakie

Already, I miss the rivers of Yellowstone. Granted, little is revealed about most rivers from behind the windshield rushing down a highway, yet nothing tempts me to pull over for a closer view. The first two hours of driving are along the Wind River, known for some good trout fishing. It must be known for that someplace else. It isn’t that Wyoming doesn’t have good rivers for trout. The Green River and Flaming Gorge lie to the southwest; the Bighorn to the northeast. Once on I-80, I cross over the North Platte, a reminder of some great trout fishing just to the south. For now, these are marks on my mental map, destinations for future trips.

The clouds entertain along I-80

It is sparsely populated, feels desolate. In surface area, Wyoming is equal in size to Michigan, approximately 98,000 square miles. Yet, just 570,000 people live here, compared to 9.9 million in Michigan. Without a doubt, it is a very different lifestyle from my Midwestern sensibilities.

Road Day One ends 200 miles into Nebraska at Gothenburg. I pitch my tent in the dark at the KOA Campground there. A town with some history, it lays claim to the birthplace of the Pony Express. I am up and on the road at sunrise the next morning, eager to press on.

Pony Express Mural, Gothenburg Nebraska

If the theme of yesterday’s drive was rock, today it’s corn. It is harvest time in the Great American Breadbasket. Nebraska is a beehive of activity. Combines are in the table-flat fields everywhere; tractor trailer rigs hauling the bounty to gigantic grain elevators; long freight trains on the move. The economic powerhouse that is America’s agriculture is palpable.

After Nebraska, it’s Iowa. Another 300 miles before this day is to end. More cornfields here, but these are draped over lovely rolling hills. Trees have returned to the landscape. Handsome oaks edge the fields, and stand in large woodlots. There are rivers here, hinted at by the contours of the rolling countryside. History markers at highway rest stops record their importance to the nation’s development long ago. Council Bluffs on the Missouri was a stop for Lewis & Clark. It is where steamboat commerce gave way to the railroads. The Amana Colonies chose the fertile Iowa River Valley as their home.

Darkness denies me a view as I cross the mighty Mississippi that forms the boundary between Iowa and Illinois. Road Day Two ends in Rock Island at another conveniently located KOA. I pitch my tent and call it a night, well satisfied with my progress home.

Campsite in Rock Island Illinois

The romantic part of this road trip is over. On Road Day Three, the Midwestern landscapes of Illinois, Indiana and Michigan are well-known to me. I look forward to the hospitality of Tom Quail and Chris Booth to spend the next few nights. Then, I will rent a UHaul trailer to take furniture back to DC to set-up our new apartment.

Final Four: Last Day, October 18th

After more than five months in Yellowstone, I am down to my last day. By evening, the fly rods will be packed, the car pointed toward home.

Determined to make the most of the day, I get up and out of the tent before daybreak. The huge Rocky Mountain night sky stretches above me. The Milky Way and countless constellations arc over the craggy silhouette of the Madison Plateau to the south.

It is cold, the coldest night yet. The car’s thermometer says 16 degrees. I slept comfortably in the tent, but after two days of battling the weather, I am in no mood for another day of that. No, just savor this last morning; get to the fishing once the warming sun is well up.  I walk down to the river and back to build up some internal warmth, take in the dawning of the day, and savor the solitude. The dawn’s light qualities are magnificent. Not another soul contests my command over the Madison River at that hour.

A calm morning, welcomed after the past two days

I break camp before sunup, and head out. Confidence swelled by how yesterday ended, my destination is certain: back to that deep run at Talus Slope. I follow the advance of sunrise down Madison Valley, enjoying its warmth and the unfolding scenes. A herd of elk grazes casually near one of the meadow turnouts, posing as if on cue.

I come upon the morning’s first anglers at Haynes Meadow. A trio of twenty-somethings has staked out the inside bend where the river dumps into the deep run there. It is a great place to have breakfast (hot oatmeal, cups of coffee), watch their technique and enjoy the sun. It warms me as well as my wading boots that had frozen solid overnight.

The fishing begins

Breakfast done and boots thawed, I drive another half mile down to Talus Slope.  Time to go fishing, to pick up where I had left off, to enjoy casting in calm air after the nasty winds of the past two days.

In the good light of the morning and absent yesterday’s winds on the water, I now see what accounted for the rising fish yesterday afternoon. What I had thought was part of one long, deep run is instead a series of weed-covered mounds that form shallow shelves dropping into troughs. They create the perfect current break conditions for fish to surface-feed on such small insects.

Great way to start the day

Not ten casts into my fishing, I have the first strike. I land another big rainbow despite a couple of dives that tangle the line in those weedy mounds. It isn’t even 10 o’clock in the morning, and I already feel dialed into the fishing.

For the next hour, I have another half dozen or so good, hard hits.  But, no hook-ups. Content at first to miss a fish or two, eventually the string of misses drags upon my confidence.  Slowly as these things do, the error of my ways sinks in.

Landing the second fish yesterday, I had noticed it was hooked by the trailer hook. It was an extra hook I had tied into the streamer’s long tail in a prior season in order to cure the streamer’s tendency to miss fish.

Using hemostats to release yesterday’s fish, that hook had broken at the bend in the shank. It didn’t seem like a big deal at the time, but the loss of that hook is having its consequences now. All the missed strikes yesterday afternoon and this morning are now explained. Hooking this morning’s nice fish was a fluke.

I switch to a different streamer and resume fishing. But, the magic is over and the bite with it. It is approaching 11 o’clock. Perhaps the sun is now too bright, or the pod of fish has moved further up the river. Against the backdrop of 163 days in Yellowstone, though, it doesn’t matter. The Madison River in mid-October is now permanently etched in my mind.

I turn back toward Madison Junction, and then south toward Old Faithful. My plan for the day calls for using the afternoon to explore the Lewis River, known like the Madison for its fall brown trout fishing; and then to camp for the night at the campground there. It will put me nearly two hours in the direction of home.

Turns out, it isn’t the best plan. Every new trout stream is cloaked in a veil of secrecy. It takes time to uncover just the simple logistics of where along the river to begin fishing…more time than my fast-fading last afternoon in the Park will allow.

Lewis River's Outlet from Lewis Lake

The Lewis River doesn’t make discovery easy either, falling away from the road as it does and out of sight. I finally find a little-used footpath that takes me to the river at its lake outlet. On the fishiness-per-hour scale, I go from the top of the graph back on the Madison, to the bottom here on the Lewis. I get in about an hour of good fishing time, that’s all. It is not totally fruitless, however, for I now have the measure of the Lewis. It is a gorgeous river. There is not another angler in sight despite the peak of the fall season; and I now know where to begin to fish it next time I’m in Yellowstone.

My plan for camping turns out to be no better than the fishing. Touring the Lewis Lake Campground, I find not another camper in sight nor the amenities that make Madison Campground so pleasant for late-season camping.

The season ends.

Abandoning the plan, I head for the Park’s South Entrance. The picnic area just inside the entrance provides a fitting place to take off my waders for the last time. Ted and I had fun fishing the Snake River from there several times. At 4:15 pm, my Yellowstone season ends.

Nothing destroys an outdoor buzz faster than the dull dashboard stare at oncoming traffic and endless asphalt. The Yellowstone feeling quickly ebbs with the light of the day.

It is cold and dark…that’s all…when I find a cheap motel for the night in Dubois, Wyoming. The next few days will be measured by number of miles driven rather than number of cast made. I’ve been a lucky man living a blessed life…five months living and fishing in Yellowstone National Park. It is time to go home.

Final Four; Day Three, October 17th

Today started with great promise. A bright, crisp morning, and I had slept another comfortable night in the tent despite temperatures in the 20s. 

Madison Junction under sunny morning skies

The lack of wind was a welcome change from yesterday. Little did I know that wouldn’t last long.

The day’s promise deepened after my conversation with Tony, a campground neighbor up from southern California here for the big run-up trout. One key difference between Tony and me, though. This is his 44^th year coming to Yellowstone for the fall season. The ink on my own Trout Bum certificate smudged in his presence.

Tony spoke with the certainty of knowledge gained from all those years. His gaze was that of a pilgrim in the promised land. As if my big fish from yesterday weren’t enough ignition for the coming day, his photos of big fish from his trips past did me in. They were living torpedoes; submarines. In an instant, I comprehended the difference between 20-inch fish and 25-inch fish; why Craig Matthews in his book recommends a 7 weight rod and 1X tippet for this time of year on the Madison River in the Park.

Tony also shared a few fishing tips worth their weight in gold. Tips I have never read/heard about in all my Yellowstone research, yet which corroborated with what I was experiencing on my own fall fishing in Yellowstone. Time was just about run out for this trip, but I resolved then and there to come back another year and put his knowledge to the test.

Don’t ask me what he said because I won’t tell you.  No “kiss and tell fisherman” here. Come with me some year, though, and I’ll show you. I am this certain of the fall fishing in Yellowstone.

Deep run at the bottom of the Firehole

To the fishing. I started again at the Firehole/Madison confluence just below the campground. My euphoric state soon withered. For although I had talked to Tony, the fish had not. To no avail, I spent the morning diligently working the river with streamers. Noon was upon me far too quickly.  I narrowly missed a strong fish at the head of Junction Pool. On the very next cast, I lost my entire leader rig right up to the fly line on a deep snag.

Discouraged, I walked back to the campsite for lunch and to re-rig. Doubt birds began to circle overhead. Was yesterday just a fluke? Had the return of bluebird, bright skies put the fish off? Had sheer timing put me on top of a pod of run-up fish at just the right time and place yesterday?

This was my last afternoon of my Yellowstone season…my 9^th inning; down one run and nobody on base.

I decided to go back to old reliable…Barns Pool. I knew it wasn’t going to be pretty. I would have to contend with other anglers. Now too, the wind was picking up significantly making casting difficult in the wide-open sagebrush spaces of the Park’s western boundary.

Or so I thought.  Easier said than done. 

For a dozen miles along the Park’s West Entrance Road, the Madison River remains in view. Each turnout along the way beckons the angler, “fish here.” Driving along, it sunk in that this was it. My Yellowstone season was ending. It would be a long time before I would fish this marvelous river again.

I drove past mile-long Elk Meadow and Big Bend; past the Elbow Pool and Mt. Haynes. Finally, melancholy got to me. I wanted to be fishing, not driving. Seeing the parking lot empty, I turned into the turnout at Talus Slope. Premonition was at work as well. Something in my angling data bank had sparked my desire to “Fish here!”

Oh, but the wind. Yesterday, it was strong. Today, it howled. I am sure it was gusting to over 40 MPH. Any other day, I would have set it out. But, today was not any other day.

Bright, windy afternoon at Talus Slope turnout

The radiant Rocky Mountain sun plus layers of wool and fleece offset the wind chill. My 7 weight rod and intermediate sinking tip made casting feasible. There was no finesse to the casts, just swinging the streamer on quarter-down casts and letting the current do the rest. Despite the weather and my lackluster morning, I began to fish

The Madison River at Talus Slope is gorgeous trout water. Weed beds carve deep channels and gouge out pockets; fast water bordered by slow; a rough bottom made uneven by slabs of ancient volcanic rock. Even buffeted by the cold gusts of wind, I marveled at the beauty of this river.

I didn’t fish long before I got a strong strike. Good pulls even on the 7 weight. Growing practiced at fighting bigger fish, I freely let it run against the drag and walked it downstream. I slipped the net under a big Hebgen rainbow, a gorgeous fish in a different way from its smaller brethren or even Great Lakes steelhead. These big rainbows are dark in the face, swarthy; their mouths more steely and vicious. I mentally made a note that this was my best rainbow of the season.

Strong rainbow, the best of the season

Spirits rekindled, I resumed fishing the run. A small brown trout soon followed. Confidence swelled, I reached for my streamer box and switched to the big-eyed mouthful of a streamer that had worked yesterday. ‘If the big fish are here, I’ll give them something big to chase’, so went my reasoning.

The late afternoon sun had fallen behind Talus Slope. I walked three hundred yards back upstream to take advantage of the shadows on the water and to be able to work the sweet spot of the run.

Stepping back into the stream, something on the water caught my eye. Despite the wind’s chop on the water, gusting in my face and ears, and despite the poor light conditions, I spotted them…rising fish! The slow head-and-tail rises of big fish! Unbelievably in those conditions, the big run-up trout were feeding on a hatch of tiny blue wing olives. Oh, the marvels of Nature!

I felt like an alien being. There I was, barely able to stand the conditions despite all sorts of paraphernalia; while there were the trout, comfortably finning in their climate-controlled parlor, eating hors d’oeuvres.

Switching to dry flies would have been ludicrous in these wind conditions. I stuck to swinging the streamer. Rather quickly, I hooked and landed a second big rainbow. I had that fisherman’s feeling of finding your groove.

Another chrome-pink beauty

Over the next hour or so, I had four or six more good strikes on the streamer. But, missed them all. I played them according to textbook, resisting the temptation to set the hook quickly on the belief that the fish strikes first to stun, then comes back for the kill. The textbook version didn’t work for me.

Nevertheless when sundown came, I felt really good about the day. Two more big, strong fish. Multiple chances at others to end the day. And, I had once again withstood the adversity of the weather.

Final Four: Day Two, October 16th

Fishy skies greet the morning

Temperatures last night stayed above freezing, comfortable sleeping in the tent and down sleeping bag. I decided to walk to the fishing this morning. Junction Pool on the Madison is just minutes from the campground, I was the first on the river for as far as I could clear see down to Big Bend.

I was back to fishing my 5 weight rod. Trout bum’s luxury, having both rods always rigged and ready in the car; one for nymphs, one for streamers.

Deep run below these riffles, bottom of Firehole Canyon

The weather was fish-perfect: heavy overcast, light drizzle, calm. I started out at the last deep run at the bottom of the Firehole, just a few hundred yards above Junction Pool. Crossing the fast water above it using wading staff, I wanted to work it from the far bank this time. To my surprise, I found no takers out of what looks to be a prime spot for the run-up fish. Wow, can they be elusive.

Brown trout, prince nymph

I worked out of that run, over a short riffle, and into the last deep pool before the Firehole tumbles into Junction Pool. On just the second cast, the indicator went down hard with the strike of a good fish. You know when the fish are here this time of year! No jumps, just the dogged pull of a brown trout. Reaching out with the net, I let it get below me in the current. That’s almost always a fatal mistake with big fish, but I managed to recover. There, safely in the net, a gorgeous male, hook-jawed, hump shoulders, dazzling color, the prince nymph lodged in his jaw. The poster boy for my Yellowstone season!

Poster boy of my Yellowstone season!

The drizzling rain had picked up slightly. Nearly noon, I walked back to camp for an early lunch. My timing could not have been better, letting me enjoy a sandwich and beer from the comfort of the car as the rain came down hard for nearly an hour.  When it finally let up, I walked back down to Junction Pool to pick up where I had left off.

Two anglers were ‘sitting on the hole’ in the fast run there. The angler etiquette that governs Barns Pool does not apply up here. I dropped below them, and started working the long stretch down to the road turnout that marks the beginning of what’s known as Big Bend. Weather was starting to be an issue. The rain had stopped, but the wind was picking up strongly and it was cooling off. Brief breaks in the cloud gave the illusion the worst was over. I soon got way more weather than I had bargained for. 

An hour or more of fishing the nymph rig resulted in nothing. Looking westward toward where the weather was coming from, I noticed a heavy band of rain sweeping fast up the valley toward me. Layers on, windbreaker hood up, I thought I was ready.

Except, it wasn’t rain. Strong winds pummeled me so hard that I had to hunker down in the lee of the steep streambank for protection. Then came stinging, pea-sized hail. Finally, after five months of tourist weather here, Yellowstone delivered the weather it is known for! Yahoo!

The hail didn’t last more than ten minutes, but strong winds and dropping temperatures remained. My determination to stick it out was rewarded. I found myself all alone in the sweet spot: the inside bend of the big, deep pool below the campground. Yesterday afternoon, there were ten or more fishermen working it.

Rainbow trout, woolhead streamer

My nymph rig broke completely off when I cast too close to a big mid-stream boulder (will I ever learn?).  Determination faltering, I reverted to a sink-tip for swinging streamers rather than try to re-tie a whole new rig in that wind. If I was going to stay out fishing in this weather, I was going for a big fish to make it worthwhile. I found a big streamer, the biggest in my box, one with big eyes, I recall someone saying that big fish like to see big eyes. It was a big woolhead-bunny strip streamer from Gates Fly Shop. I don’t recall the last time I used the thing.

Best fight of the two, by far

Again, the strike came within the first few casts. This time, the fight was fast and furious, a big rainbow trout. It thrashed hard on the surface, then a zinging run downstream. And, run some more. Fortunately, the snag-free river allowed me to follow it down. I netted it a couple hundred feet from where I started. The photos don’t begin to capture the beauty or bulk of this creature.

Walk-to fishing. Two big, beautiful fish landed. I had not let the weather get the best of me. I had beat the crowd. It was a very fine day.

The Final Four: Day One, October 15th

Xanterra employment ended this morning. Freedom from the work schedule is oh-so sweet. As of 11 am, my new job description is full-time trout bum. Twenty-somethings aren't the only ones who can get away with this. 

My game plan was completed days ago: convenient camp at Madison Campground; simple/quick meals; fish early and late, relax mid-days.

Campsite in A Loop, surrounded by RVs

Remaining challenges are all fishing-related…bring ‘em on. The Madison River is crawling with anglers now; it’s the annual pilgrimage to fish here for the run-up trout. Besides the competition, there is also so much river…where to fish? In addition to the sixteen miles of road-accessible river along West Entrance Road, the many miles of river downstream from Barns Pools all the way to Bakers Hole are now in play. Then, there is the forecast of cold overnight low temperatures…I have the layers for cold-weather fishing, but can I stick it out tent camping?

I set up camp early on this calm, mild afternoon, savoring my unfettered timetable. Only two of eight campground loops in Madison Campground are left open this time of year, virtually all of the campers are anglers in RVs.

Sheer lava-rock wall at bottom of Firehole Canyon

Done with that. I set out to fish, first working two beautiful deep runs I had discovered at the bottom of Firehole Canyon. Drew a blank on both, but thoroughly enjoyed every minute of working a nymph rig through the water. It continues to amaze me how the water in these steep-gradient places pillow up softly, almost aquarium-like, along the rock-rough edges of fast water. I don’t have to catch fish to enjoy the magic of the river.

Barns Pool at dusk, Oct 15th

For the evening, I joined the dance line at Barns Pool. Again, no crowd. Not much catching either. I caught two nice whitefish, saw only one good trout taken. The day’s fishing performance cemented the plan for tomorrow. I would have to figure out how to join the crowd fishing the Madison further upstream.

At dusk, I joined another angler to walk back to the parking lot. He had caught a 21-inch brown trout working a streamer in the fast riffle below. Storing that in my mental file of fishing forensics, I drove back to camp.

The promise of good fishing weather tomorrow

I felt rich, fabulously wealthy with my timely possession.  Or, possession of time: two full days of Madison River fishing lay before me, together with the forecast of a good weather system.  

Work’s Done, Fish to the End

Last day of the Inn's 2012 season, October 14th

Sunday, October 14^th, was the last morning of the Old Faithful Inn’s season. I worked the last shift. Guests trickled down to the Front Desk to check out, and the Inn’s doors were locked promptly at 11:00 am. Housekeeping and Maintenance had already started to winterize the Inn (plumbing, bedding, kitchens, storm windows), work that would go on through mid-November. The Inn will sit idle for five months until next April, when work will begin to re-open for the 2013 season.

My Yellowstone work began back on May 5^th. It is a sense of accomplishment to have lasted the entire season. Twenty people were on the Front Desk Team when it started; only ten of us finished the full season to the end. Attrition came from early contract end dates, health/family issues, termination, transfer to other departments.

Final Hour for the Front Desk Team

The employee release procedure covered the basics: turn in my cash drawer; clean/return bedding; clean dorm room; turn in employee ID card and keys. I had been packing and loading my car for a couple of days in order to make a quick departure..

At 11:00 am on Monday morning, I had the final signature on my release paperwork. Ahead of  me lay four straight days of camping and fishing in the Park before I would have to start heading for home. 

It was an exhilarating feeling. Fall’s big fish season was here, I was a free man, and a weather system was moving into the Park over the next two days.

The promise of good fishing weather hangs over the Madison River

I headed for Madison Campground to set-up my tent, then on to the river to find the big fish.

Double Rainbow on the Madison

October 9^th was a full day off from work. I camped at Madison Campground for the night so I could spend more of my time fishing in search of those run-up trout from Hebgen Lake. From the campground, you can walk to Junction Pool just a few hundred yards away where the Firehole joins the Gibbon to form the Madison. A short twenty minute drive from the campground takes you down to the Barns Pools.

Chilly Dawn on the Madison River, Oct 9th

Another week had gone by in Yellowstone country, and still no ‘fishing weather.’ No rain or snow; still bluebird cloudless skies. Very unseasonal. At least, it had stayed colder, that should help move the fish.

From my series of outings on the Madison River in recent weeks, I have noticed a distinct morning and evening bite to the fishing. My plan was to be at Barns Pool to take advantage of that, and to be a little less intense about it midday.

I arrived at the parking lot before sunrise. It was cold, about 20 degrees, clear, calm. I would share the spot with about half a dozen other anglers, still not the crowd I had anticipated.

Rainbow Trout, Barns Pool

I had my 7 weight rod this time, rigged for nymphing.  I was in a take-no-prisoners mood. It was fall on the Madison, big fish were being caught, and I was down to my last handful of days to fish before my Yellowstone season would end. I joined the line of anglers at the top of the hole, four of us, and began fishing.

Did I say it was cold? It was cold…think steelhead fishing in Michigan. Iced-up rod guides grabbing at the line, numb fingers. After months of cursing the cloudless skies and bright Rocky Mountain sun, I was coaching the sun to climb over the hilltop this morning. Other than numb fingers and the pesky ice on the rod, though, I was very comfortable in my cold weather layers.

The sun was on the water by the third rotation down the three hundred yard run of Barns Pool #1 (takes about half an hour when done at the right pace). Its warmth cleared the rod guides and warmed my fingers. I had missed a nice strike by a good fish, but otherwise it was already a great fishing morning. There I was…at the zenith of my Yellowstone trip in terms of the fishing, working Barns Pool in October.

Landing fish with new ghost net, so much easier

The bigger rod was working great, easily throwing the floppy nymph rig and mending long drifts through the pool. I felt the confidence of being a regular, familiar now with how to fish here.

Barns Pool has several sweet spots to it, one being at the bottom of the run and on the far side. Many guys walk out of the run before they get down there, but I had seen a lot of good fish taken there. It takes a little extra effort to fish it; a farther cast and across a current differential.

I was working that piece of water when I got another nice strike. This time, the hook set. Immediately, a big trout came leaping out of the water heading upstream. Rainbow trout, no doubt! What a great feeling to have a big trout on, the payoff when time, effort, skill, and chance finally intersect.

Barns Pool is a great place to fight a big fish. There is space to play the fish, no snags, and the depth gives way gradually up to a shallow gravel bar. I have learned from all my Yellowstone fishing to just be patient landing a good fish. Let the rod and the reel drag do their job rather than pull too hard. It was a great fight with a strong fish. After the usual last nervous moments right at the net, there she was in my net, a gorgeous Hebgen Lake rainbow trout. Crimson gills, rainbow flank, coal-black spots on silver and olive body. It was 10 am on a bright, cloudless morning…boy, do I Iove Rocky Mountain trout fishing!

That was the only fish I saw taken that morning. Walking back up the bank, I struck up a conversation with a fellow angler, a local resident with years of experience fishing the fall run on the Madison. He said the big run of fish still had not happened yet, that when it does, the entire Barns Pool fills with fish. As evidence, he wore only hip boots and worked the water virtually from the bank rather than wading midway across. He suggested I watch Walter, another local angler, who was working Cable Car Run, the next hole upriver. I did so, and found Walter in the same mode…in hip boots, walking within feet of the bank, casual quarter-downstream casts swinging the fly.

Midday cloud cover...finally!

I spent midday running into town for a sandwich, then exploring a favorite spot below Grasshopper Bank to see if any fish had showed up in the past week. Sure enough, I found a pod of rising fish. From the look of some of the riseforms, they looked to be more than just dinks going after a tiny mayfly on the water. I was completely unprepared to fish dry flies, though, and my attempts at these fish showed it. An inadequate leader plus the confounding matrix of cross-currents quickly taxed my patience. My mind was fixed on fishing the evening at Barns Pool, and a shot at another fish like the one this morning.

I arrived there about 5 pm. Several anglers were working the run. While suiting up, I noticed this group of anglers started fishing the run below the very top where the main current curls around a rock corner on the far bank. They were ignoring a piece of slack water there at the top.

I recalled the advice of an angler the week before, ‘if you’re the first one in the hole, always work that slack piece of water before you wade into it…fish like to hold there.’  Heeding that advice, I stopped short of that spot and threw into the slack water. On just my second cast of the evening, I was tied to another strong fish. It ran straight down the river, nearly to the bottom of the pool. Working the fish around another angler, I netted it on the shallow gravel bar. It was another beautiful rainbow trout, male and a little bigger than the morning fish.

Campsite at Madison Campground...Oct 9th, still dry as a bone

I fished until sunset, content with the day. With one last week of fishing to look forward to, my Yellowstone season was coming to a very satisfying end.

Yellowstone’s Geysers

I haven’t said enough about Yellowstone’s geothermal features. Everyone knows that Old Faithful geyser is here. The typical Park visit includes seeing it erupt. Drive up to the Old Faithful complex, sit for the next eruption (every ninety minutes, plus or minus ten), then move on.

Castle Geyser eruption, June

Yet, there is so much more to it. Nearly half the geothermal features on the planet are here in Yellowstone National Park.  A concentration of them is strung along ten miles of the Firehole River in full view as you drive the Grand Loop Road.

Old Faithful sits at the head of Upper Geyser Basin, a two-mile long band of geysers, hot springs and pools. A pathway system weaves through them all, taking you out into a majestic other-world. Nowhere else have I felt the presence of the earth, our one and only Planet Earth, so strongly.

Thermal vents, Biscuit Basin along Firehole River

In the cool, still air of Rocky Mountain mornings, steam rising from geysers and vents lingers all around. Not just the named, designated geothermals…I mean everywhere. In the field beyond a main parking lot; all along the entrance road to Old Faithful Inn. You feel the dynamic presence of a living, active planet.

Powerful, too, is this immense source of heat that still boils water at the Earth’s surface 640,000 years after Yellowstone’s last cataclysmic eruption. Forty miles to the north on the road to Mammoth Hot Springs, this heat has literally torn a mountain apart. The broad flank of Roaring Mountain, several hundred feet tall, is little more than a steaming pile of rock rubble. It is a great reminder of Earth’s connections with the cosmos, and the sheer improbability of life as we know it.

Evening rainbow in a Riverside Geyser eruption

Many of the geothermals have descriptive names, derived from a unique feature, formation, or pattern of activity. Castle…Riverside…Grotto…Morning Glory Pool…Sawmill…Artemesia…Grand Prismatic Spring…Ojo Caliente…Tangled Creek…Anemone.

Chinese Pool, Upper Geyser Basin

An evening’s walk along the boardwalk in one of the Firehole’s geyser basins is a real treat. You are surrounded by the beauty of Earth’s elemental geology, wrapped in the silent power of the planet’s dynamic presence. What a blessing to be alive. Here. Now.

Float Trip on the Madison, September 11th

Ted working a seam, just below Lyons Bridge

The Madison River becomes a tailwater below Hebgen Lake, a huge impoundment just outside Yellowstone’s western border. Ted and I fished it from a driftboat last month. Geoff Unger from Blue Ribbon Flies was our guide. Martin Van Fossan and I did this trip with Geoff in 2004 when Martin introduced me to Yellowstone country. It was Ted’s first driftboat trip, he was as excited as a kid at Christmas.

Tailwater trout fishing is a welcome byproduct of dams built for flood control and irrigation. The constant release of cold water from a reservoir’s depths creates great trout habitat. On this stretch of the Madison, nature adds miles of steep gradient. The result is ‘the fifty mile riffle’ all the way to Ennis, its fast water and boulder bottom full of trout.

Brown trout under a cloudless sky

We fished the stretch from Lyons Bridge to the Palisades about an hour northwest of West Yellowstone. Lyons Bridge is the upstream limit for driftboat fishing, the stretch above is reserved for wade fishing all the way to Quake Lake. Close to ten boats launched from the ramp while we were getting ready, but the river’s wide expanse and fast current quickly dispersed all the anglers.

Conditions were with us. Water temperatures had dropped from summer highs thanks to cooler daytime temperatures (Geoff said that water temperatures are the critical factor in fish and insect activity). A cool breeze all day had the river’s insect population active. Though a cloudless day, smoke from all the western wildfires put a haze in the air.

Ted with a nice rainbow trout

Big mountain whitefish, good fight

A driftboat is a great fishing tool, especially in the hands of a capable guide like Geoff who knows a river’s fishing so well. The boat gives casting and fish-fighting advantages that wade fishing doesn’t, and you cover so much more prime fish-holding cover. On the Madison, fishing from a driftboat is like nature’s video game…constant action on a current speed of six miles an hour that carries the boat along at a fast clip (“Cast here! Cast there!”). We fished indicator rigs the whole day using a big stonefly nymph along with something small to imitate the small mayflies that were on the water.

It was a banner day of fishing, nearly constant action from ten until five. We caught nice brown and rainbow trout, mountain whitefish, even two beautiful cutthroat trout. Ted and I each had a couple of chances at big fish, but they got back to the bottom before getting to the net. I muffed the hookset on a beautiful rainbow right off the bank within five minutes of launching. What seemed like minutes later, Ted lost a big brown that came barreling out of a deep run the moment it felt the hook. Later in the day, we each lost a nice fish after fighting it for a while. Each time, Geoff chided us for dropping the rod tip too much.

Ted & Geoff, end of a great day

It was the kind of fishing day that makes the price of guide and boat so worth it. I can’t wait to go again.

Fisherman's Postcard, October 5th

Cold weather finally arrived in Yellowstone. Through to the end of September, daytime highs always made it to the upper 60s, even 70s, despite overnight lows near freezing. All that changed two days ago.  

Evening over the Madison River and the Gallatin Range

Fall weather is truly here. For the next several days, daytime highs will struggle to the 40s, nighttime lows in the upper teens. Even so, it remains unseasonably dry. The last significant rain was early September, and amazingly, still no snow.

Morning on the River, Madison Campground

I have camped the past two weekends as a break from the dorm/cafeteria routine and to be closer to the fishing. A new goose down sleeping bag and plenty of layers has made it very comfortable.  Sub-freezing nights, though, will really put my equipment to the test.  

Nighttime at Madison Campground two nights ago was spectacular. Moonlight from the full moon and a starry sky illuminated National Park Mountain that towers above the junction where the Firehole and Gibbon Rivers meet to form the Madison River. A bull elk serenaded his harem starting about 4 AM, its bugling quite a sound in the middle of the night. 

Brown Trout on a streamer, Firehole River

Fishing has been both good and not so good. I have caught two of the nicest fish of the season in the past week, both large brown trout that took a streamer (Bakers Hole Bugger) bought custom-tied from Jason Davis (thanks, Jason!). One came from a classic brown trout lie (log in the water just off the riverbank, a soft pocket of water next to fast water) on the Firehole River.  

The other big trout came from Barns Pool #1 on the Madison, an iconic fishing spot just inside the Park’s west boundary where anglers go to intercept the trout running up the river out of Hebgen Lake. Anglers come from around the country to fish this in the fall. Pleasantly, it is not nearly crowded as I feared. Camaraderie comes easily among a half dozen or so anglers who take turns working down the 200 yard run of deep water, a slow dance line that follows an unwritten etiquette taking turns and not ‘sitting on the hole.’ 

Brown Trout at Barns Pool #1, Madison River

Barns Pool is top-drawer fly fishing, you really have to be on your game. Both brown and rainbow trout are to be had. Good anglers catch the fish, average anglers don’t.  Little mistakes in presentation leave you empty-handed, and the big trout are exceedingly difficult to get well-hooked and keep on the line. Two totally different techniques are employed; swinging streamers and soft hackles, or nymphing under an indicator. So far, I’d say that nymphing has the upper hand. 

Despite the two nice fish, fishing has not been what I expected for the fall, the fish elusive. I attribute it to bluebird, cloudless days and the lack of rain/snow keeping the rivers low and gin clear.  

The dance line at sunset, Barns Pool on the Madison

Optimism distinguishes fishing from catching. I have two more weeks here to witness it to turn on. My dreams are of cloudy days and some rain or snow in the air.