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.