The Henry's Fork: Day Six

The morning of day six we count our blessings and express our gratitude to be six days on the Fork with more to come. We try not to disturb the swans on the back channel but they soon paddle away upstream.

It's a pristine September morning. We seek out the trout.

The pattern is establishing itself. John catches fish and I fish.

In the afternoon John heads upstream like the swans, like a salmon powerless to resist the biological imperative. I fish the grassy bank a little longer then follow him. The bridle trail is enticing. It reminds me of boyhood trails that were a part of my growing up in this state.

I cut off the trail to pick my way through the rocks to Rocky Point Number One. That's its name on the maps. It's just downstream from Rocky Point Number Two.

I once saw a man hook a massive Rainbow here. We knew it was massive because it came out of the water and fell back in like a quarter round chunk of firewood. The man played it for about ten seconds and then it was off. He dropped his rod, made the "s-word" echo from the mountaintops, and then sat down and just watched the river flow by for a long time.

I also have some memories of fish lost here. I hooked one on a cinnamon ant right up against the rocks, and then lost it when it managed to get downstream in the swift current. When I retrieved my fly it had a piece of Rainbow jaw on the hook point.

This time I just check it out and then resume my search for John.

There he is.

This is new territory for us. We're down along the actual ranch stretch, and Millionaire Pool is somewhere up there. We go down to that point and cast to some rises out in the middle of the current. It's deep and rocky and uncomfortable fishing, so we tell ourselves they're probably just pleeps. Then one rolls with a big splash. That was no pleep. John lets me go for him--the pity phase has set in--and I manage to get a few drifts of my ant right over the spot where he rolled. But the surface is unbroken as it flows by.

We hike back to the back channel. All is quiet. So we head for the car and Pond's Resort for burgers and cold beer. Sometimes you just don't feel like cooking.

Back at the "cabin" we sit around the table for awhile. There's a big TV on one wall but once again it stays black. We talk over plans and process the day and tie a few flies to replenish our boxes for the day ahead.

Another full day of fishing in Teton country.

The Henry's Fork: Days Four and Five

The morning of the fourth day found us sharing the water with a pair of swans.

They were nervous about our proximity, calling to let us know of their displeasure. The honks increased in frequency and intensity until they took off to find some privacy. They created an unforgettable image as they passed by. These are the moments that make this place more than just the fish.

We waited for the hatch to signal the beginning of the day's fishing. A brief shower pattered on our hats.

Then the bugs came. This is my favorite time on the river.

I made my way to the grassy bank and fished to the waves of risers that came and went. I got lots of near misses and brief hookups before catching another fine healthy rainbow who couldn't resist a cinnamon ant.

We took breaks, sitting in the comfortable "recliners" the banks provide. It's a time to repair leaders and tippets, go through fly boxes searching for inspiration, and watch the river flow by around your boots.

As the sun went down I was still fishing the backlit grassy bank. You could call it a fruitless obsession with one spot in the entire river, or devotion to the place that gives you the strongest feeling of fishiness and sense of possibility.

Meanwhile, you should know, John was ranging far and wide and each time we would meet up he would give me his catch report. He was fishing rings around me. Many 12 to 16 inchers and a handful of fish at the 18 inch mark. He would often catch them in places I had just fished. Once as he was wading back to the bank he flipped his fly out right into the mouth of a good 16 inch fish.He hadn't seen any sign of it; he just happened to throw the fly to the right spot at the right time.

As we headed for the car I knew my work was cut out for me.

On the morning of the fifth day I waded over to the island in the back channel and crossed over it to the back back channel. We have often fished along the front of the island, but in some years long ago the back of the island held what we were looking for.

Right back here is the magic place where I caught my first 20 inch Henry's Fork rainbow. And it wasn't the only one I caught here. They were holding under stationary weed mats, and would delicately sip in a cinnamon ant drifted along the edge. Once my fly sank under the mat and when I began to pull it in to recast I found myself in a tug of war with another big old rainbow. Once after I had lost the last cinnamon ant I had on me I saw a big heavy rise bloom just out there in mid-channel. I pulled out my fly box, selected an Adams dry, and clipped it into an ant shape with my nippers. I showed it to that fish and he took it. Another 20+ fish.

This year I was alone with my memories. There were no fish or rises to be seen. I still fished my way down that shoreline paying close attention to the blowdowns, but to no avail.

On this day I did some ranging myself and covered some new water.

New water for me, that is. John had already been there and he was still outfishing me.

Then something happened that would cause us concern for the rest of the trip: the wind started blowing early in the day, around 10 or 11 o'clock instead of holding off until 1 or 2 o'clock. It made the conditions more challenging. I still have a soft hackle stuck in the back of my jacket. And I'm still glad it wasn't stuck in my ear.

We headed back to the cabin early hoping for better conditions the next morning.