The High Lakes, Idaho - August 2018

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The Grand Adventure - Summer 2018 - Part Three

 

 

A Bit of Backpacking

"I want you to fish more!" the Lady told me several times this year as she planned possible trips in her head. I couldn't help but agree, but I also knew what she and I call "fishing" might be much different than what most folks think of. This part of our Grand Adventure story is a good example.

We did a recognizance mission - a long day hike - into this area several weeks prior just to see if we'd like to do a backpack trip to explore the fly fishing opportunities.

After Kelly Creek, we returned to the Bitterroot Valley. Our friends, Muir Trek & Outdoor Woman were away but graciously offered their home to us for an overnight, laundry,  and resupply. They strongly cautioned that they needed to let the neighbors know as they keep an eye on the place, all own firearms, and everyone has a backhoe.

We arrived at the trailhead Sunday afternoon along with a change in the weather. It was cold and cloudy. There was a chance of rain for Monday.

It was spitting rain when we awoke Monday morning. We decided to watch the weather for a bit before beginning our backpack trip. As the storm rolled in, we took a drive around the area and explored.

We decided to delay our trip in as the skies unleashed hard rain and hail. The storm began to clear in the evening.

We walked after dinner. The Lady spotted elk on the high open mountainsides above us including several large bulls, the source of the bugles that we enjoyed in the morning.

We were ready to go the next morning. It was cold, down to 24° overnight, but clear. An elk bugle came down the valley as if telling us it was time to go.

This landscape was spectacular and so refreshing with everything washed clean by the storm.

The Lady loves being the navigator and keeps us found on her maps.

The route is a definite climb and only gets steeper.

We reached the lake by mid afternoon and finding no one else here, we searched out the best place to camp.

We fly fished for the golden trout for a couple hours without luck. There were no fish visible. They were all down in deep water. We enjoyed our long wander as night came.

The view the next morning, as we cooked breakfast, was incredible.

"I want you to fish more!" the Lady said once again. "Let's get going and try the lake above."

She was off, cross country, and working a route up to the hanging basin above.

It was cold with a constant light wind. We started to spot cruising cutthroat trout and I started fishing deep with a nymph under an indicator. No luck. This would be a tough day of fishing. I would have to work at it. I switched to my realistic hopper pattern. A large cutthroat charged, refused at the last moment, swam away, turned, charged again, and nailed the hopper. It went deep and pulled hard. It tired and the Lady was by my side with the ghost net. The heavy, sixteen inch trout was safely in the net.

As I said, I had to work at this. Everything had to be as close to perfect as I could manage - a delicate cast and presentation, no unnecessary movements. The trout were wary and discriminating, but with happy effort, trout after trout were brought to the net and carefully returned to their watery fold.

The Lady never got a chance to lay in the sun and read. She scouted ahead, watched for trout, and gave direction. "Catch that one!" she would call out with her arm outstretched. A large beautiful cutthroat would be found out on the line her finger pointed. I did as I was told.

"Oh, that's a little one. We don't need the camera for that one. I'll just bring the ghost net," the Lady said after I announced, once again, "Fish on!"

I brought the vividly colored cutthroat to her waiting net. I removed the fly and the Lady joyfully returned the trout to its watery fold.

"So," I asked as we watched in awe as the marvelous wild creature swam away. "A fourteen inch trout is now a 'little one'?"

She smiled and answered, "Don't worry. I won't get uppity about only wanting to catch big trout."

We took a break after releasing another cutthroat a bit over seventeen inches, heavy and well formed.

The Lady expressed interest in climbing the trail to a saddle above and looking down at the lake - indicated by her map - on the other side.

Our eyes were drawn to the recent large landslide.

The Lady insisted on climbing higher. "We'll find a nice spot in the sun and out of the wind," she assured.

We returned down to the saddle. The Lady surveyed the area with her see mores before we returned to the lake.

As we worked the last section of shoreline, I noticed a large trout  far out from shore. I gave a try on making a long cast and managed a good presentation. The trout charged and gulped down the fly. The sound was as if someone had dropped a bowling ball into the lake. The tight line was instantaneous. My god, this trout could pull. Cutthroat are not known for their aerobatics. This wonderful trout had obviously missed that memo. It roared out of the lake and headed for the heavens. I half expected to see an afterburner ignite. It twisted and turned and danced on the surface and returned to its watery fold with an immediate 180 degree turn. My line cut across the lake for fifty yards. I just held on. It took to the air again. Its beautiful golden sides flashed brilliantly as it danced. It returned to the water and ran directly toward me. No way could I get line in that fast. Tension was lost, the trout shook the fly loose, and was gone. It was spectacular! It was far less than eight seconds. I cannot even claim rodeo rules, but this was my trout of the year. It will be the one that dances and flashes on a high mountain lake through my dreams.

We climbed back down to the lower lake and our camp, looking forward to another quiet night of blissful solitude surrounded by and immersed in this alpine grandeur.

It was unbelievable. Our campsite looked like a KOA. Tents were everywhere and so were people. They were set up on the use trail and right up against our camp. We could not get to our tent and cooking area without weaving through tents and stepping over cooking stoves. It was a group of eleven school children - middle school through high school - under the supervision of three teachers, an annual trip here just before school's start.

We took the fly rod and ghost net to the opposite side of the lake to put distance between us and the constant chatter. I fished a scud pattern deep and got three hits that did not connect. The Lady said these trout were "persnickety." It was good to see so many young people out in the wild. It was good to see them capable of the effort to get here. But, such a large group............................

We again took a long walk in the twilight. In a place like this, it was impossible not to see the bright side and take this invasion in stride.

We woke early the next morning. We wanted to enjoy our coffee and breakfast in the quiet, before we thought our neighbors would arise. It worked. At sunrise, smoke on the eastern horizon colored the mountainsides with a red tinge.

We watched the light change and the moon drop as we enjoyed the start of our day.

Glory and awe surrounded us.

The youngsters and adults were starting to stir as we moved through with our backpacks beginning our hike back to the trailhead.

We took in the vistas as we dropped in elevation and did not hurry. There was no need.

Just before the last creek crossing we met a group hiking in. It was a family group of six headed to the first lake. It was their annual trip. "Oh, they're back?" one asked when we told them of the large group already there.

We made a note to not return to these high lakes during the last week of August.

We continued down to the second creek crossing. This is where it happen.

A log stretched across and above the creek. It was narrow and had been placed here recently by the folks doing trail maintenance. The Lady crossed with ease and I followed her. This was no big deal. There was a high step up to climb the bank above. I stepped on the wet rock the end of the log rested on. Nothing gave me an indication it was as slick as it turned out to be. I tried to get purchase with my other foot but I was going down, backwards, into the creek, and a drop of around five feet. I hit hard and was in water up to my waist. It wasn't graceful, but I was up and out of the water quickly.

"Are you hurt?" Julie quickly asked.

"I don't think so. I do know I'm soak and wet. My pack is wet. My boots are full of water."

We moved up hill to a large block of granite, a handy spot to lay out wet items, get undressed and take a close look at my body. My right thigh now burned, throbbed, ached. I didn't want to stop moving. I knew it would set up like concrete if I stopped.

The outside of my right thigh was red and hard, the start of an epic hematoma. We both knew if I had hit any harder we would be dealing with a broken femur. Julie dug my towel and dry clothes out of my pack and also fished out a dry pair of hiking socks. I took a look at my pack. Nothing was broken but the bottom half and everything inside was saturated. If we were staying another night out, it would have required getting to work drying everything, especially the down sleeping bag.

I was actually quite calm about the incident after I got out of the water, just started in taking care of what needed to be done. Julie was doing her best, but I had given her a hell of a scare. It showed. It was time to slow down, take that calming deep breath, and hold each other.

I was lucky. I popped a couple Aleves and we resumed our hike. It wasn't too bad as long as I kept moving. Julie wanted a photo after the bruising started to develop. It turned into a dark, evil, rainbow of colors. Everyday a different color would highlight - black, green, purple, blue, red. The swelling turned hard. It has not yet fully healed.

We organized everything back at the truck and decided to head, several hours away, to a town large enough to have a Laundromat so we could wash, and especially dry, everything. A store bought long hot shower would round out the evening nicely.

We had a lot of adventure ahead and did not want to miss anything, especially what was next - a visit to Lewis & Clark's crossing of the Continental Divide. 

Oh, and Julie still wishes we had taken a photo of the bruise...........................