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Schooled by Bull Trout – Imnaha River
It has always been music to my ears the times the Lady has told me, “I want you to fly fish more!” Perhaps that’s because nowadays we flyfish together and she is as excited as I am about going after wilderness trout. She is the trout spotter, net girl, and makes sure the trout are revived and good and healthy as they are released. Last year she announced, “We need a bigger net.” We got her a bigger net that is nicknamed “The Big Dipper.”
Last year we found two excellent areas with large trout, just what we like. These were our first two destinations.
We arrived at Indian Crossing Campground Sunday around noon and were quite pleasantly surprised we had the whole place to ourselves. The trailhead for entering the Eagle Cap Wilderness only had one vehicle parked. Perhaps it was because of the thunderstorms rolling through? Most likely.
Our friends Wandering Sagebrush and his Bride were joining us for four nights here and they arrived a couple hours later. We got camp set up before taking refuge for two hours from the next storm .
Last year was my first introduction to fishing the Imnaha River and its resident Bull Trout. I spent some time over the winter studying fly fishing techniques for these remarkable beasts, but there is no substitute for time on the water getting “schooled by bull trout.”
We started our hike upriver the next morning. Sagebrush and the Bride would follow us up later. Mr. Sage was also eager to get schooled.
After a couple of miles or so we dropped down to the big hole where the Imnaha exits a deep gorge.
The Lady has her big dipper attached to the back of her pack.
I had a collection of weighted, large, articulated streamer flies. They looked good to me. Would the bulls agree? On our trip in June, while doing laundry in Pinedale, Wyoming, I met and spoke with a fly-fishing guide about the difficulty of casting these streamer patterns. “Forget about a traditional cast,” he explained. “Never going to happen. It’s ‘chuck and duck.’ Lob that fly anyway you can. You’ve got to put your arm into it. Half the time it will hit you in the back of the head. That’s the 'duck.'"
I was muttering “chuck and duck” over and over as I dropped the big fly into the water at my feet to wet the feathers and give me a chance to observe how it moved and looked in the water. A green shape blazed upstream and grabbed the fly. I was shocked, surprised, mesmerized by the instant take but recovered and lifted my fly rod.
“Fish on.” I said to the Lady behind me. She had been busy fussing with her gear and was not watching.
“What? First cast?” She was floored.
“I’d hardly call it a cast. I just dropped the fly in the water. Here’s my very first bull trout and the first fish for your new big dipper.”
It was small for a bull, about 15 inches, but what a delight. Many of the big bulls visible in the clear calm water of the Imnaha were over 20 inches long, big and heavy.
Sage and his Bride arrived a bit later. We waded back out of the river and greeted them. “You have a dedicated wading staff.” He observed as we came out of the water.
“Yes, I do. Especially for the larger rivers,” I answered. “Julie got it for me for Christmas several years ago. I better use it!”
I gave Sage one of my big articulated streamers. The Lady and I waded across the river to try and reach a pod of bulls in deeper water. The Lady, of course, climbed to a high point. Mr. Sage got ready to fish across from us.
“My rod will not handle this heavy fly,” we heard as his rod waved forward and back but the fly never moved from its resting spot.
“Chuck and duck! Chuck and duck!” I called.
It is, indeed, a struggle with such a heavy large fly.
I could not get another bull trout to take interest in my streamer patterns or various methods of retrieve. I was being schooled. By midday storm clouds were building and time to head back to camp. Rain hit as we hiked. It again rained hard enough to hole up in our campers most of the afternoon.
The following morning was clear and beautiful. First light from the bridge over the Imnaha.
Sage and his Bride wanted to relax at camp. The lady and I wanted to spend the day on the river. I had much more to attempt to learn about fly fishing for bull trout, now a happy obsession. We returned to the big hole.
We were alone on this beautiful river. The learning laboratory for this novice bull trout fly fisher was again open. I tried everything. I varied retrieves. I fished all the streamer patterns I had with me. I fished upstream. I fished downstream. I cast and let the streamer rest on the bottom and waited until a big bull moved into position. I then flashed the streamer by the fish. Nothing, but, my god, it was fun.
The Lady said, “It’s time to try the mouse.” She had been anxiously waiting for this. I tied on the large foam and fur mouse fly. We thought of it as a possible secret weapon. I cast the little critter out onto the water. Although I could not entice a bull to move from their position to take the fly, we could both tell all their eyes were on that mouse. The bulls watched intently. We shook with excitement, surely any moment the surface of the water would explode. I became quite good at imitating a mouse struggling in the water. “It sure looks like a mouse to me!” the Lady said and was on the edge of her seat. Maybe with the low light at sunrise or sunset the mouse may have yielded success.
I went back to a large golden colored streamer. I lobbed the fly across the river and let out line to allow it to drift far downstream. I paused and began a retrieve. The fly stopped. I pulled. The fly did not move. I pulled again. I felt a powerful pulse and then a mighty pull. The line sliced across the width of the river. The huge bull rose and the surface boiled with the frenzied power of this beast. And then the fly came untied, the line snapped back, and the trout was gone.
Note
to self. Always, always completely trim back all of the prior knot when
changing flies. Damn, but what a rodeo it had been. Always be meticulous with your knots.
We moved downstream to another deep hole with a strong riffle at the top. Three times I saw big bulls following the streamer up the riffle. I never got a take.
Oh, how I like a challenge like this and what absolute fun getting schooled by bull trout.
Clouds again built in the afternoon and we returned to camp but the storm only glanced us as it moved to the north. The Lady and the Bride took advantage of the clearing skies and set up the Scramble board outside and the intense competition began. These two love Scramble.
The Sagebrushers suggested we share our food supplies and have a nice sit-down dinner together. Mr. Sage said they had hamburgers to grill for everyone.
The Lady whipped up some guacamole.
Mr. Sage started grilling darn nice-looking hamburgers.
He also called the stuff he sprinkled on the burgers, “Montana Seasoning.”
It was wonderful company, a grand dinner with mighty fine grub, especially those hamburgers.
For our final day on the Imnaha River, the Lady and I wanted to stretch our legs a bit, get some exercise, and explore the trail upriver. I mentioned to the Lady there was a footbridge over the North Fork of the Imnaha 7.5 miles from camp. She got excited. She wanted to see that bridge.
The Sagebrushers wished to explore closer to camp. There are many fun things to see closer to the trailhead.
We hit the trail a little before 9am.
The late season wildflowers were abundant.
Western Cone Flowers (Rudbeckia occidentalis)
Showy Fleabane (Erigeron speciosus), thanks Ed for the identification.
Fireweed (Chamerion angustifolium)
Nettleleaf Giant Hyssop (Agastache urticifolia)
The Sagebrushers told us to watch for a Cedar Waxwing on a nest they had seen on Monday.
The old signs were fun to see.
Above the big hole the Imnaha flows through a long gorge. The trail is high on the north side of the river.
It is an easy grade and we easily made good time on the trail.
The Lady was thrilled to see the bridge. We arrived a little before noon.
It was a dreary cool day – perfect for hiking – but not exciting light for photography. We sat on the west end of the bridge and ate our snacks for lunch. It began to rain. It was time to turn around and head back. Something told me the Lady wanted to get back for another afternoon Scramble game with Diana. After a mile or so the rain lessened. We pulled off our rain jackets but kept the rain flies on our packs.
I should point out that the majority of this trail is through fairly heavy vegetation without expansive vistas.
The gorge section had the finest views.
There was one half mile section through Thimbleberries
(Rubus parviflorus).
This slowed us down. It also took a couple of days to get rid of the red berry stains on our fingers.
As we neared camp a mule deer doe was especially curious about us.
We got back to camp a little after three. We quickly showered and got into clean clothes. The girls were eager to start the next game of Scramble.
Mr. & Mrs. Sage had recently purchased an Oliver Travel Trailer.
They also brought along their two dogs, Fritz and Ketzel. These two are overflowing with energy and personality.
Mr. Fritz
Miss Ketzel
With the Scramble tournament completed, the Lady began her stretching routine. Apparently, her ankles, after an easy 15 mile hike, required very close inspection.
Mr. Sage announced they had discovered more hamburgers in their refrigerator!
We enjoyed another wonderful dinner together. It was great fun.
We parted ways the next morning. The Sagebrushers returned to their home in Baker City and the Lady and I headed for our next destination for Wilderness fly fishing – Idaho.
Addition: Our stay at Indian Crossing Campground was very pleasant. We were the only campers the first night. Here’s my report on three quizzical incidents.
One. After turning in the second night, after dark, and close to 10pm, a large motorcycle quietly idled past our camp. The Lady, looking out the window on her side of the bunk, said it looked like it was carrying camping gear. The motor noise ceased as it pulled into a campsite some distance from us. About a half hour later the motor was started and the headlight was moved about as if in an attempt to see something away from the campsite. The cycle idled with the light on for several minutes. This happened 3 or 4 more times. The motorcycle left around midnight and headed down the main road. Curious.
Two. The third night at 4am a white Ram pickup drove past our camp and pulled into the campsite at the end of the loop. On our morning walk we saw a large tent was erected and gear set up around the area. It is a long drive to reach this area. Someone arriving at 4 am to set up camp seemed very unusual. The truck carried California plates.
Three. A large group arrived on our last full day and set up an encampment at two separate campsites away from all others. Three young girls, traveling in a pack, made regular trips to the concrete CXT outhouse down from our camp. We were all outside preparing our second dinner of hamburgers. On one pass by, two girls made a display of spitting on the ground, grossly unladylike to this gentleman 70 year old. I commented and asked the others how they felt about the display and mentioned that my mom would have probably slapped me upside the head for such behavior. One girl must have overheard and I received an evil stare. At dawn the next morning we found the outhouse door locked. A telltale clue as who were the culprits, our neighbor girls were walking to and using the outhouse at the trailhead. Note – these are easy to unlock. A leatherman multi tool is, indeed, a handy tool.
Our adventure continues, please click here for - Part Two
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