please remember you can click on a photo to see a larger version & highlighted text are links to additional information
Please click here for Part Two
Until Our Legs Go Numb
We again stopped at Bear Valley Creek on our way west back on the Landmark Stanley Road. The area intrigued us and was well worth a day of exploration.
We enjoy stopping at trailheads and orienting ourselves to the areas they provide access to.
We drove down to the put in for float trips on the Middle Fork of the Salmon River.
The boat launch facility was impressive.
There was excellent signage.
We included the spur road down to Dagger Falls on the Middle Fork.
I need to point out that Landmark Stanley Road is heavily occupied with Bubba camps – large dispersed campsites populated with several large travel trailers grouped together, many of them toy haulers where the ass ends have pooped out multiple mechanized thrillcraft. Quiet small dispersed sites are hard to find. As the afternoon waned, we made it our mission to find one.
The broad meadows were populated with deer, sandhill cranes, marsh hawks, golden eagles, bald eagles, and not another vehicle within sight. We wandered in the twilight.
Sandhill cranes woke us early the next morning as if to say we’d been welcomed but now it was time to go. We took care of laundry and groceries in McCall. The heat was on as we drove north on highway 95. There are several recreation sites along the main Salmon River north of Riggins that we looked at and found a small campsite with shade above the river. It was 96°and we were anxious for the sun to drop below the high canyon wall.
We were the only ones here. We walked down to the primitive boat launch.
“I’m too hot,” the Lady declared. She handed me all her clothes as she quickly undressed and into to water she went.
“I needed this. You coming in?”
We decided we’d get a feel for the St. Joe River by driving up most of its length on the road from St. Maries. Mid afternoon we arrived at road’s end and the small Spruce Tree Campground, also the trailhead for the trail continuing up the St. Joe. Mostly empty, we were able to select a nice site with privacy. For us, with most of our experience on tumbling mountain streams, the St. Joe’s a big river. It also has long runs of fairly swallow water. We began our task of reading the water and learning where the trout held. Deeper runs with structure – larger rocks or downed trees – were best. I was talking aloud and pointing this out to the Lady as we waded up river. Floating a fly past a large rock along the opposite bank brought a foot long native Westslope Cutthroat to the Lady’s ghost net, positive reinforcement to what we were learning. Hiking up the trail in the evening revealed it was an abandoned road bed on a steep mountain side above the river with few places to access the water. Our plan for the next day, after consulting the topo map, was to hike 2.5 miles up the trail to where the trail dropped back down along the river, and fly fish that section. We figured that we’d also have a good chance of not seeing anyone else. It turned out to be a great plan.
We entered the river. A deep long run was below us that ran under a log. First cast brought a nice 14 inch cutthroat to the net. Then fly fishing changed as we waded downstream. The Lady had paid attention on reading the water.
“You waded past that nice short run there. I know there’s a trout that wants your fly. I can feel it. Fish it,” she directed.
“See,” she smiled and said. “We’re not going to pass up possible lies.”
“Did you see that?” she again directed as we waded. “Where the side creek comes in, right up against the big rock, a trout rose. Catch it!” This one was difficult. The side creek came in with a deeper hole. The eddy on the other side of the current was about the size of a bathtub. It swirled up against the rock. The drift would be short before the current would catch line and drag the fly downstream. I ended the cast with a reach to put fly line as far upstream as I could. The fly floated for less than a foot before the cutt rose and took it.
“Here you go,” I smiled as I slid the trout into her waiting net.
And so the day went. I relaxed and let the Lady take over and I followed her direction. She was enjoying this so much. We caught several nice trout before we took a long break in the shade, lay back, and took in the soothing sounds of the river. We were alone.
We met RiverRat when we arrived back at the campground. Rapid fire he hit us with questions and then responded to our answers.
“Dries? You were catching fish on dries? The two teachers from Tacoma in site two said nothing was taking dries. They fished nymphs all day. Fourteen inches? How many did you pick up that were fourteen?”
And, of course, his story spilled out. Forty two years a golf pro in Denver, he now hates Colorado. He put all his stuff in storage in Wyoming. He likes Wyoming. He’s been on the road fly fishing since selling out in October. “I started in the Grand Canyon and now I’m here. That’s because I bought a house in Phoenix. I came over today from the North Fork and Kelly Creek. I’m tired of driving. Time to fish. You been there?”
“We fished Kelly Creek a few years back,” I explained. “We’re going there tomorrow. We like it here but……… with the dark canyon and heavy timber, we’re both feeling claustrophobic. We’re use to more open country.”
RiverRat’s animated delivery continued as he shared his experiences over on the North Fork Clearwater and Kelly Creek. What a character he was.
The next morning when I walked out of our campsite, RiverRat was standing by his truck. He waved me over. “I wrote some stuff down for you,” he said as he handed me a page from his notebook. “This is for over on the North Fork and Kelly.”
We left after breakfast and took the easy way, over into Montana and back into Idaho via Hoodoo Pass where we spent the night. Before dinner we did the four mile round trip hike to Hoodoo Lake.
The air was smokey. When the Lady asked about the smoke when we filled the truck with gas in Superior, she was told it had come down from Canada. This sent shivers down our spines. How much was the tariff we’d have to pay on this imported smoke from Canada we were breathing? And how would the tariff be collected? Road blocks set up with armed, masked special agents demanding payment?
Thank god these were locally grown huckleberries we picked and ate along the trail on our way back.
With RiverRat’s recommendation, we stopped to look at Hidden Creek Campground. Big Bubba camps filled the dispersed sites along the road, the campground was near empty. An older couple (yeah, I know probably younger than us) approached and asked if we were wanting to stay. If we were, they were leaving and they thought their campsite was the best one in the campground. We should take it. We did.
The North Fork Clearwater River at sunrise the next morning.
After so many days of long hikes, fishing here seemed way to easy. We found a deep run just above camp and we found another just below the campground.
We moved back and forth and caught cutthroats all day long.
After dinner we walked up the road to a nice run in a bend of the river up against a rocky bank. Jason from RiverRat’s note was parked there getting ready to fish. Jason volunteers every summer to work at the Kelly Creek Work Center. He is a very nice guy with a good sense of humor. We asked if he’d seen the line of 10 atv’s and side by sides traveling fast down the road in a haboob of dust.
“Yeah, I saw them. It’s fun when I give them a big wave. Their hands go up with a smile and a wave that curls into a one finger salute when they see my California plates. And I’m the one up here volunteering and helping take care of things.” He mentioned all the items – books, flies, and such – available at the Work Center Office.
The next day, Saturday, we relocated over to Kelly Creek. Many of the fly fishers we met remarked and complained about the ohv traffic on the roads, the noise and the dust was hard to tolerate. In fact, we’d been cautioned by one report to forego visiting Kelly Creek. Our plan was to hike up the trail – non-motorized – and access Kelly Creek from it as we had on our previous visit in 2018.
The trailhead and parking was very busy. On the drive up from the Work Center, nearly every pull out was taken by an angler. And the atv and side by side traffic was near constant. I do not know how the folks fishing along the road could stand it. We tucked the truck into the spot we’d used before and waded up Moose Creek to fish. The water level was low and the fish were very cautious. I caught one in the deepest hole.
An exceedingly pleasant surprise came around 1600hrs. Everybody left. We had the place almost to ourselves. There were two trucks at the trailhead, backpackers we met the next day coming out.
We waded about two hundred yards upstream from the bridge. There was a deep run against a rock outcrop. The sun had just left the water. I waded in about mid thigh. As the terrestrial imitation floated downstream past me, I noticed something. The Lady waded out and joined me. I asked her to remain still and watch. A hatch was on. Something tiny – we couldn’t identify it – was rising to the surface. Trout rose from the bottom and took them right below the surface and then drifted back down. It was at our feet right in front of us. Our presence did not disturb the haunting, mesmerizing dance. I tried various flies but I had no match. We were enthralled. We stood and watched and stayed until our legs numbed in the cold water. We warmed up with our showers and dinner. We walked up the trail as the day came to its end.
We fished two places upstream, probably around three miles up, the next day. Fishing was challenging but we managed to bring several nice westslope cutthroats to the net.
We caught two in the sixteen inch range that were extra feisty, fought hard, worked the current, and jumped out of the net before the Lady could turn her phone on for a photo. It was quite an enjoyable day.
We were back in place in the river above the bridge late afternoon. The hatch was a repeat performance of the day before. Trout rose and rolled to the surface and took the emergers. Our legs, again, turned numb and we didn’t mind one bit. It was beautiful.
We left early the next morning as we had a long drive ahead for us. I’ll pass on a helpful hint here. When you see this sign out here -
it means that on a narrow, rough, one lane section of shelf road above the river you are going to meet coming at you a full size Ram diesel pickup, crew cab, eight foot bed, towing a twenty-five foot long travel trailer, towing a trailer with one of those monster side by sides on it. I live for the day two of these guys meet head on out here.
We made one last stop before getting on our way.
Kelly Creek could easily become an addiction. We could spend days and days out here exploring, discovering, figuring out tactics, and standing in cold water until our legs go numb.
Next up, plans go a bit sideways. The adventure continues in the upcoming Part Four.
No comments:
Post a Comment