Fly Fishing Idaho's Secret Waters
By Chris Hunt and Kirk Deeter
()
About this ebook
Chris Hunt
Chris Hunt is a former journalist and current national communications director for Trout Unlimited. He serves on the Idaho Wildlife Federation board of directors and the Outdoor Writers Association of America. An award-winning journalist, his work has appeared in the "New York Times" and "Field & Stream" magazine. This is his third book on trout fishing.
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Fly Fishing Idaho's Secret Waters - Chris Hunt
important.
INTRODUCTION
They call this a cold front.
It’s eighty-two degrees and raining sideways. The emerald waters of Florida Bay are chalky and rough. It’s muggy. Everything in my travel bag smells like…feet.
It’s been eight days since I left Idaho, and I’m ready to go home.
To appreciate home, sometimes you have to leave for a while. To value something is to miss it when it’s gone. Or when you’re gone. Simple as that.
As I sit here in a musty hotel room on Key Largo, I am wishing the heavy eight-weight leaning against the wall was a supple, fiberglass three-weight and that the water outside wasn’t salty and violent but cold and clear and a mile away from the road. I wish the slate-gray sky was astonishingly blue and that the pelicans that loitered at the docks were instead ospreys scolding me as I cast a fat foam hopper to a beefy cutthroat they marked from one hundred feet above.
I wish, at this moment, that I were back home in Idaho where I belong.
The Gem State harbors many fishy secrets, from little-known tailwaters where rotund brown trout chase streamers every day of the year to small, hidden Panhandle creeks where redbands and westslope cutthroats feed on mayflies while keeping a wary eye on the depths, knowing a two-foot-long bull trout could be eyeing them for a meal.
A caddis fly touches down on a patch of snow and ice along Henry’s Fork.
It’s a diverse state. The Owyhees are a canyon-lover’s delight and harbor backcountry secrets known only to a few. In the middle of the state flows the Salmon River, the River of No Return
—to this day, it runs unimpeded on its journey from its headwaters atop Galena Summit to its confluence with the mighty Snake near Hell’s Canyon. Just a bit farther south flow the Big Wood and the fabled waters of Hemingway’s Silver Creek, a big-fish destination that has confounded some of the best fly fishers on earth for the better part of a century.
From the east flow the headwaters of the Snake—Henry’s Fork and the South Fork. Henry’s Fork bubbles up from the ground at Big Springs, just west of the Yellowstone National Park boundary, and flows south, slicing through the Island Park Caldera until it spills over Mesa Falls and then courses down the Snake River Plain. It meets the South Fork, which essentially gets its start in the Yellowstone backcountry before flowing through Grand Teton National Park and the Snake River Canyon in western Wyoming. As it leaves the bottom of Palisades Reservoir, the river takes on its South Fork name—and adopts the reputation as perhaps the best dry-fly destination fishery in America—and flows through Swan Valley and Conant Valley.
The two rivers meet at Menan, forming the Snake once again. This mighty river bisects the Snake River Plain, a swath of flat, volcanic prairie land stretching from one side of southern Idaho to the next. As it flows, it loses its trouty
character and becomes, in some stretches, a quality smallmouth bass river. For a few renegade fly-rodders, however, the Snake holds a population of the strongest freshwater fish—pound for pound—found in the country. It’s a carp-lover’s paradise, where casts across flats rival those found in much more elegant destinations, where the targets themselves are more elegant as well.
The author casts for redbands in a remote Owyhee canyon in southern Idaho. Photo by Rachel Morgan.
The author wanders up a lonely, unnamed creek in the Owyhees. Sometimes they’re fishy... sometimes they’re not.
Liza Raley fishes the Warm River in January.
It’s easy to envision this amazing place when holed up in a south Florida hotel room while a squall blows across the Gulf of Mexico. But it’s even better, with your boots on the ground, to experience Idaho with a fly rod in hand, a trail or a lonely gravel road stretched out before you and the promise of a hopper hatch looming.
It’s even worth it to find some unheralded blue line in the Gazetteer and just start wandering. Sometimes these little creeks are fishy; sometimes they’re not. But they never disappoint.
I suppose it’s easy to yearn for a cold, clear backcountry stream—I do my share of yearning during Idaho’s brutal winters and, apparently, while I wait out a storm in the Keys. Those perfect days spent casting to rising trout far away from the nearest stretch of pavement burn images on my brain that are difficult to replicate in reality, but they come through easily enough when the world outside is a bit frightful.
When the snow blows sideways and that thermometer dips below zero, I know that I’m repaying Idaho for its bounty it delivers much of the rest of the year. And I know that, during a thaw in February, I’ll brave the elements and wander to the river. I’ll bundle up in Neoprene and utter phrases like, I’m too old for this shit
or What on earth was I thinking?
But then the line will tighten and a feisty trout will dash off into the current, and I’ll know that, for the hearty angler, Idaho’s hoard of fishy water can be tapped at virtually any time.
But Idaho can’t be accessed from the steamy environs of the Florida Keys, at least not directly. I’ve found a way, though, to tap my Idaho from afar. As the rain beats against the window, I know that somewhere at home, a fat brown is chasing a streamer under that perfect October sky to the delight of a fly fisher with enough common sense to stay home. I’m not that angler. Not this year.
But I will be for years to come.
Chris Hunt
Key Largo, Florida
October 19, 2013
Chapter 1
PAST AND PRESENT
Idaho may not be a breadbasket of fly fishing history like, say, the Catskills. And it might not enjoy the well-earned reputation of Montana or the romance of the Caribbean flats. But Idaho is a vast, fishy wonderland that, for generations, has lured anglers to its waters.
Comparatively, however, it remains largely untapped as a fly-fishing destination, at least compared to the more storied places like Patagonia, New Zealand, Alaska and, yes, neighboring Montana.
That said, fabled waters like Henry’s Fork or Silver Creek draw anglers from every corner of the globe—these are waters of legend. Ernest Hemingway was an avid Silver Creek angler, but truthfully, most of his