(Originally appeared 5/07/97)

Blue Skies, Golden Trout

by John Holt

The fish fought hard. I was chasing an orange-and-pink male of several pounds as it raced down out of a sapphire pool through water that did not cover its back, over a small falls, and into two more pools.

Sailing over the last drop-off, the trout crashed sideways into the water. Spray from the concussion arced up and away in a wild circle. Tiring, the fish still struggled, using its body's resistance in the current as an ally against the constant pressure of the fly rod. The contest, having flared briefly to life when the trout pounced on my streamer, ended suddenly when the fish gave up and quit the game.

While disengaging the hook, I admired this wonderful creature. In the crystal sunlight, the fish radiated gemlike golds, oranges, pinks, greens, and perfect whites. After being gently revived in the easy flow near shore, it vanished somewhere in the sparkling water. This was powerful magic.

Fantasies

In my best fly fishing fantasies I could not have designed an experience any better than this one in the Wind River Mountains of Wyoming's Bridger Wilderness. The near-20-mile jaunt on horseback to base camp had made me a little sore, but the country was so beautiful that discomforts of the saddle went mostly unnoticed.

Our group, engaged in a five-day horse-packing and fishing trip arranged by Bridger Wilderness Outfitters, had climbed up through dense pine forest and over rocky, above-timberline plateaus where solid waves of jagged peaks flowed off into the eastern horizon. Lakes dimpled with rising trout were everywhere. There were nine of us in the party, including three staffers, and we camped at about 10,000 feet, just below timberline, in roomy four-man tents protected by junipers and spruce.

The next morning's ride drifted through lush meadows radiating wildflowers, then struggled up a narrow, rocky trail to a granite basin studded with lakes and streams. One small river in particular danced between two emerald lakes 11,000 feet above sea level. Each day following breakfast we were to repeat the 45-minute journey to that river and to some of the finest fresh water fishing anywhere.

I'd traveled down from Montana to northwest Wyoming in search of one of the rarest and most beautiful fish in the world: the golden trout (Salmo aguabonita). Goldens have held a special place in my fly fishing world ever since I first read about them many years ago in McClane's Standard Fishing Encyclopedia. Native to California's High Sierra country, these fish have markings that blend with the multihued gravels of their home streams. Some observers believe that the golden's coloration may actually be a genetic protective response to the intense ultraviolet light that hammers away at anything living far above sea level. Others simply note that they look like escapees from a riotously colored cartoon.

Near my home in northwest Montana there is a lake way back in an isolated mountain range that holds small goldens. These, too, are beautiful fish, but 10 inches is a trophy. I was chasing rumors of goldens measured in pounds, not inches.

The Real 7-Eleven

There are more than 1,300 lakes in Bridger Wilderness, about 50 of which have been stocked with goldens imported from California several decades ago. The trout grow big here, the water is pure, a surprising abundance of aquatic insects exists, and angling pressure is nonexistent. In short, this is an ideal habitat for goldens. A world record (for those who care about such things) golden weighing over 11 pounds was caught in the region, and the outfitter I was with connected with fish in the 7-pound range.

Goldens are extremely difficult to catch most of the time. You will see large fish delicately sipping diminutive insects trapped in a lake's surface film, yet a perfect cast of a pattern precisely imitating the real thing is often ignored with total disdain.

Hour after hour of this rejection at a Big Sky golden lake has caused me to cast every fly I own in the direction of these maddening fish. I've plunked mammoth flies more suited for northern pike than trout in their direction. The loud plops of the offerings did not even give me the satisfaction of watching a golden flee in terror. Instead, the trout casually drifted over to look at the artificial absurdity and then glided away with a flick of their tails.

Gluttony Time

Then there are times when goldens will hit any fly on the water, or even small spinners and spoons. What triggers this frenzy of piscatorial gluttony is not known, but it makes for some wild fishing. Adams, Goddard Caddis, Hopper patterns, Hare's Ear nymphs, Royal Wulffs, Mosquitoes--when they're in that certain mood, the nature of the offering does not matter to the fish.

When the trout move out of the cold, deep lakes and into the small rivers and streams feeding these holdings waters in preparation for spawning, they can be taken with streamers. Not because they are hungry, but because a territorial imperative tied to procreational drive is running the show now.

I favor a nine-foot rod that can cast a seven-weight floating line with a clumsy pattern like a Muddler Minnow into the teeth of the harsh wind ripping down from the snowfields above. When the streamer is retrieved directly in front of the goldens, maybe the first time or maybe the hundredth, one or more of the trout will strike out at the pattern. The streamer becomes an intrusion on mating activity, so eventually the goldens will react in an attempt to eliminate the interloper in the best way they know--by devouring the problem.

Because goldens are under stress during spawning time, we played and released all of the fish as quickly and carefully as possible. The loss of one large trout can have negative population repercussions.

A couple of miles and several hundred feet lower in elevation at our camp, countless smaller goldens thrived in gay profusion. And there, by contrast, a couple taken for a campfire meal did no harm.

Most evenings at camp we closed in around a warm fire. The temperature would head for the 30s, while each night a storm of wind, rain, and hail hammered away in the mountain peaks around us.

After a meal of fresh vegetables with rib-eye steak or stuffed Cornish game hen, a couple of the party generally headed to their tents and the warmth of sleeping bags, while others put on sweaters and down vests, moving closer to the blaze's warmth.

On Golden Stream

Bridger Wilderness Outfitters supplies horses, tents, food, a chef, guides, and other amenities on its five-day riding-and-fishing trips. The average group consists of six to eight paying guests, and participants must bring their own fishing gear and sleeping bags. The best time for goldens is late July through early September. Longer rides in the Bridger Wilderness, including fishing for other salmonids, can also be arranged.

Most participants spend at least one night before and after the trip at the DC Bar Guest Ranch, a historic, rustic property 20 miles from Pinedale, Wyoming. Accommodations there cost $50 per person per night, double occupancy, with meals. Jackson, 80 miles to the north, is the nearest airport, and BWO can arrange transportation as well as accommodations at the ranch. For further information contact Bridger Wilderness Outfitters; Box 561; Pinedale, WY 82941; 307-367-2268.


Copyright (c) 1997 John Holt. All rights reserved.