On a late-May morning I carefully wade into casting position on a perfectly smooth stretch of water that drifts through a sagebrush flat. A couple of other anglers are casting well downstream of me. Just ahead, maybe 40 feet away, I can see the gentle concentric circles formed as large trout sip bugs from the water's surface.
The sight of so many rainbow trout feeding with enthusiasm strikes a primal chord in everyone I've ever fished with on southeastern Idaho's Henry's Fork River. This water is on any diehard angler's short list of best placed to fish for several reasons, not the last of which is the tremendous number of large (and occasionally huge) trout. Throw in acres and acres of pine-forested, snowcapped mountain scenery and you have a world-class fly fishing stream.
I tie on a fly (Baetis in size 16 to be precise) that I hope will imitate the gray mayflies (a favorite meal for rainbow trout) flying all about me. I work out enough line to reach the closest rainbow. Water burbles around my waders, mixing with the sounds of songbirds and ducks on this golden spring day. There's no breeze, just a limitless blue sky stretching over the silver-green sage and emerald grass.
The line unfurls in front of me and drops softly to the river's surface. The fly lands several feet upstream of the trout at a slight angle so that the line won't spook the fish. Luck and a touch of skill combine to create a perfect cast and the rainbow sucks in my offering.
Immediately I set the barbless hook (big trout are too precious a resource to be caught just once, and a barbless hook facilitates their release). The pressure triggers a leaping, splashing display as the trout zips away cross stream, pulling line from the reel. The drag makes a steady buzz--music to a fly fisherman's ears.
I try to hold the trout, to keep him from spooking the other fish just upstream, but he runs straight and solidly into them before rocketing into the air in a quick series of spray-filled jumps. I can see him shaking his head, trying to lose the hook, as he twists and turns a foot or more above the water.
EVENTUALLY THE TROUT COMES TO NET. Shades of silver and crimson punctuated with jet-black spots mark this rainbow as it glistens in the sunlight. It's a beautiful fish of maybe five pounds, and whether or not it would excite the Henry's Fork regulars with its size is not an issue for me. This one fish in these pristine surroundings has made my long drive down from northwestern Montana more than worthwhile.
Working the trout gently back and forth in the water to revive it, I feel a sudden surge of energy quiver from its tail to its shoulders. The rainbow instantly powers away down deep and out of sight. I wade to shore and sit on the grassy bank. Across the river, a large heron slides through the air, its long beak, angular neck, grayish wings and legs like landing gear stretching gracefully.
This is heaven, and I know instinctively that my planned three-day spring fishing trip is fast taking on one-week dimensions. That's classic Henry's Fork magic at work. At this moment, I'd say there's no place more intoxicating.
"Anytime is a good time to fish the river," says Mike Lawson of Henry's Fork Anglers, who has served as a guide to countless anglers on both the Henry's Fork and the nearby Madison River in Montana, "but I particularly enjoy the spring because you have so much of the river to yourself. The crowds that come to fish the Western Green Drake (a mayfly that drives big trout into a feeding frenzy when it hatches from mid-June through early July) are not here yet."
The Henry's Fork is a fly fisherman's dream. The river has its beginnings in a modest southward flow bubbling out of Henry's Lake, itself a superb fishery. The lake, lying in a curve in the Continental Divide, is fed by seven creeks and numerous springs along the bottom, providing an extremely rich environment for aquatic insects and trout.
Technically called the North Fork of the Snake River, the Henry's Fork meanders, drifts, and cascades from just west of Yellowstone National Park down to its confluence with the Snake River not far above Idaho Falls. For much of the way, the water parallels U.S. 20.
WHILE RAINBOWS OF 20 POUNDS are taken on occasion and 10-pounders are landed here each season, trout size alone is not what makes the Henry's Fork so popular. Casting to the discerning fish in these waters as they casually feed on mayflies or caddisflies--or, in late spring, on giant salmonflies--is a tactical challenge. There is so much food here that you'll need a perfect cast to interest trout accustomed to rising only to insects drifting overhead. An errant or sloppy cast will put these rainbows down on the bottom in a hurry. But even neophyte trout fishers will connect with decent trout provided they are persistent and patient.
Guiding these newcomers on a river such as the Henry's Fork often has its curious moments. Lawson recounts an incident concerning his brother Rick that is a fair example of the wild confusion that occasionally surfaces on the water.
"One day when Rick was working for us during his college years, he had both a fly fisher and a spin fisher in his boat," Lawson begins. "The spin fisher refused to use flies, and this made kind of an awkward situation, especially since the fly fisher was doing so well. Finally the spin fisher had had enough, so Rick beached the boat and gave him some instruction in fly fishing.
"Not too far from the end of the day's float the spin fisher hooked the best trout of the day, a real nice fish. He got so excited that he stood up and started walking backwards in the boat to keep his line tight. He kept going until he fell overboard, but he was so worked up he really didn't notice," Lawson laughs.
"In the process, his spinning lure got hooked in his pants, and as he drifted down river in fast water, line was coming off the reel like crazy. The man in the back of the boat grabbed the spinning rod and began to reel the guy in, while the overboard fisherman was trying to land his trout--and all the time Rick was worried about him drowning.
"Rick managed to wheel the boat into shore and get everything under control, and they even landed that nice fish, but they still had to dig that lure out of the seat of the guy's pants," Lawson concludes with a chuckle.
While today frequented by recreational fishermen, the Henry's Fork region was first visited by Europeans in 1810 when a group of trappers under the spirited leadership of Andrew Henry pitched camp at present-day Three Forks, Montana, about 30 miles west of Bozeman. That's the place where the Gallatin, Madison, and Red Rock-Jefferson rivers join forces to form the Missouri River. A band of territorial Blackfeet Indians drove the party out of the valley. The trappers beat a hasty escape south of Raynolds Pass not far from Yellowstone and continued traveling on past Henry's Lake and down the river.
TWO HUNDRED YEARS LATER, I am finding both physical and spiritual bliss in Henry's Fork country. After taking a few more chunky trout, I head back to my campsite at Riverside Campground, some 15 minutes away.
The river here is entirely different in character. Gone are the mirror-like bends and curves and the delicately feeding trout. In their place are swiftly running rapids and large boulders plunked down in midstream by forces I can only guess at. This is pocket-water fishing, where you try to drop a cast into any piece of calm amidst a moving sea of chaos.
Lawson has told me that he feels a four-weight or five-weight rod works well in the quiet stuff but that at least a six-weight or seven-weight is needed for "authority" in this and other stretches of rough water. I take him at his word and rig up a six-weight rod with a seven-weight line and a short (four-foot) and stout (2X) leader. It's not easy casting a large stonefly nymph to imitate the live flies that I observe climbing along the sides of the rocks near shore. The imitation nymph is heavy and clumsy to work, but when it finds the head of a quiet place of water and it sinks to the bottom, trout take with sudden, vicious strikes.
The one I hook is full of fight, as this harsh environment dictates. A bulldog run ends with a quick burst into the air and a brutish attempt to reach fast water and freedom.
An hour of angling produces a quartet of trout, and I decide that's enough for one day. I'd set up camp earlier and now I lay a fire to cook dinner. Afterwards I add more wood to make a blaze as a hedge against the chill of nighttime here were the altitude is well over a mile above sea level. Stars come out, turning the sky into a glowing blue-white, and the full moon dances over a pine ridge.
I feel like I'm all alone in the wilds though others are camped within a few hundred yards of me and a highway is mere miles away over a nearby rise. Civilization and its worries are forgotten. All I can see is the dark silhouette of the forest and rock walls and the bright moon above, and all I can hear is the rush and tumble of pure water. And all I can think of is this day's fine fishing and the honest promise that tomorrow's action on the Henry's Fork will be even better.
Downtime at Yellowstone
One of the finer points of spring in Henry's Fork country is that the hordes of summer have not yet arrived, and this is doubly true for Yellowstone National Park. So taking a day or two off from fishing the Henry's Fork to make the 30-minute drive up U.S. 20 to West Yellowstone is time well spent.
The countryside is just starting to green up, and the sounds of rushing water from melting snowbanks are everywhere. Wildlife including elk, bison, and deer are a common sight as they feed along park roadsides, making up for all the calories they burned during the long, tough winter. And wildflowers are making their first appearances of the year.
Yellowstone is justly famous for its geysers, steaming springs, mud pots, and hot pools, and watching Old Faithful erupt with snow still on the ground is a sight worth seeing. But for those of us who are unable to pass up quality fishing water, rivers like the Firehole, Gibbon, Yellowstone, and Madison are the real attraction here. They provide some of the finest fly fishing anywhere.
To learn more about fishing in the park, call 307-344-7381. Fishing Yellowstone Waters by Charles Brooks is an excellent text (Lyons & Burford Publishers, 31 West 21st Street, New York, NY 10010; 212-620-9580).
Copyright (c) 1996 John Holt. All rights reserved.
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