Days 62-65, July 21-24, Henrys Fork ID to Jackson WY

I'm a little past the halfway point on my journey now, just looking over the hump to the other side, reflecting on what has passed and what is to come.

In the immediate future (i.e., today), Trish will join me in Jackson, Wyoming and we'll spend several days enjoying the pleasures of one of the local resorts and touring the Tetons.  You may know Jackson as "Jackson Hole" - so-called because it was one of the locations of the annual fur trapper rendezvous back in the 1830's when the fur trade had its heyday in the mountain west.  It later became a rough-and-tumble cowboy town, and eventually a ski resort and retreat for the rich and famous.  Real estate prices, as in places like Aspen and Sun Valley, are ski-high, recession notwithstanding.  Still, it's a fun place, and the nearby Teton Range is easily one of the most awe-inspiring in America.  Here's a picture of the heart of the range, including the Grand Teton (Big Tit, in English), which I took a few days ago from the western side of the range in Idaho:

That picture now enjoys a place as the desktop background on my laptop computer.  And by the way, did you know that you can double-click on these pictures to blow them up to a larger size for better viewing?

On Day 62 I traveled from Tincup Creek through the Salt River Valley (which, like much of the general area, shows the effects of real estate spillover from Jackson - e.g., lots of vacation homes, mostly of log construction), then up through the agricultural lands between Driggs and Ashton, ID, and finally to a campground high on the Warm River.  My intent, as usual, was to avoid crowds.  The campground was lovely but I shared it with a calvary of ATV riders, including lots of teens and tweens.  I have no problem with ATVs but a troop of kids mounted on them all hours of the day and night isn't exactly subtle in terms of its detrimental impact on one's sense of quiet and solitude.  But I put that aside and, on Day 63, packed my lunch and gear into a small backpack, hooked on my bear spray and wading staff, and hiked a couple of miles downriver to get away from the hubbub.

My plan worked.  After some considerable boulder-hopping I ascended a steep ridge on the east side of the Warm River to gain perspective and find easier hiking conditions.  The ascent was difficult but worth it.  It was a little scary being alone up in the woods in bear country, but the creepiness soon dissipated when I peered over the ridge and saw a gorgeous meadow through which the Warm River sensuously snaked.  Fortunately the descent to the meadow was less daunting than the earlier ascent to the ridge, and I had any easy time navigating to the head of the meadow.  On the way I hopped over a series of springs that gushed from the side of the ridge, adding volume to the river.  Here's what the Warm River looked like from the ridge, looking downstream:

Once in the meadow I found perfect conditions for fly-fishing with my Scott Mountain Rod.  The water was clear, the bottom gravelly and firm, the streamside vegetation low and the pools and pockets deep.  The scene had trout written all over it, and before the day was done I caught about 50 brook trout.  Although native to the eastern US, not the west, brook trout have thrived in the cold mountain rivers where they were planted long ago, and are as beautiful there as anywhere else.  Here's an example of a typical brookie I landed on a well-worn Royal Wulff:

After working my way upstream through the entire meadow and well into the canyon, I finally caught so many fish that I started spending most of my time admiring the idyllic scene I was in and enjoying the solitude.  Idaho is ablaze with wildflowers this time of year and I was happy to take a close look at the many varieties, including these:

I believe the red and yellow ones in the second picture are a type of columbine - one I hadn't seen before.  The salmon-colored stem in the third picture is an Indian paintbrush, one of my favorite varieties of wildflower, usually more reddish in hue than the examples I saw here.  I also admired the lava rock formations, remnants of relatively recent volcanic activity that occurred throughout eastern Idaho.  It was all too beautiful.  I was dead-tired at the end of the day and slept right through the chaos in the campground.

The next morning I decided to tackle the nearby Henrys Fork.  You may recall from a couple of posts back that I fished a section of the Henrys Fork above Mesa Falls a week or so ago.  This time I steered Excalibur to the fabled Railroad Ranch section of the Fork that meanders through Harriman State Park (Harriman was a railroad baron way back when).  Here are a couple of views of the Ranch section of the river, the first showing a glimpse of the distant Tetons watching over a gaggle of geese and a bevy of swans in the slow current, and the second showing the surviving buildings of the Ranch, which still operates as a cattle ranch:

This section of the Henrys Fork and nearby sections of the river at Last Chance and Island Park are fabled among fly fishermen because of the spring creek nature of the river and the finicky trout that occupy it.  Apparently the fly-fishing travel agencies in France have been exceedingly effective at convincing their clients that the Henrys Fork is the place to go, because French seemed to be language of substantially all the fishermen I encountered there, including these two:

As I approached the riffle in the picture above the two Frenchmen decided to leave, which was nice of them.  I found that I had now had the Railroad Ranch section of the river all to myself, which seemed very odd considering that it is known as much for being crowded as for its challenging fishing.  There had been lots of fishermen there in the morning but apparently they had had enough humiliation, or perhaps they knew better than me that the afternoon was not the best time to linger there.  In any case, numerous trout began to rise shortly after they left, and I was able to catch six modest rainbows on small dry flies, including a tiny paradun and a slightly larger parachute Adams,  in a couple of hours.  According to the guide books, the proper approach to fishing the Fork is to locate a large rising trout and "stick with it."  That seemed to be sound advice.  The problem was, I could not locate any large trout.  With the water clarity being what it was (i.e., exceptionally crystal) and the breeze modest, one might have expected to have an easy time locating them, if they were there.  I can't help but wonder, frankly, if the hype about the Fork exceeds the reality.  Maybe the problem was my inadequacy as a fly fisherman in a truly challenging situation, but I suspect the problem was equally that the large fish are few and far between in that area of the Fork, or they were all in hiding at that time of day, perhaps tucked under the impressive weed beds in the deepest channels.  It is said that most fly fishermen walk away from the Henrys Fork humbled by its trout.  I didn't feel so much humbled as duped.  But I will always remember that it was as pretty of a scene as could be imagined and I did after all catch six trout, so I can at least say that I had some measure of success on what is reputed to be the river that requires the greatest measure of fly-fishing skill of all rivers.  I would have liked to have at least seen some evidence of a large trout, however.

That evening I hustled back southeast in Excalibur past the South Fork of the Snake River, stopping briefly to fish on a tributary called Falls Creek where I caught a couple of Snake River-finespotted cutthroat trout that were easily the equal of the rainbows I caught on the Henrys Fork.  Sunset was rapidly approaching.  After checking out a couple of campgrounds that were full, I finally settled into the last available site at the Alpine campground on the east end of Palisades Reservoir.  Fortunately the prior occupants had left firewood.  Relaxing by a campfire, I savored a glass of Oban on ice as the stars began to pop out.

The next morning - yesterday - I drove into Jackson and caught up on chores:  laundry, car wash (Excalibur and Camelot are gleaming today), air in the tires, fresh propane, etc.  In a few more hours Trish will arrive.  I can't tell you how much I look forward to her being here.  Fly fishing time may be minimal this week, but happiness will not be.