ROOT BEERS, MILKSHAKES, RENEGADES & MOUNTAIN LAKES

My parents had eight kids and now all of my siblings are married with kids of their own.  So, to sum it up, the Wayment family is simply huge (pronounced like the POTUS).  We all love each other, get along, and treasure the rare times when we can be together.  Last July, we rented a cabin in Garden City, Utah for a much-needed family reunion.  I believe the last time all of us were together was when our beloved dad passed away in 2014.

When the Wayment Family gets together, you can pretty much bet on three things: (1) Some of us are going hunting or fishing; (2)  Mexican Food will be eaten (or some other good food like Cajun or BBQ); and (3) gourmet root beers will be consumed (we’re Mormons so we don’t drink alcohol).  Last year’s reunion was no exception to this rule.

 

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Speaking of Mormons, this root beer named after Brigham Young was one of my favorites from the trip.
Most of the family arrived at the cabin on Thursday, July 7th and we just sat around and enjoyed each other’s company.  Brother Shawn had brought a whole cooler of gourmet root beers and, of course, we sampled a few.

The following day we had to spend the obligatory time on the sandy beaches of the Idaho side of Bear Lake, the “Caribbean of the Rockies.”  Honestly, I can take or leave that, but my kids enjoy it.  I talked my wife into sneaking away to go get one of those famous raspberry milkshakes Bear Lake is known for, so the day wasn’t a total loss.

After dinner, things improved tremendously as my daughter, Nessy, and brother Scott agreed to go fishing with me on St. Charles Creek in Idaho.  My nephews, Jared, Easton, and Steele also tagged along for the adventure.  Nessy and I shared a Tenkara USA Rhodo rod and Scott and Jared used their western fly rods and reels.   The creek was overgrown in most places making it difficult to cast and to wade, but we caught a few small trout.   In a seam where two currents conjoined below an island, a beautiful brook trout rolled on my  Renegade and I quickly brought him to hand.  Nessy got a little frustrated with the thickness of the foliage and the technicality of the creek, but gave it a good effort.  Our problem was that we had a hard time finding water open enough for her to cast.

As darkness descended upon us, we came upon a high beaver dam.  In the failing light, we could see the wink of rising trout in the calm water above the dam.  My tenkara rod did not have the length to reach these fish, so I borrowed my nephew, Jared’s rod and reel.  I caught a few fish on Renegades, including a nice Bonneville Cutthroat.  Though the fishing was a little tough, everyone had fun.  We capped off the night with a raspberry milkshake in Garden City.  That made two in one day for me.  Can life get any better?  I submit that it cannot!

 

Saturday, the bulk of the Wayment clan hiked up to a popular high mountain lake.   I’d tell you the name, but the lake is already so overcrowded as it is.  Have you ever seen that video meme on Facebook in which a dude swings on a rope swing out into this pristine lake and gets munched by a monstrous fish? I believe that video was taken at this particular lake.  Too bad there aren’t any monster fish in the lake like the one in the meme.

Once at the lake, I used my 2-weight St. Croix Ultra Legend rod and reel , Tommy, the Rhodo, and Nessy, the Badger Tenkara Medium Flex Classic.  I caught a bunch of fish on Pistol Petes.  Both Tom and Ness caught fish on nymphs.  The water was so clear that we sight-casted to cruising fish both in the lake proper and its outlet.

 

After catching one particular rainbow, Nessy shed a few tears as she worried that it would not make it.

With a smile on my face, I said to her, “There’s no crying in fishing!” as I helped her unhook and release the fish back into the lake.  And, if you are wondering, it swam off and we did not see it go belly up.  So that was a relief.

I really enjoy fishing high mountain lakes.  This may be sacrilege for a tenkara blog, but tenkara is not the best tactic for lake fishing because you can’t cast as far or strip the flies in like you can in western streamer fishing.  However, it is a great method for kids because the rods are easy to cast and kids learn quickly that you simply have to move the rod tip to move the fly.  I was glad to see my kids catch a few on tenkara by themselves.

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Nothing gets me more excited than to see my kids learning to love fishing.
To sum up, the Wayment Bear Lake Family Reunion was a good time.  It was fun to be together with my favorite people on earth in such a beautiful place.  I drank a total of four raspberry milkshakes (the family record, I think) and who knows how many root beers?  Shawn and I got to shoot our bows a few evenings.  And, to top it off, we caught a few trout.  I’d call that a successful trip if ever there was one.

Shawn shoots the long bow…I mean a recurve.
That’s some dang good root beer right there!
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Most of the Wayment grandkids, but not all. That’s a pretty big pile of kids!
 

 

 

 

 

 

BEAUTIFUL BULLIES

“If I fished only to capture fish, my fishing trips would have ended long ago.”

 

–Zane Grey

Since I started fly fishing over twenty years ago, I always wanted to catch a bull trout.  I remember hearing stories of big bullies on rivers like the North Fork of the Clearwater, Kelly Creek, or the St. Joe, but never had any strike my dry flies or nymphs when I fished those rivers during law school.   I wasn’t much of a streamer fisherman back then so I didn’t use the most effective techniques.   

 

Right after law school, my dad and I drew deer tags in a unit near the Middle Fork of the Boise River.  The early season hunt occurred in August and it was sweltering hot.  In the afternoon, Dad and I took a break from the heat to fish the beautiful Middle Fork.  I caught some nice rainbows on nymphs and saw some huge trout sulking in the depths of the clear river, which I assume were bull trout, but couldn’t get them to chase my flies. 

During the summer of 2003, I moved to Idaho Falls.  There aren’t any bull trout in the rivers and streams around home, so my goal would have to wait.

 

My friend, Chris Hunt, has written three books on fly fishing, which I really enjoyed.  In two of his books, he tells about a small, remote river in central Idaho that holds bull trout that you can catch on dry flies (if you want to know the name of that river, you’ll have to buy Chris’ books).  In one of his books, Chris mentions that his son, Cameron, caught a 17 inch bully on a grasshopper pattern.  I don’t always remember everything that I read, but Chris’ descriptions of this river stuck with me over the years and I always wanted to experience this intriguing place.  I have followed Chris’s hints and suggestions many times and have never been disappointed.     

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I dream about this place in the winter. 

 

 

In the past, I fished the lower reaches of this particular river in Idaho a few times, but never touched a bull trout in the desert valley.  A friend and I tried to make it up to the headwaters over Memorial Day Weekend in 2015, but were turned back by black clouds and a pounding rainstorm.  On this failed trip, we realized that it’s a dang long drive to get to the stream’s remote headwaters.   

 

On Saturday, July 16th, 2016, the day before my birthday, I told my wife, “All I want for my birthday is to catch a bull trout on tenkara.”  Fortunately, my wife conceded and I set out early Saturday morning with my Brittany, Misty.  As I remembered, it was a long drive up the remote desert valley before I made it to the mouth of the canyon from whence the river flowed. 

As soon as the car turned up the canyon, the scenery instantly changed for the better.  In fact, the surrounding mountains took on a red tint like the Sangre De Cristos of Colorado, but not so high in elevation.  One of my favorite cutthroat streams flows from the rugged peaks of the Sangre De Cristos, so the resemblance instantly endeared the area to me.     

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Idaho’s version of the Sangre De Cristos.

About fifteen miles up the river, we came to a campground situated at the confluence of two creeks, each with roads following their courses.  I stayed to the right and followed the road up the main fork.  I had no idea where to go, so I parked at the next turnoff, pulled out my Tenkara USA Rhodo, tied on a Renegade, and let out Misty of her kennel.  Her company would be appreciated in this primitive landscape.  I planned to wet wade in sandals, but the air temperature felt cold for July.   

 

I hiked through the thick old growth pine forest to the river and tentatively stepped inside.  The frigid water numbed my skin to the touch.  I gritted my teeth and waded forward looking for a likely place to present my fly.  I soon found a decent run spotlighted by the sunlight piercing though the forest canopy overhead and cast the fly.  Sure enough a decent sized fish slurped in the Renegade.  I set the hook and quickly brought the thirteen inch trout to hand.  To my delight, a beautiful bull trout lay before me looking much like a brook trout, but more aqua green with pink spots.   With little fanfare, I had finally achieved a lifetime goal.

 

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First Bull Trout.

 

I caught a few more bulls along this shady stretch choked with deadfall, but soon grew too cold. So I decided to try to find a stretch of river with more sunlight.  Surprisingly, along the creek, grew a gorgeous wild flower that I have only personally seen along Can’t Tell Ya Creek in the Sangre De Cristos named the “Purple Monkey Flower (Mimulus Lewissi).”  The allure of this creek for me grew by the second. 

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After Misty and I made it back to the car, I drove up the road to where it ended.  While there were still pine trees around, they were not so thick to block the sunlight from the creek.  In fact, the sun shined so brightly, it irradiated the golden-orange stream bottom surrounded by striking green riparian foliage.   I thought to myself: This looks like the photos in Chris’ book.   This has to be the right place!

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Misty and I hiked upstream and fished every likely looking spot.  I assumed that the higher I went, the better the fishing would be.  However, the further upstream I ventured, the narrower and more choked the creek became and the tougher going.  As I tried to maneuver through one tight spot, sharp deadfall shredded my bare shins, which bled profusely.   After a few more similar impassible spots, Misty and I retreated downstream and I fished a few holes along the way. 

 

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Bleeding Shins.

 

As I fished, I sensed that something was watching me, and looked up to see a coyote about fifteen feet away.   Worried that he was not alone, I commanded Misty, “Heel!”  When the coyote heard my voice, he beat feet out of there.  The coyote had either smelled Misty or the blood from my bleeding shins and curiosity got the best of him.  I was so glad it was not a wolf or a mountain lion, but still felt a little unnerved that a wild animal was stalking me. 

 

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I think Misty enjoys fishing as much as me. 

 

Ironically, I later found the best fishing near where I parked.  In this area, the creek is wider and more open and I found plenty of trout in every likely place.  The creeks flows are so clear that you can see most every fish before you cast to them.  In his books, my friend Chris mentioned that the river holds rainbows too, but I only caught bull trout that day.  I found that—like cutthroat—these bullies loved the skittered Renegade and chased whenever the fly moved contrary to the current’s flow.  Tenkara was perfect for this technique.  No, we didn’t catch any monsters, but that’s beside the point.  This outing was all about the adventure.  

    

When it came time to go, I hated to leave.   I totally fell in love with this remote creek and its bull trout.  In fact, I loved it so much, that I went back the following Saturday for another chance at those beautiful bullies and had a wonderful afternoon.  Someday, I would like to explore rivers in Idaho where bulls grow large and primarily eat other fish, but for my first encounter with them on this little river, I’m already an admirer of bull trout.      

 

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More subtle than a brook trout, but beautiful nonetheless.

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