I was thinking today about some of the mad road trips I used to regularly take with my friend East Texas Red. It’s been a few years since we’ve done one of these together and as much as I loved every second of every one of them, I don’t know if I could still go about them the same way today.
Our goal was to drive out to the mountain west to do some fly fishing in places like Idaho, Montana, Wyoming and British Colombia. I should really say that our goal was to drive out to the mountain west in as short a time as we possibly could. One trip we made it to Cody Wyoming in something like 36 hours, spelling each other off on driving duties, stopping occasionally for breakfast or gas station rot-gut coffees.
The Shoshone River flows through Cody and it’s valley makes the town the gateway to the East entrance of Yellowstone Park. Once we arrived at Cody, we could start thinking about chasing trout. Of course by then we were disoriented from lack of sleep and really needed a solid 8 or 9 hours to recover.
Typically we drove west in September. Although there are always plenty of tourists in The Park, it seems to me it eases up some in September. Some years it snowed on us. I recall sitting at a picnic table eating dinner in a snowstorm, and waking the next day with plenty of snow on the tents. I like the cool sunny September days in the mountain west. Sometimes, though, the cold nights could be a little colder than I’d like.
We would fish in Yellowstone or on the Henry’s Fork or on the Silver Creek Preserve in Idaho. Sometimes we would fish smaller streams as well. The Tongue and the North Tongue in Wyoming were stunning places to be. East Texas Red and Ken will remember the afternoon that stream came alive with an emergence of “flav” mayflies.
Once we fished some very lovely smaller streams in the Bitterroot Valley that I particularly enjoyed. Our car broke down near Hamilton Montana. We had it towed to a garage and then visited the local fly shop. The proprietor called the car rental lady, who was closed, and arranged for us to get a car. And he pointed us to one of the prettiest little streams you could imagine. The only other thing I remember about Hamilton Montana was a sign that just read: Beef Trout Karaoke. I later made a large painting titled Beef Trout Karaoke.
Often we would meet up with our friend Ken in Idaho and he took us to quite a few places we never would otherwise have found. I recall “going for a float” on the Teton River. I was wading and I stepped on some gravel that disappeared underfoot. Good thing I had a wading belt over my chest waders. Otherwise my waders would have quickly filled up. I got plenty wet that day but but I was safe and regained my footing on the next gravel bar.
Then there was the day we drove deep into the woods in British Colombia, in grizzly country, and fished a river so colourful and beautiful it just about took my breath away. Was that a dream or does that river really exist?
The direct drive west was never so difficult because it was filled with anticipation of a couple weeks walking trout streams. The drive back on the other hand seemed to take forever, when all we had to look forward to was the end of our trip.
The mountain west is a fantastic place to visit. It’s been a while since I’ve been out there, and I have to say I’d love to walk some of those streams again. For me to do a road trip out there today though, I think I would want to take it at a much more relaxed pace, enjoying my time in places along the way, rather than roaring across the country as fast as I could. More likely, the next visit I make west, I think I’ll fly out and rent a car to get me around while I’m there.
27th Street 
I’m sure there would be some beautiful rivers if you drove the whole way as well.
I wonder if Beef Trout Karoke still exist…whatever it was.
gas station rot-gut coffees…god how i lived on those when i was guiding up north.
somehow, i kinda miss ’em.
nice essay. thanks.
thanks for your comment…hey, what’s a folky walleye hunter doing in Lima Peru? I subscribed to your site to find out.
yeah…I’d guess 15 years…very pretty neck of the woods..
Chuck Stranahan…Fly Haus…You catching every trout in the stream while fishing up ahead of me on that little creek near Hamilton…Being served coffee by the old timers in Darby Montana at the Sundance Cafe…Biscuits and gravy…
Ah yes…Chuck Stranahan. I went back to Fly Haus another year and the fellow remembered us. The little creek was maybe called Skalkaho or something like that. There was a nice little campground there. I fished it again and did OK but the trout were smaller. I wouldn’t mind going back to Darby and fishing the Bitterroot and those little streams again one day. That little road around Sapphire Mountain that led to the top end of Rock Creek was beautiful too. There was another pretty little creek we fished as well. Maybe it was called Tin Cup. That’s going back quite some time now, isn’t it?
Our road trips certainly must change are time passes, but flying out and arriving refreshed is a very valid way to honour the memory of those youthful trips. If you find yourself checking out the Bow or streams around here, give me a shout and come over for dinner!
That would be delightful.
The river I referred to is off the beaten path, although some guides take their sports in there. I don’t even mention its name because I’d like it to stay just the way it is for as long as possible.
Weird that you mentioned “the” river on Thursday. Three friends and I had couple of beers Wed. night after TU meeting and one named it as “bucket list” stream he’s hoping to fish. Told him I’d go with him, but we still don’t say its name out loud — despite the fact that B.C. now charges $20/day to fish it and Fernie & Calgary outfitters charge $400-$500 to guide it.
A stranger aspect of my memories of it is a recurring dream I used to have of standing on the little bridge over it and watching a huge grizzly charge upstream toward me. Wonder what the symbolism of that is, since I’m looking down on it as it happens?
Cheers, Ken
Hey Ken….let me know if you’re heading up that way….looks like I have a dinner invitation in Calgary…add to that a trip into The River and that sounds mighty fine, even if we have to cough up 20 Canadianos a day. When we were in there, I was looking around for the grizzlies too. Hey remember the day that black bear chased me off the Crowsnest and when I got downstream to tell you guys about it, you just looked at me and said, “so you brought him down here to us….”
Every once in a while you round a corner on this planet and see something breathtakingly beautiful. It sticks with you. I’ve yet to spend much time in the mountain west but have been impressed by what I’ve seen to date.