By the time we got to 11,200 feet, it was getting dark, but I wasn't worried. I was too worn out to be worried. 8 miles into a "s...
By the time we got to 11,200 feet, it was getting dark, but I wasn't worried. I was too worn out to be worried. 8 miles into a "short hike", I was beginning to realize that the elevation was pushing my limits. We didn't even stop to get out headlamps out as we descended into the basin where we were to set up a base camp. I was too tired to find my headlamp. My lungs were burning, my legs wouldn't move. The the air was too thin here. Five years in the "flatlands" of Oregon had made me lose my high elevation edge, and it was showing. Dick was kicking my ass and starting to pull far ahead on our way down to the lake. Maybe Oregon is making me soft...
Stumbling down the last 1000 feet in elevation, and another 3 miles from the 11,200 foot saddle, we arrived in full darkness at quiet, kidney-shaped lake surrounded by peaks capped in snow. But where was Teresa? She had left town the day before and was going to set up a camp for us, but she was no where to be found. I fell to the ground, hoping that I could just sleep right there on a pile of broken granite.
There was another couple camped at the lake who assured us that we were all alone here. "There isn't another soul on this lake" he repeated several times. I hoped that they were right. I did not want to move another step. Dick left me there to look for his friend and I would have fallen asleep if it wasn't for him almost immediately coming back to where I was awkwardly sprawled out. Dick and Teresa were hooting and hollering across the lake at each other in a way that only close friends could communicate. Ten minutes later, we were barefoot, sipping whiskey and lamenting the torturous experience of the hike in. Within an hour, we were all asleep.
Morning came far too quickly. For a "flat-lander", breathing at 10,000 feet is hard; sleeping at 10,000 feet is nearly impossible. Broken dreams and restless sleep filled the night, but several cups of good coffee made the world right, and we made a plan. There were six lakes downstream of us in this basin. No trails and very little information exists about the fishing in the area. The Wind River Mountains are well known for their beauty, remoteness, lack of trails, and the big fish that inhabit the lakes. We started by hiking downstream, following the water from our little lake as it moved downhill, passing from lake to stream to pond, collecting more water from springs and tributaries as it made a crooked path to eventually join the Snake River near Jackson Hole.
We were not sure what type of trout, or what size, were in this basin. The most sought-after basins in the Winds have world record sized Golden Trout in them. Those basins are like Fight Club, and we all know the first rule about Fight Club. Other basins have Cutthroat, Rainbow or Brook Trout, which can all grow to impressive sizes in the right conditions. There are hundreds, possibly thousands of lakes in the Wind River Mountains, and we would be lucky to wet a line in 6 of them in a weekend.
Upon reaching the first lake downstream of ours, it took exactly three casts to know what fish we would be dealing with: Brookies.... well, fishing would be good anyhow. Brookies tend to overpopulate an area and can often show signs of stunted growth. These brookies were not the long, skinny variety with the oversized head that is indicative of overpopulating. These were healthy, hungry and scrappy, just the way we like 'em. The average fish was 8 to 10 inches or so, with a few "footlongs" and plenty of fish so small that it was a wonder how they got the fly in their mouth.
They ate everything. Everything... I stuck to dry flies. A Grey Hackle Peacock (Red) was the first fly in my box, literally. I had a row of them at the top of my fly box, and they were working. Dick was throwing a Mean Old Lady until it ended up in a tree or shredded to pieces, it's hard to remember. I believe he then spent most of the morning fishing an old fashioned Adams, although I doubt it would have mattered much what small trout dry fly he was fishing. They were all working just fine.
There were literally trout everywhere. We would wander across little puddles that were vaguely connected to the stream and find 2 brookies just hanging out, not worrying about much. This happened over and over again. Fish were appearing in just about any piece of water that was big enough to hold them.
We wandered downstream, working the creek briefly, but focusing on the lakes that sat at the base of these massive peaks, appearing every mile or so as we walked down the impressive mountain range. Yellowstone Cutthroat became more prevalent in a couple of the lower lakes and were just as eager to take a dry fly. They were slightly larger on average and accounted for about one in five fish that we landed.
The fourth lake we came to was the biggest, and in my opinion, the most beautiful. The mountain peaks were steeper and closer, but a vast, craggy couloir opened up to the South, exposing a path that could lead to the top of the peaks if we had been there for mountaineering. Theresa was not there to fish. She used that opening to casually climb up the 2000-3000 feet to the top of the peak while we fished.
Beyond the beauty and size of this lake, it also presented the most "challenging" fishing. Our dry flies were not producing, and nymphing scuds and midges were not getting the job done. Dick had one random streamer in his box. He tied it on and proceeded to catch about 30 fish while I went through my box, looking for my magic fly. One fish on a flashback pheasant tail... one on a soft hackle partridge... nothing consistent except for Dick's streamer. Agghhh, I gave up and hiked downstream ten minuted to the last lake, where the fish were eating dry flies again....
While catching my fill at the lower lake, the shadows of the coming evening began to lengthen. We turned around and began the journey back to camp. I needed a little redemption first. That lake, the biggest one, had been tough for me. I needed to figure it out. A small, foam hopper leapt out of my box and onto my line. They didn't want it sitting still. The brookies wanted to chase it. I began this game where I would throw it out and pop it back as fast as I could and see how many brookies would breach the lake in an attempt to eat the hopper. Over and over again until I felt as though I owned the lake; I could leave now.
Evening came quickly as we ascended to our camp. The lake we were camped on was the last piece of water to fish. As darkness encroached, we managed to get a last fish or two to hand before calling it a day. Freeze-dried, salty backpacking food never tasted so good.
We landed more fish than I have caught in the past two years combined. It got to the point where I would let the line slack and hope the barbless hook would slip in order to avoid handling another trout. Those are good days.
For my equipment, I brought a 9' 5 wt. medium action rod, one Rio Suppleflex 5x leader, 4x-6x Rio Powerflex Plus tippet (the best!) and one small fly box, crammed to the brim with small dry flies, a few nymphs and no streamers. Looking back, I would have brought a few more streamers... We only used one or two of the Rollover Scuds that I spent the week before tying up. I heard that Golden Trout really like them, but I will have to find out next time. The line I brought was Scientific Anglers' Mastery Trout. The line was perfect for that situation. It presents dry flies very well, punches through the wind with gusto, and can handle a streamer, all without a splashy landing.
I think that an 8'6" 4 wt. could have been a better rod for the situation. I even thought about bringing my Redington Classic Trout 7'6" 3 wt. It would have been great for the size of the fish we caught, but not for the strong, gusty winds that came up in the afternoon. I brought the 5 wt. because of the potential for a huge fish; the Winds can produce 24"+ trout, but not in this basin this year.
This was my first experience in the Wind River Mountains. I have wanted to get up there since I first heard about them about 15 years ago, but never made it happen when I lived two hours away from there.
It's very hard to know where to go or how to do it until you have been there, and that rings true for most adventures. Now that I have been there, I can see where I need to go in order to find those monster trout that inhabit the most remote parts of the range. Unfortunately (or not), it looks like it will take 2-3 days of hiking off trail to get into the basins that probably (maybe) hold those monsters. It would also take several weeks to explore all of the lakes in that area. A guy could get lucky and stumble into the right lake, or get even luckier, prodding info from an old timer at the local watering hole in Dubois or Pinedale, but I wasn't that lucky. I enjoy putting miles on my boots, catching trout of all sizes, and spending quality time with good friends.
There were other exciting things that happened on our trip: we saw a solar eclipse on top of a mountain straddling the continental divide, a herd of pronghorn antelope grazed quietly while I sat in a cold creek watching the sunset that night, we got completely lost, twice, my truck went way too far up a jeep trail that it was never built for, I threw a shoe on my drum brakes causing brake failure on a mountain pass going back into Idaho, and of course, plenty more fishing. But those were all just part of the adventure that made my summer as great as it was. For me, exploring the Wind River Mountains that I had dreamed about since I started fly fishing was the highlight.
Andrew Perrault
-Fishing, usually not catching
Stumbling down the last 1000 feet in elevation, and another 3 miles from the 11,200 foot saddle, we arrived in full darkness at quiet, kidney-shaped lake surrounded by peaks capped in snow. But where was Teresa? She had left town the day before and was going to set up a camp for us, but she was no where to be found. I fell to the ground, hoping that I could just sleep right there on a pile of broken granite.There was another couple camped at the lake who assured us that we were all alone here. "There isn't another soul on this lake" he repeated several times. I hoped that they were right. I did not want to move another step. Dick left me there to look for his friend and I would have fallen asleep if it wasn't for him almost immediately coming back to where I was awkwardly sprawled out. Dick and Teresa were hooting and hollering across the lake at each other in a way that only close friends could communicate. Ten minutes later, we were barefoot, sipping whiskey and lamenting the torturous experience of the hike in. Within an hour, we were all asleep.
 |
| Great campsite and a beautiful morning! |
We were not sure what type of trout, or what size, were in this basin. The most sought-after basins in the Winds have world record sized Golden Trout in them. Those basins are like Fight Club, and we all know the first rule about Fight Club. Other basins have Cutthroat, Rainbow or Brook Trout, which can all grow to impressive sizes in the right conditions. There are hundreds, possibly thousands of lakes in the Wind River Mountains, and we would be lucky to wet a line in 6 of them in a weekend.
 |
| Colorful brook trout in abundance! |
They ate everything. Everything... I stuck to dry flies. A Grey Hackle Peacock (Red) was the first fly in my box, literally. I had a row of them at the top of my fly box, and they were working. Dick was throwing a Mean Old Lady until it ended up in a tree or shredded to pieces, it's hard to remember. I believe he then spent most of the morning fishing an old fashioned Adams, although I doubt it would have mattered much what small trout dry fly he was fishing. They were all working just fine.
 |
| Trout everywhere! Even in puddles! |
We wandered downstream, working the creek briefly, but focusing on the lakes that sat at the base of these massive peaks, appearing every mile or so as we walked down the impressive mountain range. Yellowstone Cutthroat became more prevalent in a couple of the lower lakes and were just as eager to take a dry fly. They were slightly larger on average and accounted for about one in five fish that we landed.
 |
| Dick schooling me on the big lake. |
Beyond the beauty and size of this lake, it also presented the most "challenging" fishing. Our dry flies were not producing, and nymphing scuds and midges were not getting the job done. Dick had one random streamer in his box. He tied it on and proceeded to catch about 30 fish while I went through my box, looking for my magic fly. One fish on a flashback pheasant tail... one on a soft hackle partridge... nothing consistent except for Dick's streamer. Agghhh, I gave up and hiked downstream ten minuted to the last lake, where the fish were eating dry flies again....
While catching my fill at the lower lake, the shadows of the coming evening began to lengthen. We turned around and began the journey back to camp. I needed a little redemption first. That lake, the biggest one, had been tough for me. I needed to figure it out. A small, foam hopper leapt out of my box and onto my line. They didn't want it sitting still. The brookies wanted to chase it. I began this game where I would throw it out and pop it back as fast as I could and see how many brookies would breach the lake in an attempt to eat the hopper. Over and over again until I felt as though I owned the lake; I could leave now.
 |
| Easy off trail hiking makes the Winds superb for adventure |
We landed more fish than I have caught in the past two years combined. It got to the point where I would let the line slack and hope the barbless hook would slip in order to avoid handling another trout. Those are good days.
For my equipment, I brought a 9' 5 wt. medium action rod, one Rio Suppleflex 5x leader, 4x-6x Rio Powerflex Plus tippet (the best!) and one small fly box, crammed to the brim with small dry flies, a few nymphs and no streamers. Looking back, I would have brought a few more streamers... We only used one or two of the Rollover Scuds that I spent the week before tying up. I heard that Golden Trout really like them, but I will have to find out next time. The line I brought was Scientific Anglers' Mastery Trout. The line was perfect for that situation. It presents dry flies very well, punches through the wind with gusto, and can handle a streamer, all without a splashy landing.
I think that an 8'6" 4 wt. could have been a better rod for the situation. I even thought about bringing my Redington Classic Trout 7'6" 3 wt. It would have been great for the size of the fish we caught, but not for the strong, gusty winds that came up in the afternoon. I brought the 5 wt. because of the potential for a huge fish; the Winds can produce 24"+ trout, but not in this basin this year.
This was my first experience in the Wind River Mountains. I have wanted to get up there since I first heard about them about 15 years ago, but never made it happen when I lived two hours away from there.
 |
| At the summit of the 11,500' peak, waiting for an eclipse! |
There were other exciting things that happened on our trip: we saw a solar eclipse on top of a mountain straddling the continental divide, a herd of pronghorn antelope grazed quietly while I sat in a cold creek watching the sunset that night, we got completely lost, twice, my truck went way too far up a jeep trail that it was never built for, I threw a shoe on my drum brakes causing brake failure on a mountain pass going back into Idaho, and of course, plenty more fishing. But those were all just part of the adventure that made my summer as great as it was. For me, exploring the Wind River Mountains that I had dreamed about since I started fly fishing was the highlight.
-Fishing, usually not catching
