Fine Spotted Snake River Cuththroats

I cast the royal wolf to an eddy . The snow had melted and the water had finally cleared. The dry fly floated past the eddy and almost reached the end of the run when I saw the fish rise up and take my offering. Setting the hook I saw the flash and knew that I had another fish on!
It had been a typical June with high and muddy waters and this was only the second time out. The Greys River was our first choice but as soon as we saw the milky water we knew we had to try a smaller stream with clearer water.

We had already fished Salt Creek and Val and George had also fished Fall Creek. Salt had been a great bite on nymphs and they had told us that Fall Creek was full of small but fun cuts. Now we all had put on our favorite fly, George of course was using a nymph and Val had selected a lime trude.
They had headed upstream, while I headed down and I knew that they had to be on fish.
I caught the small but feisty fish and using the forceps unhooked and released it back into its home. It seems a shame to kill such a beautiful wild and native fish, (although I love eating fish), and making another cast to the same run another cut rose to my offering. I ended up catching and releasing four fish from the same stretch, before heading further down the river.

Picking up a fish hear and there I noticed some movement on the other bank and stood still as a raccoon walked along the shore hoping to find something good for lunch. I was sure it would love a fresh trout but there was no way I would offer it one as I refuse to feed wild animals, ( a fed bear is a dead bear and it just doesn't refer to bears).
Heading down the canyon the walls closed in and I realized I would have to scramble quite a ways before I could cross the stream and make the steep climb to the road. Of course I rolled my ankle when I forded the creek but it wasn't as bad as iI feared and so I labored up the series of switchbacks until I stood on top.

Chastising myself for putting myself in such a predicament I still had caught and released ten fish and so I felt pretty good as I hiked back to the car looking for my friends. Reaching George I saw him in the act of releasing a fish and he told of how the fish had been inhaling his nymphs..
A little further I tried my favorite hole and four more cuts chewed up my fly. Seeing Val I watched as she retied a new fly and she told me of fish after fish. She said that the fish had destroyed her trude and how she had lost track of the number of fish she had caught!

Passing round her, I continued to catch fish on my same royal wolf until I too lost count somewhere in the twenties. For every fish I did succeed in landing and releasing I had lost or missed three more. It was one of those days where nothing seemed to go wrong. I tired to think of other fishing trips and the only one that bested this day was the opening day on the Yellowstone River.
That was way back in 1974, when Renita and I had retraced my summer geology field camp experiences from the year before. At that time I was still in school not knowing that the trip to Wyoming was a precursor to us moving there.
Meeting back at the car we talked of the great day! We had caught and successfully released over seventy five fish. Eating our lunch we decided to call it a day as we were all tired from climbing the steep banks. Whats really funny about it all is that we had not seen another fisherman! Clear skies