Exploring New Water
As another fishing season slowly winds down here in Yellowstone country, I’ve found myself thinking back over my two seasons here at Blue Ribbon. Of all the things I’ve enjoyed about being here, the one that stands out most is exploring the vast amounts of trout water that are so relatively close to home. Growing up in eastern Pennsylvania, I did a lot of trout fishing, but I was limited to spending most of my time on the same three or four streams in the Philadelphia suburbs. When I went to college in the Shenandoah Valley in Virginia, I was suddenly surrounded by dozens of beautiful mountain brook trout streams, and I loved having a lot more places to fish. Coming to Yellowstone for the first time last summer, I was blown away by how many fishing options exist here. So, I’ve made it a point to fish as many new places as possible each season, while still leaving time to revisit some more familiar spots as well.
We are lucky to have so many different types of water here, and consequently we have many different types of fishing. In my opinion, this is one of the best parts of the Yellowstone fly-fishing experience: being able to constantly experience new and different things. We have tons of backcountry water to explore, as well as hundreds of more accessible miles of rivers to fish. We have beautiful lakes, tumbling mountain creeks, meandering meadow streams, big rivers, and everything in between. Why not spend some time exploring these places?
I understand that not everyone is capable of walking five or 10 miles into the middle of nowhere to search out obscure, rarely-fished waters, and that’s fine. I’m not necessarily talking about extreme backcountry trips, but rather a more general form of exploration. Sure, for some people that is what exploring means, but for others, it may be walking a quarter- or half-mile downstream from access points to see some new water. For some fisherman, this may mean trying a new type of fishing, like renting a boat and fishing one of the local lakes for a day, or coming at a different time of year than usual. And for yet another group of anglers, exploring may simply mean parking at the next pull-out and fishing a few hundred yards up or downstream, rather than fishing the same few runs each day.
The bottom line is, fishing new water can be extremely rewarding. Don’t get me wrong; I have my favorite spots like everyone else that I keep going back to, and I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that. And if, like many of our customers, I were only here for a few days, I would certainly want to stick with places that I know best and have confidence in. But next time you’re here, if you have some time to spare and find yourself considering something a little different, go for it. Stop by the shop and we’ll point you towards something new. Or pull out a topographical map, find a spot that looks interesting, and go see what’s there. Not every trip will be a resounding success, but then maybe with this sort of fishing (or any kind of fishing, really), success shouldn’t be defined just by how many fish are caught or how big they are. There is a certain satisfaction in checking out a new place or putting in a little extra effort to get somewhere that is off the beaten path. If you’re willing to explore a little, you may find a new favorite place or two that you’ll go back to for years to come.
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A Female, For Comparison
I never tire of looking at brown trout, and as this is a particularly good time of year to study them, I try to make the most of it. Always, I'm struck by the marked differences between the males and females. In the previous post I showed a classic male specimen. Pictured here, in the golden glow of early morning, is a well-conditioned female. I hope you'll enjoy their differences as much as I do.
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Signs of Autumn…
...show prominently in this male brown trout. His rich coloration, husky body shape, pronounced adipose fin and developing kype are tell-tale indications of a changing season.
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A Lesson From the Gibbon
Last Wednesday afternoon I went fishing on the Gibbon River. The day was vintage September, bathed in the warmth of Indian summer, rich with blue sky, and nary a breath of wind.
I had chosen the Gibbon for two reasons. One, I hadn’t yet fished it this year. Two, last week marked my thirty-sixth season of fishing Yellowstone Park, and I felt a need to contemplate that passage of time on one of the first rivers that I fished here. So off to the Gibbon it was.
Driving up from Madison Junction I saw few anglers on the river, and I stopped next to a stretch of pretty pocket-water below Gibbon Falls. I strung my rod, pulled on waders, and walked down to the water. It looked inviting alright, just as it did all those years ago. I thought briefly about my first trip to the Park, fishing with my brother and a close friend. We were young then—I was still in high school—and we lacked experience, but the Gibbon was a river that had graciously provided us a modicum of success.
Still strolling memory lane, I began casting to a juicy-looking run that shelved off into a pool of some depth. My fly of choice was a big beetle, given to me by a friend some years prior, and as yet unfished. I made eight or ten casts into the teeth of the run, each drift ripe with expectation, but moved no fish. Wading upstream, I suddenly spooked a sizable brown from alongside a log near my feet. He had been lying in roughly a foot of water.
At that moment I snapped back to the present, and I remembered something I’d learned about the Gibbon over the past thirty-six years. It is this: Rarely is the best-looking water the most productive. Odd, I know, but that’s how it seems to be here.
I think one reason for this is that the Gibbon is essentially brown trout water. And brown trout by their very nature like to feed in off-beat lies. Not bad or second-class lies, mind you, but simply the less-than-obvious spots that frequently get overlooked by anglers. Since the Gibbon has plenty of irresistible textbook runs and pools, it’s easy to fall into a routine of fishing just those spots. But the attentive angler will also fish the shallow pockets formed by rocks and/or weedbeds, the grassy banks where the water appears too shallow (it isn’t), alongside the many logs that grace the banks, and all side channels no matter how tiny.
For the next couple hours, that’s exactly what I did. I probed every obscure, out-of-the-way lie I came across with that big black beetle. A number of them gave up beautiful brown trout. (I still fished the deep runs and pools, too—they’re so seductive how could I not, even knowing better—and I had my usual success. Which is to say very little.)
So the next time you find yourself on the Gibbon, you might think about working all the possible lies, if you’re not already doing so. If your experience is anything like mine has been over the years, you’ll be glad you did.
Incidentally, when I was done with my day and reflecting back on what had transpired, it occurred to me that the biggest fish I’d seen was the one I spooked at the start. Despite the accumulation of thirty-six years of experience and (I hope) knowledge, some things in fishing never change. May it always be so.
Click on view full post to see a couple photos from the day.
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Henry’s Fork, Sans Color
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