West '05 Trip - Day 7

Posted: 2006-02-02
By: Randy Cochran

I drove all over creation the previous night looking for a decent place to stay, ending up high at a streamside campsite in pitch black dark. The evenings I have spent in my car up till this point have been some of the most uncomfortable ever. Next time when I buy a car, it's getting a full 'car-camping' field test.

Waking up early was easy due to the discomfort of a huge kink in my neck. After a few moments of mashing things around with my thumbs, everything was back to normal and I was off to fish.

South Fork of Lost Creek was a good stream with small water and good depth. It is probably a pretty good cutt stream during early season, but at the time it only showed me a tiny brookie... tiny or no, it still was the most colorful brookie of the trip. Its body was dark, almost blackish-purple, with brilliant red dots with blue halos, and a crimson belly underneath. Not having my camera with me at the time turned out to be a good move though, as the going was rough and slippery in places.

Soup Creek was a bit further down the road. Another very small stream, it harbored small brookies and browns that eagerly hit the beadhead presented to them. I stayed for about 30 minutes before moving on to the Swan.

Riffles and runs dominated the Swan River in the area that I fished, but directly below a bridge (as is quite often the case) was a deeper couple of holes where a few fish were rising. After catching a few whiteys and a small rainbow, I cast upstream a few times more before I was to head downstream to check other areas out.

Drift one went unnoticed. Drift two also turned no heads, so I adjusted my indicator to run at 3 feet and recast further upstream of the pool. Third time through was a charm. The indicator paused and dipped down, so I set quickly with a sharp lift-strip and all hell broke loose. A Westslope Cutthroat of 17" or thereabouts gave me headshake after headshake and drove towards the faster water in the middle of the run. I took it easy and let it do its thing for awhile till it got down stream in fairly shallow water where I let it lay while positioning my net. A quick scoop, unhook and revival and then it was back up in the shade of the bridge, heading back to the same depths from where I plucked it.

After that I went downstream and fished some fast runs, picking up another cutt and a couple chunky rainbows. By then it was lunch time, so I walked back to my car to make a quick bite.

On the way to my car, I was struck by how some environments in the West - particularly this Swan River - remind me so much of my boyhood haunts in the mountainous areas of N. Central Arizona's Mogollon Rim country. The dust, the hot August air, wet-wading a rushing coldwater and meeting its feisty inhabitants... all things I enjoyed in my youth when in Arizona. All things that I enjoy anytime I can when I go back. But then, where DON'T I go looking to trout fish? Not many places.

Many of the cars had sped by my crappy parking job during lunch, but one slowed down to a crawl and stopped right at my window, as if to ask about fishing. Instead the people inside held up a flyer while mentioning Taffy, a furrier member of their family that had become lost the day before while camping up the road. I sadly informed them that I had not seen him, and made sure to ask where they would be staying in case I did. After that I gave them my condolences and they were off. As much as I would have loved to be a hero, it simply was not to be. Taffy, you are loved and missed, wherever you are.

Off to H Creek. Two things you should know about H Creek: 1, the waterfall is worth the 1.5 mile hike around the lake, and 2, the hike to the top of the waterfall from directly below is NOT, no matter how many small and pretty cutts you catch on successive casts. Which turned out to be quite a few in a plunge pool of a minor falls further up. In 10 or 20 minutes of fishing, I think I caught 20 or 30 fish, all one right after the other.

I nearly lost it getting to that place, bushwhacking through thick pine/fur forest, wiping spider webs and spiders off my hair and elsewhere with some regularity. Stepping where I couldn't see, through mats of moss and inbetween tree roots, only to pull up my foot and leg as dirty as I've ever seen it. This must be what earlier mountain men had to deal with, although they surely had the common sense to pack a knife to cut through some of this crap. They were also probably smart enough to not get into that situation in the first place.

I nearly lost it getting out, too. There wasn't a trail to follow, so I bushwhacked my way back out as it got colder and darker. The thought of hiking back through bear country at night was not a happy one. I kept picturing myself falling just so, snapping my lower leg into some pretzel twist compound fracture. Then I pictured the bears coming in to survey the scene, drawn by the smell of blood and my yelps for assistance. The cries for help would be to no avail. The bears would strip all flesh from my bones, leaving them behind to bleach over eons till the next wayward soul discovered them.

I was, much to my delight, able to find my way out through the mass of tangled trees and rock, making my way to the edge of the cliff-like slide that served as the makeshift trail up. I slid down on my ass, kicking up a huge dusty cloud and sending small pebbles and rocks down some 80+ feet to the waterfall's base below. Once there it was smooth sailing, and my lanyard - with its accompanying rat's nest of fly toolage - served as the perfect early evening bear bells on my hike out.

This day turned out to be one of my favorites of the whole trip, although I believe I will stick to well-marked paths and trails from now on.