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Joe Bibbo
May 12, 2022
In Fish Tales
It’s alleged that good things come in threes. Understandable it was my hope that this year’s adventure was going to be nothing short of exceeding expectations and finding the unexpected. Each year, this being the third, prior to traveling I develop a game plan and corresponding itinerary. Not knowing in late winter of the water hardships that would challenge western states I had decided to pursue cutties, in high mountain waters, and float a few tail waters with room for some spontaneous misadventures journeys. Backing out of my driveway June 27 turning right the adventure begins. Three days later finds me in Bozeman Montana only a short distance from Red Cliff Campgrounds, Big Sky and the Gallatin River. This is a beautiful valley and a great place to start camping and fishing. From this location the Gallatin River, Taylor Creek and the upper Madison, just below Earthquake Lake are close. These three fishing locations permits me to bring to hand rainbows, cutbows, browns and white fish. While there I did find a cake and the icing was the Salmon Fly hatch. This was the first time I had ever experience this huge beautiful fly hatching on a Western river. The first one caught me by surprise, while on the Taylor, as it flew directly into my face. Thinking, why did that hummingbird do that only to realize it was not a bird but an insect. Then I saw another and another and so on as to never forget that experience. Heading south through Montana’s Yellowstone it’s possible to reach the Ruby Valley, via scenic drive, to my second campsite. From this location the Ruby River (rainbows and cutbows), Beaverhead River (pogo / drop shot fishing over the top - rainbows, white fish and many, many thumping jumping browns), Wise River (brookies and rainbows), and a complete surprise the PD Slue (browns) are within driving distance from the campground. The third leg of the adventure takes me back to the Bozeman Airport to pick up Judy, my wife. We’re spending the next few days at West Glacier, staying at the Belton Chalet Hotel, sightseeing and floating fishing the Middle Flathead River targeting cutties. This is truly an amazing park with the water gin clear and cutties readily available on dry flies. From there we head over to Hood River to visit our son. Judy departures Thursday from Portland and Willie and I head up to the Yakima River in Washington camping at the Bighorn Campground. Camping for three days and floating the Yakima for two days we have a big time. The Yakima River, this time of year, is a big river with a heavy flow making it a fast river to float and fish. The first day we fish the gorge and the second the upper river. We are able to bring to hand rainbows, cutties and small coho salmon. Departing Hood River I head east for Alpine Wyoming to begin the high mountain adventure. The confluence of the Snake and Greys Rivers is adjacent to Alpine. Driving into the high country, on the Greys River road, the next campsite, Forest Campground, is approximately 25 miles into the Bridges National Wilderness. This is truly another beautiful valley with an abundance of trees, which are absent in most western areas, with an absolutely amazing river. This river, and my next stop the Hoback, are waters of dream for cutties with top water flies (large chubbies trailed by a size 16 / 18 elk hair caddis on a 4wt rod). On my first evening, on the Greys, finding a fishy looking hole with a downed tree at its head I place the flies on the water. As they start drifting a nice cuttie emerges from below, looks over the chubby and inhales. Bringing this 16 inch, magnificent, cuttie to hand along with several others the high mountain pilgrimage unfolds. Spending several days pursuing cutties it’s time to break camp and continue east. Heading east over the mountains to the Green River Valley the land of the rendezvous where mountain men, trappers, travelers and Indian tribes gathered to barter, trade, sell and swap various items in the 1830s. Taking the Green River road north it terminates at a spectacular location overlooking the source of the Green River, the Lower Green River Lake. Finding a campsite I make this my home for the next few days. After camping, exploring and fishing for weeks it’s time to shake the dust off, eat some fried food and wash it down with a couple of cold ones. Heading south the next town is Pinedale, a town of the old west. Lodging, a few restaurants, beer joints, town hall, churches, car wash a brewery - Sweetwater (which I visit a few times), Two Rivers fly shop, etc. can be found on Main Street. While in Hood River I had made arrangements to fish the Green River out of the local fly shop. It just happens that a guide, Eli Crumley, which we (SRTU) know from the Blackhawk Lodge, in Georgia, also guides out of Two Rivers. We’re able to spend a day on the river throwing streamers and having a big time. Two days later finds me at my last campsite just outside of Alcova, Wyoming at Pete’s Draw on the bank of the North Platte River, Grays Reef. Earlier I had contacted the Cowboy Drifter’s Fly Shop and made arrangements to fish two day on the Miracle Mile of the North Platte River. Luckily, I was able to hook-up with Dane Szalwinski as my guide. Dane grew up in Irmo SC, his parents live in Florence, and as fate would have it he ended up guiding at the Cowboy Drifter’s in Wyoming. Steve Storick and I fished with Dane last year. So, for the next couple of days we spend time on the Mile having a huge time catching rainbows and browns. After nearly a week of camping and fishing the North Plate it’s time to start making my way back to Florence SC. Only after retiring my tent which continued to collapse time and time again. Playing taps, on my cellphone, it was placed in the dumpster when leaving the campsite. Forty-five days from departing home and nearly 9,000 additional mile on my Ford 150 finds me turning left and pulling into my driveway. Post Scrip - 24 hours on Greys It truly was an unforgettable experience camping, sightseeing and perusing cutties in the Bridges Wilderness on the Greys River. During the second night of camping I was awakened, in the middle of the night, with the sound of bugling elk on the ridge behind the campsite. Getting up early, before daybreak, the temperature had dropped to the lower 40 allowing steam to drift from my first cup of coffee. Readying my fishing equipment and other essentials, for a morning on the river, it’s time to make my way further up Greys River. While driving I saw several deer two being mulies. One was a magnificent 4 X 4, perhaps the largest I have ever seen. Studying the maps I had located a good size feeder stream, Cotters Creek, entering the Greys behind an old established DNR campsite. With the cold water stream entering the river the confluence was a sure bet to find some willing cutties. After a couple of drifts and a change in flies, game on bringing several nice cutties to hand. This stretch of water did not disappoint with a goodly number of cutties at the confluence, below it and above with some nice fish holding and willing to take. Around 1:00, I decided to pack it in and head back to camp for a quick bite before heading back out for the late afternoon bite. Having a spam sandwich, I love those single packs of spam, a can of beans, washing them down with a bottle of Gatorade it’s time to head back out. With clouds building the afternoon bite might be short lived. Driving up the road, this morning, I had noticed a promising stretch of water with a downed tree on the far bank. Putting on my hip waders I enter the water down stream, finding a few small cutties here and there, the water continues to look very promising beside the downed tree. That is when I heard the first rumble then a second. Looking back the sky had changed with dark ominous clouds moving across the mountain directly in my direction. Quickly moving up stream and casting to the lower section of the tree a few cutties rise and strike at the flies. Then I see a flash and not long after a crack. It’s time to get moving and head back to the truck before the downpour starts. As I make my way across the river I feel the first cold drop of rain hit my shoulder then another. Trying to avoid getting drenched I reach the far bank and start to climb out of the river only to get half ways up, slip and fall backwards into the water. With a death grip on my rod I flounder and splash about, boots filling with water, I craw back to the bank, right myself, and shake off the cold water, like an old dog. This time I am able to climb out of the river, up the bank and onto the roadway. Walking / slushing back to the truck the rain begins to pick up. Reaching the truck the sky opens and the bottom falls out. Standing in the rain I’m wet through and through. Getting back to camp, pulling off my waders, pouring out the two gallons of water, then drying off, I walk over to the tent only to find that it’s collapsed. Had to laugh out loud thinking to myself - dang! Finding the Gorilla tape and with a quick fix, all is right in the world. Well almost, do you recall that can of beens I had for lunch? Light fading, thunder in the distance, I climb into the tent put on my head lamp, slip into the sleeping bag and pick up a book “The Earth is Enough” - by Harry Middleton. While reading I fall asleep rather quickly. Once again I am awoken, not by elk tonight but, by the haunting howl of a wolf across Greys River. Taylor Creek near Big Sky Montana Taylor Creek Rainbow Madison Brown Beaverhead Brown Wise River Montana Wise River Brookie Middle Fork Flathead River Yakima River Washington (Will Bibb) Gray River Wyoming Gray River Cuttie Green River Lower Lake Miracle Mile North Platte River Miracle Mile (Dane Szalwinski) Guide Miracle Mile Rainbow Another Mile Bow Brown Time on the Mile Joe Bibbo <“)££>< The Obstinate Fly Fisherman SRTU
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Joe Bibbo
Jun 15, 2021
In Fish Tales
Recently sitting in a dinner I overheard a couple at the next table talking. If looks could kill, staring through him, she said; all of you blankety blank fishermen are liars! He responded; Yea, we may exaggerate or embellish every now and then. You can say we are prone to telling a tall tale but, lying? Isn’t that’s a bit harsh. I don’t think she was talking about fishing. Then it occurred to me, do all that fish exaggerate or do only the most portentous of the gentle art of fishing / fly-fishing find it in their oral vernacular or syntax of written words? Some, without a doubt, truly have a gift for storytelling with the savvy ability to make a story great, time and time again, by ever so slightly changing details to avoid chagrin and bring smiles, laugher, tears, pats on the back, and nodding heads in agreement. After all, isn’t it the prerogative of the storyteller to slightly embellish on occasion to enhance in order to entertain? Perhaps there is a need to, especially when telling the truth only brings stares of boredom, yawning and folks injured falling off chairs. When an account of events is in need, to keep you awake, don’t you think that it’s better to be considerately creative. After all we don’t want anyone getting hurt during story-time. Oh, what webs of sensationalistic methods have been woven from the first time a Neanderthal fisherman grunted. Catch anything? How big? Take for example the excited individual that reaches out, with extended arms and shaking hands, showing you the length of his 12inch trout. Quite often his hands continue to drift further apart the longer he talks. Until he reaches so far that he pokes the guy standing beside him in the eye. Hay watch it. How about the angler, never to be outdone, only fishes on days that the trout are biting and all are 18inch or better. Or that fellow in the fishing club, so and so, that knows everything about anything where to go, when to go, water conditions, best fishing locations, where the fish are holding, the go to flies, which knot holds best, etc., etc., etc., but, never sees water or gets his feet wet, except in the shower. Then there’s the angler endowed with the uncanny ability of an (IGFA) calibrated certifiable scale. Question asked; did you weigh it? Didn’t need to - I knew it was just over 4lbs 3&1/3oz! Heck the picture alone weighs 3lbs. Have you ever told or heard the story of the fish that got away? Really, is there anyone out there that hasn’t? Isn’t it peculiar that every fish, well almost every fish, which manages to get away, is / was the fish of the day. It was da, da, da big! I know! I felt it! It was pulling so hard and shaking its head! Without a doubt, I really lost a good one! Regardless of the size of the fish isn’t this a bit of a stretch? Sr. Izaak Walton, the author of The Complete Angler wrote, “A man cannot lose what he never had.” Well, as for me. I’ve been told that I am an astute fisherman. Learning from others and applying new skill. How about you? Come on now, you can hold that fish out a bit further and closer to the camera? I can still see your elbows. There that’s better - I got it 👍. Go out there and have a huge day and when you get home, don’t forget, share a good story. Truth be told! Joe <“££>< (The Obstinate Fly Fisherman)
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Joe Bibbo
Jun 15, 2021
In Fish Tales
Recently sitting in a dinner I overheard a couple at the next table talking. If looks could kill, staring through him, she said; all of you blankety blank fishermen are liars! He responded; Yea, we may exaggerate or embellish every now and then. You can say we are prone to telling a tall tale but, lying? Isn’t that’s a bit harsh. I don’t think she was talking about fishing. Then it occurred to me, do all that fish exaggerate or do only the most portentous of the gentle art of fishing / fly-fishing find it in their oral vernacular or syntax of written words? Some, without a doubt, truly have a gift for storytelling with the savvy ability to make a story great, time and time again, by ever so slightly changing details to avoid chagrin and bring smiles, laugher, tears, pats on the back, and nodding heads in agreement. After all, isn’t it the prerogative of the storyteller to slightly embellish on occasion to enhance in order to entertain? Perhaps there is a need to, especially when telling the truth only brings stares of boredom, yawning and folks injured falling off chairs. When an account of events is in need, to keep you awake, don’t you think that it’s better to be considerately creative. After all we don’t want anyone getting hurt during story-time. Oh, what webs of sensationalistic methods have been woven from the first time a Neanderthal fisherman grunted. Catch anything? How big? Take for example the excited individual that reaches out, with extended arms and shaking hands, showing you the length of his 12inch trout. Quite often his hands continue to drift further apart the longer he talks. Until he reaches so far that he pokes the guy standing beside him in the eye. Hay watch it. How about the angler, never to be outdone, only fishes on days that the trout are biting and all are 18inch or better. Or that fellow in the fishing club, so and so, that knows everything about anything where to go, when to go, water conditions, best fishing locations, where the fish are holding, the go to flies, which knot holds best, etc., etc., etc., but, never sees water or gets his feet wet, except in the shower. Then there’s the angler endowed with the uncanny ability of an (IGFA) calibrated certifiable scale. Question asked; did you weigh it? Didn’t need to - I knew it was just over 4lbs 3&1/3oz! Heck the picture alone weighs 3lbs. Have you ever told or heard the story of the fish that got away? Really, is there anyone out there that hasn’t? Isn’t it peculiar that every fish, well almost every fish, which manages to get away, is / was the fish of the day. It was da, da, da big! I know! I felt it! It was pulling so hard and shaking its head! Without a doubt, I really lost a good one! Regardless of the size of the fish isn’t this a bit of a stretch? Sr. Izaak Walton, the author of The Complete Angler wrote, “A man cannot lose what he never had.” Well, as for me. I’ve been told that I am an astute fisherman. Learning from others and applying new skill. How about you? Come on now, you can hold that fish out a bit further and closer to the camera? I can still see your elbows. There that’s better - I got it 👍. Go out there and have a huge day and when you get home, don’t forget, share a good story. Truth be told! Joe <“££>< (The Obstinate Fly Fisherman)
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Joe Bibbo
Apr 19, 2021
In Fish Tales
This prose was written with names altered in order to protect the innocent. Although, it behooves me to think of anyone in this motley group or anyone that would associate with this group as innocent. Any similarities are on purpose or purely coincidental and not planned or the fault of the writer. A couple of years ago an impromptu meeting, of challenged minds, finds us engaged in conversation at the public pull-off beside the Nantahala River near Bryson City NC. This whimsical group (Harry, Keith, Mike and yours truly) getting out of the vehicles, putting on our chest waders and lacing up our boots started considering our fly fishing options. After a brief discussion, about where to begin fishing, I speak up and tell everyone an abbreviated story about a “Honey Hole” that was shown to me a coupled years ago. On a previous outing this location was revealed by a young guide from Cherokee. As it turned out this guide, all of 16, was a member of the US National Fly Fishing Team and quite astute in Euro Nymphing. A month later he could be found in Europe representing the US in the World Fly Fishing Youth Tournament. With no objections we get back into our vehicles and proceed to our first destination for the day. Arriving, at the predetermined location, we jump out of our vehicles and start putting together our rods, seating the reels, stringing them up, and tying on our favorite flies in anticipation of a day on the water. Chattering about this and that, like some excited guinea birds, we see a truck pull over and park with two NC DNR Game Wardens getting out. After making small talk they finally get around to asking us for our fishing license. Checking mine, Keith’s and Mike’s documents everything was found to be in order however, after sorting through several licenses Harry finds his NC license and gives it to the warden. Upon inspecting the license he ask Harry for his trout license. It seems he needed some additional paperwork. As we had not yet fished there had been no foul committed. So the warden recommended that Harry drive down the valley, to where he could get a signal on his phone, and purchase the needed trout license. Away went Harry and the game wardens leaving Keith, Mike and me on the hill watching Harry drive around the bend and out of sight. Two minutes later the three of us are standing in the water presenting our flies. Mike and Keith began fishing directly below our vehicles and I make my way to the “Honey Hole”. It doesn’t take long and Mike and Keith are both hooked up to a couple nice trout. As for me, the “Honey Hole” starts producing not letting me down. By this time, our prodigal son Harry returns, just in time, to net my football shaped / size Rainbow. Not long after that Harry starts bringing trout to hand. A few more fish and we all agree it time for lunch. During lunch Mike asked me if I had caught enough trout in the “Honey Hole” and asked me if I thought about trying another spot. Moving down stream I managed to catch a fish here and another one from there. Time flying by, as it always does while on the water, I work my way back up the stream to where we parked the vehicles. Seeing Harry, beside them, I ask him where’s Mike and Keith. Laughingly he tell me they are fishing the “Honey Hole”. Standing on the bridge I look over the edge just as Mike is releasing a nice rainbow with Keith standing only a few feet away. Looking up Mike looks like a Cheshire Cat, that has just swallowed a yellow Canary, smiling ear to ear. Apparently, after I started down stream, Mike immediately made his move into the “Honey Hole” catching one trout after another with Keith enjoying the action. Dr. Seuss said it best, “One fish, Two fish, Red fish, Blue fish, Black fish, Blue fish, Old fish, New fish.” Yelling back to Harry I tell him not to let any kids cross the bridge because there were a couple of old trolls underneath it on the hunt. Some days are just like that with fantastic fellowship and fish on the take willing to be brought to hand. This was certainly one of those memorable days that will forever be etched in memory. Later that evening over a hot dinner, with smiles on all of our faces, it was decided that Mike was the king “Trolling for Trout in the Honey Hole” under the bridge. In fondest memory of our beloved friend Dr. Mike Stone. Joe Bibbo <“££>< (The Obstinate Fly Fisherman)
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Joe Bibbo
Apr 19, 2021
In Fish Tales
This prose was written with names altered in order to protect the innocent. Although, it behooves me to think of anyone in this motley group or anyone that would associate with this group as innocent. Any similarities are on purpose or purely coincidental and not planned or the fault of the writer. A couple of years ago an impromptu meeting, of challenged minds, finds us engaged in conversation at the public pull-off beside the Nantahala River near Bryson City NC. This whimsical group (Harry, Keith, Mike and yours truly) getting out of the vehicles, putting on our chest waders and lacing up our boots started considering our fly fishing options. After a brief discussion, about where to begin fishing, I speak up and tell everyone an abbreviated story about a “Honey Hole” that was shown to me a coupled years ago. On a previous outing this location was revealed by a young guide from Cherokee. As it turned out this guide, all of 16, was a member of the US National Fly Fishing Team and quite astute in Euro Nymphing. A month later he could be found in Europe representing the US in the World Fly Fishing Youth Tournament. With no objections we get back into our vehicles and proceed to our first destination for the day. Arriving, at the predetermined location, we jump out of our vehicles and start putting together our rods, seating the reels, stringing them up, and tying on our favorite flies in anticipation of a day on the water. Chattering about this and that, like some excited guinea birds, we see a truck pull over and park with two NC DNR Game Wardens getting out. After making small talk they finally get around to asking us for our fishing license. Checking mine, Keith’s and Mike’s documents everything was found to be in order however, after sorting through several licenses Harry finds his NC license and gives it to the warden. Upon inspecting the license he ask Harry for his trout license. It seems he needed some additional paperwork. As we had not yet fished there had been no foul committed. So the warden recommended that Harry drive down the valley, to where he could get a signal on his phone, and purchase the needed trout license. Away went Harry and the game wardens leaving Keith, Mike and me on the hill watching Harry drive around the bend and out of sight. Two minutes later the three of us are standing in the water presenting our flies. Mike and Keith began fishing directly below our vehicles and I make my way to the “Honey Hole”. It doesn’t take long and Mike and Keith are both hooked up to a couple nice trout. As for me, the “Honey Hole” starts producing not letting me down. By this time, our prodigal son Harry returns, just in time, to net my football shaped / size Rainbow. Not long after that Harry starts bringing trout to hand. A few more fish and we all agree it time for lunch. During lunch Mike asked me if I had caught enough trout in the “Honey Hole” and asked me if I thought about trying another spot. Moving down stream I managed to catch a fish here and another one from there. Time flying by, as it always does while on the water, I work my way back up the stream to where we parked the vehicles. Seeing Harry, beside them, I ask him where’s Mike and Keith. Laughingly he tell me they are fishing the “Honey Hole”. Standing on the bridge I look over the edge just as Mike is releasing a nice rainbow with Keith standing only a few feet away. Looking up Mike looks like a Cheshire Cat, that has just swallowed a yellow Canary, smiling ear to ear. Apparently, after I started down stream, Mike immediately made his move into the “Honey Hole” catching one trout after another with Keith enjoying the action. Dr. Seuss said it best, “One fish, Two fish, Red fish, Blue fish, Black fish, Blue fish, Old fish, New fish.” Yelling back to Harry I tell him not to let any kids cross the bridge because there were a couple of old trolls underneath it on the hunt. Some days are just like that with fantastic fellowship and fish on the take willing to be brought to hand. This was certainly one of those memorable days that will forever be etched in memory. Later that evening over a hot dinner, with smiles on all of our faces, it was decided that Mike was the king “Trolling for Trout in the Honey Hole” under the bridge. In fondest memory of our beloved friend Dr. Mike Stone. Joe Bibbo <“££>< (The Obstinate Fly Fisherman)
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Joe Bibbo
Jan 10, 2021
In Fish Tales
September and the coming on of Fall generally means three things: cooler temperatures, big Louisiana reds on the flats and False Albies off the coast of North Carolina. As the title implies we are heading south to Cajun county, down Louisiana way, to sight cast for rod testing spottail bass, red drum or as we like to say - “reds”. Actually Judy, my wife who loves spin Casting, and I will be driving to and staying near Port Sulfur at the Woodland Plantation. We found this fishing jewel several years ago and look forward to returning to great accommodation, hospitality, Cajun cuisine, making new acquaintance, and last bit, not least “Fishing for Reds”! You ask what is it like to hook a red on a fly rod? My good friend Capt. Steve Thomas, who guided on the Hobcaw Plantation, SC for a goodly number of years, would tell new comers, mostly trout fishermen, “well - it’s like hooking a bulldog in the ass and holding on”. This I always thought was an factual depiction. After a hardy breakfast, we meet our guide Johnathan and post a short drive we stepped onto his Hellsbay’s flats boat. With the anticipation of sight fishing, for reds, we travel into an expansive of waters known as the Lafoot area. Weaving our way through the marsh grass we arrived at a very fishing looking bay. Offering up the bow of the boat to Judy, FYI guys this is always a good maneuver, Johnathan see’s a stud red cruising in our direction. Locating the red, Judy cast the Johnson golden spoon, in the strike zone of the red. Reeling in the line and twitching the spoon the red follows the spoon to within a few feet of the boat. Johnathan instructs Judy to drop the spoon back into the water. Dropping the spoon back in the water and popping it the red hammers the spoon and the fight is on - here we go! This style of fishing is repeated several time during the next two days and is referred to as the “Judy Drop & Pop”. Releasing the red it is now my turn to step up on to the front of the craft. Picking up a ten weight and false casting, readying the line, a red suddenly appears within casting distance. With the fly landing on the water, John tells me to strip, strip, strip, watching the red open it mouth and take the fly I set the hook. Suddenly there is a huge commotion with the fly in the air and the red turning and swimming away. Well I’ll be an egg sucking mule. Knowing the answer to the question, I ask anyway, Johnathan what happened? His response - trout set. Casting the fly back into the water I practice strip setting several times to get my MoJoe back. A short drift into an adjacent bay and a tailing red is seen working the bottom. This is a happy fish and with a well placed fly and a short retrieve the red takes hard and with a quick strip set it rips across the water and after few runs it is brought to hand and released. For the next two days we find willing fish and have a big time catching and releasing reds. What was really cool was that every fish we caught we saw before casting. As for dinner? Yep - Cajun blackened reds and oysters on the half shell with a few cold ones on the side. Life is good!!! Swimming Gold Judy with the day’s first Red Joe finding his MoJoe Joe <“££><
Reds on the Half Shell
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Joe Bibbo
Nov 11, 2020
In Fish Tales
My ledger defines the 2019 road trip as, Road Trip to The Dalles (Wide Open). The header for this years 2020 road trip, in my ledger, is Road Trip (Wide Open Too)! This adventure consisted of departing my home in Florence on July 19 and returning on August 24. In total traveling 37 days and adding 8047 mile to the odometer in my truck. Once again I had another “Huge” time out west traveling, camping, fellowship, and fly fishing catching - rainbows, browns, cutbows, cutthroat, sea run cutthroat, whitefish, and river graylings. After traveling three days west the adventure started with camping and fly fishing, with Cottonwood Outfitters, on the banks of The Little Big Horn near Fort Smith Montana. From there driving to Adler Montana, camping near the Ruby River and fishing with 4Rivers guides on the Big Hole, Boulder, Madison, and the Jefferson rivers. Self exploring and wade fishing the Ruby River with significant satisfaction from its headwaters, in the wilderness area, to the tail waters below the Ruby Rive Reservoir (don’t tell anyone about this tail waters, as this is the locals secret). Departing Adler / Twin Bridges and stopping in Bozeman picking up Judy, my wife, we dove over to Hood Rive Oregon to visit with my son and his family. From there Willie and I found a campsite on the headwaters of the Trask River and managed to find some sea run cutthroat. Taking Judy to the airport I made my way to Idaho and camped and fished on the Henry’s Fork. My last stop took me through Yellowstone National Park, the Wind River Gorge and Cody Wyoming. After spending a day in Cody and visiting Buffalo Bill’s Western Museum I found myself near Alcova Wyoming camping on the banks of the North Platte River. The next two days finding myself fishing the North Platte in the Pathfinder valley and the notorious Pathfinder / Fremont Gorge. Upon completing an awesome experience in the gorge and hooking up with Steve Storick, the next day at the Cowboy Driffter’s, we fished the Miracle Mile and the second and third legs of North Platte’s Grays Reef. Eastward bound and turning left into my SC driveway, home! Ruby River Valley Pathfinder / Fremont Gorge Bow on the North Platte (Miracle Mile) Brown on a streamer (Jefferson River) Joe <“££><
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