Bill and I stayed at Grizzly RV Park in West Yellowstone and went on a float trip with Rick the guide on the Madison River. Bill, the trout hoover, sucked up all the good fish before they even got to me. I caught some, but nothing like all those beautiful rainbows he caught.
Next day, we moved on to Indian Creek campground in the middle of the northern part of Yellowstone, about an hour from West Yellowstone. This is brook trout territory. We fished the Gardiner, Obsidian, and Indian creek. We caught and released hundreds of little fish. Nothing bigger than about eight inches. We had so much fun there, we stayed and fished all the next day too. After that, we moved on to Pebble Creek campground and fished Soda Butte creek. Yellowstone Cutthroat territory. Good fishing. Beautiful scenery. Caught fish up to about fifteen inches long there.
Friday, Bill left for home, and Judy showed up. We fished some more. We stayed at Pebble fishing every day. OK. Let’s back up to the beginning of this trip. Becky and Brian and family left to go camping in Yellowstone the day before I left for this trip. This whole time, they have been ensconced at the Madison Junction campground seeing how dirty their kids could get. They did well. A Ranger even told Tony he had won the “Dirtiest Kid in the Park” competition. Next, Christie and Ken drove down from Washington and met up with Becky and Brian. They all camped together at Madison Junction. On Saturday, Becky and Brian and the kids, and Christie and Ken and the kids moved over to the Pebble Creek campground with us. The kids played in the creek. The guys fished.
Judy had volunteered ahead of time to cook a big campfire stew while everybody was there. On the day they all arrived, the Park declared a total fire ban. So the campfire stew got cooked on the stove in Shamu. Then the thunderstorm hit. Of course the fishermen were pretty far out in the meadow when the rain started. The rain didn’t matter much, but we paid attention and got out of the water when the lightning started. When the wind hit, we were already headed back toward the campground. When the hail hit, we found a gully to hide in. Hiding behind the bank of a gully worked for a while, but as the wind shifted, we lost any advantage there, so we headed across the field again. The weather can change from very hot to very cold and wet in a hurry. Judy brought the car out as close to us as she could, but by the time we got to the nearest road, it didn’t make much difference anymore. One of us actually got in the car for the remainder. Two of us declared it unmanly to accept a ride and walked the rest of the way back in the rain.
So back at the motorhome, we had campfire stew on the stove, three very wet fishermen each getting into something drier, and all the kids moms and wives, inside out of the rain as well. We now know that eleven people can fit inside Shamu and eat dinner. It can be a little loud with five kids all having fun or conversations or both, all at once, but a good time overall.
The rainstorm that night blew out Pebble Creek, which flowed chocolate colored mud down to Soda Butte and blew that out. Soda Butte ran down to the Lamar and blew that as well.
The next day, Brian, Ken and I went fishing again. We went far enough downstream on the Lamar that is was still running pretty clear. The fishing wasn’t very good that day, but thanks to Brian, we didn’t get skunked.
Becky and Brian left for home. Christie and Ken stayed another day. All the local streams were still blown, so Ken and I drove over to Slough creek. It was running clear. Slough is an unusual creek. It is slow and deep as it winds through an open meadow. We fished our way down it and raised a few fish. It is a pleasure to watch Ken fish. He is so thoughtful, focused, and patient. And he has reflexes too. He hooks a lot of fish.
The really unusual thing about Slough is that one bank is always higher than the other, and you can walk the high banks, scanning the pools for large fish lurking in the clear water of the deep pools. Sight fishing. You can go find a fish, creep along the bank through the grass and bushes to a spot upstream, and cast a fly that will drift back down to him. As it does, you can watch the fish to see how he reacts to it, rising out of his deep water to come to the surface and inspect it, refusing it, reconsidering….. It is agonizing fishing. But Ken did it. He tried one fly. Lost it. Got the lunker to come to the surface for the tiniest fly he had in his arsenal. The fish refused it, reconsidered, refused it again, then turned around and bit it. Well handled. An extended battle. A sixteen inch rainbow. That was the fish-of-the-day.
