To West Yellowstone

Jim Kazkoff, Mark Grajcar, and I headed to West Yellowstone, and were making good time.  The closer we approached to our destination the more construction signs we saw, warning us there would be 30 minute delays between Ashton and Island Park, and that was something we just didn’t have the patience for.  

“Hey guys!” I said, getting Mark and Jim’s attention. “Let’s take the Mesa Falls exit and go around the construction.  And on the way we can feed the fish!” 

“That sounds like a good idea. I don’t want to be stuck in traffic.” Jim said, adding, “But I don’t think this is the right way to feed the fish.” 

“Trust me, it’s the right way.” I said with confidence. 

Jim took the right turn at Ashton towards Mesa Falls, and I remembered something... 

“We need to stop at that gas station!” I said quickly, pointing.  Jim applied the break, rather quickly, and the sudden stop made us lurch forward a bit.  After stopping, I jumped out and bought three loaves of bread. 

“Whoa!  What are you going to do with all that bread?!” Mark asked. 

“This is what we are feeding the fish, and I didn’t want to share my loaf so I bought us each one.” I explained as we drove on.  

The warm river section of the Henry’s Fork flows right next to the Three Rivers Ranch, and just to the left is a small dock to stand on and feed the fish. 

“That is where we need to stop.” I said, pointing to the left side of the road where there was room to park.  Jim hit the breaks, making us all lurch forward again. 

“Oooo...” I said, as my seatbelt did its job. “Another Jim Kazkoff signature stop.” 

The three of us hopped out of the truck and walked over to the dock. 

“I don’t see the fish.” Mark said, looking into the water. 

“Watch this!” I said, grabbing a slice of bread, tearing it up, and launching it in the water. 

“Whoa!” Mark yelled, as the fish began devouring my offering. 

“That’s cool!” Jim added, and they both started chucking bread over to the hungry fish. 

“Look at that one!” Mark yelled, pointing to a fish. “That’s a big-ass fish!” The three of us couldn’t throw out bread fast enough, and the hungry fish were darting left and right to grab every piece that hit the water. 

“Well that figures.” Jim said shaking his head. “Some of these fish are refusing my bread.” Both Mark and I erupted into laughter as Jim tossed out another small piece of bread.  The large fish he aimed for came over and, sure enough, snubbed his bread. 

“See!  I can’t get a break!” Jim said with a laugh. 

The loaves went fast, and a fun time was had by all. 

“We better get to Henry’s Fork Anglers before they close.” I suggested, and off we drove.  

Colton Schofield was there to help us, and after we picked up our Montana fishing licenses we were ready to get back on the road to West Yellowstone. 

“A buddy and I are going to fish the Box Canyon when I get off work.” Colton said, just before I took off. “You guys should join us!” 

“Hold on, Colton.” I said, and ran out to ask Mark and Jim if they were up for an impromptu float down the Box Canyon.  After a quick bite to eat and a few wrong turns, our boat was launched near the Island Park Dam, the start of the Box Canyon. 

We rigged up quickly as Jim parked the truck.  Colton suggested that nymphing would be the best way to fish the Box before he launched his boat... That's right, young Colton of 19 bought himself a used drift boat, and was loving every bit of it.  He and his buddy, Crazy Paul, got a jump start on us as Jim made his way down to the drift boat. 

I had fished the Box Canyon before, so I took the sticks as Jim and Mark fished the first stretch. 

“I got one!” Jim said, as he pulled up his rod. I looked over and saw a fish about the size of a keychain wiggling like mad. 

“Woah!” I said, “Do you need me to anchor?”  Jim laughed as he unhooked his little fish, and it darted back to its home.  With the water flowing fast, back rowing was a must.  

“There we go!” Mark yelled.  I looked back to see his nine-and-a-half foot six weight was doubled over. 

“Alright!” I yelled, and dug deep with the oars to slow down the boat so Mark could better control his fish.  

“Oh no!” Mark yelled. “It got off,” he said, as he slammed his sculpzilla on the water in frustration.  

“Jim, what’s going on up there?” I asked. 

“I lost my dropper.” Jim said, and was tying another one on as fast as his eyes would let him.

It was my turn to fish, and we didn’t have much sunlight available.  With Mark’s success on the sculpzilla, I tied one on and launched it in every spot I thought a fish would be holding.  Nothing was taking my streamer, and Jim was having no luck with his nymph.  I jumped behind the oars again while Mark took the front of the boat.

Night fell fast, and I had started paddling forward to get us to the boat ramp quicker.  Jim and Mark didn’t let up, fishing until they couldn’t see anymore, and then some. 

Jim jumped out to stop the boat as we piled into the takeout point.  Colton’s buddy, Crazy Paul, had his truck there for a shuttle.  Jim jumped in with them, and Mark and I stayed behind with the boats.  The temperature dropped as Jim, Colton, and Crazy Paul returned to pull the boats out.  
“We are going to get dinner at a small place nearby.” Colton invited, as he pointed at a lodge in the distance.  
“We would love to, but we still need to get to West Yellowstone tonight.” I said, packing up the rest of our gear.
“Thanks for the invite tonight. It couldn’t have happened without you guys.” I said, as we said goodbye to Colton and Paul.  We arrived at our destination near midnight and unpacked the truck quickly.  We headed to bed soon after, in preparation for the next day’s fish on the Madison!

Adventures With Hawk Bait

It was only a month ago when Mike McLean and Wes Atkinson walked up to Josephine Lake, and found that it was still frozen. Today, small sheets of snow tucked in shadows created by the mountain is the only sign that this path was once covered with snow and ice.  The warm weather has now made this path up to the lake a fantastic one, even for my little dog, Kiwi, who led the way on her first alpine lake experience. 

Blooming bear grass blanketed the hillside as Mike, Kerri, Gracy, Sam, and I made our way up.  

“Sam, I hope you can catch a fish on a fly today!” I said, as we made our way. 

“That would be cool.” Sam said, still bringing along his spinning gear just in case.  We were almost to the lake, but not before we had to squeeze underneath another fallen tree that laid over the path. 

Sooner than I expected, we were at the lake.  Fallen timber crowded the shoreline, which is bad for fishing, but great for a picture.

Being that it was Kiwi’s, aka Hawk Bait's first alpine lake, Mike was kind enough to snap a picture of us.

By the time I had strung up my fly rod Sam had already hiked around the lake where there were no fallen trees in the way, hopped on a large rock, and started making casts. Gracy and Kerry were nearby watching as Sam made cast after cast.  I had rigged up his spinning rod with a clear bobber that could be filled with water so he could fish with a fly. 

“Anything, Sam?” I called out. 

“Nope.” He replied, keeping his eye on his fly.  Sam kept his fly still on the water, and the large hopper that was tied on was easy to spot. 

“Give it a little twitch.” I suggested, and Sam did.  Twitching your fly on an alpine lake can sometimes be the ticket to attracting a fish to come up and eat it, but today it was not working.  I launched my fly near any structure I could find with no success.  Together, Sam and I walked the banks of the lake in search for a fish, leaving Gracy, Kerri, Kerri’s dog, Sadie, and Hawk Bait behind.  The only thing we found was Mike out in his float tube casting away. 

“Anything, Mike?” I yelled out to him. 

“I have had two takes, but only brought one in.” He yelled back, adding, “It sure is fishing slow.” 

With nothing happening for either of us, I decided it was time to switch Sam’s fly rig to a fast sinking jig.  It was, after all, more important for Sam to catch a fish, no matter how dirty we had to rig up.  

With no fish being caught, we decided to head back to where the ladies were sitting to eat our sandwiches.  Mine looked especially delicious; I had snuck some extra pesto on my bread when no one was looking and had been looking forward to it all morning.  My excitement was short lived.  Something had gone terribly wrong in Sam’s pack.  His water bottle must not have been tighten down enough, because when he brought his sandwich out, it was completely soaked in water.  

“Oh noooo!” Gracy said, checking out what went wrong in Sam’s pack. The ziplock bag had not been completely sealed and the leaking water had seeped in.  

“It’s okay!” Sam said happily, “I can still eat the meat.” 

Gracy’s eyes met mine, and I could tell she felt terrible. I felt bad too, but the only one who didn’t was Kiwi, who sat by waiting for scraps. 

   

“Take half of mine, Sam.” I said, handing half my sandwich to him. 
“No, I’m ok.” Sam insisted, but I wasn't buying it. Gracy offered her half as well, but Sam still refused.  
“Take some Sam, it has lots of pesto!” I said, hoping that would inspire his decision. 
“I don’t like pesto.” Sam said, making me now feel bad that I had caked my sandwich with it. 
“Well then you are in charge of the peanut M&Ms!” I said, holding up the bag. 
“I’ll take those!” Sam said with excitement, and I tossed over the bag.

Despite Sam’s drenched sandwich, there was plenty of other food to eat.  Jerky, cheese, crackers, M&Ms and more were packed in our bags, and Sam had his fill. 

After lunch, Sam and I hiked around the other half of the lake and fishing along the way. 

I did see a few fish rise, but they were too far out in the lake for me to cast to.  The wind had really started to blow, and Mike started to make his way back.  Gracy and Kerri hiked over to join us, and Sadie and Kiwi followed. 

We geared-down earlier than expected for the day.  The fish were not rising, and the wind had really started blowing.  We all sat and ate a few more snacks before heading back to the truck.

On our way back, Kiwi took the lead, as Sam, Mike, and Gracy followed.  I stayed behind with Kerri, who was taking the hike back down slow and carefully.  Her recent knee surgery was healing fast, but downhill can still take it's toll on a sore knee. 

“Hey, pine tips!” I said, as we came across a small pine tree. 

“I want one.” Kerri said, as we both plucked ourselves a pine tip and ate it. 

“I wonder if the young bear grass is eatable.” Kerri said, “It looks like small corn on the cob.” 

We found some young bear grass on the side of the trail, and Kerri plucked off a small piece and ate it. 

“Does it taste like corn on the cob?” I asked. 

“No.” She replied, “It taste more like the pine tips, only not as sweet.” 

“Soooo, it tastes like a weed?” I asked. 

Kerri laughed, “Yeah, I guess so."

We made it back to the truck in no time at all.  Kiwi and Sadie were tuckered out, and were both happy to rest.  

“My first skunked alpine lake experience.” I said, as we gathered in the truck. 

“It was bound to happen.” Mike reassured. 

“Sorry we didn’t get any fish, Sam.” I said. 

“It’s ok.” Sam said, “It was just nice to be out here.” 

Mike smiled at Sam’s comment, “With that kind of attitude, it sounds like Erik had a new fishing buddy!” 

I looked back at Sam and said, “Yes I do!”  

Sam smiled, and we made our way back to McCall before heading home.

Cousin Sam

When I found out my Cousin Sam was interested in fishing with me, I was quick to make time to take him out as soon as I could.  My ultimate goal for the day was to get Sam into his first fish with a fly rod.   Sam was all smiles when I handed him his new fishing hat to start the day, and he even jumped out of the car to open the gate as we neared the river. 

"That feels weird.” Sam said, walking into the river with waders on for the first time.  “My pants are clinging to me, and it feels like my feet want to float.” 

“It’s also a nice way to stay cool on a hot day like today, huh?” I asked.  Sam nodded his head yes, as he positioned himself to make his first cast. 

“Aim for that shaded spot.” I said, pointing to a tree limb near the other side of the bank.  Sam readied his spinner by opening the face, and made a quick cast.  In a flash, he whipped his pole forward, sending his gear and line way off to the right. 

“What was that?” I asked. 

“I guess I’m a little rusty...” Sam said with a smile.  He organized his rig and made another cast; this time he hit his target.  

“You should have a fish by now.” I said to Sam, after he had made several casts. 

“Well let’s see you cast.” He said, with one eyebrow up. 

“Oh yeah?” I said, pulling out line. “Challenge accepted!”  Sam moved to my left side, and I shot a small popper next to the bank.  It was no more than two pops before a loud suction noise indicated a fish had took.  I set the hook on a nice bass.  With my rod at a bend, I casually looked over at Sam with a smirk. 

“Darn!” Sam said, as I brought in the fish.  Though he was not thrilled that I caught the first fish, he still snapped a picture of me and my fish. 

With my sudden success, I knew Sam would get a fish on the fly.

“Let’s try the fly rod, Sam.” I said as he set the spin outfit down. I quickly showed him how to roll-cast, and it wasn’t too long before he was in control, sending the little popper to the far side of the bank. 

“Now give it a little twitch...” I said, watching intently.  Sam did perfect, but no fish were interested.  We tried and tried, but nothing took the popper.  Deciding it was more important for Sam to catch fish rather than cast a fly rod, I suggested he go back to fishing his spin gear. 

I explained to Sam the best way to approach a spot in the river where fish could be holding.  Sam followed my directions well, and placed his jig in the perfect spot.  
“I got one!” Sam said, as he started reeling in his fish.  His fishing pole danced with every tug of the fish, and I got there quickly to net it. 
“That’s a nice one, Sam!” I said, as Sam picked the fish up by the lip and held it for a picture.

As soon as the fish was back in the water it darted away with a splash, and Sam didn’t waste any time getting back to fishing. 

I had caught a few fish on the fly along the way, while Sam worked the deeper portions of the river.  I could tell that he was seriously getting into the zone.  Earlier in the day, Sam caught a few small fish, but he wanted another big one like the one he had caught just a moment ago.  I walked around a bend and noticed a tree creating some shade over the water.

“Sam, cast your jig into the shadow.” I said.

“Ok.” Sam replied, and made a cast.  His jig splashed down into the shadow underneath the tree.   

“Nice shot!” I said.

“Thanks.” Sam replied, as he started his retrieve. I could see his white jig wiggling in the water as he pulled it in, and a dark streak race from the shadows and grab it. 

“There it is!” I yelled, but it was not needed. Sam had already set the hook and was in control.  Though it was not as big as the bass he had caught before, it was still nice enough for a picture. 

The day was flying by, and it was nearly time for us to get going.  
“We better make our way back.” I suggested, and Sam agreed.  Together we walked back upstream, and Sam pointed to a deep section in the river. 
“Do you think there could be a fish over there?” He asked. 
“What do you think?” I replied.
“I think it looks good.” He said, keeping his eye on the spot. 
“Try it out.” I encouraged, and he did.  After a few cast, and no fish, Sam was ready to move on. 
“Hold on.” I said, stopping Sam from walking away. 
“Cast back over there, only let your jig sink a little deeper.” I said. 
“Ok.” Sam replied, and made a cast.  Sam went to reel in his line, but I stopped him. 
“Let it sink a little more.” I suggested.  It only took a few seconds longer for his jig to get deeper. 
“Okay, start reeling in.” I said, and Sam started to reel.  SLAM!  His jig got hit, and Sam was all smiles. 
“It’s a nice one.” Sam said, bringing in his fish. Sam brought the fish in fast, and I scooped it up with my net. 
“Nice job, Sam!” I said, as he held it up for a picture.   

Sam let the fish go, and we watched it as it swam back into the deep. 
“Look at my thumb.” Sam said, pointing out the small dimples imprinted and some scratches on his thumb. 
“The fish left teeth marks on it.” He said, smiling. 
“That’s bass-thumb.” I said, with a smile. “That means you caught a lot of bass today.” 
Sam smiled at that comment, and together we walked back to the car.  
“How are you feeling?  Are you tired?” I asked. After all, we had been on the water for seven hours in the heat. 
“I’m good!” Sam said, adding, “I just wish we could stay a little longer.” 
“Sam, you don’t know how happy that makes me... to hear you say that.” I said. 
“And I am interested in fly fishing too. I just need to get better at casting.” Sam added. 
“SAM!!!  Your dad told me that taking you out today was going to make me rethink having a kid, and he was right!” I said, happily.  Sam smiled, saying, “We will have to go again soon.”
“Yes we will, Sam... Yes we will."  

Back in the Mountains

Upon arriving at the road to the day’s alpine lakes, it was clear that the Idaho Forest Service did not want anyone using the roads anymore.  Large tree stumps littered the roads, along with boulders the size of small cars that blocked the way. 

The only way I knew how to find these lakes was to bring along an old tattered GPS unit I call... Mike McLean.

“The Forest Service did a number on these roads.” Mike explained. “For whatever reason, they blocked the newer routes up to the lakes, and if you had new hiking books you would never find them. Luckily, I know the old way.” Mike finished off, turning on a small dirt road with grass growing in the middle. If you asked me, I would have figured the road was meant for ATVs, but Mike drove up, confident as ever.    

“This is it!” Mike said, as he parked and we geared up to start walking.  We were no more than three steps on our adventure when we heard a phone ring.  Hearing a phone ring in the middle of the river, forest, or lake is a no no, and can sour the day for even the kindest angler.  We all stopped and looked back at Kerri, Mike’s wife, who looked as if she had committed the worst crime. 

“Geez, Mike. You'll bring anybody up hiking with us.” I said, looking at Kerri. 

“Tell me about it...” Mike replied.

It was evident that the Forest Service had done work up here, not only on the roads but on the trail up.  An easy-to-follow trail next to a nice runoff stream had all been maintained; it made for an easy walk up.  

“Look, some bear grass.” Kerri said, pointing to a puffy looking flower.  The long stem only blooms in the late spring and early summer, and it was my first time seeing it looking so nice. 

The hike was shorter than I thought it was going to be, and at first sight of the lake I immediately starting rigging up my rod. 

“He wants to be the first one to catch a fish.” Mike told Kerri, as he slowly tied his fly on.  Mike knew me too well, and I was the first one to cast my fly in the lake, but not the first one to catch a fish.  
I hiked my way around the lake with little luck.  The fish I got to take my fly shook me off quickly, and the decent fish I did bring in got away right as I was about to grab it for a picture.  
“Let’s hike up to the second lake. This one usually fishes better around 2 o’clock.” Mike said, and up the hill we went.  The steep hill to the second lake was short lived, and when the lake came into view, it was fantastic.  I stood there for a minute.  The rich smell of pine filled the air, along with the delicate hint of fresh water. Together, they made a fragrance no candle could reproduce.  A fish rose within casting distance, tearing me from my trance.

I roll-casted my little green beetle and it was slammed almost immediately. 
“You already have a fish?!” Mike said to me, as the cutthroat fought to get away. 
“How long did you want me to wait?” I said with a smile. 

The cutthroat were cooperating nicely.  Just about every cast ended up being taken by a colorful fish. Both Mike and I started walking around the lake, stopping at openings to cast.  
“You got another one?” Mike observed, fishing about 50 feet away. 
“They are loving this little green beetle. Do you want one?” I asked. 
“I have a few flies I can try.” Mike said, continuing to cast. 
“Dont be a hero, Mike.  I have more of these beetles if you want one.” I added, then walked over to the fallen tree that separated us, and stuck a green beetle on the stump. 
“There you go, Mike.  You can grab this whenever you decide you want to catch a fish.” I said. And after I caught another fish, Mike found his way to the beetle and tied it on.  

It was past lunchtime, so we headed back to where the ladies were sunning and ate our sandwiches before deciding to head back to the lower lake. 

“How did that beetle work for you, Mike?” I asked, as we started to head back. 

“I ended up losing it in a tree on my second cast.” Mike said, adding, “I did catch a fish though!” 

“That’s good.” I said, and quickly headed down the hill, back to the first lake.  

I found a spot where I could backcast with no interruption, and pulled out some line and began to cast. 

Off in the distance I noticed Gracy had found a nicely shaded spot to read her book.  As I casted, her solitude ended quickly.

“I got a fish!” I yelled over to her.

“What is it?” She asked.  I looked at the fish, and caught a blue sparkle on the fin.

“IT’S A GRAYLING!” I yelled happily.  Gracy rock-hopped over to me quickly as I brought in the fish for a picture. 

“Did you get a grayling?” Mike yelled from across the lake. 
“Yep!” I yelled back, as I snapped a picture of my fish before it kicked away.

The elusive grayling has been on my list of fish-to-catch for a long time.  The large fin on the back makes it unique to any other freshwater fish. In one spectrum of light, the fin reflects a teal color that the camera just can’t do justice to. At another angle, the teal color almost disappears while little red dots appear, lining the fin of this sought-after fish.  

Grayling fishing had turned on!  Mike was making his success known from across the lake and, being the only ones on this lake, I would answer back when I had one on as well. 

Gracy and I started to make our way back to where Mike and Kerri were.  Mike had picked up another grayling, and took this incredible shot with his underwater camera. 

On my next cast, a rainbow took my fly, and I did everything I could to get it to shake itself off.  Finally, after almost having to bring it in, it escaped, and I casted back out in hopes of another grayling.  One took, and I looked back at Gracy with a huge smile.  
“Another grayling?” She asked, just to be nice.
“Yep!” I said, bringing it in and snapping a picture before it took off.

Mike had caught the last grayling of the day before we decided it was time to head back home.  On our way out, Mike stopped us next to a small pine tree. 
“Have you guys ever eaten pine tips?” He asked, pointing at the bright new growth on a little pine tree. He plucked off a pine tip and handed it to Gracy. 
“They are 100% eatable, a great source of vitamin C, and taste great sprinkled on a salad.” Mike said, popping some in his mouth. 
“Pine tips...” I said, plucking a bit of new growth and putting it in my mouth.  I bit down on the soft pine needles and a rush a citrus covered my tongue; not so much of a piney taste, to my surprise. 
“It’s not bad.” I said to Mike, who was chewing up the rest of his.
“Just a survival tip for you guys.” He said, as we walked back to the truck.  

We took our packs off and laid them in the back of the truck.  
“Did you see the can I fished out?” Mike said, pulling a can out of his pack. 
“I bet you guys are too young to recognize this kind of pull top.” He added, showing us the can. 

We took a back road out, because Mike wanted to show us the view of Little Payette and Payette Lakes.  We drove to an opening on the bumpy road, and witnessed a fantastic view of the land, ending a fun day back in the mountains.