We waited out the violent storm brought on by wind fishing in the safety of the camper, an amazing contraption of aluminum siding, for which we both have newfound respect. The thing perched, however tenuously at moments, atop the pickup in the midst of 50mph gusts. No exagerated needed or employed.
On Tuesday the storm had passed, and we woke to a beautiful, peaceful clear morning where we owned the world. The campground was deserted of everything but us, and it was a glorious day to be alive. We walked along the Green River and mused at the mud swallow nests nestled in the cliffs and the sheer rock slab rising at an angle from the flats. We talked a bit about doing a little photoshop magic to get us climbing the face of the inverted rock, gripping sandstone 200 feet above the ground, but after a little debate we decided to keep it real.
Can you find the Rig?
Afternoon we pulled out the mountain bikes and headed along the Desert Nature Trail towards Josie Morris Cabin. This was a sandy single-track that wound up and along the side of the hills rising from the river bed. What would I'm sure be old hat for an experienced mountain biker, this was new ground for me and I'd be lying to say I didn't spend a good part of the trail walking my bike like a pet, rather than riding it like a mean machine. Needless to say, Brant was not in the same position as I.
King of the Mountain
Regardless, the vista was gorgeous and we saw three deer moving in the graceful way that they have a patent on, watching us with their big round eyes and undoubtedly snickering to each other in that silent deer language.
"Hey, Frank. Look at those stupid humans trying to traverse this mountain."
"Yeah, I always get a kick out of them. And I love the way they think wheels will help their situation in the slightest."
"Hey, you wanna go start a rock slide above them and make it interesting?"
"Nah, we gotta get back to the other side of the highway for supper. Maybe next time."
So we were spared.
We were all gung-ho to make it to Josie's Cabin, a good 8-mile ride, when we ran into some park rangers. We asked them about fishing, since Green River from our campsite had been barren. The guy tipped us off that we should head up to Flaming Gorge, that if we fished right below the dam or out of Little Hole with a Countdown Rapala Minnow Immitation that we were guaranteed a catch.
"By golly, I just pulled a 10-pound trout outta there a few weeks ago."
Well, the bike ride was over with those words.*** We headed back the long way to our camp (this tacked on a good extra two miles), packed up and headed for the Flaming Gorge. With a quick stop for propane, we made it to the destination before sundown and were out on the banks below the dam until nightfall.
There were hundreds of fish. Just swimming around and hanging out, having little fish cocktail parties and poker games, happy as can be. And all the other fisherfolk had turned in for the night, so we had the luscious spot all to ourselves. (In fact, this area is ranked as the fourth best fishery in the nation...over 22,000 fish per mile of river, if you can believe that. No exageration needed or employed.)
Choices, choices.
Here's the rub. None of them were hungry. Or at least none of them liked what we had to give 'em. From a perch a bit higher up, you could see the lure traipsing through the clear water, shiny and looking incredibly delicious, and then you could also see the fish snubbing their noses at it as it went by.
So we had chicken for dinner.
Today, we learned the secrets from John at Flaming Gorge Recreation Services. They had more flies in that shop than an elecric blue zapper in Alabama in July. But these didn't buzz and bite you, these were the kind Brad Pitt used in "A River Runs Through It." Along with the thousands of flies was more fishing paraphanelia than one not of the fishing persuasion could ever have guessed existed in the whole world, let alone a single store. John was great. He told us all the tricks (or at least as many tricks as a true local could divulge to a couple of novices such as ourselves). He had an easy smile and what seemed to be an incredible wealth of fishing knowledge. Very helpful.
Catch of the Day
Which is proving true for us right now, as I sit here and type up this little update and Brant fries up two of the four Rainbow Trout that he caught today...each bigger than any we'd seen in the California streams. It sure smells good....
Din-din, a la Brant
***NOTE: OK, for those of you who are worried about the extreme nature of this trip taking a turn downhill, please do not fear and hang in there. We have not been overtaken by aliens who will coerce us into fishing for the rest of this trip. We have not gone soft. We have merely taken a detour into the beautiful country for a week or so, and will shortly be back on the slopes while the snow holds. This is a test. It is only a test. You will soon be returned to your regularly scheduled programming.
