There are places I can go anytime I like. They're not just any ordinary places. They're places where the world's headaches cannot inflict their pain, places where the voices of doubt, chaos, and inadequacy that whisper and sometimes scream in my head are replaced by the sound of a harmless late summer breeze carried across a high alpine lake, breaking the glassy surface and replacing it with clever ripples, ripples that will disguise my presence from the wary, wild trout that patrol these pristine waters.
One of these places lies high in the mountains of Wyoming, off the beaten path. After hiking over six miles into the backcountry, the last obstacle involves scaling a steep pitch while skirting a multi-tired waterfall. There, you reach an altitude of just over 11,000 feet where an expanse of alpine lakes greets you, connected by small channels covering a seemingly infinite distance toward the horizon, the only sounds the rustling of the high country shrubs, the babbling of the inlet and outlet streams, and the ever present, ever threatening buzz of alpine mosquitoes. Despite the warm weather, long sleeves are a must, and the shorts I convinced myself to wear instead of pants now seem like a terrible idea. After countless bites, you figure the mosquitoes have sampled every inch of exposed skin, so you start to ignore them. They continue to feast anyhow.
I stop to survey the landscape, learning over the years that it behooves me to pause. This is true in fishing and in life, though one remains a work in progress. Watch the water, look for areas of cover, watch for rising noses to break the uninterrupted surface and sip an unsuspecting insect. In a rebuke of a what's good for the goose is good for the gander moment, the pause does not benefit the insect. Slurp, and then it's back to the cool depths of the shimmering, emerald lake. Watching the behavior of these trout, it is evident they have not seen many people, as any clumsy movement I make (likely swatting mosquitoes), they retreat from the prospect of a meal to ensure their safety. Another pause.
Moving away from the water to set up my gear, I can still see the shadows darting along the bottom for this lake is much more shallow than the ones to follow. Fishing the outlet streams is typically more productive but after striking out there or only seeing very tiny fish who need time to grow, I resign to the idea of sight fishing for spooky Golden Trout. Truthfully, coming up empty would not have been a disappointment, the 7+ mile walk in and up would have felt just like the gift it was, but it sure would be nice to land a few Goldens. As fate would have it, I was fortunate enough to land one fairly quickly despite the less than ideal conditions as the breeze was long gone, leaving a still, polished surface once again.
The brilliance of the gold is almost unfathomable, matched in grandeur by the punch colored stripe along the lateral belly and the underside of the trout from mouth to tail. Not huge in size, but serviceable considering the conditions these fish inhabit- long, harsh winters with food scarcity due to brief yet unpredictable summers.
Satisfied with a few fish from the first spot, I move over the ridge, across another inlet to a much more expansive, much deeper lake, cupped within a cirque of peaks reaching well over 12,000 feet, some climbing over 13k. As the water is much deeper, the lake bottom concealed many feet below, I am able to wade in and cool my mosquito bites in the frigid alpine water. The fish here are bigger but equally if not more crafty. I land a few here as well but cannot get "the big one" to hand. As quickly as it was on, it was off, but I remember the much more robust tug.
Late summer in the alpine is always unpredictable in terms of weather, so as the once harmless clouds begin to turn more ominous and the threat of adverse weather becomes more likely, it is time to pack up and head back down to camp. Nature decided I wasn't to see the remainder of the chain of lakes that day, but what I did see was enough to sustain me, now more than two years later in times of distress and despair but also to ignite that flicker in me to want, to need to get back there one day, to see what I, for now, can only dream.
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