Summer Vacation 2022

Well, it was a good run.  After dodging Covid for two and a half years, it was finally our time, and the timing couldn't have been worse.  Shaun tested positive, on his third test, June 26th, and I tested positive the following day.  With an ambitious agenda planned for our vacation beginning July 13th, this was less than ideal.  I missed two full weeks of work and was completely sedentary for about 8 days, only exerting myself to walk the dog.  To be honest, it wasn't as bad as I expected, but it was bad enough.  Thankful to be vaxxed and boosted, it felt like a terrible cold with an extra dose of fatigue.  I was able to get a couple of easy workouts in before leaving but not near enough to bolster my confidence in my ability to complete our challenging alpine lake objective to hunt for Golden Trout.  We had been waiting three years to go back, so we were determined.  

It finally happened :(

Already sleeping

We initially planned to hit a favorite river trail near Livingston on our drive out, but after a robust winter and a delayed runoff, the water level was high and murky, not at all suitable for our "acclimatization hike to fish" goal, so we pivoted to another location altogether.  A steep, long, and rocky drive up a forest road in the van where I felt every bump and heard every squeak of my seat brought us to a picturesque 6 site lake side camping area, occupied by only three other people camping and a smattering of day users.  After waiting out an afternoon rain shower, we ate an early dinner and headed to the lake for a little fishing before tackling the next day's off trail alpine lake adventure.  We each caught a few brookies and still had time to enjoy a serene sunset.  

Not a bad first campsite

Backyard was nice

Front yard was nicer

I took this picture to remember those five minutes when it wasn't insanely windy

Supervision by dog

Decent brook trout

The sun setting on our first day

 

Rising early the next morning, we set out around the lake to our trailhead.  After an initial mellow climb, we hit the thigh and lung burner portion, ascending to an unnamed pass, pausing to enjoy the panoramic views and apply much needed bug spray.  Traversing across the saddle, we headed south toward a lake we were supposed to be able to see but couldn't.  Only after taking a wrong turn and scrambling over some boulders could we see the reflection of our lake in a cirque that sat across the drainage.  Retracing our steps a bit, we descended into the drainage, losing about half of the elevation we had gained which we would have to again tackle to reach the lake.  We had already accepted we would be rained on, but what we hadn't planned on was the cold temperatures and relentless wind.  With those, eventually came hail, thunder, and lightning.  In between storms, we fished, but all told, we probably spent thirty minutes or less actually casting to fish.  Shaun caught several nice Yellowstone Cutthroat while I caught a couple of tiny ones, though I did manage to catch one on a dry fly after bouncing it off the lake's last remaining ice chunk, a remnant of a long, snowy winter.  With the weather intensifying and showing no signs of dissipating, we accepted our fate and made the long climb back to the ridgeline where the gusty wind nearly blew my hat off my head.  Once over the saddle, we made the descent back to the lake where we devoured some homemade chili cheeseburgers and cookies.  Aside from taking off your hiking shoes, post hiking eats are the best.  

After a long climb, a windy vista

Not our lake, but pretty

Our lake is over there, actually visible from this point

Do you see it?

There it is

Descending into the drainage so we can ascend again

A brief reprieve from the wind but ominous weather incoming

Getting a few casts in before the first round of thunderstorms

It was supposed to be in the 70's... it wasn't

A lovely cirque

Thunderstorm number one... we were not amused

Yellowstone cutthroat

Nappy boy

I bounced a dry fly off the ice shelf and a willing cutthroat nailed it

Realizing the weather is only getting worse

The wind gusts blew my hat off my head

Van naps

Bug spray and beer, name a better combo

Post hike eats

Our initial plan was to head to Cody, Wyoming to recover a bit and prepare to depart for our backpacking trip on Sunday morning, but our off trail adventure coupled with recovering from Covid took a bit more out of us physically than we planned, so we decided to cut our backpacking trip by one day.  While it felt like a gut punch to make that call, we both knew it was the right one.  Carrying a day's less worth of food and having an extra day's rest on the front end gave us more confidence that we could tackle the tall order facing us (more on that later).  Even though it was Saturday, the fishing reports for the Madison River were calling it some of the best fishing in a long time.  We couldn't resist, so we woke early and hit the road, hoping to arrive by mid-morning when the PMD hatches were starting pretty consistently.  We expected a zoo, but to our surprise, we were able to drive right to one of our favorite spots, pausing briefly to watch a sleepy red fox rise from its den and hunt some small rodents.  After a slow start to our day, we noticed some green drakes buzzing around and turned our attention from the main river to the threads near the bank.  Fish after fish after fish, rainbows and browns of good size.  We worked our way downstream for the next hour or so before deciding to call it a day and make our way to Cody.  Despite my aversion to Yellowstone in peak season, it was the fastest route, so we crossed our fingers, said a prayer, and headed in with trepidation.  There's a saying my parents used when blessed by repeated good fortune, "we must be living right" and that we were because we breezed right through with hardly any traffic aside from a nothing jam in Hayden Valley.  Arriving in Cody, the temperature was 100 degrees, and we were super grateful to be in an air conditioned hotel, which happened to be right across from the Cody rodeo.  We picked up a pizza from a local joint, and while the ingredients were tasty, they literally forgot to put sauce on it, so we had lots of cheese sticks for dinner.  

A little fox friend

Hunting for breakfast

Got this fish off a green drake in a shallow side channel riffle

And this one further down

One of his favorite places on earth

Waiting for our room in Cody

The next morning, we headed toward our jump off point for our backpacking trip, a campground we had visited four years prior when we were constantly dodging wildfires.  We happened upon it by accident, and it is now one of our favorite places.  Despite having the desire to fish some of the creeks nearby, we had a lot of packing and organizing to do for our backpacking trip, so we spread our gear out all over the campsite and got to work.  The camp host told us that morning a moose cow had bedded down near our site.  After a dinner of thin ribeyes, zucchini, and potatoes, we strolled down to the lake for a few minutes to let Birch run free as we keep him leashed in those settings.  Returning to the van, our camp neighbors finally arrived.  It was a Danish family of four traveling the American West for six weeks in a camper van.  They were super nice people.  Americans really should get their kids out and travel internationally more.  Waking at 5:30 am, I stepped out of the van to let Birch out to use the bathroom before we packed up and headed to the trailhead, about 45 minutes away.  Because it was early and no one was around, I didn't put on his leash because he is under great voice control, and it's a good thing, too because as soon as I turned around, about 10 yards beyond our van was the moose cow, bedded down in the tall grass and willow bushes.  Birch was great, returned to the van just as asked despite his full bladder.  From the van, I snapped a few pics with my zoom lens.  The cow was completely disinterested in me and clearly at ease with my moving around the van, so I put Birch on his leash, and we headed in the opposite direction for him to do his business.  We walked the campground loop, and on our way back to the van, I spied a huge bull resting in a similar spot next campground over.  After taking Birch back to the van, I grabbed my camera and snapped a few pics of the male from a good, safe distance.  As I was doing so, the Danish family was rousing and heading to the bathroom.  I gave them the universal symbol for moose and pointed, at which point they walked over to take a look.  They hadn't seen moose yet, so they were pretty excited.  Returning to our van, Shaun told me to walk over to our picnic table- oh my gosh!  What we didn't realize is that the bull was actually only about 20-25 yards from our site.  All we had to do was change our viewing angle, and there he was!  He was also really calm and at ease, so we snapped some pics and had a couple of other campers come over to observe him.  Everyone was really good about not approaching, which was refreshing.  Leaving later than we hoped but with an exciting animal encounter, we made our way to the trailhead.  

Flower boy at the campground

A little lake time before dinner

Almost walked right into this one

Bull moose behind our campsite

The same bull moose from another angle

Our morning moose watching meant we arrived at our trailhead a little later than planned, delayed even further by spotting a moose calf along the way.  No matter, the encounters were well worth the later start.  Our trailhead is a popular jumping off point for equestrian/stock trips, so after passing a large staging area, we rounded the corner to the trailhead proper and were pleased to find only three other cars in the spacious lot.  Leaving out on a Monday and due to the fact this trailhead accessed numerous hiking areas, we knew our odds of solitude were quite good.  Making our final packing decisions and preparations, we slung our heavy packs onto our backs, locked up the van, and scarfed down a few last pieces of the watermelon from our cooler.  To be honest, I had quite a bit of anxiety about my readiness for such an ambitious objective, only a week or so free of Covid symptoms and with only two or three days of moderately strenuous exercise under my belt following illness.  I tried to put those thoughts deep in the recesses of my mind and take a measured, deliberate approach.  We identified some waypoints to take scheduled breaks for ourselves and to make sure Birch was drinking plenty of water.  The first two miles passed rather quickly, with us ambling through an extended wide open meadow before crossing the second of two creeks and ascending sharply but shortly to a rocky bald where we could see our destination peaks in the distance.  Pausing briefly to allow some departing backpackers and their dog pass, we soon descended into the forest toward our second waypoint, a marshy, mosquito infested lake a little over 4.5 miles from our car.  Despite the swarms, we stopped for ten minutes to feed Birch some of his snack and have a quick snack ourselves.  Back on the trail, we began to climb away from the lake before reaching a junction that signaled the final climb before our next break, another two miles along the trail.  We planned this break to be thirty minutes to give ourselves plenty of rest before completing the final 3 miles of our ascent, which would be the most demanding and treacherous.  The higher we ascended of course, the more aggressive the mosquitoes.  We had bug spray, head nets, and essential oil bracelets that proved surprisingly effective.  Unfortunately, you can't spray dogs with bug spray, and the impregnated bandana we had for Birch was no match for these mosquitoes.  When Shaun suggested using one of our bug nets on Birch, I thought he was crazy for several reasons, namely that Birch wouldn't tolerate it.  Fortune favors the bold as someone says, so he cloaked the dog in the head net, and he seemed to realize this was keeping the bugs off his muzzle and fell fast asleep, finally content, not having to constantly shake his head or scrape his nose with his paw.  

I've never actually seen a Columbine until now

Meandering meadows at 8500 feet

Cloud cover helped keep our temperature regulated

At first he hated it

But then realized it was pretty helpful

And then fully embraced the head net

After our water and snack break, we walked the mile around the lake to the next unknown.  The last trip report I read for this trail was from mid June when the creek was impassible and in the throes of peak runoff, but given it had been several weeks, our optimism was high that it would be doable.  It was, but it was deeper and swifter than we liked, but we pressed onward and made it to the other side of the trail to continue our ascent toward the waterfall.  We climbed for about a half mile, pausing to scope out the increasingly dark and ominous clouds behind us.  Soon after, we started feeling rain drops that became larger and more frequent.  We ducked under some thick trees for cover, hoping the shower would pass quickly.  It didn't.  We waited for about thirty minutes and made our move once we had a slight break in the weather.  I knew we would get rained on, but I didn't plan for what happened next.  Reaching the waterfall, we began our climb adjacent to the cavernous canyon, scurrying and scrambling up slick rock on a non-existent trail with only periodic signs of travel.  The ascent up the waterfall is about 1.5 miles, straight up and unrelenting.  It was not easy four years ago when we did it in daypacks, and it was hell this time with backpacking gear, rain, and recent Covid bodies.  Eventually the thunder rolled and the sprinkles turned to full on downpour, so we sheltered again, this time under less dense trees that were pretty ineffective at shielding us, but it somehow felt more appropriate than just standing in the open.  We waited thirty more minutes, two more times.  We began to feel a little pressed for time as all these delays were really eating into our contingency cushion, but we haven't figured out how to control the weather yet, so all we could do was wait.  

First glance at where we are going, yep, up near that tallest point

We had to cross that creek, fortunately much lower downstream

The clouds are moving in (this is looking back, in front were blue skies)

Second shelter seeking, one more to go

Taking advantage of some unexpected nap time

Type II fun

Eventually the rain gave way to blue skies with fluffy, high mountain clouds, and we continued our climb.  There were a couple of spots where we had to reverse course after cliffing out which involved retracing our steps over boulders taller than me, and I was really starting to feel the weight of my pack, my age, my hunger, and all of the other shortcomings my brain was trying to bring to my attention.  I struggled to maintain a balanced mentality, so when I find myself in that situation, I go to the most basic thing I can think of- I count my steps.  First to one hundred, then I re-evaluate if I want to continue (the answer has always been yes so far).  Then to one hundred again and again and again.  There was one dicey section in particular where we probably should have reversed course and looked for an easier way, but fatigue, low blood sugar, and the desire to just get there took over.  This is the most dangerous place for me, and I have definitely pushed beyond what I should at times, and this was no exception.  We were basically bouldering up a steep slick rock section, three points of contact always, relying on the last remaining glucose in our bodies and sheer stubbornness to pull ourselves up what felt like the final major obstacle.  We paused for a minute before continuing for another half mile that suddenly felt easier when given the perspective of what we had already done.  Cresting the last rise, we saw our first lake, the lake where we caught our first golden trout four summers prior.  We sat for a couple of minutes but given we had lost nearly two hours to weather, we knew we had to keep moving as it was nearing 5 pm at this point.  

Beginning the long ascent on a fisherman's trail

We had to negotiate several tiers like this, basically up and over the rocks each time

This is the trail... Shaun and Birch are just under the ledge

Finally to the first lake, but we're not staying here

We traversed around the first lake which somehow seemed much larger than we remembered, reaching another decision point.  The lakes in this basin are all connected by inlets and outlets, and it's always an unknown what the depth of these will be.  Our first trip here was three weeks later in the summer and during a low snow year, so we had little difficulty crossing in ankle deep water to the other side of the second lake.  Well, this year, the snowpack was robust and persisted much longer, and given that we were here mid July instead of mid August, some decisions had to be made.  Where we anticipated crossing was moving pretty quickly and was wider than we hoped.  We looked around for the best options because now we had to consider our dog as well.  When we fish and the water is too deep or swift for Birch, Shaun carries him across.  Well given the weight of our packs and tired legs, that was not an option this time.  Finally, I spied a route that might work, so readying a handful of bribery treats, I directed Birch into the water and toward a barely submerged boulder.  He followed and sucked down a few treats before I crossed to a small island where he could hop up on the bank, more treats, and then our final crossing, knee deep on me, to the other side of the lake.  He was a champ and got the rest of the handful and lots of praise and pets.  What we noticed as we crossed where hundreds of golden trout scattering and swimming beneath our feet- it felt great to see them, even if we knew there was no way in hell we were catching them tonight.  What I failed to mention earlier is that as we ascended into the basin, we also had the pleasure of battling at least 30 mph winds with gusts that were easily in the 40-50 mph range.  As we looked for a suitable place to camp, the realization that we were gonna get hammered all night became as clear as the water we had just crossed.  It's great to be at or above treeline until it isn't, and this was one of those times.  Shaun set out to set up the tent while I got going on our dinner.  I'm not sure which was more challenging- controlling the tent or trying to keep the jetboil flame going.  

The only photo I took once we got to the top on the first night.  I was dead, and it was so windy and cold

The whole time we climbed, I remember feeling so tired, almost lethargic, which I chalked up to being old, out of shape, and recovering from Covid, all of which are valid, but I was also experiencing a severe sore throat, sneezing, and sinus pressure and congestion.  I could hardly eat my food because my throat was so sore, and I had developed some sore spots in my mouth, under my tongue.  I still have no idea what those were, but looking back, it is pretty clear I was dealing with rebound Covid. I have been at altitude before, and I am well aware of what altitude intolerance and sickness feel like, and that is not what this was.  I felt terrible, and I felt just like I did during the first few days of Covid.  I couldn't let myself dwell on this because it was too scary to contemplate, so I choked down some chicken and rice and part of a Snickers and went to bed.  No fishing, no photography, just sleep, or attempts at sleep as the wind battered us literally all night to the point it felt like our tent was going to cave.  Luckily, it didn't.  I awoke the next morning, tired but feeling a little better than the night before.  I grabbed my beanie, zipped up my puffer, and unzipped out of the tent to take Birch to the bathroom.  We had talked about going up to the next few lakes but given how long of a day we had the day before and how I was feeling, it began to feel less and less like a wise idea.  Regardless, I walked a ways, and I couldn't help it, I just wanted to keep walking, so I did.  I followed the inlet as it cut through a rocky canyon that was probably 20 feet deep.  Arriving at the next lake, I took a few minutes to drink in the surroundings, hoping I would be able to weather the whipping wind and cold temps and see the sun rise over the predominant peaks in the region.  Because the peaks here top out at over 14,000 feet, it was going to be a while, and I started to get hungry.  I also hadn't told Shaun where I was going, and it felt irresponsible to be this far away and not check in, so we headed back the way we came, arriving back to the tent just as the sun crested and cast that orangey morning glow on the peaks surrounding our campsite.  I shouldn't have worried about Shaun- he was still asleep!  He woke soon after, and we had some oatmeal and hot chocolate as daylight crept over the basin and brought us some much needed warmth.  It also brought the wind, so here we go again.   

Early morning light

Influencer pose: check

The stream that ran between the chain of lakes

Rays beginning to touch the distant peaks but not warming up quickly enough

Our campsite where Shaun was still fast asleep

Light starting to creep along

Closer to being warm

Closer

There we go

Yes

Despite less than desirable wind conditions, we remained dedicated to our mission to catch some Goldens.   Everyone who fly fishes dreams of big fish hitting dry flies in a surreal alpine setting, but the reality is, sometimes it's windy as hell, too cold to wade into the lake, and the fish are just not feeding on the surface; so, you do what has to be done.  But before you totally resign yourself to your fate, you continue to force dry flies at them for much longer than you should and then reluctantly tie on a nymph below your dry and pull in some beauties.  The wind continued to batter us, relentlessly, and given how much the hike in took out of our out of shape bodies, we knew our best and least uncomfortable option would be to hike down in the evening and save ourselves the down climb in our heavy packs and a subsequent seven mile hike out with achy knees.  We hated to say goodbye, and the climb down was terrible- though not as terrible as the climb up- but as awful as all of that was, getting below treeline was bliss as we were finally sheltered from the wind.  Still not feeling well and without much of an appetite, I choked down half a PB sandwich, half a Snickers, and lots of water before hitting the tent for a terrible night of congested, head pounding sleep.  

I know it looks like Shaun is peeing, but he isn't.  Not sure what he is doing, but there is no urine in this photo

The outlet connecting to another lake

King of the mountain

Hundreds of Goldens just right here

Here's one

And another

Finally happy, still windy, but warmer

We caught several fish out of this

Like this one

Last time we were able to wade out onto those rocks, much too cold this time

Making our way out

And back across

Last look at our lake

Second night's campsite

Tired boy

We woke early to frost, go figure, which made leaving the tent less than desirable.  I can only imagine the damage I have done to my bladder tone refusing to get up and answer nature's call on these unseasonably cold backpacking mornings.  After a bowl of oatmeal, we packed up our gear and started the long march out toward the closest burger joint we could find before heading to a well earned two night Air BnB stay.  

Frosty camp shoes

Felt like we were always waiting for the sun

Heading out

Birch taking random breaks in the middle of the trail

A longer break leaves plenty of time for a bully stick

No better feeling than taking off your boots.  Had a terrible time with blisters between my toes

Birch adapted quickly back to house life

We slept in a bit the next morning and decided to head out to fish a small stream about 30 minutes from our house.  We caught several cutties right off the bat, even got into a short duration green drake hatch.  Moving from run to run, we continued to have excellent action well into the afternoon.  The fatigue from the prior days was starting to hit, so we elected to fish one last section.  I had been casting to a large cutthroat under a cutbank with micro stone having it rise once and miss, so I moved lower down river before doubling back for one last chance.  I put a cast in there perfectly and bam!  I got a great look at this huge fish.  No sooner had I shouted, "got him!" with one violent head shake, it was gone.  To be honest, as disappointing as it was to lose that fish, it was just such a cool moment.  We moved up to one last pool, where Shaun also had a battle with a crafty old cutty.  The stream was no more than ten feet wide with a deep swirling back eddy.  Just as he was about to give up, the monster rose up and smacked his fly, and we were off on a chase down river.  He finally corralled one of the biggest Yellowstone cutthroat I have ever seen.  Vibrantly colored and pretty ticked off to have been fooled, we grabbed a couple of quick pictures and sent him on his way, both of us still shaking from the excitement of it all.  No better way to end a day on the river.  We returned home and got started planning our yet to be planned last three days of vacation.  

Caught the first fish on the edge of that riffle

First of the day

I thought this was a good fish, until later

Switching to micro stones

Great views, no people, all wins

Shaun caught several fish out of that run

Low holed by a Chevy

The cut bank where I lost my big fish

Had to settle

Shaun hooking up with Cuttzilla

OMG

Fish of the trip, easily, probably fish of the summer

On a bamboo rod

The call of the Big Hole and brown trout was too much to ignore, so we booked a cabin for two nights that included a private stretch of river.  It also apparently included a bonus dog named Taz.  As we headed down to the river later in the evening to check out the access, Birch got a glimpse of what it would be like to have a brother.  He actually did well but was definitely confused... and jealous anytime one of us would pet Taz.  We caught a few brown trout fishing till dark before heading back inside for dinner and some drinks.  

Birch and new friend, Taz

Taz was a willing swimmer

Chunky brown

We were up early the next morning to beat the mosquitoes and had some quick action, mostly browns again.  Seeking a change of scenery, we headed up into the canyon to fish for a few hours before taking a mid afternoon break as the temperatures rose too high for fishing.  As the evening fell and temps cooled, it was back to our little stretch for last call on this segment of our trip.  After pulling in several browns in a shallow riffle, I decided to head up to the cabin to do some sunset photography as some area wildfires provided some promising cloud cover for a colorful end to the day.  Shaun stayed at the river and probably caught way more fish than he admitted.  

Shaun hooked Taz in the arse with a barbless fly, Taz did not come back to fish with us the next day

Little brown to start the morning

Back to the cabin for lunch

Back for the evening hatch, some nice blues on this one

Swinging a Chernobyl ant through a riffle

Shaun working the run

Birch supported me while I took photos

Curled up

The Chernobyl ant was the fly

Sunset over farmland

Unexpected rain and cool temperatures tempered our desire to spend a couple of nights around Missoula, so we stopped to fish Rock Creek for a few hours.  We pulled in a few trout each, dodged rattlesnakes, and explored some enticing new water.  As a thunderstorm rolled in, we elected to make the full push home, deciding a night in our own bed and a day to unpack before returning to work would help make our transition back to reality a tad easier.     

Bank fishing for browns

Storm rolling in

Back home we go

Another vacation come and gone, and it gets harder and harder to leave Montana every time.  Maybe someday we won't.