Turning 40...

After months of restricted activities and travel, I had reached the point where I knew I had to get out and go somewhere.  I was turning 40 and going crazy trying to navigate the overrun trail systems in Washington.  There are so many new hikers since COVID, it's become increasingly difficult to find solitude in a place where it was already challenging due to the rapid population growth in the PNW in general but especially the Seattle Metro Area.  There was also the matter of my bucket list, which included hiking and fishing in the Uinta Mountains and possibly landing a Tiger Trout (brook trout/brown trout hybrid).  So, after careful consideration, we elected to head down during my birthday week.  The plan, as always when we travel now, is to minimize our contact with other people, so we elected to tent camp the first half of the week along Mirror Lake Highway and stay the last half of the week in a fishing lodge in Dutch John, where we had a full kitchen and wouldn't need to go to restaurants or would at least do carry-out as needed.  

We took our time getting to Utah, opting to spend the night in Twin Falls before driving the rest of the way.  I make a point to check forest service updates for campground status, and I had researched all possible locations in order to ensure we had access to a campground that would meet our needs.  What I didn't find anywhere was the fire ban, so with our truck packed to the brim, we managed to squeeze in a few bundles of wood only to find there was a strict fire ban including in established campsites.  Not what we were hoping for given overnight lows in the low 30's/high 20's and shorter days/longer nights, but given the obvious drought, it made sense, and we of course complied.  Thankfully we had our Mr Buddy propane heater to keep in the tent to allow us to stay nice and toasty.  It was great to have our friends, April and James, drive up from SLC and camp/hike with us for a couple of days.  

(If viewing on a desktop, pics look better when you click on them to expand their size)

Almost ready to go...

Self serve apparently

Pretending to be too proper to be guilty

Given our need to acclimate to altitude, we took it pretty easy the first day- did a short hike with some cross country hiking to some lesser visited lakes.  The quest was simple- good scenery and Tiger Trout.  The scenery was easy- pristine, serene, alpine, and best of all, we saw 2 people far across the lake and then only one other person from afar the whole day.  The fishing, on the other hand, for me, anyhow, was a freaking grind.  Windy at times and otherwise so sunny it was nearly impossible to fool a wary trout.  Shaun managed to get into a few nice fish including a beautiful Tiger fairly early in the day, which gave me hope since we still had several hours of good fishing time.  I just couldn't get anything to materialize.  My frustration mounting, we started making our way back toward the main trail when I went to peer just over a small rise in the landscape, and down below was a perfectly still lake cupped in sizable boulders and tall columnar thrusts.  I gave myself 30 minutes, and if nothing happened, we'd hike out and go have dinner in the fading daylight, fireless of course.  There were plenty of fish feeding, but I just couldn't coax one to commit to my fly.  One last gasp, one last try, and I was able to nab a Bonneville Cutthroat- not the species I was aiming for, but the first time I've caught that strain of cutthroat, so it wasn't really a disappointment.  Our friends were super patient with us given they don't fish- they got some reading and napping in, but I am sure they were more than relieved I finally got on the board.  The sun set quickly and after scarfing down some dinner, we all retreated to our respective tents and hunkered down for another cold night and an early rise with a longer hike on the horizon.  

First rule of cold weather camping, don't leave the tent till the sun hits it

Only when the sun is up can you go sniff for moose and deer

Embarrassingly easy access to this place

Casting between gusts

Shaun caught a beautiful brook trout here

Got to add a purple haze to this dead tree

Traversing around the lake to hit the off trail portion

Dogs that hate each other is a very effective social distancing technique (haha)

Second lake

Shaun found the first tiger

Looking back toward the first lake and the highway

My last gasp location to land a fish

Small ones count, too

Traversing back to the trail

Post hike spirits (and water)

It was even colder the next morning than the one prior, and we reluctantly pulled ourselves from our toasty sleeping bags and into the vehicles to set out on a 13.0 mile hike into the High Uintas.  When we arrived at the trailhead just after 8:15, it was 28 degrees, but once we were moving, the temperature was actually quite pleasant.  After about 3 miles, the trail went from easy to impossible for about three quarters of a mile, and from there the whole rest of it felt like a struggle.  Even little Birchie was struggling with the altitude to the point that we had to stop him because he was having diarrhea and showed signs of not tolerating our ascent well, plus it was now fairly warm and exposed.  Shaun, being thoughtful and gracious as always, offered to sit with him a couple of hundred feet below while I caught up with our friends at the lake.  I walked the remaining 10 minutes or so (they were so close!), and it was vast, emerald, and utterly peaceful.  It was just the three of us plus their hearty Uinta pup.  Given it took way longer than we imagined to get there and the distance we had to descend, our time at the lake was short- a few pics- and it was time to go.  The three of us returned to where Shaun and Birch were waiting.  He was doing a little better having had a nap and a lot more water.  Our friends had to get going and make their way back to SLC, but we lingered a little longer, giving Birchie more time to recuperate.  Then we made our way down with one stop off to an unmarked lake that was supposed to have big but spooky trout.  Nothing doing on the fishing after about 30 minutes, and we were quickly approaching our turnaround time.  Of note, the first lake was crawling with decent size brookies, who were feeding like crazy, but no way I was fishing that while Shaun waited with the dog.  We packed up and made the long descent, hating even more that one particular section we hated equally on the ascent.  We arrived back to the truck as the sun was setting, the hot chocolate still steaming in my thermos.  Given the darkness, we drove half an hour into Wyoming for the only food we could find- McDonald's, and I took my prophylactic Pepto, as McDonald's makes me sick 100% of the time.  As we drove back to the campsite, the biggest bull moose I have ever seen lumbered across the 4 highway lanes, right in front of our truck.  Luckily there was no collision, and we all went on our way, but it was an incredible sight to witness.  We hit the tent and fell into a comatose sleep, waking to find the next morning considerably warmer.  

Hitting the trail early for a long day in the alpine

Just before hellscape hill

He will soon understand why I am so tired

April looks so small against this backdrop

So great to hike together again

The lake with all the brook trout

So green

The lake with no trout (well none that wanted to play)

Refilling the water

We took our time packing up the tent and campsite and then set off driving around in search of some fishable beaver ponds or other easily accessible water.  We ended up fishing a small stream where we caught a few brookies, missed a few more, and just enjoyed slow playing our exit from the Uintas making the familiar drive to Dutch John that we have done many times of the past three years.  We arrived at our hotel suite, unloaded the truck and each enjoyed hot showers (after I wiped everything down throughout the suite with Clorox wipes of course haha).  

Warming up after a cold finish to the hike

High altitude hangover

Mall hair butt fur

Must monitor all squirrels and gray jays

This dog loves relaxing next to a river or stream

Lovely spots on this small brook trout

The next morning we were set to fish the Green from our new Flycraft.  The weeks prior and especially the night before, we sat down and reviewed the rapids sections, watching YouTube videos and noting how to negotiate from that and the Flyfisher's Guide to Utah (an excellent book by the way).  We arranged a shuttle with the Flaming Gorge Resort (where were staying), and put the boat in down at the launch below the dam.  I drove the truck back up to the top parking area and made my way down the trail that returns to the launch area.  There was quite a logjam of guided trips and single rafts ready to put in, so we waited our turn, and then launched.  Shaun was on the oars as I hadn't practiced yet.  He did an amazing job negotiating the river, including a the two rapids that were most dangerous, up to class 2+.  Birch did great, too, riding up front most of the time peering into the water and absorbing shots of whitewater to the face.  The scenery of the Green River is unmatched throughout the year, but in fall, it is truly spectacular.  The contrast of the emerald water, the red canyon walls, and the golden cottonwoods combining for unrivaled beauty.  The fishing was, in a word, non-existent.  We saw plenty of fish swimming beneath our both as well as toward and then away from our flies!  I hooked two,  Shaun caught a 6 inch brown trout, and other than that, it was all about the experience.  We soothed our disappointment knowing most other people on the water that day had similar struggles, even guided trips.  For a river that boasts (and isn't exaggerating) 15,000 fish per mile in some stretches, it was a humbling day.  We've had some great fishing days on that river, and this day we just had to settle for a great day on the river.  

He settles in nicely

Life is different now, haha

Truck parked for shuttle pickup

Now time to walk down to the launch

Yes, very

Scenic walk to the launch ramp

Launching

So long

Captain for the day

Best mate

Lunch break

Waiting to see if I open the turkey

Magical colors this time of year

Time to float the last fishless half

It may not look like much, but it was quite challenging as you have to hug that rock face to avoid the exposed rocks in the middle of the river.  Shaun handled it like a pro

Once we cleared the Mother-in-Law rapids, Birch gave us a big nope and jumped out of the boat and swam to shore for a break

Usually a day where you catch zero fish is a disappointment, not today

Out

The next day was Friday, my 40th birthday, and our last day before we had to start our journey back home.  My tiger trout count was still zero.  We got some info from a local guide about a couple of lakes within an hour and a half drive that held sizable tigers- say no more!  We were only about 30 miles of forest road driving away, but it took the full hour and a half.  All told though, the roads were in great shape.  We drove through grove after grove of aspen trees, at peak color no doubt.  There were hunting camps, little makeshift homesteads sprinkled just about everywhere along the drive, and while that isn't our thing, it's great to see people out enjoying the vast acreage of public lands in Utah (and keeping it clean).  We arrived at the trailhead and geared up for about a 1.5 mile walk in to the first lake.  The trail was mostly level though rocky in places.  We made it to the lake quickly and were relieved to see no signs of another human.  We rock hopped across the outlet stream and over to the far side of the enormous lake.  There was a stiff breeze that would come and go, so timing our casts, we started chucking flies to no avail.  Shaun did something crazy and tied on an enormous grasshopper imitation fly.  We had read that tigers will eat aggressively and you should throw something bigger than you think appropriate.  That turned out to be very good advice.  First cast after tying on the hopper- BAM!  A monstrous strike, a lively struggle, and somehow I didn't blow netting it, and there we were staring at a huge tiger trout- Shaun's second of the trip.  Now full disclosure, I was super happy for him but not so low-key pouting as I felt mounting pressure to catch a tiger of my own.  One short little emotional meltdown later (hey I was 40 that day!), and I soon had my first hit.  The trout didn't get the fly in its mouth, so I tossed another out, and this time, there was no miscalculation.  After a few jumps, spins, and head shakes later, it was in the net!  My birthday fish!  And make no mistake, it was the most beautiful trout I have ever seen.  Shaun dubbed it the Pumpkin Spice Latte fish- golden, brilliant orange, and marbled.  It truly was a looker.  After a few pics, it was back in the water, and I just stood there with the biggest grin of the trip.  A sense of accomplishment overtook me, and I just spent some time enjoying that feeling while Shaun continued to haul in more huge trout.  We eventually made our way around the lake to an area that looked more wind protected.  We had a bit more action there and then worked our way back toward our starting point where we continued to have takes on that huge grasshopper... at 10,000' of altitude, in October, at 55 degrees!  The striking beauty of these fish was something to behold.  There really was a high level of color and pattern variability you just don't see in wild species.  Late in the day, two other people showed up but remained far from us, so our feeling of solitude went undisturbed.  We made our way back down to the truck- we didn't even make it to the second lake- and back to the suite, stopping to snap pics of the brilliantly bold aspens along the way. 

Sunrise among the aspen

Morning light is the best light

Home of the tigers

And sleepy dogs

Shaun on the board first with a biggie

Such pretty fish

Beautiful patterns

Birthday wish granted

Pumpkin Spice Latte Trout

The prettiest fish I've ever caught

Goodbye

Shaun with another monster that jumped out of the net before I could get a pic

Each fish had such unique markings

More napping

Finishing the day off with a little streamer action

He never gives up begging for food

Wonderful colors

Shaun surprised me with a video from some of my favorite people.  Kelly surprised me with 40 birthday gifts

And my favorite of all

The next morning,  we rose, took a million trips to carry our gear out to the truck and grabbed one last fond look out over the Flaming Gorge and made the day and a half drive home.  This trip was everything I hoped it would be, even the slow fishing in Dutch John couldn't detract from it.  It's one of those trips I find myself retreating to in my mind when the daily pandemic grind gets to me, and it does, but I am so thankful to have the capacity and the memories to grant reprieve from the madness.     

Till next time

Finishing off with some SEC football

I miss my old life...

There, I said it.  This transition back to "regular life" has proven increasingly challenging over the past couple of months, with no help whatsoever from the insufferable month of January (how can a month feel so long, and how can it rain so much).  As the distance between my old life and my new life grows, so, too, does my sense of loss.  The one thing I can say is that throughout our year of travel, I never once took that time for granted, knowing that while it felt limitless, that it was, in fact, incredibly finite and fleeting.  I always realized and appreciated the enormity of that gift.  I think I appreciate it more now, even though those thoughts bring both enduring memories and concurrent sadness and as hyperbolic as it might sound, mourning.

Watching the sun set or rise is a luxury I never take for granted

René Daumal was a French spiritualist, writer, and poet- I have never read any of his works, and only know the Wikipedia details of his life, but long ago I read a quote from his posthumously published novel, Mount Analogue, and it has stuck with me since.  It is a quote I have turned to frequently to help cope with what I'm feeling these days:
 

You cannot stay on the summit forever; you have to come down again. So why bother in the first place? Just this: What is above knows what is below, but what is below does not know what is above. One climbs, one sees. One descends, one sees no longer, but one has seen. There is an art of conducting oneself in the lower regions by the memory of what one saw higher up. When one can no longer see, one can at least still know.

That quote used to simply sum up my feelings about the outdoors in general.  Why go through all the sweat and pain to climb something only to come back down and go back to regular life?  Why get up at 2am to catch a sunrise at the top of a mountain?  Why stand in the frigid wind all night on the chance the northern lights might make an appearance (all the while being terrified of the dark)?  Why walk uphill on skis, in the snow, the ice for three hours, only to take a 10 minute ride down?  Why stand in a frigid river in the middle of January for hours to catch a fish and put it back in the water to swim and spawn another day, and let's be honest, some days you do that and don't catch anything?  Why do all those things?  They are temporary, they aren't lasting.  There's money to be made, educational and professional achievements to chase, letters to add behind my name and title.  Simply, I just don't value those things as I did before.  Once you experience life in the mountains, alpine lakes, rivers, snow covered peaks, those things never leave you, and they never let you down.  You will never be disappointed.  Earlier this summer, a friend and I hiked to a lookout for some up close views of Rainier, and if you've ever hiked to a lookout, you know that though usually brief, those hikes always demand a lot of up!  We got to the top and couldn't see a thing, nothing.  Pea soup, ping pong ball, whatever descriptor you want to apply, but yet, I still found plenty of satisfaction and beauty in that day.  I've stood in many a river all day and caught nothing, but I have never regretted it (okay maybe that one day when my waders leaked, and it was 27 degrees outside).  Sometimes when you don't see what you want, you see what you didn't know you need.  You go looking for one thing, but it isn't there, so it allows you to observe and appreciate the proverbial "little things."  A dew soaked evergreen, the way the dense fog rolls over the mountains, how seemingly choppy water feels smooth down deeper in the current, or just simply laughing and goofing around with those you love (which is sometimes, in reality, bonding over the suffer-fest).

There's a mountain there, I swear

Dead on look at Mt Rainier

Fog makes for crummy summit views but beautiful forests

Splitboarding isn't glamorous in the traditional sense

When else can you be the only person fishing this stretch of river?

Noticing the details

Laughing is good, laughing at others is great

So cold

Sometimes you just have to find shelter from the wind where you can eat your Little Debbie snack cake and drink your hot chocolate from a shot glass

Sometimes hiking is making the best of terrible situations (this trail was described as "a little overgrown")

My favorite thing is getting on the trail early before everyone else, though on this trail, we saw hardly anyone all day

What goes down has to come back up eventually, but at least there will be pizza

The only acceptable animal selfie- we had to detour a ways to give this big guy his space

The prior quote has since taken on new meaning after we returned from our year off.  When my daily grind is getting the best of me, I can take myself back to climbing the face of a waterfall to that secluded alpine lake in Wyoming, standing in ice cold water at nearly 12,000', catching the elusive golden trout while accumulating an impressive total of mosquito bites.  I can take myself back to watching the sun rise over the Tetons while hearing wolves howl and coyotes yip in the distance.  I can take myself back to spending nights under the stars in Montana, to breathing the thinnest air amongst a glaciated Peruvian cirque at 15,000', to snow covered larch in Canada, to otters swimming and playfully scampering along the river bank in front of me, to watching grizzlies forage along a hillside, to watching the sun rise and set in the same day and being outside for all of it.  I also have beloved memories steeped in far less grandeur- a giant piece of sheet cake from Safeway after hiking out of the backcountry, a real shower after 6 days without one, a cold beer by the fire, and a toilet that flushes (or just a toilet in general).

Watching an eagle watching us as a storm rolls in 

One of the best Teton sunrises I've ever seen

Grizzlies feeding in the early morning

Just passing through

Some places are truly unbelievable

All the makings of a great day, and we even caught a lot of fish

I love seeing these things far off the beaten path

This happened to be right on the beaten path

This was special

From right up here

Good news- we got to ascend another 600 meters!

This is our hidden gem

A camp visitor

A horse during a Wyoming golden hour

A cool summer morning and a parade of bison (taken with a very long zoom lens)

A slab of cake and some Canada milk

No better way to unwind (and keep the mosquitoes at bay)

Backcountry shower

Home truly is where your heart is

These days have hit me hard with reality recently, but I am beyond grateful for the opportunities Shaun and I have been able to take advantage of, our hard work and dedication to fulfilling our dream and transforming our lifestyle and priorities.  That continues now, and we'll do this whole grand thing again in the future, but for now, I'm content that while I can no longer see, I can at least still know.