Home Water

The holiday weekend is over, so might as well!  Forty-five minutes away.  It's late July, and as I descend down to the parking lot at 7:30, there's one, count 'em 1, lone other car in the lot.  The trail up river is empty, and I pass the other angler half way to my destination knowing I have the whole river to myself.  The boat ramp is 6 1/2 miles up river, crowded with guides followed by splash and giggle rafts that won't reach me until I'm done. There's a riser or two as I walk up, but I never see any bugs.  Nearly all the fish I target eat one fly or another. 

She's fully green

Forest fire smoke really blocked the sun for the first half of the morning.

This pool is always full of trout and a few risers.

Sometimes.  Should have went to it earlier.

Some other times, and some long-follow refusals.  The fish here love to nose bigger flies for several feet of drift.

And a few on this fly that originated right here, so they say.

They're skinnier than their Beaverhead Valley cousins.  This is a less-fertile tailwater.

It became sunny and bright late morning.