Black Fishday - Northern Edition

The day started out like any good Black Fishday should - cold, snowy, foggy, with slick roads. We headed south and east from Wenatchee to fish one of the ditches we had visited a couple years ago. Approaching George, the ice fog was so thick we could barely see where to turn to head towards the freeway, and though the roads weren't bad, there were a number of cars that slid off the road the night before (like the UW marching band bus near George the night before; too bad for the Cougars it wasn't the UW football team's bus that slid off the road...). We took a break for breakfast, and by the time we hit the ditch, it was a balmy 38 degrees or so, almost tropical compared to the 18 degrees from our last visit.

The #7 meal pays off again!

The first deep run was full of large fish, at least a dozen 15 to 20 inches that we could see, but they quickly spooked and weren't interested in our flies, so we started downstream. As with the previous visit, we saw many good sized fish, that seemingly spooked when we were 50 yards away, and caught the little guys that weren't yet as wise. The water was quite a bit lower than our last visit, so it was hard to tell if there were fewer fish, or they were just more easily spooked. We fished about a mile and a half of the ditch, and found fish mostly all along, but not in nearly as great a number as our previous visit.

A pretty day fishing the ditches

We we considering fishing all the way to another road crossing, but just past halfway there, Tom realized he was missing his second rod from his fancy Fishpond pack. And not his cheap Okuma reel/TFO rod (like I fish with all the time). It was his Sage/Ross. Ouch. The clip holding it in had come out earlier, and this time he didn't realize it came off for a long time. So we turned around to see if we could by chance find it somewhere in the thick grass along the banks. We searched where he had fallen in a hole with no luck, so I suggested a point a few hundred yards upstream where he slid into the water when crossing below a hole where I was fishing. Success! After a bit of searching he found it buried in the grass. Our spirits were bright despite the mediocre fishing and the steady rain that was now coming down. They were about to get brighter.

Back at our starting point, there was one thing left to do - Tom had to catch a fish from the bridge. Casting from 25 feet above the water into a bit of a wind was hard, but Tom finally got the correction right for how the line drifted to the right as it settled and dropped it right in the channel where we could see a good-sized albino trout feeding. No luck from the albino, but he did get a decent little guy.

The traditional bridge fish

With success from the bridge, we were about ready to leave, but I encourage him to throw a few more casts towards the bigger fish. The albino continued to ignore his fly, but a couple casts later, he hooked a big boy (or I should say, girl, as you will see in the photo later). With his 5x tippet, he passed on my suggestion to just lift it up like he had the last one, and instead handed me his rod while he climbed down to the streamside below the bridge. Once there, we executed a masterful pass of the rod while keeping as much tension as possible on the line. I reached the tip down so he could hold the line and keep tension, then I pulled line out of the reel and lowered the rod to him. He let me get tension on the fish again and reeled in the slack, and finally I let go of the line and Tom quickly took in the little bit of slack. I then climbed down and netted his fish, a 20-inch beast!

A big fish is always a reason for a big smile, especially when caught from a bridge

While taking the picture she proceeded to drop a ton of eggs - a fall spawning rainbow! That's a new one for us.

Uh, your fish is losing something Tom. It's about a half pound lighter than the previous photo.

So to sum up, a good, not great day (at least until the bridge at the end!). Most fish on small buggers/leeches, a few on a scud. The big lady was on a snowcone red chironomid, which was also a popular fly today drifted from above alongside the bank. Though we were hundreds of miles away from Rob, it was good that see that all the Merrill boys were able to have a successful Black Fishday!

Black Fish-day: Southern Utah edition

The day after Thanksgiving is Black Friday for some, but Black Fish-day for Merrill boys.  Since we were in Southern Utah we decided we could leave after dinner yesterday and drive home to fish with Rick and Tom, or we could just make the 20-minute drive to Leeds Creek.  Proximity won out so off we went late this morning to Leeds and the namesake creek flowing from the northern slopes of Pine Valley Mountain.

It was a beautiful sunny day with temps in the 60's.  Probably a bit more comfortable for us than for Rick and Tom today, who frequently are out in the snow, sleet, hail, or rain doing their best to avoid hypothermia.  Company was good today and the fish were cooperative though the creek was brushy.

Helping Jeff into the brush, er, creek

With me were Natalie's husband Brad and his dad, Jeff who fished with me in Wenatchee when they visited in June.  Leeds Creek is a brushy creek and the section we fished today was no exception.  I had a Renegade on, no surprise, Jeff a Royal Wulff, and Brad with an elk-hair caddis.  We all wanted visible flies.  Sometimes that was to be able to see them on the water and other times it was to find it in the trees.

Jeff watching the fly

We climbed into the creek and after fighting a bit of brush Brad & I had caught a couple of the beautiful Bonneville cutthroat trout.  Jeff went next and managed to have a number of fish to the fly and landed his first Bonneville today.  He also became better acquainted with some Leeds Creek brush.

Jeff's first Bonneville cutthroat 

I had an enjoyable day and was able to get a few extra casts when one of the Scherck crew was in the "penalty box" trying to get their fly out of the tree.  A good host would probably have been helping them but I've been fishing too long with my brothers and a fly in the brush means I'm back in the water for the "power play".

Rob with a "power play" Bonneville cutthroat 

We spent about three hours on the water (and in the brush) and as the sun went behind the mountains we climbed out of the creek and wandered a bit through the brush until we got to the road to walk back to our parking spot.  A short drive home, through the car wash so Mary will let me continue to take her minivan fishing, and it was turkey noodle soup at Grandma's before heading the the theater for a traditional movie night with the kids.

Happy Black Fish-day to all!

Fishing Our Way Home II

We spent the night in Dillon, met our guide at the fly shop the next morning, and headed to the river.

It was an absolutely gorgeous fall day, but despite our guide's best efforts, the fishing didn't match the day. Pretty water, but not a lot of trout were found, and those that were found were less than giant sized. That's the way fishing is sometimes!

We drifted by some pretty real estate also.

By the end of the drift, we were less concerned about fishing the Big Hole and more interested in whether we would have time to visit Poindexter one more time before we headed to Missoula that night. We got off the river late, and by the time we were back to the fly shop and our car, it was about 45 minutes to sundown. No problem. We made it to Poindexter about 30 minutes before sunset, and there were several cars in the lot. Grabbing our rods we practically ran downstream and started fishing the later part of the run we had fished the previous night. With dark approaching fast, we speed-fished, hopscotching each other up the stream searching for the most willing fish. We found a few but not like the night before. Voices distantly heard from upstream and fresh bootprints in the mud made us think we were probably fishing behind someone. As dark approached, we hit fresh water and had a little last flurry of action. Then it was sadly time to leave Poindexter so we could get to our hotel and get a little sleep before our final day fishing our way home.

We decided to give head home by way of Nunya (all roads lead to Nunya when Tom and I are together). It being a Saturday, and arriving midday, we were not sure what we we would find. Bad news. Several vehicles, a couple guys camped and getting ready to head out fishing said there were two other groups already out. Not what we were hoping for. But resourceful brothers that we are, we found our way to a part of the stream free from fisherman and found some rainbows that matched the browns we had found in Poindetxter.

Nice Nunya bows

Beautiful fish

That's a Montana-sized smile!

After a couple hours, we decided to call it a day. While I wouldn't say we were tired of fishing after more than a week, we were satisfied enough to be able to head for home with big smiles and no regrets.

Fishing Our Way Home

Dover had to spend time with his wife on her birthday, Rob was meeting his wife, but Tom and I were free to take a couple days to get home. We chose to head home via Dillon, Montana. We drove to Idaho Falls Wednesday night, then arose early for the fairly short drive to Dillon, where we visited a local fly shop to get information, to buy some flies, and to set up a guided trip for the next day. We were directed to Poindexter Slough, a nearby side channel/spring creek adjacent to the Beaverhead River. We arrived mid-morning and tried fishing some of the funky ways that the shop had suggested, without success. With some fish rising, we soon were fishing hoppers right against the grassy banks.

Poindexter Slough browns

Yup, that was better. Tom caught two nice browns slurping hoppers, and I missed a couple. We ran out of water, and wanted to give the Big Hole a try, so we left with the idea in our minds that we might come back and give it another shot in the evening. The first place we stopped on the Big Hole was a dud. The second place we found a couple fish above the bridge. My first was a native Montana grayling, a surprise to me when I brought it in.

Native Montana grayling from the Big Hole

Tom worked upstream, found some small ones in a side channel, and was surprised by a 17-incher. We continued upstream, but fish were either not there or not willing. With evening fast approaching and the fishing in the Big Hole less than stellar, we bailed and hoped to catch the last few minutes of daylight at Poindexter Slough. Arriving about 45 minutes before sunset, we walked downstream about 15 minutes and started fishing back. We were in the same water we fished in the morning, but  with low light and our confidence in the hoppers, the results were much different. We took turns, one fishing until a fish was caught, then yielding the hole to the other. We were never waiting more than a few minutes for a turn. We raised a fish at almost every bank, big fat browns, feeding on our hoppers with reckless abandon.

An average sized Poindexter brown

We like this place!

We came to a bank where I had missed one in the morning. I pointed to a large tuft of grass and told Tom I was going to pick one up there. First cast upstream, it drifted down, and was grabbed by a nice brown at the exact spot where I had missed it earlier in the day. The light was fading fast, but the fishing wasn't slowing down. We had each landed more than a half dozen fish, all big, fat brown up to 20-inches. In the twilight, Tom broke his fly off in a fish and decided to call it a day. I continued fishing, and caught a couple more, mostly by sound rather than sight.

Yes, it was pretty much that dark when we quit

At the last hole at a railroad bridge where we would get out, I heard a splash and missed one on the left, cast into the middle, another splash and another miss. After a couple more casts, I sensed a problem and sure enough, found the last splash had also taken my fly. With it pretty much full dark, phone flashlights were very helpful, and as we climbed out of the stream and walked back to the car, we marveled at the amazing hour we had just had. An evening like that is something special that you just hope will happen again sometime. Maybe tomorrow night...

Utah Cutthroat Slam II - Day 5

With the slam complete, we bid farewell to Duchesne and fished our way home, starting at the Strawberry in town, where we all found a few more fish, then up below Starvation Dam, where to landed a fat 18-inch brown and lost a monstrous one right below the dam. I found a couple small ones, but that was it. We decided to give the Weber a try on the way home, but first made a stop at my favorite beaver dams, where I caught a dozen nice cutts in several ponds, while Tom and Dover fished another.

Pretty fish from a series of small beaver ponds

We found the Weber with many fisherman, even though it was mid-week, and a squall was blowing in, but we found an open access and gave it a try. I had one 15-inch or so rainbow come up and slash at a bugger, but I think that was about it with our fairly brief stop. No fish at the last stop, but we had plenty of memories and fish from this week together. We'll have to do this again!

Utah Cutthroat Slam II - Day 4

Today was the day for Rob, Tom, and Dover to close out their slams. We would be fishing another south slope stream, Yellowstone Creek, on the National Forest land. The creek was reported to have not only Colorado River cutts, but also rainbows, brooks, and browns, giving us the chance for a different kind of slam, catching all four species of trout in the same stream.

After breakfast at Cowan's (really good pancakes!), we headed north towards the mountains, winding through hills and flatland dotted with oil rigs pumping crude from the ground, a sight that is common everywhere around Duchesne. Arriving at Yellowstone Creek, we found a crystal clear mountain stream in a beautiful forest setting. While Rob and Dover were still getting ready back at the truck, Tom cast into the first run we arrived at, and pulled out a beautiful Colorado River cutt to complete his slam.

Tom starts the day completing his slam on almost his first cast

Beautiful Colorado River cutt

If this was any indication, this was going to be an easy end to the slam, and a great day of fishing. But things are never that easy. I thought we had agreed to walk down a ways, then fish up, so went downstream a bit to a good looking hole while Rob and Dover finished getting ready. By the time I finished fishing the water down below (finding a couple rainbows and a brook), I realized the other three had headed upstream, so I just kept fishing down. I found pretty water, and some fish, but not in spectacular numbers. Missed quite a few beside. By the time I turned around to head back to the starting point, I had three of the four species I needed for the trout slam.

Rick Colorado River cutt is not quite as impressive as Tom's

My nicest rainbow from the several I caught in Yellowstone Creek

A decent brookie from a stream

The high hopes from Tom's first run did not continue for the upstream boys, who worked hard to find a Colorado River cutt for Rob.

Rob completes his slam with a Colorado Cutthroat from Yellowstone Creek

By the time they hit the upstream dam, Dover was still cutt-less. We took a break in the pool above the dam, where we found nothing but rainbows, then headed downstream to try and find a cutt for Dover.

Dover finds rainbows, but no cutts

Starting near the campground where two channels came together, Tom fished with Mike up one channel while Rob and I fished up the other. Tom was polite, letting Mike fish the water first, and Mike was not polite, catching rainbow after rainbow after rainbow. Rob and I found similar action up the right hand channel. A lot more fish here than where we had been upstream. I even pulled out a small brown to complete my four-species slam! (Tom also achieved the four-species slam today)

A little brown completes the four-species slam for Rick

By the time we got to where the channels split, we had caught a bunch of fish, but still no cutt for Dover. And just a little ways upstream, we came to a National Forest boundary with barbed wire across the stream marking private land (that is just wrong!). So we turned around and headed for my backup plan, the South Fork of Rock Creek, a tributary upstream of where we had fished yesterday. It comes in just below Upper Stillwater Dam, an impressive structure that captures water to transport to the thirsty Wasatch Front farmers and cities.

Upper Stillwater Dam (courtesy of Wikipedia)

The gravel road winding through the forest from the dam rose quickly, such that the small stream was far below in a steep canyon. The map showed the road crossing a couple miles upstream, so we knew it had to get closer to the stream further up, and it finally did. Tom, Mike, and I hopped out of the car while the old man Rob rested. This was a small, forest stream, tumbling from pool to pool through rocks and downed timber. It looked like Renegade water to me, and it was. I quickly had a small Colorado River cutt to hand.

Colorado River cutt from S Fork Rock Creek

I called back to Tom and Dover who were still getting ready at the truck that we were certain to find success for Mike here. And we did. Within about 5 minutes, Dover had his Colorado River cutt to complete his slam, and Tom also found a nice one.

Mike got a nice Colorado River cutt from this small creek to finish out his slam

Dover and I would have loved to finish the day in this beautiful little stream with ample numbers of pretty, small, trout, but Tom had visions of more big fish from the Strawberry in town, so after only 10 minutes of fishing, we packed back in the car and headed to town, where as dark was falling, we did find some more and bigger trout in the Strawberry. With the slam complete, we enjoyed a nice dinner at Cowan's and made plans to fish our way home tomorrow.

Utah Cutthroat Slam II - Day 3

We took a break on Sunday for church and family, leaving for Duchesne and the South Uinta streams after a few wonderful hours with lots of family at our sister Kristi's house in Alpine. As we left, I called the hotel to let them know what time we'd be arriving, as it was a small, family establishment that doesn't have someone on site all the time. The owner asked "How many of you are there?" which worried me since I had changed the days of our initial reservation. "Four," I answered. I had spoken with him a couple weeks earlier and said we needed a double queen. A bit of silence, then he said he only had a single queen available that night, but could move us into something else the next. We left it at don't worry, he'll find some way to make it work. When we arrived, here is what made it work!

Tight quarters with a double air mattress wedged between the wall and the queen bed. Note the off-center wall hangings, showing that the queen was pushed over to where the door would barely open!

As we unloaded as little stuff as we could, took pictures and texted them to family, and generally complained a little, Rob's daughter Michelle sent back a text that said, "It's kind of like backpacking, except with a lot more room!" We laughed and realized it is all a matter of perspective, we embraced the adventure for the night, and the next day were moved into two, very nice and spacious double queen rooms for the next two nights.

Monday morning we took a break from the slam and arose early to meet our guide, Matt, for fishing the Rock Creek tribal lands, mostly a brown fishery (the guide is more a tribal member who accompanies you while you fish, not someone who ties on your flies and tells you where to cast. He was a great guy and I enjoyed the conversations with him as we fished). We were fishing in the special permit area, which the tribe manages with artificial lure and catch and release regulations, and only allow non-tribal members to fish with a guide. We were hoping for something spectacular, but met the reality of just a reasonably OK day of fishing.

Rock Creek is a beautiful stream running in a canyon off the south slopes of the Uinta Mountains

The stretch we fished has lots of pocket water, where we occasionally found decent browns.

Tom and a nice Rock Creek brown

Dover found one in a stretch of pocket water

Rick gets a nice brown on a Turk's Tarantuala

We fished mostly in pairs, hopscotching each other up the stream, and ended up fishing a little more than a mile-and-a-half of water, ranging from fast pocket water to nice long flat runs. The only thing that was consistent was the slick-as-snot, irregularly sized boulders lining the bottom of the stream. We all fell or nearly fell multiple times throughout the day.

Dover throws a loop in a flat stretch of water

The best moment (for me) came when I dropped my big, black skully bugger streamer I had tied on into a hole Tom had been running his smaller flies through. I swung it right next to an undercut boulder at the top of a deep hole, and watched as a big brown came full out of the water attacking the fly! It was the biggest of the day.

A 20-inch brown makes just about any day a good day!

While it was a decent day fishing, it wasn't something we would pay a premium to do again. On a return trip, we'd spend more time exploring the water between the tribal lands and the dam, which we visited the next day, finding similar water, lots of risers, but no takers in a brief, evening stop.

We drove back along Rock Creek, stopping for a bit in the non-guide required tribal waters, where we found a number of small browns, but nothing spectacular. Arriving in Duchesne, we made a quick stop at the Strawberry River just a couple blocks from the hotel as it was getting dark. The water was colored, running high, but we found some nice rainbows and browns on both flies and my brass hackle. We closed the day at one of the few restaurants in town, Cowan's Cafe. The food was great, the company better. Tomorrow is the day to find a Colorado River cutthroat for everyone to close out the slam.

Utah Cutthroat Slam II - Day 2

We considered returning to the Logan for more cutthroat fun, but since this was somewhat of an exploration trip to see new water, we decided to start the day at the East Fork of the Little Bear River. We had intel that there were lots of fish in the stretch below the dam. So arising early, we headed to the south end of Cache Valley, an area I had never visited in all the years of visits to family. The burgeoning growth of Logan southward was left behind, and soon we were passing through the valley as I remembered it when I was young - farm houses scattered among green fields (although with occasional modern castles mixed in). We arrived at the river, eager to see what we would find. The first stretch we visited was somewhat dewatered, but looked plenty good. However, in two runs we didn't see a fish. Either fished out or bad intel. We debated leaving, or going upstream a little further above an irrigation takeout we could see on Google Earth. We decided to stay, and it ended up being a good decision. I got out the brass hackle and my telescoping spinning rod, Tom and Dover stayed with flies, and Rob read in the car. Everyone caught fish but Rob. We found nice rainbows and browns in the fairly short stretch up to the dam. But no photos. Oh well, we'd consider coming back here to take a break from catching cutts in the Logan.

It was time to get back to the slam. Leaving Cache Valley, we headed for a tributary of the South Fork of the Provo. The road was pretty rough and it took us about 45 minutes to drive the 7 miles or so into the river, but it dropped us in a middle section of the little stream we thought would be less visited. Rob and I went up, Tom and Dover down. Rob got his Bonneville cutthroat right away at the road crossing.

Rob doubled the size of his Yellowstone cutthroat from yesterday

We then hiked further upstream to a stretch I had scouted out on Google Earth that looked more open. We found reasonable numbers of fish, mostly small, until we encountered a series of beaver dams, including this double decker. In the dams, we found some nicer fish.

Double decker beaver dam, one of many on this stretch

Nice Bonneville cutt from a beaver dam

Rob found a nicer one at the head of the next beaver dam

Time was up, so we headed back to the car, to meet Tom and Dover. They had found some fish, mostly small, and washed out beaver dams. The trip back to the main road was just as bumpy as coming in. We had hoped for more from this stream, but at least everyone had their Bonneville cutt. With a couple hours left in the day, we headed up to try out the full South Fork. We gave it 30 minutes. Rob and I were fishing in shade, which seems to turn cutthroat off, and didn't see a fish. Tom and Mike had some sun, and found a few nice fish. 

I'd smile too, with a beautiful Bonnevile cutt like that1

Not quite ready to call it a day, I begged to stop at the roadside beaver dams I had visited a few years before. Beavers had added to their work, and the dam where I had found rainbows a few years ago now had cutts. Tom and I caught a few decent Bonneville cutts out of the first dam, then I left him to check out the new one I was standing in at the foot of the old dam. I saw a couple swirls as I approached a break in the willows, always a good sign. I made my way carefully into the water, and proceeded to land nine more pretty cutts from the little pond. A perfect way to end any day!

Beautiful little beaver ponds full of willing cutts!

We take a break tomorrow for Church and a family dinner, then it is off to Duchesne and the streams on the south slope of the Uinta mountains to try and find a Green River cutthroat to complete the slams.

Utah Cutthroat Slam II - Day 1

The start of a great week of fishing, as always, high in hope, full of excitement. Dover and Rob picked Tom and I up on the way through Salt Lake and we were off to the Raft River drainage in search of the Yellowstone cutthroat. Leaving the freeway at Snowville, we headed west into the land of ghost towns and almost ghost towns. This is about all that is left of Naf, Idaho.

Naf Dance Hall (photo by Jimmy Emerson from Flickr; we thought of stopping, but wanted to get fishing)

Our destination was George Creek, where we would hike about a mile down from the top of the mountain where the creek starts to where the water gets big enough for the trout to be found. But our path took us by Onemile/Sawmill Creek, where I had fished with Mel a few weeks before. Of course we couldn't drive by water with fish, and the thought was that maybe would could pick up our Yellowstone cutts quickly and have time to fish the Logan for Bear River cutts in the afternoon. So we piled out of the car and got geared up.

The gang at the start of a great week

Since I had the slam already, I guided the others to a couple places that I'd found fish my last trip. Dover was the first to score, finding this monster by dangling the fly by a grassy bank until the fish finally tired of the sight and came up and hit the fly.

Dover and his Yellowstone cutt; good thing there isn't a size requirement

Tom was next, doing some serious maneuvering to get his fly on the water, let alone hook the thing. I was there to put the net under it; it would have been very difficult for him to thread the rod and the fish back out to where he could get hold of it.

Where's Waldo? This shows typical accessibility to Onemile Creek

It takes the Cutthroat Slam to get this excited about a tiny fish

We ran out of fishable sections of Onemile, and started up Sawmill. I joined the fray, hopscotching with Rob and dangling a fly anywhere there was enough water in this trickle of a stream. Rob finally found a willing fry, I mean trout. Now it was just me.

Rob Yellowstone cutt just came out of its egg sac

We continued up the creek, with me dipping and threading the fly through grass and branches anywhere it looked like there could be a fish. I had numerous chances, but came up short on all them. Since I already had the slam, we decided to head for Logan and some real fishing. But not willing to give up, I went back to Onemile while the others ate lunch. First hole, I missed a 6-inch fish that then held in the middle of the little pool and ignored everything else I tossed at it. Downstream a little, I threaded the rod through a tangle of branches, and with only three inches of line out, dipped the fly on a pool surrounded by brush. Three times the fish hit the fly, but with only three inches of line out and the rod in the middle of branches, it was impossible even to strip set, so my only chance was that the fish would hook itself. It didn't. I continued downstream, until at the barbed wire fence prominently marked with "No Trespassing," there was one last, little pool, just on the other side of the fence. With less than a foot of line out, I threaded the rod around branches and under the lowest wire, dropped the renegade on the water, and was rewarded with an immediate swirl. Unable to lift because of the wire, I did a minimal strip set and pulled the fish towards me. As I dragged it out of the water onto a mat of sticks (rod was still under the wire so I could only drag the fish), the hook came out of the nice, 8-inch cutthroat. It lay there for a second, but before I could react to drop the rod and dive for it, flopped back into the water, along with my chance for the second slam. I now have a reason to visit this out-of-the-way place again someday.

With the Yellowstone cutthroat in hand for all those who needed it, we headed for the upper Logan River, where we knew the Bear River cutthroat would be a slam dunk. We split up, Tom and I starting at a campground, Rob and Dover going a little further up to another section we have traditionally fished. They would pick us up a couple hours later. Tom and I started mid-campground, and it took Tom one cast to get his Bear River cutt.

Tom's first of many Bear River cutts from a perfect stream

I had one shortly thereafter, and we proceeded upstream, with hopper-dropper, catching fish after fish. We had more than a dozen before we reached the end of the small campground a couple tens of yards upstream. Lots of beautiful cutts. After a couple hundred yards and lots of fish, the water changed, dropping faster, and we did a lot of walking in big, slick boulders with few fish. As it neared the pickup time, the water flattened a bit, and we started getting into a bunch of fish again. We had about 60 or 70 between us in the two and a half hours, a stellar evening. We saw Rob up on the side of the highway, and I reluctantly climbed out; there is always one more cast to make. The stretch  Rob and Dover fished was renegade water, and they found nearly as many fish, landing 50 or so between them. 

Dover and a long Bear River cutt

Rob's Bear River cutt

With the Bear River cutthroat safely in hand for everyone, we headed back down the canyon to Logan, to eat, rest, and plan for tomorrow. 

Love the Logan River cutts!