Teton River, Idaho

I was staying in a motel in Driggs, Idaho, when I was told about a particularly good fishing spot in a gorge section of the Teton River. The surrounding land is intensely farmed and as flat as a pancake, so the river is well hidden from view. 

There is a hydroelectric plant in the gorge, and a manmade side channel of deep water just below it. The murky green depths of the pool looked perfect for a streamer. The fly landed with a plop and after a few strips was hit so savagely by a fish that the rod jarred in my hand. The trout, a large cutthroat, was a brilliant slab of gold. With a bit of luck it might have measured twenty inches. It possessed the most unusual scattering of spots I have ever seen in a trout. They reminded me of the blend of Oreo cookies in the McDonald's McFlurry I had enjoyed a few days previously (you'll know what I mean if you've ever had one!). The black spots were prevalent even on the trout's gill plate, lips and pelvic and anal fins. I noted how the spots turned a golden yellow hue on the trout's white undersides. It looked odd and I wondered if it was a disease. Having googled it afterwards, it may very well have been black spot disease which is caused by the flatworm larvae. 

The bottom of the gorge was a peaceful place. The serene hills completely surrounded me, holding me quietly in solitude. It was damn hot down there too. As the sweat evaporated from my shirt I realised that I'd have to ration the water in my bottle to last more than a few hours.  

My suspicions about a disease in the fish were enhanced when I caught a rainbow trout which also had spots on its white underside, although not as profuse as the cutthroat before.

I moved slowly up the gorge, enjoying the views. I had to go slowly because the terrain was rough and boulder strewn as the river swiftly lost elevation in a series of rapids. I sought out the pockets and pools of stable water and was kept preoccupied by some pretty good fishing. Rainbow trout - and at least one obvious 'cuttbow' hybrid - took my fly at a decent enough rate of consistency.  

I licked my lips when I approached one particularly deep pool in the river, for there weren't many of them, and I thought the streamer would be good use once again. But then something large started moving in the depths and whilst I was trying to decide if a fish could be quite so large I recoiled slightly when I realised it wasn't a fish. What was it? It looked like a medium sized dog but then, as it lifted higher in the water, I could see its oar-shaped tail, and for the very first time ever, I witnessed a beaver. It broached the surface and swam in circles and started to slap its tail on the water and I took the message that it wasn't best pleased by my intrusion. I skirted around the pool, clambering over the large boulders at the waters edge, whilst the beaver watched me suspiciously. Seeing it was the highlight of the day for me.

Shadows fell over the river and the air started to cool down noticeably. The drop in temperature was very welcome. I caught my final fish, a pretty little rainbow trout of about eleven inches, as I approached the ruins of a building on the river's edge - something to do with the hydroelectric works I'm sure. It offered a convenient place to exit the river because there was an old vehicle track leading back up the slope.

I reached my car at the rim of the gorge dripping with sweat and with a parched mouth, for I had long since taken the last sip of water from my canteen. I opened the stifling car and took long sips of water from a bottle in the car, without paying too much attention to the fact the water was warm. As I recovered my breath, I realised that it is days such as this one that make me feel truly alive. In an age of increasing interconnectedness there is value in moments of solitude.