Henry's Fork, Idaho

I'm going to go out on a limb and declare the world's most famous trout river to be the Henry's Fork of the Snake River in Idaho. There can't be many fly fishermen who haven't heard of it. There are other contenders of course and in the end it's a bit like trying to decide which of Manchester United and Real Madrid is the more recognisable football team. Henry's Fork is steeped in lore and the Railroad Ranch section, or just "the Ranch" as it's affectionately known by locals, is its most famous and challenging section of water. Here the fish grow big and they do it by outwitting anglers through their ultra selectivity and talent for spotting drag. My guide book describes the experience as "graduate school fishing for Ph.D. trout". I couldn't pass by and not accept that challenge.

I fished the Ranch for an evening and then a second day from late morning to the evening, and boy, I can confirm it is tough! The temperature was energy-sapping hot and the skies were bright and clear, and those are probably the toughest conditions to fish in. As a result, the best fishing, when things started to happen, was in the cool evenings as dusk settled in. Trout rose as the skies darkened but even then they proved extremely difficult to tempt with a fly. During the heat of the day I saw no rises and when my team of nymphs drew no interest I sat on the treeless banks and waited for the evening, snoozing through the hottest part of the day, when the river banks were eerily quiet and devoid of anglers.

Henry's Fork is a wide river through the Ranch section, where it contours through a vast meadow plain, but in most places the river is shallow enough to wade across. The meadow setting, with hills to the west, made it an attractive place, and the wild flowers which grew along the banks added to its charm.

The First Evening 

I got skunked on the first evening. I had about four small fish snatch at my dry fly but none were hooked. I saw two large trout in the eighteen to twenty inch range feeding on the surface but both melted away and disappeared after my fly drifted over them a third time. 

Both banks were lined with fishermen and women and I noticed that none of them enjoyed any success either. "It's a good place to be taught a fishing lesson" said one. "I'm off somewhere else where I can actually catch a fish" joked another.

The Second Day

After that first evening I promised to hit the river early the next morning, to give me every chance of success, but I slept in and then enjoyed several cups of coffee at my camp site in the trees while I finished a gripping novel. I arrived at the river just before 11am, when there were still a good few fishermen about, but most were finishing up and making their way back to their cars. I felt a little guilty about my lazy morning but I soon began to feel better about it when the general consensus from the fishermen I passed was one of frustration. "There's just no bugs" said one. "I've been here since 7am and had one take which I missed, that's it" said another. I started to feel quite glad about those extra hours of sleep, and even satisfied that I'd spent my time reaching the climax of my novel instead.

I hadn't seen a single rise since I had arrived so I tied on two small nymphs and fished them unsuccessfully for a while. One of the river's grey-haired old boys passed me and we got speaking. He told me he fishes this section of the river every day and I told him how lucky he was to do so. "It has been tough" he said, "there just ain't no bugs for them to rise to, but don't you worry, they're there, still feeding sub surface." I agreed and showed him the nymphs on my line, hoping that with all his experience he'd tell me if I was trying appropriate patterns. He looked at me in horror. "Nymphs!" he spat. "This here is dry fly only, to rising fish!" I asked him when last he'd seen a fish rise, but he turned his back on me dismissively, the conversation over, and as he walked away I heard him mutter, "we don't fish nymphs here!" I was left a little stunned at the interaction. Had I just encountered Frederic Halford's American ghost? The only notable regulation at the Ranch is 'fly fishing only' and within that, anglers may use any fly they want, including  nymphs. The way I see it, it's a bit like religion. You're free to follow any religion you want but don't preach it to me or get angry if I don't follow suit.

It's a good thing the old boy wasn't around to see me fish a streamer later that day. Dries and nymphs had not worked despite hours of futile trying, so I figured why not a streamer. I cast out a black and purple sculpin and on it's first retrieve - strip, strip, strip - it was absolutely smashed by a very large fish. I saw the trout's spotted tail leave the water and splash down on the surface causing a large eruption of broken water. My heart raced. This was one of the Ranch's big fish. And then... nothing... my fly had broken off and I exhaled a great breath of air which I had unknowingly held in. That was my one chance and it was missed. A little part of me, admittedly only a tiny speck, was grateful that I wouldn't have to explain to the old boys that I had caught one of their prized denizens with a lowly streamer!

Gulls appeared en masse in the early afternoon to snatch small mayflies from the air. It was still too early in the day for the trout to show an interest in them.

I waited out the heat of the day, fearful that I would leave the Henry's Fork without a fish to show for my time on this famed water but as the evening wore on, I finally hooked one of the little fish which had for the past hour been snapping fruitlessly at my dry fly. As the fish came into the safety of my net I breathed out a sigh of relief - I'd finally caught a trout from the Railroad Ranch and I didn't care what size it was! And the old boys who frequent this river could look on with approval and be satisfied that it had taken a dry fly.

The Ph.D trout of the Ranch had dished out a stern lesson to me, but having at least held one of its famed rainbow trout in my hands, I could perhaps lay claim to having passed my first semester at the graduate school of the Henry's Fork.