Sun Valley, Idaho

My circumnavigation of the globe has come to an end as I write this upon my return to the UK. The fishing part of my trip ceased a few weeks ago. I had designs of exploring and fishing the state of Colorado in much the same comprehensive way that I did in Montana, Wyoming and Idaho but somewhere along the way - in central Idaho - I met a beautiful woman and my trip, at least the fishing part of it, came grinding to a halt. The constant itch to explore trout streams over the horizon, an itch that I have had for the best part of a year now, dissipated as quickly as instant coffee powder dissolves in hot water. I discovered that perhaps the only thing I find more captivating than fly fishing is a beautiful woman.

This was in the vicinity of Sun Valley, Idaho, perhaps best known for its most notable of past residents, Ernest Hemingway, who through his writing did much to popularise fly fishing in America in the early to mid 20th century. Hemingway retired to Ketchum, a delightful little town on the banks of a trout river, but he was a deeply troubled man and he committed suicide here. I paid homage to his grave in the town cemetery, a simple slab of stone shaded by a fir tree, and picked up a copy of his book "The Sun Also Rises" from a book store in the thriving town.

Before I packed away my fishing rod I made two final trips on this leg of my travels. I headed to the hills above Ketchum and spent four nights camping on the banks of several trout rivers - the North and East Forks of the Big Lost River, Wild Horse Creek and the main stem of the Big Lost River itself. This river drainage was collectively the clearest of any river I have fished in the American west and sight fishing was possible at times. The Big Lost River is interesting because it sinks into the ground and disappears completely once it leaves the mountains, following a subterranean course to eventually join up with the Snake River. I caught several cutthroats and rainbows from these streams. The nights were cold up in the mountains though. As dusk fell on Wild Horse Creek a large bull moose with impressive antlers emerged from the tree line on the hill behind me to drink from the creek not far from my tent. When I woke the next morning the mountain tops had been covered by a light snow.

A North Fork cutthroat

The largest of the North Fork cutthroats

Hail storm on the East Fork

Wild Horse Creek - snow fell overnight on the peaks 

Fishing was difficult in the cold, gin-clear waters of Wild Horse Creek

The following week I made a trip to the upper Salmon River in north central Idaho. I had an idea at the time that it would be my final fishing trip in the USA, so I was hoping for a memorable and fitting end. There was to be no disappointment! While expecting to catch trout and mountain whitefish something else took my fly. I had seen the fish in the water prior to hooking it and hadn't been able to make out what it was. I just knew it was large. When the fish took my fly and started to strip the line off my reel like it was nothing more than a casual irritation, I thought I had hooked one of the river's famous steelhead. The fish eventually came to the net - a curious mixture of green and pale pink spots - unlike any fish I had seen before. I wondered if this was a bull trout but the fact that it had taken a #16 Prince nymph seemed to fly in the face of everything I had read about these aggressive eaters of fish (my suspicions were confirmed when the fish was later identified as a bull trout). Whatever it was, in that moment I was ecstatic and conscious that it was unlikely to be topped by any other fish I might catch in the States on this visit. I packed my rod away a final time and my epic fishing trip in the United States came to an end.

The impressive Upper Salmon River valley

The sun sets on my last night in a tent in the USA