River of No Return Wilderness

We enjoyed camping at the Hayspur Hatchery Campground near Silver Creek for several days, not least because it's free! We had one rainy day when we hunkered down and worked on our book projects. When the weather cleared up, we walked a nearby nature trail along Loving Creek and watched a trout slurp flies off the water's surface as they floated overhead. On our last day in the Picabo/Silver Creek Preserve area, we drove back up to the Silver Creek Preserve Visitor Center and walked their nature trail for several hours, hoping to see some moose. We know they're there because others have commented on seeing moose in the visitor's book, but we didn't see any, unfortunately. We did see lots of birds, and lots of trout, and took some final photos as we said farewell to this special area.

Goodbye photo of a stream we loved (Silver Creek). The pool in the left foreground was loaded with trout. You can see them in the photo.

Our next destination is the Frank Church River of No Return Wilderness Area. The "River of No Return" is the Middle Fork of the Salmon River, so-called because of its wild rapids and heavy current through a deep rocky canyon. This river is on Jack's list of the Top 100 trout streams but it's problematic and we've been puzzling to figure out the best way for him to check this one off. Because of the nature of this river and the fact that it's in an extreme wilderness area with very few roads, it's pretty much inaccessible. People can run it in rafts with an outfitter and fish it that way, but you have to have a state permit that is only obtained far ahead of time in a lottery, and the trip takes a minimum of 5 days! We had already determined that we weren't going to take that trip, because of the expense and not wanting to be that far from health care if needed for that many days (plus the sheer exertion of rafting and fishing all day, every day for 5 days and sleeping in a tent on the ground)

Entering the River of No Return Wilderness.

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Jack was hoping to be able to get into the upper reaches of the river -- at least be able to fish one of the major tributaries if not the main Middle Fork itself. We had talked to a couple of fishing guides about driving our RoadTrek on the long (20-mile plus) dirt road into the launching area where the rafts put in and had gotten varying answers. Other than questions about the condition of the road itself, a separate issue was the giant Pioneer Fire (it's burned about 400 square miles so far) that's been going on near this area since mid-July. Lots of roads have been closed and in fact we'd been told by one person, who should know, that the road into the area was closed and that they were having to fly the rafters in. So Jack was now looking at fishing one of the two major tributaries, Marsh Creek or Bear Valley Creek, which we had been told were more easily accessible and had fish.

We headed off once again to drive north of Ketchum over the Galena Pass and into Stanley (where we had some yummy pizza for lunch). This time, the mountain peaks we saw from the summit of the Pass had snow on them, a reminder that winter is not far off in this neck of the woods! Lots of fall color too--very pretty drive. We were heading for Lola Creek Campground: Marsh Creek flows right by it and it's accessible from a reasonably well-maintained dirt road. As we headed off the pavement, we were approached by a woman representing the Forestry, asking us where we were heading. Because of the ongoing Pioneer Fire, they are monitoring traffic into the area and warning people off from the active parts. She gave us a map showing the current "fire footprint" and road closures. Fortunately, where we were going wasn't near the active fire.

Jack in his baggy fishing pants with snow-covered peaks in background.

The road in was washboarded but wasn't too bad. We found the campground and picked out our campsite -- very pretty, wooded, with the beautiful creek, which looked more like a river, flowing right by it. And there was just one other couple camping here! We walked down to the creek, and then Carol went up to talk with the other campers, a very nice couple from Boise, Scott and Vickie. As it turned out, they camp here often and Scott is a veteran fly fisherman. He had lots of good advice for Jack on good holes to fish. However, he told us that at this time of year, a lot of the trout in this creek have moved downstream toward the Middle Fork, where the water is deeper.

Marsh Creek looking upstream.

Marsh Creek looking downstream. 

Note fish trap where rangers tag salmon smolts for identification when they return 2 years later. 

It was early afternoon and a beautiful day, so Jack got suited up and headed for the water to try his luck.

Following is Jack's fishing story #1:

I tied on a large attractor dry fly and to my surprise I got a strike, or a refusal, on the first cast, but no hookup. I fished up and down around where I got the strike, but got no more hits. About twenty minutes later Carol came down saying she found the pool Scott had told us about. To make hours of fishing story short, I tried every pattern I could think of and never got another strike, Toward dusk, I even tied on one of my "big gaudys" that had worked so well two years ago on the San Juan River and the upper Rio Grande River in Colorado. But no strikes. Wow! This catch and release tributary wasn't going to let me check off this river. [end of fishing story #1]

Jack fishing Marsh Creek. It's called fishing, not catching, Jack had to remind himself.

It was dark by the time Jack quit fishing. Carol brought some chicken noodle soup down to the riverbank while Jack tossed a few final flies into the stream. We finally went back to the van and crashed.

In the morning, a bit discouraged about being skunked the previous day, we talked over the options, whether to hike downstream to try to find where the fish went, or to move to Bear Valley Creek and give that tributary a try. Carol ran into Scott and Vickie while walking up the road, and they asked why, since Jack really wanted to fish the Middle Fork of the Salmon, we didn't just drive the 20+ miles to get there (the spot near where the rafters launch). I told them that we'd been told either the dirt road was too rough for our little RV van, or the road might be closed because of the fire. They said our van could easily negotiate the road ("I've seen people bring their Cadillacs in there!" said Scott.) And they said the fire had been put out in that area and the road was open. They encouraged us to go there, to the Dagger Falls campground, where Scott had fished a number of times, and he even told exactly where Jack should fish.

So that did it. Off we went to Dagger Falls, excited to find out that we could actually get to the famous Middle Fork and Jack could fish those waters! The drive was beautiful and the road was long but no worse than others we've had the van on during this trip. This is a serious wilderness area --millions of contiguous acres with no roads at all. We arrived at Dagger Falls around 1:30 pm and were awestruck at the powerful falls and the beautiful clear water.

Gorgeous fall scenery like this was everywhere on the drive to Dagger Falls.

Another gorgeous fall mountain scene. 

As we descended the last mountain, off in the distance (middle of photo) was the rafters camp, where they put onto the Middle Fork of the Salmon. Note dirt road on the right we took to Dagger Falls.

Carol at Dagger Falls viewing spot. Hard to imaging spawning salmon making it up over this falls.

Jack's fishing story #2

Below Dagger Falls was a beautiful pool that just had to contain fish. As usual I started with dry fly patterns even though I saw no insects coming off the river. After nearly exhausting my dry fly patterns, I tried several nymph and streamer patterns. No luck.

Jack fishing a lovely hole below the falls.

Let me see... there's got to be some trout in this pool.

Scott had told me he liked a hole upstream of the pedestrian bridge over the river above the falls. I put on a new leader and a new attractor dry fly pattern and waded alongside the river, casting to likely runs where I expected trout. I even eventually tied on a nymph pattern as a dropper from my large dry fly, which usually does the trick. I fished all the way to the head of the pool where the river was rushing over some large rocks without so much as one strike.

The bridge looking upstream at the rapids and pool

Across the bridge lay an enchanted forest.

An entangled enchanted forest.

Jack on the enchanted forest side of the pool fishing upriver. Can you find me?

Just then Carol joined me and I told her how frustrated I was that I had not got any strikes at all. Carol suggested that I put on the smallest nymph I had with me and try the rapids. I found a small size 18 beaded Hare's Ear nymph and cast into the rapids and let the nymph swing slowly in the current while I raised and lowered the nymph to make it appear as an emerging nymph trying to get to the surface. On the first cast, I had a good strike, but the fish got off. Two more attempts and I caught my first fish. It was a 10-inch, or so, Mountain Whitefish.

Fish on! (Finally...)

A small one.

A Mountain Whitefish is a strange game fish in that it has a small sucker type mouth that makes one wonder how they can catch an undulating nymph in a strong current. I recalled that the first fish I caught on a dry fly several years ago on the Henry's Fork of the Snake River in Idaho was a Mountain Whitefish. How could a fish with a downturned small sucker mouth take a dry fly off the top of a river? I wondered then as I wonder now.

Another cast got me into a much larger fish. This one stripped line off my reel and fought very hard. In the background I heard Carol yelling, "Keep your rod up," as she tried to get out her camera. Carol has turned into quite a fishing guide, I thought to myself. When I finally got this big fish in, which I was sure was at least an 18-inch cutthroat trout, it was, to my great surprise, an 18-inch Mountain Whitefish.

A bigger fish.

While not a trout, it is a game fish and by my rules I get to check off any stream from my Top 100 list as long as I catch a game fish on a fly. Speaking of game fish, the definition is a bit vague. It's any fish that anglers pursue for sport. To me it's any fish that fights hard. As a kid I loved to fish for brook trout in the Laurel Mountains near Uniontown, Pennsylvania. Much later I found out this fish, native to the Appalachian Mountains, is not really a trout but a char. To me they are the best eating fish. They have a pinkish flesh that is delicious. Out west where I am fishing now, the bag limit of brook trout is 25 per day (in Pennsylvania the limit is 6 brook trout. Westerners maintain the brook trout competes with the native cutthroat trout so they want to get rid of brook trout. Some anglers feel the same about Mountain Whitefish. My rule is to turn all wild trout back into the water unharmed. But I have one exception. When a state such as Idaho or Montana puts a bag limit of 25 fish per day for a fish I love to eat, then I take a few for eating. In the eastern waters, I turn back every wild trout, no exceptions

My fishing story would not be complete without telling you about the American Dipper. This is a small charming little bird the runs along the rocks and fishes for aquatic insects (nymphs). I first saw one on a Colorado stream several years ago and could hardly believe my eyes. They always seem to follow me. Here are two photos of the jolly little bird who seems to have the same color as the rocks in this stream.

Here is the American Dipper that Carol photographed as I fished.The bird is in the center. He bobs up and down on his little legs and then walks right into the water, often completely disappearing underwater.

Here's the American Dipper a moment later with his head underwater about to grab an insect.

He stays next to the edge of streams, lest he become fish food for a lunker.

[end of fishing story #2]

Carol met another fisherman streamside and he told her that the pool just above the falls, although difficult to reach, had some fantastic fish in it. Carol and Jack both scouted it out--it required some slightly dangerous boulder scrambling to get down to the water but looked like a fabulous deep pool. Carol scrambled down and it was definitely possible. Since it was late when Jack caught the two fish, we decided to stay the night there at the Dagger Falls Campground so Jack could hopefully fish this pool in the a.m., rather than driving back at night to our other campsite at Lola Creek Campground.

Carol above the pool which is about 35 feet below where she's. standing.

Jack at the same spot thinking maybe he could just lower his line into the deep pool.

But what would happen if he caught one?

However, it rained quite a bit during the night and we decided to get up in the morning and drive back to our original campsite rather than fish more, since the boulders would be extra slippery and it seemed too risky. We also wanted to see and say goodbye and "thank-you" to Vickie and Scott. (We knew they'd be worried when we didn't come back to Lola Creek last night.) We'll always remember their kindness and thoughtfulness --when we weren't back at our site by dark, they even brought some dry wood to our campsite so we could have a warm fire when we got back late. Really nice folks! And Scott gave Jack a neat Idaho souvenir "Flyfish" hat! Thanks, y'all!!

Vickie and Scott, really nice people who gave us great advice. 

Hope we meet again on the road somewhere!

Jack with the new hat that Scott gave him,

It was a satisfying conclusion to our Idaho odyssey--all three rivers, including the real Middle Fork, checked off, with fish caught in all of them. Now we're making our plan to move into Oregon. We drove down into Boise today, our route taking us through parts of huge burned areas from the Pioneer Fire. We never saw any actual fire, but just the results of it. We saw one of the large staging areas for the firefighters in the town of Lowman. Interestingly, we also drove through areas of past wildfires, from 2 and 3 years ago, and the trees and plants are coming back.

Fire Traffic ahead.

Looking down on firefighters staging area and camp in Lowman.

Burned trees right next to the road.

We drove on state highway 21 all the way to Boise, and it took us through the little historical town of Idaho City, which had been a gold mining town in the 1860s. It has board sidewalks and neat old brick buildings--very Old West. Apparently for a short time, this little place was the biggest city in the Pacific Northwest!

Old brick courthouse from 1800s is still the courthouse for the county.

Jack with one of the street gals he ran into on the boardwalk.