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After
getting our park permits at the entrance office, we rode in from a
trailhead inside Yellowstone National Park, accompanied by our guides
Terry Search and James Hancock, and a pack mule named Teddy, the nicest
mule I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting.
All of the Y.M.G. horses are in excellent condition and well broke
to boot and I almost took a nap on the big bay named Bear as he skillfully
worked his way over fallen trees on the trail, requiring no guidance at
all on my part. Teddy carried our provisions, including the float tubes
and cooler. The trail was easy going and the ride to our destination was
short and pleasant.
I don’t think I’ll ever forget the vista as we rode into the clearing. The lake was alive with hatches of blue damselflies and fish were rising and leaping all over. James, our “moose wrangler”/entomologist pointed out the rafts of damsels that moved about on the surface, advising us to match the hatch to increase our chances at a grayling. |
Terry had predicted the situation and brought along some amazingly realistic imitations tied at Blue Ribbon Flies in West Yellowstone. We turned out the horses and had a delicious lunch, dining on sandwiches made with soft herb bread, while James and Terry readied our float tubes. Then it was time to don our flippers and launch our vessels. This was a whole new venture for me – I was much more comfortable on Bear, but after some clumsy struggling I got out to the deeper water and soon got the hang of maneuvering myself into position to cast to the cruising fish that rose at regular intervals. We were into fish immediately; big fat rainbows that took with a vengeance and put a mean set into our 5 weight rods. I broke one off and to my dismay realized the rest of my damselflies were safely tucked into my shirt pocket, which was lying on the tarp in the meadow. I opted to substitute a Madam X, which was accepted with the same relish and after several more rainbows I began to wonder if perhaps our plane had crashed and we were actually in heaven.
There was only one thing was still missing; my grayling. I reeled in my fly to check the damages and it was apprehended by a little bolt of lightning that struck mere inches from my tube. I drew the fish toward me and was surprised to see that it wasn’t a trout – then I laughed out loud when I realized it was in fact a small grayling! I had noticed a temperature change in that area of the lake and I wondered if I had drifted over a spring; perhaps this was the right place to pursue my quest. After a few more casts my theory panned out and I was rewarded with the fish that gave me the courage to climb on an airplane in the first place; my coveted grayling.
I took a quick measurement on the net apron of my float tube (14”) and then admired what in my opinion was the most beautiful fish I have ever seen. The sunlight on its lavender and silver sides made the fish look as if it were carved from abalone shell and the iridescent dorsal fin flared into rainbows against my hand. Unfortunately, the distance between Jeff and I prevented him from taking my picture, so I was forced to attempt a photo from the tube. As the fish swam in front of me I snapped shots of the tube, my flippers, the sky and hopefully, the fish.
I managed to slip my camera back
into my wader pocket without dropping it into the lake and grabbed my forceps
from my vest. After removing the
fly from the grayling’s jaw I watched it swim slowly through the crystal clear
depths into the weeds beneath my dangling feet.
I felt a sense of euphoria in this place; floating silently in the middle
of a lake on top of the world, surrounded by fish and a breathtaking view of
incredible snowcapped mountains and awesome blue sky. I thanked the Lord for the
opportunity to be there; to see firsthand the “Big Sky Country” and be able
to enjoy the company of great fishing guides and real horsemen on what was truly
the trip of a lifetime.
