Tag: Wyoming

Posted on

Yellowstone: The Firehole River, Gibbon River, and Nez Perce Creek, September 21, 2025

Immediately after our weeklong Montana road trip, Kris and I made our second trip of the summer to Wyoming, this time into Yellowstone National Park. It was my third trip to Yellowstone, Kris’s second, and for me this trip was meant to take care of two bits of unfinished business: I wanted to stay at the Old Faithful Inn, and I had never caught a fish in Yellowstone.

When I first visited Yellowstone, circa 1961, I was five, and was probably better qualified as bait than a fisherman. Other than some state capitols and the Mormon Tabernacle, the Old Faithful Inn was likely the largest building I’d ever seen. It was certainly the most magnificent. We didn’t stay there.

I saw it again circa 1994 when our children were small, after having seen a lot more of the world, but it was still one of the most magnificent buildings I’d ever seen. We didn’t stay there that time either.

This time we spent the night, two nights actually. It was a bit more than $600 a night for a cramped room with a good shower and a cranky, sticking dresser. I hurt my hand when I tried to close the dresser drawer with a good whack. My hand didn’t take kindly to the whacking and the drawer remained stuck. Forcefulness is probably not one of my strong points.

I tell you the cost because of how disproportionate it was to the service. For $600 a night no one made our bed the second day, and there was nary a chocolate on the pillow. Towels dropped on the floor stayed on the floor. Still, after all the busloads of tourists were gone, you could walk into the Old Faithful Inn lobby and sit in a chair and have the view all your own, well, all your own along with a few dozens of others, but that was nothing like the hundreds of others packed into the lobby during the day. The next morning walking out of the hotel at seven I got to see Old Faithful serendipitously erupt. That stuff made the stay worth the money. Once.

Back to fishing.

At age 40 I had a midlife crisis and started tying flies. Over the long haul, going ahead and buying a Ferrari would probably have been cheaper, but of course I thought by tying my own flies I would save money. At least if I’d bought the car it would have been paid for by now.

I also started reading everything I could find about fly fishing. I read whole volumes with titles like Caddis! and Reading a Trout Stream! This was before the internet, when there were still books and magazines. The local Orvis store had shelves of fly-fishing books for sale. None of that reading taught me how to cast, or even how to cast better, but it did give me a good geography lesson as to where I was supposed to fish.

For most anglers then fly fishing was still principally about trout, with some salmon thrown in for exotica, and while Trout by Ray Bergman isn’t mentioned much now, it was then considered holy writ. It was first published in 1931, revised in 1951, and is allegedly one of the best-selling sports books ever published. It was not only impossibly long, 482 pages in the current edition, it was also dense, and even after I waded through I had poor notions of what Mr. Bergman was talking about.

I remember three things about the book. First, I was stupidly proud of finishing it, even though to me it was incomprehensible. I suppose I hoped finishing it would make me a better angler. It didn’t. I got a lot more angling advice out of the second half of War and Peace, though probably a bit less out of Heidegger’s Being and Time. They were both incomprehensible too, so there could well have been angling advice.

Second, illustrated color plates of flies are very pretty, and I can study them for hours. I mostly remember Trout for the pictures. Trout has a lot of mighty fine colored engraved plates, 17 or 18, and because Bergman was a completest, they included plates of pretty trout lures for conventional tackle. They didn’t include plates of cheese balls or salmon eggs.

Third, after finishing Trout, I really wanted to fish the Firehole River. The one substantive thing I took from Trout was that Bergman had fished the park when fishing the park was probably more exotic than fishing the Seychelles is now, and his descriptions of fishing park rivers were thrilling, almost religious experiences, or at least they caught a lot of fish. And the Firehole was his favorite and the most exotic of the lot.

So on this trip we fished the Firehole, and then we fished the Gibbon and then Nez Perce Creek. We didn’t catch much. It sounds rushed, cramming three rivers into a single day, but it wasn’t. The three rivers are reasonably close together, and we drove some, walked some, and then fished each for a couple of hours. I caught two tiny trout, one non-native brook trout and one non-native brown, not much for all the effort and nothing of any size. Kris didn’t catch anything, but she would have fished the same river bend on the Firehole all day if it hadn’t been for an intrusive buffalo.

Away from the parking areas there were no other anglers, though we did keep seeing buffalo.

We had just spent five days fishing with Montana Anglers in Montana’s Madison River area, so we were both fishing pretty well. For Yellowstone we also hired a guide from Montana Anglers, Will Kyle. Boats aren’t allowed on Yellowstone Park rivers, so you have to wade, and on our pre-trip telephone call, Will asked us if we could hike a bit. I didn’t know what to tell him. I’m in reasonably good shape for an old guy, and Kris is tougher than me, but if Will was going to hike us ten miles into the backcountry we probably wouldn’t come home happy. Will was considerate though, and it wasn’t ten miles. It was a comfortable bit, way less than a mile, but once we walked away from the cars Yellowstone was a different place. There was nobody there but me, Kris, Will, and the buffalo.

This was as close as Kris would get to the buffalo. I made sure I stood behind her.

We fished two dry flies all day, with a size 14 or so Parachute Adams trailing a larger indicator fly that looked to me like a size 10 or so Parachute Adams. You can’t go wrong with a Parachute Adams.

It’s rare any more to fish dry flies for a day, flies that float on the surface of the water. It’s not that it’s really harder to fish dry flies (though on the surface it’s easier to see your mistakes), but they are usually not so sure of catching fish. Fish take most of their meals underwater, not on the surface, and dragging a couple of nymphs underwater will more likely catch fish than floating a fly on the surface.

That said, dry flies are more fun to fish. They’re prettier, and seeing a trout break the surface and take a fly is as good as fly fishing gets. We were wading. We were fishing dry flies. We were seeing some fish. We were also in one of the world’s most beautiful places.

You always remember best the fish that you don’t land, and there was a moment when Will and I were standing on a bank above a dark pool watching my flies and saw a tiny bright trout — tiny? it was a monster! — shoot out of the dark, grab at my fly, and then disappear again without taking. We both laughed — shoot, I likely squealed with delight like a wee bairn. It was absolutely better that the fish was never hooked.

The Firehole flows through active geyser basins, and it gets its name from the steam rising from geysers and hot pots along the banks of the river. There are apocryphal stories about anglers catching a Firehole trout and then cooking it on the hook in a neighboring hot pot. Of course now the Firehole is all catch and release, so don’t do that.

The second river we fished was the Gibbon. The Gibbon was named after a member of the 1872 Yellowstone survey expedition, and it joins the Firehole and forms the Madison River at Madison Junction. The third stream, Nez Perce Creek, is named because in 1877 the Nez Perce led by Chief Joseph cut through the newly designated park on their run from the US Cavalry.

Sometimes in these late days I feel just a hint of what the Nez Perce must have felt when they took off from Oregon towards Canada. For the first time in my life I wonder from time to time why I stay in Texas, where we seem to be constantly striving for more than our allocated quota of meanness. I have always believed Texans to be inclined toward kindness and generosity and friendliness, but these days I’m not so sure.

And after seeing all 50 states, I’m more confused by us Americans than when Kris and I started. Still, having wandered for a day in Yellowstone, just watching the water with no greater aim than catching a fish, I do know this: We as a people did right with Yellowstone. We can have unalloyed pride in our absolute rightness when we formed the park.

I’m sure that someone could point out to me many times we as a people have done pretty good with other stuff, but I suspect that the times when we were absolutely right are not that common. There’s Yellowstone, the Emancipation Proclamation, the defeat of the Nazis in World War II, the First and Fifth and Fourteenth Amendments, the Clean Water Act, and maybe the Declaration of Independence. In those things we were as right as anyone anywhere has ever been.

Mostly though we muddle through, just like our ancestors muddled through, and when we do the right thing with the right will and humility in the midst of the muddle it should be celebrated and revered. Yellowstone is one of those places for celebration and reverence.

And maybe we catch fish, maybe not, but there is no better place to stand in North America than in the Firehole River, away from the crowds, watching tiny trout slap at flies floating on pure waters.

And now I’ve caught my Yellowstone fish. I surely hope that Caldera don’t blow before I get to go back there.

Posted on

Road Trip, Part 4, Packing List, Smith Falls State Park to Houston, June 20-22, 2025.

Kolache

It’s a toss-up between a good kolache1 and a good donut, but I’d probably choose the kolache because they’re less common. Pretty good donuts can be found in lots of places, but the best kolache are found only on the edge of the interstate in small towns. In Texas they’re common enough, and in one of the best things you can say about anyplace kolache are common in Nebraska.

Kolache are Czech, re-homed by Czech immigrants to Texas and the Midwest, and are most often compared to Danish. It’s not an apt comparison. Danish probably originated in Austria, are often glazed, and like croissant are made with a laminated dough. Kolache should never be glazed,2 or laminated, and they feature a mildly sweet pillowy yeast dough.

Kolache are about the size of a biscuit. The center depression is filled with either a fruit preserve, sweetened cream cheese, or sweetened poppy seeds. A kolache without any filling would be a tiny bread loaf, not a kolache, and there’s no such thing as a sausage kolache. Except there are sausage kolache, but more on that later.

Many years ago I witnessed a panel discussion by a group of Tex-Czech bakers, who said that traditional kolache were filled with prune preserves, sweetened farm cheese, or poppy seeds. The panel members had all grown up on small Central Texas farms during the Depression, and explained that their mothers baked the big three because prunes were very cheap, everybody–meaning every Czech farm family–had a cow and made their own farm cheese, and that there were always poppies in the farmyard. I guess that in addition to farm cheese all those Czech farm wives made their own opium.

Kolache are filled with all kinds of fruit, not just prunes. I’d probably eat any kolache offered, but if they’re available I usually order one or more of the big three: a farm cheese, poppy seed, or a prune. At the kolache counter in Hruska’s in Ellinger–which sells my favorite kolache and where there’s always a line–the woman behind the counter once beamed when I ordered all three and said that those were the three kinds of kolache that her mother always made. That touch of tradition made both of us happy.

I don’t know the history of Kolache in Nebraska, or even how I knew that Nebraska, like Texas, loves kolache, but we had a campsite reserved for three nights at Smith Falls State Park near Valentine, Nebraska. Since by the first morning we had our Nebraska fish (or more precisely I had my fish and Kris had decided not to fish), the next morning we packed up our campsite a day early and took a 150 mile frolic out of our way to Verdigre, Nebraska, the self-proclaimed Kolach Capitol of the World.3

The dough in Verdigre Bakery’s kolache is a little different from Texas kolache. It’s less puffy, denser, more bite sized. . . Maybe the dough is a bit less sweet. After extensive sampling I couldn’t tell any difference between Texas and Nebraska fillings. The picture above is of poppy seed, so I guess opium is also a farmyard cash crop in Nebraska.

The lady in the Verdigre Bakery said that Texans sometimes stop by for kolache, but that we always asked for sausage kolaches. Kolache with sausage are not actually kolache, but klobasnek (or pigs in a blanket). Calling klobasnek “sausage kolaches” is common usage in Texas, and they’re made with the same dough as kolache. Still, even if it’s common usage, the misuse greatly annoys some Tex-Czechs.4 Kolache lovers from other states are just confused.

From Verdigre we drove another 180 miles out of the way to Omaha, because we had never been to Omaha, and somewhere during the drive to Verdigre we decided that this was our big chance. The College World Series was scheduled to start the next day, and Omaha’s streets were crowded with LSU purple and gold. I didn’t see any Coastal Carolina fans, which was the other team in the Series, and like their fans the Coastal Carolina team didn’t show up much for the World Series. We saw the stadium, and the lively district around the stadium, then drove on to Wichita, Kansas, where we spent the night. During that round-about meandering we crossed into Iowa, so I guess we actually drove through nine states, not just eight. The next day we drove 560 miles home from Wichita, a day earlier than we had planned.

Gear

In Wyoming they told us to bring six weight rods, which is a heavier rod than is normal for trout, but these were big fish in heavy current, so a six weight was a good idea. In South Dakota we used five-weights, which is the most common rod for trout. I tried a three weight spey rod to fish the Niobara River, but that didn’t go too well. I had Winston rods, Kris had a very old 1991 Orvis Rocky Mountain six weight, and she said it was so heavy she could barely lift it.5 I suspect she might have been exaggerating just a bit. She also had an Orvis Helios 3 five weight, and there were no complaints from her about the five weight.

We only used cold water floating lines. In Wyoming and South Dakota we mostly fished with underwater nymphs under indicators. In Nebraska I caught those extraordinary bass on black Pat’s rubber legs fished as streamers.

Our Car

This was a road trip, so a few things about our car.

Pre-trip my car had about 50,000 miles on it. The week before the trip we had scheduled maintenance done, and on the dealer’s recommendation had a brake job and I replaced the battery. I had the tires rotated at Discount Tire. I installed a Victory 4×4 rear window molle panel and upper shelf for storage in the cargo area, and re-mounted the fly rod vault on the roof rack. The upper shelf and the rod vault were useful, the rear window molle panel wasn’t but it looked manly. The fly rod vault holds four assembled fly rods, and rod vaults are apparently required by law in Colorado. They’re certainly common enough.

In addition to the rod vault I bought a Pelican gear box and mounting hardware from REI. I got the smallest box to minimize wind resistance, but it didn’t hold enough stuff. I should have bought the largest size.

In Wisconsin years before our muskie guide had demonstrated the cargo drawers in his truck, and since then I’ve wanted a set for our SUV cargo area. Plenty of companies sell cargo drawers for pickups and SUVs, but they’re expensive, and I thought that I could build my own. It took me about three weeks of intermittent labor, and the result includes the appropriate number of design flaws. I built two 35″ wide drawers from side to side, 30″ deep from front to back. The lower drawer is about 10″ deep and the top 6″.

I loved the top drawer. I could throw in my sunglasses and reels and rod tubes, my fly boxes and maps and camera, and all the other smallish stuff that would otherwise be rattling around loose in the back of my car, but the stuff I put in the bottom drawer would have done better in a duffel. Or a larger roof box.

What’s worse, the two stacked drawers ate up the back of the SUV, and the first time I went to the grocery after installation I realized that except for the back seat I no longer had anyplace to put groceries. When we stacked duffels on the drawers we couldn’t really use the rearview mirror. The drawers will get rebuilt as two shallower drawers, hopefully by our next road trip.

By the time I rebuild the drawers I figure it will have cost me as much as buying pre-made drawers in the first place.

Buc-ee’s

Buc-ee’s is a chain of travel centers, placed strategically along Texas interstates. The first Buc-ee’s was near Houston in Clute (home of The Great Texas Mosquito Festival). I have a love-hate relationship with Buc-ee’s. Once when I fished Matagorda Bay I parked my car for the day in an out-of-the-way corner of Buc-ee’s Wharton parking lot, and management tagged my car with a semi-permanent sticker that told me to never, ever leave my car in a Buc-ee’s lot again. It took an hour of scraping to get the sticker and the residual glue off my car window. It wasn’t very neighborly, and a polite note would have gotten the message across. I also don’t trust their brisket or kolache (though I do give them points for having brisket and kolache), and I hate crowds. Buc-ee’s interstate travel centers are huge and are always crowded, though there are so many urinals in the men’s room that there’s never a line.

On the plus side for Buc-ee’s, there are things you have to respect. There are all those urinals and the bathrooms are immaculate. The gas is cheap. You can buy many strange and amusing things in Buc-ee’s, from barbecue pits to onesies for the grandchild, they don’t allow 18-wheelers, and they’re spaced along the major routes out of Houston just where you need ’em. They pay their employees well above the minimum wage.

Buc-ee’s has now spread beyond Texas, to, among other places, Alabama, South Carolina, Tennessee, and Florida. On this trip we found one north of Denver. Someday Buc-ee’s will be everywhere, and beaver nuggets and mediocre kolache will be available to everyone.

I made my peace with Buc-ee’s on this trip. I forgave them that window sticker and I suffered the crowds. I bought their relatively cheap gas. I even bought some parched corn and a Rice Crispie treat. I did not buy my grandchild a onesie.

Where We Stayed, What We Ate

Out of our 12 nights, we spent only three in hotels. Two of the hotels were unremarkable, a Holiday Inn Express in Amarillo and a Holiday Inn in Wichita, Kansas. The most expensive hotel, The Rally Hotel in downtown Denver, was across the street from Coors Field where we stopped for baseball. Both the hotel and Coors Field were great, though the Rockies not so much. At check-in they gave us free beer, which was friendly even if it was a Coors. Staying next to the stadium was almost worth the cost, and almost worth the drive through downtown Denver at rush hour.

Because Roo the dog was with us, we felt more comfortable leaving her in an AirBnB than in a hotel on the days we spent fishing. We spent four nights in an AirBnB in Wyoming and three in South Dakota, and both were fine. The one in Wyoming had the better view.

We camped two nights in Nebraska, which meant that our car was packed with camping gear. We’ve owned our tent for most of our marriage, more than 40 years, and it has survived a lot of use. This trip though one of the poles broke. We cobbled together a repair, but I wouldn’t trust it in hard weather. The tent may have seen its last road trip.

Because we were camping and staying in AirBnBs, we cooked a lot. At home we almost always cook, and I’d say we’re adventurous, competent cooks, but on this trip there was no adventure. We ate beef for dinner and bacon for breakfast. We ate steaks. We ate burgers. We ate more steaks and then we ate more burgers. We ate eggs and bacon with toast for breakfast.

We spent a lot of time in grocery stores, which is actually a pretty good way to get to know a place. Mack’s Market in Thermopolis, Wyoming, not only sells groceries, but it has its own liquor store inside, and a gun shop. What more does one need?

I think I’ve covered most of the trip’s restaurant stops in the other road trip sections, except for the pizzas we had in Lander and Thermopolis in Wyoming. This really was a junk food extravaganza. We also had donuts in Amarillo, which would make a pretty good country song, and in Fort Collins, Colorado, which would also make a pretty good country song. The donuts were ok, but I wouldn’t have picked them over a good kolache.

Where We Didn’t Go

I would have liked to see more rivers in Wyoming, and in September we are going to fish for a day in Yellowstone at the end of our Montana trip, probably on the Firehole. 6 I’m already thinking about a trip next May through Wyoming and back to the Green River in Utah.

I’d like to explore more of the streams in the Black Hills, but probably never will.

We didn’t stop for an onion burger when we drove through Oklahoma. We didn’t see the giant ball of twine in Kansas. I guess I’ll be remembered as the guy who never saw the giant ball of twine.

Playlist

I made playlists for Nebraska, South Dakota, and Wyoming, but I have to admit we mostly listened to books while we were driving. “Willow, Weep for Me,” by the Nebraska composer Ann Ronnell was on the Nebraska playlist. It has been recorded by everybody, and we had versions by, among others, Billie Holiday, Frank Sinatra, Julie London, Sarah Vaughan, Lew Rawls, Tony Bennett, Barbra Streisand, Chad & Jeremy, and Sam Cooke. Ronnell also wrote “Who’s Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf.”

Disney pigs, likely from Nebraska.

The other well-known song on the Nebraska list was “Nebraska” by Bruce Springsteen, foreshadowing New Jersey, which will likely be our last state. Omaha and Lincoln seem to have pretty lively alternative music scenes. Mannheim Steamroller is from Nebraska. I’m not a fan of Mannheim Steamroller.

Danielle Ate the Sandwich, from Nebraska and Colorado, plays a ukulele and sings. She is wonderful, witty, and fun.

Ooh, I've got soul, I've got soul
But you'd never know, never know
If you were stuck across the table from me
The terrible dinner guest

The Terrible Dinner Guest, Danielle Ate the Sandwich
Danielle Ate the Sandwich.

There are about 100 songs named “Wyoming,” and all of them are pretty good, though the rap song “Wyoming” by Afroman doesn’t live up to his classic, “Idaho.” The country singer Chris Ledoux is the best known musician from Wyoming, and he’s big on melodramatic story-telling, which for me is not quite the thing unless it involves either Laredo, El Paso, or a girl named Rosalita (also foreshadowing New Jersey).

The best song ever written about Wyoming is “Git Along Little Doggies.” This is jumping ahead, but the best song ever written about Montana is “I Ride an Old Paint.”

I never got around to much of a South Dakota list. The only person on my South Dakota list is Shawn Colvin, though I probably should have included “Born to Be Wild” as a nod to Sturgis. I always enjoy Shawn Colvin, though, so I’m ok with sticking to Shawn Colvin.

Guitar

I played the guitar a lot on this trip, probably because we cooked in our adopted homes and there was more free time in the evenings. In Nebraska, at the state park, after the failed attempt at spey casting on the Niobara River, I sat at our campground and played for a couple of hours while Kris went to Valentine to shop for steaks, bacon, and burgers. A woman with a Denver guitar shop tee shirt came over to talk to me about guitars, and invited us to their campfire that evening. It was a nice gesture, but when I went to bed at nine-ish the campfire hadn’t kicked off. I’m sorry. They might have known someplace to fish.

  1. The Czech singular for kolache is properly kolach, and the plural is kolache. The Texas usage of kolache as the singular and kolaches as the plural is not correct, but it makes a lot of sense to English speakers, and probably Spanish speakers as well. At various times I use all of them. Sometimes I suspect I use all of them in the same sentence. I’m betting my usage would make a Czech baker’s head spin. ↩︎
  2. In Schuelenberg, between Houston and San Antonio, there’s an otherwise good bakery that glazes its kolache. It’s unnecessary frippery, and I’ve only stopped for their kolache once. ↩︎
  3. Verdigre is home of an annual Kolach Days Festival. Wikipedia reports that Kolache are also available in other Midwestern states, including Minnesota, South Dakota, and Prague, Oklahoma. Both West, Texas, and Caldwell, Texas, claim to be the Kolache capitol of Texas, and West does have very good kolache. I’ve never had kolache in Caldwell. ↩︎
  4. Sausage kolache are not even Czech, but a Texas variant. The greatest kolache variant of all is from a Cambodian-owned donut shop in St. Charles, Louisiana, where instead of sausage they stuff their koblasnek with rice boudin. Brilliant. There are now boudin kolache at most independent donut shops in Houston. ↩︎
  5. Graphite fly rods are impossibly light, a matter of a couple of pounds and some stray ounces. What’s more, the newer graphite materials in modern rods allow thinner tip ends than rods from 30 years ago, so that when you’re swinging a nine-foot lever a modern rod will feel lighter than a 30 year-old rod of similar weight. The 30-year old rod Kris was fishing was pretty light, but it likely felt heavier than what she was used to. ↩︎
  6. Most of Yellowstone is in Wyoming. This is one of those factoids that always seems unnatural, like Kansas City being in Missouri. ↩︎
Posted on

Road Trip! Texas to Wyoming, June 9-15, 2025 (46).

We drove 3,783 miles through eight states. We spent $833 on gas. We fished in three states, and we caught fish in all three–well I did, anyway, Kris didn’t fish in Nebraska. We took our dog for protection.1

I love road trips. I let myself eat junk food on road trips.

We’ve taken lots of road trips. To fish we drove to all the states that surround Texas, to most of the next states over, and to all of the next states over from there except Arizona. We drove to North Carolina during Covid, and we drove to the Driftless Region at the junction of Iowa, Minnesota, and Wisconsin. We’ve seen a lifetime supply of corn, grass, pine trees, and gas stations. We did not drive to Alaska, which still seems an opportunity lost.

Our first food stop after leaving Houston was for burgers and onion rings at Bevos Drive-In, Vernon, Texas, 437 miles.2 You can usually find a good burger in most American towns. It may shorten your life, it may add to the methane load in the atmosphere, it may be inhumane, but it’s going to taste pretty great.

In Amarillo that evening (611 miles), we ate steak at the Big Texan Steak Ranch. Big Texan is that gaudy theme restaurant in Amarillo where, if you manage to eat the 72-ounce steak in an hour, then your meal is free.3 Big Texan is Route 66 incarnate. I ate there first 50-odd years ago, and once when our children were small, but I’ve never taken the 72-ounce challenge. It’s not the risk of failure but the certainty of after-dinner discomfort that’s daunting.

Our first fishing stop, Thermopolis, Wyoming, 1,439 miles, was a three days’ drive from Houston. I suppose we could have made Houston to Thermopolis in two days, but it would have been exhausting, and we wanted to see baseball in Denver. The Rockies have the worst record in the major leagues, and they didn’t disappoint. They led until the 9th inning when the Giants scored four runs.

Traffic in Denver was memorably frightening. Denver may be worse than Houston for traffic, though it’s probably a shade better than Naples or Mexico City. Coors Field, on the other hand, is a great place to watch baseball, even losing baseball, and this season it’s easy to get tickets.

The landscape from Denver to Thermopolis is about as full of empty as any place I’ve seen. I have in my head a notion of where trout are supposed to live, and it involves tumbling clear water, big hunks of granite, and plenty of trees. The water we fished in Wyoming was clear but not very tumbling. The rocks were mostly crumbly ancient sea sediment, not granite. For shade on the river there were no trees. We ate lunch under bridges.

We had rented an AirBnB outside of Thermopolis, a mile or so from the central business district. We arrived during a thunderstorm, and I was reasonably certain that the storm would blow us, the cabin, and the car on to Montana. It didn’t, and by the time we unloaded the car the storm had blown through. In the late day heat for the next two days there were also storms, big thunder, big wind, big rain, but it was for reasonably short durations. The rough weather never stuck around for long.

We fished with Wind River Canyon Whitewater and Fly Fishing on the Bighorn River, downstream after the Wind River passes through Wind River Canyon and becomes the Bighorn. We fished three days, and caught a lot of rainbow trout. We also caught a lot of brown trout. Neither the browns nor the rainbows are native, but they’ve driven out the native cutthroat. The browns and rainbows were still great fish.

The Bighorn is a moderate-sized river, not Missouri River-big, but too big to fish easily wading, and anyway Wyoming public access law is on the extreme side of landowner friendly. In Wyoming the adjoining landowner owns all rights to the river bed to midstream, so while you can float on the navigable water, you’re trespassing if you stand on the private riverbed. A drift boat is not only handy, but unless the river flows through public land, you can only fish from a boat. You can’t get out of your boat to pee without landowner permission.

There’s plenty of traffic on the Bighorn–the first day we launched with a kayaking church group, singing Shall We Gather at the River as they floated away.4 All day there was a procession of other kayakers, tubers, and other anglers in drift boats. The second day we launched below Thermopolis at Hot Springs State Park, and the river was considerably less crowded. The fishing was better, too, though apparently it’s usually better above Thermopolis.

I was pretty certain that we had arranged to fish the Wind River in the canyon when we booked the guides, but apparently I misunderstood, or the outfitter misunderstood what I was trying to say, and fishing Wind River Canyon wasn’t happening. The Wind River through the canyon is part of the Shoshone and Arapaho Wind River Reservation, and the outfitter is only permitted to fish two boats in the canyon a day. That was two boats other than our boat.

The canyon is famous for its fish, but so is the Bighorn below the canyon. There were plenty of healthy, 16- to 20-inch fish, and maybe even a few bigger–Kris says that these were the largest trout she’s caught. We fished with three different guides over the three days. I usually think it’s better to fish with the same guide, but the guides were good and it probably didn’t matter. We caught fish.

We mostly fished with tiny underwater trico nymphs5 under some sort of attractor fly and an indicator, but on the first day our guide found a single rising fish and switched me to a dry fly, a bit of white fluff that floated on the surface. I made the cast and the drift, and there is nothing like watching a good fish take a dry fly on the surface of a river. The current adds to the drama, the fish comes out of the water, and then everything is working towards failure until the fish is finally landed. Or lost. Or never hooked in the first place.

The second day we found a deep hole where rainbows were stacked and feeding. Kris was busy taking bird photos, so I didn’t have to trade off after each fish caught, and I pulled one good fish after another out of the river. I’m still surprised I didn’t find an excuse for us to stay there the rest of the day.

The third day I got tangled, and then I got tangled again, and then I got tangled some more. When I did manage to cast I had a few strikes, but would promptly lose each fish that struck. Finally, late in the day I caught an unremarkable rainbow. I was so grateful to catch that fish.

Even as great as the fishing was, I don’t think that I had managed my expectations for Wyoming. We had purposefully left Wyoming and Montana until the end–unlike say, New Jersey, which we’ve left to the end for no good reason. Unlike Montana, I had never fished in Wyoming before. Wyoming is famously good fishing, and it was good fishing. The Bighorn is a famously good river, and it was a mighty fine river. That said, it never felt like enough.

So we’ll go back to Wyoming. Not, I think, to Thermopolis, great as the fishing was. And maybe we’ll fish some without guides if Congress hasn’t sold all of our public land. I’d like to see the other side of the Wind River Range, and further south towards the Green before it flows into Utah. I’d like to go further north towards Yellowstone. In fact, when we fish Montana in September, we’ll spend a couple of nights in Wyoming, in Yellowstone at Old Faithful Inn. We’ll fish in Yellowstone for native cutthroat, and it still won’t be enough of Wyoming. There is so much of Wyoming to see, and with the Bighorn it feels like we barely got started.

Western Meadowlark

You know what I liked best though about fishing in Wyoming? It wasn’t the fishing, it was waking to the morning bird chorus, and listening to the songs of the Western Meadowlarks. I’ve never heard anything more beautiful.

I guess I’m finally old enough just to listen. Of course I’m also old enough to spend a day getting tangled, but I’ve been that for a long time.

  1. Roo is a mostly chihuahua rescue who as a puppy seven years ago showed up collarless and chipless on our daughter’s front porch. Kris took her to the vet, nursed her through heartworms, and she’s been with us since. She is an excellent travel companion, and is reasonably well socialized for a mostly chihuahua. She did bark at the lady in the Kansas toll booth. ↩︎
  2. I lived in Vernon, Texas, for my first 17 years, and Bevo’s was owned by my cousin James. They have the world’s best cheeseburger. Bevo is the name of the mascot at the University of Texas, but my cousin James didn’t go to the University of Texas, or as far as I know to any university at all, so I’m not sure why he picked the UT theme. Still, hook ’em. ↩︎
  3. There is a livestream of the Big Texan 72-ounce steak challenge. It’s oddly mesmerizing to watch. If you do the challenge, remember that in addition to the steak you have to eat the baked potato, shrimp cocktail, salad, and bread. ↩︎
  4. Not really, but they should have. ↩︎
  5. Tricos are a tiny mayfly, Tricorythodes. Trico nymphs are the nymph phase of the trico mayfly’s life cycle. Trico hatches are common in summer, and bigger mayflies apparently hatch earlier: May is a great time for bigger mayflies. Since we were in Wyoming in June, this was a variant of the common guide explanation that we should have been here last week. ↩︎

Posted on

Wyoming

It’s an All-Star roster of Western names: Casper, Lander, Laramie, Jackson Hole, Yellowstone, Wind River, Bighorn, Medicine Bow, Cheyenne, Platte, Bridger, Teton, Flaming Gorge, Shoshone, Sioux, Green River, Sacajawea, Arapaho, Sublette, Fremont, the Oregon Trail, Butch Cassidy, Tom Horn, Cody, Coulter, the Pony Express, Sheridan . . . Oddly, it’s the name Wyoming that’s the outlier. Until European settlement nothing in Wyoming was ever called “Wyoming. ” The word was imported from Pennsylvania’s Wyoming Valley, named from a Delaware Indian word that means “open plain. ” Open plain fits well enough for parts of Wyoming, but it’s not a natural fit. Open Plain was tagged onto the new territory in 1865 by an Ohio congressman who drafted the territorial legislation. Wyoming the territory was 2000 miles from anywhere where anyone had ever said “Wyoming.”1

Baker and Johnson, Washakie (a Shoshone Chief), Smithsonian.

Early in Wyoming’s history, say roughly 100 million years before statehood, the East Coast was separated from the West Coast not by flyover country but by the great inland sea, the Western Interior Seaway.2 Wyoming was the home of both massive marine life in the sea and dinosaurs on the land. There were giant sharks and giant marine reptiles and prehistoric fish, and not one angler ever fished for any of them. There were giant clams that were never poached in wine. Roughly one in five of the fossil specimens in New York’s American Museum of Natural History came from Wyoming. Wyoming was a fossil factory.

The Western Interior Seaway, attributed on Wikipedia to PLOS.org.

In Thermopolis, where we’re heading, there is the Wyoming Dinosaur Center, which advertises itself as the best dinosaur museum in Wyoming. Not, note, the only dinosaur museum in Wyoming. In a small, focused way, it is one of the best natural history museums in the world.

Wyoming’s rivers are geologically young. John McPhee in his book about Wyoming geology, Rising from the Plains, says that rivers are always young, but Wyoming’s mountains are relatively young as well, postdating the inland sea. Wyoming’s mountains are the product of plate tectonics, except that the Absaroka Range that surrounds the Yellowstone Caldera is volcanic.3 Throughout the state mountains jut and twist into the plain. North American mountain ranges should run north-south, but at least one Wyoming range, the Owl Creek Mountains, runs east-west. There’s always got to be one troublemaker.

https://www.freeworldmaps.net/united-states/wyoming/wyoming-geography-map.jpg

Lewis and Clark missed Wyoming, but beginning in the 1820s, Wyoming was a hotspot for our leading fashion industry workers, the mountain men. Jim Bridger, John Coulter, Kit Carson, Thomas Fitzpatrick, Joseph Meek, Ceran St. Vrain, the Sublettes, all of them were in Wyoming. All of them were collecting beaver furs for hats.

After the mountain men, the Emigrant Trail, known at various times and in various places as the Mormon Trail, the Oregon Trail, and the California Trail, passed through Wyoming and then split for separate final destinations. The Emigrant Trail is the nation’s longest graveyard. It’s estimated that 65,000 emigrants died on the trail from disease, starvation, exposure, exhaustion, hostile encounters with plains tribes, weather, wild animals, and plain ol’ mishaps. Accidental shootings were a big favorite. Graves along the trail would, if evenly spaced, have left a grave for every 50 feet of travel.

Currier and Ives, The Rocky Mountains: Emigrants Crossing the Plains, 1866, Courtesy of UC Berkeley Bancroft Library via California Digital Library.

After Nebraska, the Union Pacific’s eastern portion of the Transcontinental Railroad entered Wyoming, crossed the Rockies and moved on toward Salt Lake City. The eastern and western halves of the railroad linked in Utah in 1869, and the settlement encouraged by the trains upped the ante on the Indian Wars.

The plains tribes were violent, and even before the Europeans they spent a good bit of energy battling each other for territory. The Sioux, for instance, migrated into the Dakotas and Wyoming from Minnesota, pushing for territory all the way. Private land rights may have been a foreign concept for Native Americans, but tribal claims for territory were not. They did not share well with others. The childhood of a young Sioux or Shoshone or Crow or Cheyenne boy has been compared to the childhood of a young Spartan boy, with the skills of war trained from first breath. A boy would be on horseback from childhood. Apparently an infant’s feet could be tied to a horse’s mane.

Washakie led the Shoshone in both peace and war for a good bit of the 19th Century. He was Jim Bridger’s father-in-law, and negotiated the designation of the 2.2 million acre Wind River Reservation for the Shoshone.4 That’s about where we’ll be fishing. The Crows and the Shoshone fought over the Wind River Valley, and the story goes that Washakie, already in his 50s, faced the Crow chief Big Robber in solo combat for control of the valley. Washakie killed Big Robber, removed his heart, and took a bite. Crowheart Butte in the reservation memorializes the battle.

David McGary, sculptor, Cheif Washakie at the Battle of Crowheart Butte, 2005, University of Wyoming. Photo from Library of Congress. Wyoming also placed a statue of Washakie in the US Capitol’s National Statuary Hall Collection.

There were cattle drives from Texas to Wyoming. Of course there were cattle drives. There was a range war in Wyoming. Of course there was a range war. There was gold in the hills, and there was desert and there were mountains and there was forest. Owen Wister’s The Virginian was set in Wyoming. Shane is set in Wyoming. If it was done in the West, real or myth, then like as not it was done more than once in Wyoming, from dinosaurs to range wars. It’s a lively past, and it’s like Mr. Faulkner said (more or less), it ain’t even past.

Geography and Population

The state’s boundaries form a square, easy enough, and there aren’t any major cities, but the US Geological Survey has recorded 109 named mountain ranges and sub-ranges in Wyoming. It’s really not enough to say that as you head north through central Wyoming, the Rockies are on the left. The right third of the state includes more than a little of the High Plains, continuing into Western Nebraska along the North Platte River, except that Eastern Wyoming is not all Plains. In the northeast there are the Black Hills, and in the southeast below the plains there are the Laramie Mountains and Medicine Bow Mountains. The Big Horn Mountains run north-south through the upper center of the state to the right of the Bighorn River, connected to the Absaroka Range by the east-west Owl Creek Mountains.

Yellowstone National Park is a huge square in the northwest corner, bordered on the east by the Absarokas. Below Yellowstone are the Tetons, the Wind River Range, and the Wyoming Range. Those are all part of the Rockies.

https://www.freeworldmaps.net/united-states/wyoming/wyoming-rivers-map.jpg

For fly fishing, the rivers in and around Yellowstone are among the most famous rivers in the world, and in addition to the Yellowstone include the Lamar, the Firehole, the Gardner, and the Gallatin. The Snake also exits Yellowstone Park, but instead of east towards the Mississippi and the Gulf of Mexico, it goes west until it ultimately joins the Columbia and then the Pacific. The Green River runs southwest into Utah, and from the center of the state the North Platte flows north out of Colorado then takes a hard right into Nebraska.

The Bighorn/Wind River (where we’ll fish) ultimately runs north dead center to the Yellowstone River in Montana. Then it joins the Missouri, then the Mississippi, and finally the Gulf of Mexico.

At 587,618, Wyoming is the least populous state, with a population even smaller than Alaska’s. At 97,814 square miles, it’s the tenth largest state by area. That makes six people per square mile.5 Wyoming’s population is 83.1% Anglo, 1.2% Black, 2.8% Native American, and 10.8% Hispanic.

There are no cities with more than 100,000 people in Wyoming. The largest city, Cheyenne, has a population of 63,957, which is certainly large enough for a Walmart, but not large enough for professional baseball. The Cheyenne Symphony shares its conductor with Dubuque, Iowa. The last time I drove through the state, some 30 years ago, we drove down the left-hand side from Yellowstone to Flaming Gorge Reservoir, and I don’t remember passing through a single town after Jackson Hole. I’m sure there were some, but all I remember as we drove south were the long stretches of straight flat highway paralleling the Wind River Range. Even for a kid from the Great Plains, that was a memorable lot of empty.

In Thermopolis, the average high temperature in June is 77°, and the low is 51°. In the coldest months, December and January, the average high is 34°F and the low 15°F. There are about 12 inches of rain annually, but that probably doesn’t include snow. I have read that highways have been closed for snow in Wyoming every month of the year except July and August.

Politics

Everybody in Wyoming is Republican, and I’m pretty sure that there aren’t any vegetarians, either. Donald Trump received 72.3% of the Wyoming vote in 2024. The only exception was Teton County, which must be jam-packed with California expats and federal employees. That’s the only way to explain it.

Wikipedia

Longmire and Pickett

There are actually two fine series of mystery novels set in Wyoming, which for a population of 587,618 makes it only slightly less deadly per capita than Oxford, England. Oxford, of course, leads the universe for fictional murders per capita. I have, I think, over the course of the last 20 years, listened to all of Craig Johnson’s Walt Longmire novels, and have watched all of the now-canceled series. The television series got a wee bit bleak towards the end, but the novels never have. I am sure that I will drink a Ranier beer once I reach Wyoming, because that’s what Longmire drinks.

The other series of novels, C.J. Box’s Joe Pickett novels are also fine bits of Wyomingania. Box’s politics intrude from time to time, and I find his politics grating, so I like Pickett less than Longmire. That doesn’t mean that I ever miss listening to one when it comes out.

This summer Kris and I have listened together to Larry McMurtry’s Lonesome Dove, which I reckon is about 40,000 pages long. McMurtry is almost a hometown boy, and Lonesome Dove is maybe our greatest western novel. Captain Call and Gus have not yet reached Nebraska, so our coming road trip will follow parts of their route. As soon as we finish Lonesome Dove (and this trip we will), I plan to slip in The Virginian, just to make a personal judgment as to which Western novel is better. I’m afraid The Virginian will not appeal to Kris, so don’t tell her my plan.

Arthur I. Keller, “When you call me that, smile”, Illustration from The Virginian, 1902, McMillan.
  1. I have also read that Wyoming had been tagged “Wyoming” by persons unknown before the legislation, but it was still a Delaware word about a place in Ohio. I like the legislative story better, so I’ll stick with it. ↩︎
  2. This could quite properly be called the Gulf of America, except that it was a sea, not a gulf.
    ↩︎
  3. Any day now the Yellowstone Caldera will blow and wipe out life as we know it. ↩︎
  4. The Arapaho are also on the Wind River Reservation. The Arapaho and Shoshone were traditional enemies, and the Arapaho had no history in the Wind River Valley. The US, however, messed up, and didn’t designate a reservation for the Arapaho. When asked if they could be parked temporarily in the Wind River Reservation, Washakie was too accommodating to say no. It was a problem then, and it’s still a problem, but likely one that the Shoshone are stuck with. ↩︎
  5. Wyoming’s population is second lowest to Alaska. Alaska has the lowest density per square mile, 1.3, but every Texan knows that Alaska cheats when it comes to matters of size. ↩︎