TurkeyH90
Senior Member
A BITE OF SOMETHING SWEET
“I need a bite of something sweet
I need a day like they used to be
Need to see all my old friends, so we can start again
I need a bite of something sweet”
Cody Jinks
I can remember on the way back from my first visit to Yellowstone back in 2016 listening to a plane full of other fisherman describing the fishing on Slough Creek. Their heavy North Carolina accents describing the way hungry Cutthroats were engulfing the hopper imitations thrown up near the banks. “Wearing them out” they said. Catching plenty of “18-21 fish”. I was still on a high from just catching Cutts and seeing all that country for the first time. Feeling somewhat validated that I could take my “Georgia” trout skills and catch trout on famous rivers and creeks. Nonetheless, a plan in it’s’ infancy began to formulate…
Of course I would have loved to have gone back in 2017 but like many say life happens. It’s not cheap to fly to Montana or even stay in a budget motel or cabin. Other pursuits pop up and are chased. Shoal bass, Stripers, Spots, a respectable largemouth on the fly…..Still the mountain accents would occasionally pop in my mind “Cutts 18-21 inches on a dry…” My wife finally talked me into a third child and was able to birth our first daughter and she was born in the spring of 2018. Wonderful events, but occasionally the thought of Slough Creek Cutts would still enter my mind.
2019 rolled around and my wife and I began to discuss plans for our 15th wedding anniversary. My wife has always wanted to go back to Atlantis in the Bahamas. I had no problems with that and we began to price a stay at the resort. Good gracious! My wife could not believe the cost of what it took to fly down t0 Atlantis and stay. I then reminded her it didn’t cover eats or drinks. We discussed a few more plans and eventually dropped the discussion. One day she came up to me and said why don’t you just take me out to Yellowstone? That’s where you want to go anyways.” Truthfully, I had not thought about it other than the occasional 20” Cutt I caught in my dreams as the dream had somewhat dwindled.
These words fed what would turn out to be a roaring blaze. I had most of our trip planned out in a few days. I booked a float trip on the Henrys Fork of the Snake River with Henrys Fork Anglers and just a time slot with Blue Ribbon Flies. The time slot is where I had hoped to hike back into Slough and catch the big Cutts on terrestrials. All these things worked out so well in my mind. I could see the fish greedily gorging on my hopper as I went to sleep each night.
The morning we left Atlanta in August was already beginning scorch. “Don’t worry” I told my wife, “we get off that plane and things will feel much better.” And so it was when we arrived at the airport. Things went relatively smooth for an airport. We grabbed our rental headed for Livingston. Arriving at the motel we unpacked some of our things and relaxed. I tried to grab a nap before we caught a private bus to Emirate that evening. I had also fallen into the good fortune of one of my favorite bands playing in the Old Saloon on the day we arrived. As soon as we arrived I could hear Reckless Kelly going through a sound check. Thirty minutes later I saw Willy Braun in line at the bar. Before my food arrived Cody Braun and Ryan Engelman were standing in line and I had to go up and tell them how many times I had watched one of their live DVD/Albums. My wife got a picture of us and I began to think how things couldn’t get much better.
That night Tennessee Jet open up for Reckless Kelly and put on an amazing performance as a one man band. Reckless Kelly played every song that I had hoped for. Me and my wife had one of our best times in our 20 plus years of being together. The next morning we slept till we woke up, which is quite the luxury when you are used to three children. The next day we lazily drove through the park ending up in Last Chance, Idaho at a cabin within walking distance of the Henrys Fork.
The next morning we drove to Henrys Fork Anglers establishment and met with our guide John “Hootie” Mauldin. Hootie was the perfect personality for a float trip with my wife which happened to be on her birthday. The trout were willing. We boated plenty of nice fish when they began to rise. My wife remarked that she really wanted to see a moose and myself and Hootie told her that was fairly unlikely. Twenty minutes later as I’m playing a nice trout Hootie says “look over your shoulder, there’s your moose”. A young bull was drinking about 80 yards away. Awesome.
Things got even better. A few minutes later everyone in the boat watched as an enormous rainbow moving incredibly slow, engulfed my Chernobyl. He gave up a pretty good fight but ended up in Hooties net and I had caught my largest wild rainbow ever. We took a few good pictures of the 23” rainbow and successfully released him as the moose looked on. I just sat back for a bit toasted my wife and the guide and soaked in a beautiful Idaho day.
My wife went on to catch several nice rainbows that day. We looked up and a few folks had slipped down the hill and were fishing on a rock near where we had caught some of the risers. The moose who had completely ignored us to this point began to make noises. He galloped up and down the bank in and out of the water sometimes disappearing into the lodge pole pines. We all had our theories on what had agitated him. Then he decided to swim across the river toward the other bank. Nothing but his antlers out of the water for most of it. That was when we realized that he did not welcome the presence of the bank fisherman. We warned them. I think they thought we were joking until he got within about fifty yards of them and stood up on the bank. Somehow they had never heard or seen him the entire time. They retreated up the steep slope much quicker than they had descended.
After lunch, we loaded up the drift boat and headed to the Box Canyon. One of our favorite parts of the trip. Eagles were everywhere. I caught several nice rainbows and lost another really good one. Some of the best scenery I have ever laid eyes on. I just sat back and floated for the last forty five minutes. Content that most of my hopes for the trip had been accomplished and my wife was enjoying it as much as I was.
We ended the day with a delicious steak dinner at Trouthunter across the road from our guides’ shop. I had already had a wonderful trip and it was only Tuesday. We slept well in our cabin enjoying the cold that envelops the land when the sun drops below the trees.
The next days were filled with panoramic scenes of Yellowstone that seem too amazing to be real. We stopped at a few small creeks filled with hungry brook trout and a walk up Slough Creek that only resulted in a few small rainbows. This was fine though as just spending the days together as we had many years ago was refreshing. I had honestly been paid the price of admission with the big rainbow, the float through the box canyon and my wife seeing the moose on her birthday.
I had booked another guided trip with Blue Ribbon Flies that I had initially hoped to be a guided trip through the meadows of Slough but with my previous health situations that year I had come to face the reality of my physical endurance not being up to par with my ideas of a one day hike in and out. The day turned out to be quite cold and rainy. We opted to drift the Madison and at times I was crouched in the bottom of the boat with lightning popping and thunder booming out of the mountains. I was able to catch a nice brown and rainbow on a streamer and feel like I had gotten my money’s worth from my new rain jacket. On the way back I mentioned my hopes of the Slough Creek Cutts again to the guide and lamented the fact that I might leave this trip without catching a cutthroat at all. We passed a small creek on the way back to West Yellowstone and the guide mentioned that it was full of small Cutts albeit from the road it looked like an unattractive irrigation ditch.
Our time began to wind down in Idaho and I thought of another wish I had of catching a Grayling. On our last day in Idaho we loaded up, filled the rental full of gas and headed for destination X. We drove forever hoping to find the landmarks mentioned by a message board and confirmed by the guide I had used on day one. Along the way we were able to see some young mule deer bucks and some more beautiful country.
The meadow streams I fished did not yield the sought after Grayling but did provide the most incredible brook trout fishing I had ever enjoyed. These fish were stout and incredibly hungry, breaking me off several times and crushing dry flies with animosity I have never seen. My wife sat back with the Nikon capturing the moments for posterity.
We drove out from the streams and started thinking about the ride back to Bozeman and the eventual flight back to reality. Somewhat somber in our tone we headed back towards the highway that would take us to Bozeman. As we traveled back I noted as we crossed the bridge that this was where the guide had mentioned a spot for an easy Cutt. My wife begins to slow down and I tell her “No, I’m done. Satisfied.” She asked when I thought I might be back in Idaho again? I don’t know maybe never. Hard to figure where things may lead in the coming years. She turned around against my protest.
We parked beside the bridge like we were somewhere in Georgia with a cup of worms and a cane pole. I strung up my favorite rod,a four weight Winston BIIx, and stepped down to the stream as she began to read a book and told me not to hurry. I slowly walked down the stream and as I left the road it became more inviting. I cast a few times with a nymph rig and hooked into a small fish. Unfortunately just a small rainbow. I did this a few more times and found a few more willing rainbows. I guess that guide was wrong about the Cutts. All these small streams look similar. I waded back up to the road after I saw another fisherman. Again, I was finished. Right until I saw the stream on the other side of the road.
I figured why not make a few more casts since my wife was in no hurry. As I rounded the corner my eyes fixated on a nice grassy bank over a bend in the stream. Seemed like the ideal place to fish a hopper pattern. I tied on a hopper and on the first cast I missed a fish that rose to the fly. The next cast and again I miss a fish. Frustrated, I cast and my hopper hangs on the bank. “I can’t believe this” I thought as I broke off my hopper. I look through my terrestrial box and find a super realistic grey hopper and tie it on for one last shot. The hopper gently settles just above the bend and as it drifts into the slight back swirl before the grassy bank I get one more splashy eat. This time I patiently wait to lift the rod and when I do I feel the heavy throb of a good fish. As the fish runs into the middle of the stream I can already identify it as a cutthroat. A nice Cutt. We go up and down the stream a few times as I realize my small stream net is out matched by the size of this fish. The fish finally tires and I am able to fold him up in the net. I quickly measure him up against my rod and snap a quick picture and think about toting him up to my wife for picture.
I can’t do that though. Can’t risk the fish that has haunted me for years dying. I hold it it the water for a few seconds as it begins to revive and wiggle. Holding the reality of a dream that had started almost three years to the day. One last kick and its tail slides through my fingers and the big Cutt swims back toward the bend. It occurs to me that there is probably more than one Cutt to have risen that many times but I unstring my rod and break it down for the rod tube. I step up out the small Idaho stream and head toward the car for good. I realize that all I needed was just a bite of something sweet.
“I need a bite of something sweet
I need a day like they used to be
Need to see all my old friends, so we can start again
I need a bite of something sweet”
Cody Jinks
I can remember on the way back from my first visit to Yellowstone back in 2016 listening to a plane full of other fisherman describing the fishing on Slough Creek. Their heavy North Carolina accents describing the way hungry Cutthroats were engulfing the hopper imitations thrown up near the banks. “Wearing them out” they said. Catching plenty of “18-21 fish”. I was still on a high from just catching Cutts and seeing all that country for the first time. Feeling somewhat validated that I could take my “Georgia” trout skills and catch trout on famous rivers and creeks. Nonetheless, a plan in it’s’ infancy began to formulate…
Of course I would have loved to have gone back in 2017 but like many say life happens. It’s not cheap to fly to Montana or even stay in a budget motel or cabin. Other pursuits pop up and are chased. Shoal bass, Stripers, Spots, a respectable largemouth on the fly…..Still the mountain accents would occasionally pop in my mind “Cutts 18-21 inches on a dry…” My wife finally talked me into a third child and was able to birth our first daughter and she was born in the spring of 2018. Wonderful events, but occasionally the thought of Slough Creek Cutts would still enter my mind.
2019 rolled around and my wife and I began to discuss plans for our 15th wedding anniversary. My wife has always wanted to go back to Atlantis in the Bahamas. I had no problems with that and we began to price a stay at the resort. Good gracious! My wife could not believe the cost of what it took to fly down t0 Atlantis and stay. I then reminded her it didn’t cover eats or drinks. We discussed a few more plans and eventually dropped the discussion. One day she came up to me and said why don’t you just take me out to Yellowstone? That’s where you want to go anyways.” Truthfully, I had not thought about it other than the occasional 20” Cutt I caught in my dreams as the dream had somewhat dwindled.
These words fed what would turn out to be a roaring blaze. I had most of our trip planned out in a few days. I booked a float trip on the Henrys Fork of the Snake River with Henrys Fork Anglers and just a time slot with Blue Ribbon Flies. The time slot is where I had hoped to hike back into Slough and catch the big Cutts on terrestrials. All these things worked out so well in my mind. I could see the fish greedily gorging on my hopper as I went to sleep each night.
The morning we left Atlanta in August was already beginning scorch. “Don’t worry” I told my wife, “we get off that plane and things will feel much better.” And so it was when we arrived at the airport. Things went relatively smooth for an airport. We grabbed our rental headed for Livingston. Arriving at the motel we unpacked some of our things and relaxed. I tried to grab a nap before we caught a private bus to Emirate that evening. I had also fallen into the good fortune of one of my favorite bands playing in the Old Saloon on the day we arrived. As soon as we arrived I could hear Reckless Kelly going through a sound check. Thirty minutes later I saw Willy Braun in line at the bar. Before my food arrived Cody Braun and Ryan Engelman were standing in line and I had to go up and tell them how many times I had watched one of their live DVD/Albums. My wife got a picture of us and I began to think how things couldn’t get much better.
That night Tennessee Jet open up for Reckless Kelly and put on an amazing performance as a one man band. Reckless Kelly played every song that I had hoped for. Me and my wife had one of our best times in our 20 plus years of being together. The next morning we slept till we woke up, which is quite the luxury when you are used to three children. The next day we lazily drove through the park ending up in Last Chance, Idaho at a cabin within walking distance of the Henrys Fork.
The next morning we drove to Henrys Fork Anglers establishment and met with our guide John “Hootie” Mauldin. Hootie was the perfect personality for a float trip with my wife which happened to be on her birthday. The trout were willing. We boated plenty of nice fish when they began to rise. My wife remarked that she really wanted to see a moose and myself and Hootie told her that was fairly unlikely. Twenty minutes later as I’m playing a nice trout Hootie says “look over your shoulder, there’s your moose”. A young bull was drinking about 80 yards away. Awesome.
Things got even better. A few minutes later everyone in the boat watched as an enormous rainbow moving incredibly slow, engulfed my Chernobyl. He gave up a pretty good fight but ended up in Hooties net and I had caught my largest wild rainbow ever. We took a few good pictures of the 23” rainbow and successfully released him as the moose looked on. I just sat back for a bit toasted my wife and the guide and soaked in a beautiful Idaho day.
My wife went on to catch several nice rainbows that day. We looked up and a few folks had slipped down the hill and were fishing on a rock near where we had caught some of the risers. The moose who had completely ignored us to this point began to make noises. He galloped up and down the bank in and out of the water sometimes disappearing into the lodge pole pines. We all had our theories on what had agitated him. Then he decided to swim across the river toward the other bank. Nothing but his antlers out of the water for most of it. That was when we realized that he did not welcome the presence of the bank fisherman. We warned them. I think they thought we were joking until he got within about fifty yards of them and stood up on the bank. Somehow they had never heard or seen him the entire time. They retreated up the steep slope much quicker than they had descended.
After lunch, we loaded up the drift boat and headed to the Box Canyon. One of our favorite parts of the trip. Eagles were everywhere. I caught several nice rainbows and lost another really good one. Some of the best scenery I have ever laid eyes on. I just sat back and floated for the last forty five minutes. Content that most of my hopes for the trip had been accomplished and my wife was enjoying it as much as I was.
We ended the day with a delicious steak dinner at Trouthunter across the road from our guides’ shop. I had already had a wonderful trip and it was only Tuesday. We slept well in our cabin enjoying the cold that envelops the land when the sun drops below the trees.
The next days were filled with panoramic scenes of Yellowstone that seem too amazing to be real. We stopped at a few small creeks filled with hungry brook trout and a walk up Slough Creek that only resulted in a few small rainbows. This was fine though as just spending the days together as we had many years ago was refreshing. I had honestly been paid the price of admission with the big rainbow, the float through the box canyon and my wife seeing the moose on her birthday.
I had booked another guided trip with Blue Ribbon Flies that I had initially hoped to be a guided trip through the meadows of Slough but with my previous health situations that year I had come to face the reality of my physical endurance not being up to par with my ideas of a one day hike in and out. The day turned out to be quite cold and rainy. We opted to drift the Madison and at times I was crouched in the bottom of the boat with lightning popping and thunder booming out of the mountains. I was able to catch a nice brown and rainbow on a streamer and feel like I had gotten my money’s worth from my new rain jacket. On the way back I mentioned my hopes of the Slough Creek Cutts again to the guide and lamented the fact that I might leave this trip without catching a cutthroat at all. We passed a small creek on the way back to West Yellowstone and the guide mentioned that it was full of small Cutts albeit from the road it looked like an unattractive irrigation ditch.
Our time began to wind down in Idaho and I thought of another wish I had of catching a Grayling. On our last day in Idaho we loaded up, filled the rental full of gas and headed for destination X. We drove forever hoping to find the landmarks mentioned by a message board and confirmed by the guide I had used on day one. Along the way we were able to see some young mule deer bucks and some more beautiful country.
The meadow streams I fished did not yield the sought after Grayling but did provide the most incredible brook trout fishing I had ever enjoyed. These fish were stout and incredibly hungry, breaking me off several times and crushing dry flies with animosity I have never seen. My wife sat back with the Nikon capturing the moments for posterity.
We drove out from the streams and started thinking about the ride back to Bozeman and the eventual flight back to reality. Somewhat somber in our tone we headed back towards the highway that would take us to Bozeman. As we traveled back I noted as we crossed the bridge that this was where the guide had mentioned a spot for an easy Cutt. My wife begins to slow down and I tell her “No, I’m done. Satisfied.” She asked when I thought I might be back in Idaho again? I don’t know maybe never. Hard to figure where things may lead in the coming years. She turned around against my protest.
We parked beside the bridge like we were somewhere in Georgia with a cup of worms and a cane pole. I strung up my favorite rod,a four weight Winston BIIx, and stepped down to the stream as she began to read a book and told me not to hurry. I slowly walked down the stream and as I left the road it became more inviting. I cast a few times with a nymph rig and hooked into a small fish. Unfortunately just a small rainbow. I did this a few more times and found a few more willing rainbows. I guess that guide was wrong about the Cutts. All these small streams look similar. I waded back up to the road after I saw another fisherman. Again, I was finished. Right until I saw the stream on the other side of the road.
I figured why not make a few more casts since my wife was in no hurry. As I rounded the corner my eyes fixated on a nice grassy bank over a bend in the stream. Seemed like the ideal place to fish a hopper pattern. I tied on a hopper and on the first cast I missed a fish that rose to the fly. The next cast and again I miss a fish. Frustrated, I cast and my hopper hangs on the bank. “I can’t believe this” I thought as I broke off my hopper. I look through my terrestrial box and find a super realistic grey hopper and tie it on for one last shot. The hopper gently settles just above the bend and as it drifts into the slight back swirl before the grassy bank I get one more splashy eat. This time I patiently wait to lift the rod and when I do I feel the heavy throb of a good fish. As the fish runs into the middle of the stream I can already identify it as a cutthroat. A nice Cutt. We go up and down the stream a few times as I realize my small stream net is out matched by the size of this fish. The fish finally tires and I am able to fold him up in the net. I quickly measure him up against my rod and snap a quick picture and think about toting him up to my wife for picture.
I can’t do that though. Can’t risk the fish that has haunted me for years dying. I hold it it the water for a few seconds as it begins to revive and wiggle. Holding the reality of a dream that had started almost three years to the day. One last kick and its tail slides through my fingers and the big Cutt swims back toward the bend. It occurs to me that there is probably more than one Cutt to have risen that many times but I unstring my rod and break it down for the rod tube. I step up out the small Idaho stream and head toward the car for good. I realize that all I needed was just a bite of something sweet.
Last edited:
