Tuesday morning was a late, lazy start as usual. Knowing we have some time, we made a nice breakfast of scrambled eggs and honey glazed ham with black coffee and a tall glass of milk for the Missus. It wasn’t until 1PM that we hit the trail, but light sleet and an endearing sense of adventure geared us up to get walking. It was our first time trying out the brand new ULA Equipment packs, and in an effort to reduce my normally ludicrous base weight, I opted to bring along a Smart Water bottle instead of my normal Nalgene - a whopping 5oz savings, I know! - but only a mile in with not even a sip, the bottle fell from the carry handle I had it attached to, blowing out the entire bottom of the bottle. An interesting start this, June 30th 2020, my 28th birthday.
Moving along the trail, in the beginning, was nothing short of a seemingly Norse epic fantasy novel, with snow-covered peaks and cool drifting air coursing through our rain shells. The icy sleet was bouncing off our packs mostly, a somewhat relieving effect to the fact of not having pack covers (we always use contractor bags for our down inside the packs though!) and moving higher up the trail past several scenic lakes. Each time I would stop to look back at my girlfriend Ylish, the views became even more breathtaking. The absence of hikers and backpackers on the trail was also a welcome change to the anticipation I had for the day, creeping closer to the celebrations of Independence Day in a post-COVID America would most certainly mean large numbers along the delicate alpine trails.
Moving up along the wet and rocky corridors, it didn’t take long until we were rewarded with extraordinary views of the many divided lakes, bald peaks, and notchy passes just a few hours walk from one of the most popular trailheads along this stretch of the range. The gloomy cleared away, bringing only occasional downpours of frozen raindrops and clear blue skies with the most serene and pure golden sunlight to pierce the immaculate fresh pine-tinged air. The lakes were bug-free, and the fish were looking to feed, so after getting our hammocks set up, I set out to the shoals to see what I may find.
The water was crystal clear and still giving 20/20 vision on all the lakes abundant Brook Trout dancing along the shoreline, occasionally popping up to nab a quick bite - perfect conditions to start fishing. I began casting out with a Parachute Adams #16 and was almost immediately rewarded with a bite, and my heart jumped into action. Stripping the little guy in, I was excited to snap a photo and let him off back into his home, then get back in an attempt to set myself a personal record. I’m still very new to the sport, having only picked up a spinning rod 2 years ago, and Fly Fishing just 3 months prior. I’ve fallen in love with fly fishing, thanks to the input of a few inspiring friends and mentors, and am all-in when it comes to dedication and learning all that I can about the game.
I cast out again with the Adams, and again, was met with another beautiful high-mountain trout. I continued to experiment through the evening until it was time to gather tinder, build a fire, and settle down for the night. As the sun set, the great Murdoc began his own ritual of cloud conjuration, blessing the lake with a monumental appearance before the sun faded entirely, leaving our lady Casseopia to watch over our little den from the other side of the mountain.
I awoke from bed around 5am, tossing a little too much in my sleep and deciding to get an early start in an attempt to catch a sunrise, something I don’t normally chase, wishing I had the discipline to do so. I was glad that I did, setting up my small alcohol stove on the shore for a coffee and oatmeal breakfast to watch the sky shift in a strange long-form light show of fuscia, garnet, coral and mauve into brilliant hues of marigold and macaroon, with a finale of Murdoc glancing into the mirror sheen of the lake at my feet. Another cast after the sunrise brought in a very small brookie. Some talking time and a nap for the two of us gave me enough energy to head out and catch another brook trout, this one as a lunchtime snack, before going on a midday adventure in search of more opportunity and bigger ponds.
We first visited the lake directly adjacent to us, not 50 paces away from the first, and began to throw flies at the fish inside. It seems they had become picky eaters in the sunlight, and I was only able to catch a few other very small fish before moving on to the third lake in our small campout area. This one was seemingly devoid of fish altogether, instead harboring various sizes of salamanders. Catching a few shots of the photogenic little critters, we looped around the lakes before I started fishing again as Ylish took to relaxing in the sun and observing the surroundings - the fantasy ranger eyes of the young lady were sharp enough to even spot a family of Mountain Goats high up on the steep cliffsides of the mountain whose shadow we rested in. I was even able to catch a few small guys before we headed back to our camp to begin preparing dinner - just Ramen noodles tonight.
The water began to boil over the top of the subtlely sexy Fancee Feest stove I never go without as my stomach grumbled in disappointment to the thought of eating just ramen for dinner. I excused myself, asking Ylish to take over the water and ramen process for me for a moment, promising her a trout for dinner. Not 10 minutes later I returned with two of the largest I had caught thus far, scoring their sides and roasting in a pan over the warm coals of a fire made earlier as a bid for mosquito repellant. Large swarms of gnats and mosquitos began to attack our campsite with full force and truly showed some muscle. I’ve never seen a mosquito season this rough, but I was at times surrounded by easily over 20 of the bloodsuckers if I stood still for more than a few moments.
Our thermacell and DEET seemed to do little against the horde, but as the sun moved to twilight, the lakes insects began to settle, and instead the fish sprung to life. I eagerly leaped at the opportunity to fly fish a high alpine lake in the Uintas, with a gorgeous sunset on the horizon of the lake and temperatures just perfect enough to stay without shivering. This is where I really began to move my daily catch record number higher than I would have imagined. At number 9, I turned to Ylish as the lake itself turned darker but glowed with the light of the sky, and asked if I should shoot for 10. She agreed, “Well, you really do want that double digit..” and smirk lit her face and I could do nothing but match as I began to cast out again.
My first ever double-digit day fly fishing was with a catch so comical I could do nothing but laugh across the lake, now loud with the sound of plops and gulps as the fish continued their frenzy. As I had cast out and saw the 10th trout take the lure - an #18 Mosquito - I set the hook, to my absolute suprise, a small 4 inch Brook Trout flew careening towards me and landed gently in the tall swampy grass at my feet. What a way to get a double digit night, the small guy really made the entire trip worth it.
I continued to cast into the luminescent twilight, a dreamlike landscape where it was just me, my beloved, and the lake that was providing to me what so freely and gleefully what others wish for. This moment was something that had my heart so warm, the cool air and humid air did nothing to my skin but invigorate me further. Each deep breath I took, each back cast and follow through I set down, every glance around the frenzy of trout in an otherwise serene landscape gave me moments of which I will close my eyes and think of for the rest of my life.
And we still had an entire day and night left up here.
