White Rocks

Finally…I have fished the entire South Slope. Fishing White Rocks the last river on the South Slope of the Uinta’s.

It’s almost more of a relief than anything; being able to say “Why yes as a matter of fact I have fished every river on the South Slope of the Uintah’s.” Or …my favorite river on the South Slope…well let me think.” It’s not that I fish different rivers for the bragging rights, it more of a sense of accomplishment and completion, that I finally had the discipline to drive past so many amazing rivers to fish the last one on my list—White Rocks.

Like so many other times, it almost didn’t happen, for exactly the same reason—you get to Rock Creek or the Strawberry and say, “Oh today looks so nice, let’s just hit this river today, or we’ll get to White Rocks next time we’re out here.” In fact right up to the last second I didn’t really know if I would turn to go to Rock Creek, or keep going. I asked Johnny and Evan, and they didn’t want to make the call either; then I thought, “I'm the one holding the wheel, I'm gonna make a decision!” I didn’t turn, and we arrived at White Rocks almost an hour and a half later; all of us busting out of the truck--ready to get our feet wet.

Now that I have fished all 5 of the South Slope Rivers I can compare them, I can rate them 1-5. I can come up with a dozen different categories on how they stack up, and which one has this over that and so on. I can go nuts and analyze the absolute hell out of each river. But I’m not, because who really wants to read that? And more importantly whatever I have to say won’t come close to you getting off the computer, and getting your sorry ass in the river.

With that said though, I still have to make a few comments about it: First off wow you are not going to be prepared for how scenic White Rocks is; especially after driving through the town of White Rocks. Getting out there is quite an adventure. First off it is a strange mixture of beautiful rolling green farm land mixed with arid desert openness. You roll through one area with ideal ranches and farm houses, just to round a hill to find Hill-Billy Shanty heaven. I still don’t get why some of those dudes have 30 dead cars on their property and a pack of rabid tire biting Pit Bulls to protect them. But getting back to the river, I don’t see how you could stuff anymore beauty into that river and canyon. I will even go so far to say it could be stacked up against any river in Utah in terms of its lush green pine and quakies, rock cliff walls and clear clean water bubbling over a bed of boulders. On top of all that, the fish themselves have stunning red and orange bellies and fins.

All the rivers of the South Slope are truly amazing, and although they are all very similar, they each have their own distinct features and qualities about them. Now that I have fished them all, my next task is to become Guru-Master on each and every one of them—well at least two of them.

From Rome to Rock Creek

Rome to Rock Creek

Summer is not over, not by a long shot. But everyone is getting ready to go back to school, and their is that feeling in the stomach that you better revel in the glory, suck the marrow from the bone and all that business before it’s gone. It’s been an eventful summer, with enough travel to almost please Melis; of course she’s out of town now in St. George.

I haven’t fished much this summer with so many other things going on. Madeline and Jaxon wanted to search out another waterfall, or at least a cool place to swim, so the “Funky Four” decided to do a little one nighter at Rock Creek.

The camp fire antics were great, Jaxon & Madeline would talk to us, as if they liked us as much as we like them; and then they would whisper to each other. Stan knew it was something about him, and would say “what are you saying Jaxon?” I knew they weren’t saying anything about me, because I bore them to tears right now, and so there’s really nothing to say. Once the kids seemed like they were wrapped up in their own conversation, we would start “adult talking” that means whispering like they do about things we don’t want them to hear, but dads go about it in a much cooler way. I don’t know how they do it, but both of them have this super power of knowing when you don’t want them to hear. I think it’s called ”young ears,” and Jaxon would say “what are you saying dad?” I wonder how many things the kids have heard me say when I was whispering.

The main talk of the night was favorite movies. This part is hilarious too because Stan & I totally loved talking about favorite movies--you know starting in general talk, then breaking it down into movie categories. They were just annoyed and hated thinking about what movies they liked, and even worse, they hated it when I did the teacher thing of “why did you love that movie, tell us about why.” But in my mind, the night played like a movie itself, like a scene from “Stand by Me” and even though the kids acted like they didn’t like it, down inside I know they loved it.

The next morning I woke up and everyone was gone. I looked around for them but I guessed Stan was somewhere far up river, and the kids were somewhere near hiding from me. No big deal, I went fishing by myself. I could not get out of the river, after a couple hours I would say to myself “Okay I will fish this section then go back. That went on for probably 3 hours. But I figured they would not worry about me, and they were having fun. We were planning on staying the whole day, so why not keep fishing. I wore Teva’s and the rocks are slick covering the entire river bottom—hence the name Rock Creek. My feet were beat to hell, from sliding and banging the tops of my feet.



Next time I fish there even without waders, I will wear wading boots. I just could not stop, the entire river was amazing, and every fly I put on the fish liked. I even put on the ugliest soft hackle I tied myself to see if they would take that and sure enough they would. That river is magical. There is nothing like seeing a nice Brown or Brookie come up slow from a hidden rock or the shadows into the light to slurp in your dry fly. It doesn’t have huge fish, but you catch a lot of fish, and  plenty of fish that are big enough.  I love the way the river lays out, and how much room you have to cast.



It’s one of those rivers that you don’t have to look for a hole; the fish are all over the river.

The walk back was long and my feet felt like two sausages baking in the sun. They were beat up by the river, itching from something I brushed up against and sunburned. I was hammered when I got back to camp. Unfortunately Bonnie and Clyde were ready to go. Apparently the water was not what they were looking for. They tried to use my blow up mattress as a raft, but it was not holding air; so they became bored. I think the waterfalls and pools they talk about are actually in Hawaii. I try to get them to tell me exactly what they’re after, but I need more information than “you know waterfalls.” On the way home Jaxon got a chance to shoot a pistol for the first time. Now when we go on our adventures, we will refer to them as Bonnie & Clyde.

Rome

Palma de Mallorca

Florence & Tuscany

Pompeii