Ham's Fork last post of the year

Ham’s Fork River, Wyoming

Utahan’s like to throw both Idaho and Wyoming under the bus, tagging the residents as backward ass hillbillies living out in now-where’s-ville. I’m not really sure why, until I see what was once a fantastic little fox--shot by some idiot, then displayed up on the fence at the lake access parking lot.

I am not really sure what anyone would get out of doing this act of I don’t know what would you call it… “territory marking?” This is not the first time I have seen this, including in Utah. I’ve seen plenty of coyotes in the basin area shot, and strung up on the fence. I just wonder where this bizarre custom comes from. Is it some ancient primal Neanderthal custom where cave man screams to the world “I rule these lands beware both man and beast,” by displaying his most recent kill. Does this guy think if he kills foxie and sticks him up on the fence that others of its kind will come sniffing around, see one of their own and run and hide, never to be seen again? Well there’s the question, why would you not want to see a fox again? Are they eating your cattle? No. How about your sheep—stupid question? No! How about your chicken coop? Maybe, build a better coop then. So what in the hell are you killing such a magnificent creature for? Here’s the thing, what makes a place beautiful? It’s more than just the environmental surroundings: the mountain structure, trees, river, lake… The beauty is also found it the animals who live in the wilderness. If you kill and eat, or kill in skin something—no problem; but to kill the stunning fox just to strap bloody and lifeless to the fence—No!  I realize they are predators, and that a large part of their diet is also game birds like pheasants, that the fox is in direct compitition with the hunter. That still does not justify the act of killing them and hanging them on the fence.

With that said, I am not going to let it jade my opinion or Wyoming, or the people who live there for that matter. After all this could have been one or two stupid teenagers, and you can’t judge the whole state by a couple punks. Still—

This was my first river adventure with my old time buddy Tom. Although it’s the heart of winter, we both needed to get out a little bit and “get some air” so to speak. I have been studying maps of Idaho, Montana and “Forever West Wyoming” for days. To me all three states are fly fishing meccas, and of the three I probably steer more toward Idaho than the other two, but I love all three for both their rivers and mountain ranges.

Many years ago when I was a teenager I remember fishing the river in Kemmerer, which I did not know was the Ham’s Fork; I was just thrilled by all the huge fish we were catching with our Mepp’s spinners. I also remember being chased across a field by a bull—it scared the hell out of me. I was screaming like a school girl running toward my older brother and uncle to same me. I remember is so vividly. Aside from that adventure, I have only driven through the area, on my way to Jackson.

This was also one of my first escapades to a river that I did not even pack a rod. Even in the heat of the day I bet it was not even 20 to 25 degrees, and as it got later in the day I bet it was easy 10 below. Even at 25 above, that pretty much shoots you down. The fish are not feeding at those temps and your line turns to a frozen rope in a matter of one to two casts. But fishing was not the purpose of this trip; it was a time to explore. It’s not like Tom has never seen a river, or stopped and sat at the bank of one and enjoyed its solitude. But it is still nice to take a friend to the places that mean so much to me, places that re-charge my soul, and help wash all your troubles away.

The Ham’s Fork did its job on both of us. We pulled off the road just below the spillway and found a ladder going over the barb-wire fence. Someone else had the idea of paying homage to the river before us, and broke a trail through—we followed it down to the river bank. It was really cold at this point, cold enough that we were not going to stay too long. But I did get some shots, and got to listen to the sound of the river.

Ham’s Fork falls right into my favorite size of river, not too big, not too small. It looks to have a wonderful rock bottom, and good flow, which helps to create the right environment for bug life. And we all know if bugs grow in a river, then fish eat the bugs; and if the fish eat a lot of bugs that means they become big fish. Another aspect that makes this river so interesting to me is all the oxbow bends and twists to the river. This creates excellent holes, and pocket water that I love to fish. I cannot wait until early spring to see what this river looks like, and fishes like when winter’s grip starts to loosen.

I will have to return with Tom on an early spring day when the big clumps of snow and ice are falling off the branches, and the birds are swarming, from sparrow to the eagle. Find out if the river speaks to Tom, when the life expands, when the fish are rising to the tiny caddis on top of the water; the muskrats, otters, beavers are making themselves busy. Maybe we will get lucky and see the return of Mr. Fox bouncing around with his proud, full orange tail.

Price River

Price & Scofield

Scofield Reservoir, the Price River, Clear Creek all bring back a lot of childhood memories. Buckle in frequent Blog followers, here I go down memory lane. Come on, you’ve been down this road with me too many times to count. This is how I get you interested in today’s story, by starting off with childhood tales from a warped twisted memory of  me and a cousin catching “X” amount of huge fish getting home way too late—blah, blah, blah. Let’ just skip it and keep it about nowadays.

Johnny & I decided to hit the Price today because it’s one river that’s not that far away, adding to our Utah Rivers photo and film collection. I have decided my next book will be “Rivers of Utah.” I know it’s almost impossible to fish and photograph every river and stream in Utah, or to even capture all the rivers in their complete form.  What I want to do is capture all the major and even less known rivers in my home state; sort of a collection of “what I think” are worth perusing as a fly fisherman. 

My first book is a collection of some of my favorite shots of western rivers, with virtually no writing in it, except a page or two introduction.  With my book about Utah rivers, I am going to take a stab with the pen. This brings up the question of what do I want to say? What do I want to write about that I can look at and honestly say to myself “I would want to read that?” 

I am not interested in writing a technical fishing guide or a “list of favorite’s book,” or a geographic guide on how to get to each great river. I have no desire to take years fishing every river in the state to tell other people where to go and where not to go—figure that out for yourself! 

To me fishing is about the going out, the joy of being there, the pursuit and catching of the fish is more of a reward, or a by-product of the journey. For example we stopped at the dam at Scofield and walked down river. We were not sure it was the Price River, but going off everything I saw on a map it was. We got a mile or two down river, and saw a sign that said “Lower Fish Creek” which I found out when I got home was just the name of a road. It was pretty cold, below freezing when you were in the shade. Believe it or not, walking back was my favorite part of the day. It was so quiet and isolated. Johnny spotted a bald eagle perched on a pine tree. The bird was in the shade so you could not see for sure that it was a bald eagle, until it took flight and you could see the white head. We watched it soar until it went over the mountain range on the other side of the valley. Cutting through the wind and riding it searching the ground for something tasty to eat. I want to be reincarnated as a bald eagle.  Further down the road, we found a pile of deer bones; we looked closer at it, and decided it was an elk. The color of the remaining hair was too dark to be a deer, and the spinal cord was really big. Fishing was only a part of the day.

I probably should mention that neither one of us caught a fish; in fact we didn’t see a fish, or even get a bite. I didn’t even have a fake bite—completely skunked! So that could add to why walking  quietly on the road, watching eagles fly or looking at elk bones was the highlight of the day, who cares, as long as you’re enjoying yourself.

Another interest we both share, is acquiring a knowledge and understanding of the waterways in our state. I know some rivers inside and out, where their head water is, its source, where it flows to, if joins other rivers, confluence points... But I don’t know that information on most rivers—point in case The Price River, and the Spanish Fork.

So I had to find out, not a difficult task, it just requires looking closely at some maps and going on-line to find out more details of each river. We were both trying to reason out the complete path of the Price River, and which rivers feed the Spanish Fork River. 

Scrutinizing maps is harder than you think to find out this info. The problem is that they don’t go into enough detail to really trace them down, or the opposite, they show a great amount of detail, but it is a small section of river, and does not show end path or the confluence with a larger river or the rivers ending lake or reservoir.

Here’s what I found out about the Price: it starts at Scofield, and flows down to the Hwy 6 point where it splits up; heading toward Helper and Price, it keeps its name, until its confluence with The Green, called the Green until it meets up with the Colorado, Then the Colorado wins the name game. The Colorado is the source of water that fills Lake Powell.  The confusing part for me about the Price is the part of it that flows toward Spanish Fork, and I wondered does it feed the Spanish? Answer: no that tributary is called the White River, and it does not feed the Spanish. The rivers that make up the Spanish are Soldier Creek, a small river following Hwy 6 where it meets Thistle Creek just below the Hwy 89. Lower down a bit Diamond Fork adds its waters to the mix, making up The Spanish Fork, which eventually flows to Utah Lake—easy sleazy!

Finally I traced down the Huntington River back and forth, coming up with the lakes on the top of that mountain range. There about 6 or 7 water bodies’ total, but the major sources of water are The Huntington, Cleveland, Miller Flat and Electric Lake; which all flow toward the town of Huntington, the general Price direction. All this stuff makes sense, it’s not rocket science, but it can be confusing and it’s hard to have a big picture unless you take a little time to research it out.

What does this all mean? Who really cares about the source of the Price or Spanish Fork River? Plus anyone can go on line and find this information or look at a map.  It’s not just about knowing facts or data about a river; it’s about the combination of it all. It’s about the images of each river, it’s about the different seasons, it’s about looking at cool elk bones—it’s about the soaring eagle.