The original group of West High traveling throwback fishermen goes back a solid 10 years, numbered 7 in total. There was really no need for discussion about calling ourselves “The Magnificent 7,” why the hell wouldn’t we? I had a great time assigning everyone a character, and I dove at the chance of being Yul Brynner. Over the course of those 10 years we’ve grown a lil softer, a lil kinder, and a lot more loving. There is a sequel to the Mag 7, called the return of the 7, but somehow we settled on calling ourselves the Broke Back Boyz (BBB) because of our love of Ennis and Jack, and the affection we feel toward each other.
This most recent adventure for the BBB took us to Idaho’s Big Lost River near Mackay, sure as shit, we totaled 7 again. I think we’re still Magnificent, and we’ll always be Broke Back, but this sequel just sort of seems like we added a new dimension. For some reason it feels somewhere between Willy Wonka and the Keebler Elf teams up with a few Hobbits and Gandalf, with a Broke Back flair to it. There’s no way in hell we’re the return of the 7.
I rode up a day or so before everyone else so I could stop by my daughter’s house to see her and my new grand-daughter Sunny. The only hard thing about this whole trip was leaving that little meat-ball behind. She’s only 3 months old, but when I put her down for the last time to say good-bye she winked at me.
The upper forks, are some of the most beautiful western streams I have walked in. Spring clear water rolling over river rocks, some plopped in the middle of the river the size of a VW Beetle. The wide open canyons of the Big Lost area help me breath; I long to stay there forever.
We got a chance to barely touch the tip of the rivers that meander through the canyons. The greater Snake River Basin holds so many little spring fed waters and streams that you could live a life time and still not fish them all. This area is not undiscovered, it is not a mystery or what we have called “Shangri-La” or the “Fountain of Youth.” People know that this area is out there, both its beauty and fish are known. This region is not Jackson, or Ketchum or Sun Valley, at least not yet.
I was stubborn and resisted going straight to nymphing this water, regardless of the deep holes that for sure held some monsters. But the chance to practice casting fat hackled drys on this kind of water is worth not catching as many fish. With the amount of volume and the clarity of water, watching a Cut, Brooke or Bow come up and take a dry was far worth catching less fish working the bottom of each hole.
This quest wasn’t “there and back again,” but it was the beginning of getting Lost in a Big way again. The mystery of where the river goes, and just the name itself makes me want to get lost in the endless web of rivers that feed it. I love to say its not about catching a lot of fish, or catching a big fish, but I missed the biggest rainbow I’ve ever seen in any river, and it rose to my dry not one once but twice. I think the first time he just missed my hopper, but dam-it I pulled the second take right out of his mouth before he got a chance to get hooked. I think I can get more “lost” in the fish I didn’t land, or even hook then the ones that your hold up for a pic. But when that Bow swam away with its flaming red sides I swear it wink at me.
Fishermen crank out book after book about why they dry fly fish instead of using a worm, which will for sure catch more fish that chucking a hook with beads and feathers on it. What fish doesn't want to eat a live night crawler? I’m just saying who really cares why we keep casting flys at trout, who really cares what the hell is right or wrong about going. I just want to keep getting lost in it.
(Photo's to follow)
