Silver Creek Idaho

We are in Sun Valley to pick up new puppy for my daughter Jac. Her uncle lives in Washington, and Sun Valley seemed like a great place to meet, and relax for a few days. We are not here to fish…well not completely. I have to hit the river a little bit.  I have done my research, and it has to be Silver Creek. Its spring fed, and with all the run off this season “The Wood” and “The Lost” are out of the question. Silver Creek was made famous by Ernest Hemmingway, later a nice stretch of the river was turned into a nature preserve by his son Jack. The local fly shop has given me directions, a license, the right local flies and a good talking to about how educated these fish are. “At a minimum all the fish on the preserve have a masters and most a Ph.D. on man-made flies. They see flies thrown at them every day all day.” Silver Creek is single fly, barbless, catch and release river. So, these fish have all been caught many times over, hence the advanced degrees in manmade fake bugs.

I follow the guy’s directions from the fly shop, heading south on highway 20. I keep looking for my turn off, Peekaboo Street. He said I can’t miss it, but I’ve been driving way too long to have not missed it. This is where it gets tough for all of us, keep going, or turn back? My phone is almost dead, so I sort of fight the idea of using GPS. I feel the pressing feeling coming on, the anxiety almost at a panic. I’m panicking in my head and I feel I may never get this chance again. I make one right move, I call Melis. To make a short story long she figures it out—yes I can ask my wife for directions. I get to the preserve and I’ve got about an hour of light left. At this point I am so pissed at myself because I could have taken my time, got some great pics…. I am putting waders on in a mad shuffle and start jogging to the river—hell I’m almost running. I get there and quickly tie on one of my new Ph.D. busters. Sure enough these fish are just slurping bugs off the top of the calm silver water. I do everything they tell me, and just like they say I’m not getting anything.

I have a plethora of inner voices, and thank God my inner Yoda says, “Fish your own way mmm.” I step back sit for 5 minutes and just relax. I have been so jacked up I can hardly see straight. I try a new fly, and get in the river and adjust my casting. I know I was told what to do, but I just have to do it my way. The light is orange now and almost gone. I set the hook whenever I see a fish even close to where I think my fly is. I am going to be walking back to my car in the dark, but I can’t get my legs to listen to me and get out of the water. Slurp, set, oh God I hooked one. That was really all I wanted--just one.