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.