Traveling America By Van: Idaho
By: John Kumiski
Never been to Idaho. Always wanted to go. Beautiful scenery, awesome rivers, great trout fishing. Why wouldn't you go?
We left Portland on I-5, crossing the Columbia River and hopping off in Vancouver. Washington Highway 14 parallels the Columbia. Far from being an interstate, it meandered, rose, and dipped as it moved us through the Columbia River Gorge. We stayed with it to White Salmon, then took the Hood River Bridge back into Oregon. We had a reservation at Memaloose State Park.
The park is in a weird place. Interstate 84 on one side, Union Pacific tracks on the other. The only way to leave is on I-84 west. What? No hiking trails. No river access. Our reservation was for two nights, but we were out of there the first thing the next morning, first heading west, then a u-turn to head east, on Interstate 84. Forecast temperature was 96 degrees.
Our itinerary included two nights at Washington's Hood Park and Idaho's Hell's Gate State Park. We crossed the Washington state line. The temperature hovered around 100, the air was full of smoke. We decided to keep going.
We crossed into Idaho. Temperatures around 100, wildfires everywhere, even thicker smoke. We kept going, crossing the state in about four hours. Why wouldn't you go to Idaho? Triple digit temperatures, unbreathable air. Hopefully someday I'll get back there. Not on this trip, though.
I'm starting to tie flies to replace the ones lost!
Now we were in Montana. It was still hot, although less so. It was still smoky, likewise less so. And I was getting sick of driving. We'd covered nearly 400 miles, by far our longest drive of the trip. We found a campground with open sites in St Regis, called, strangely enough, the Campground St. Regis. We ended up staying two nights. The Clark Fork of the Columbia comes through St. Regis, as does the St. Regis River. In the town of St. Regis, you'll find a fly shop, Joe Cantrell Outfitting.
Joe sold me a fishing license and some flies, gave me some advice. "Go down to the Fishing Access sign and turn right. You'll see where to fish." It wasn't a lot, but it got me started. Susan dropped me off, and to the river I went.
The first fishing spot was glaringly obvious. I tied on a big nymph and cast it once, twice, three times. Third time the line came tight, and a beautiful 15-inch cutthroat trout battled against me, using the current to its advantage.
The reel's drag worked well, the tippet held. I don't carry a net, though, and when I leadered the fish it surged. I didn't let go and the 5x didn't hold. Fortunately, the fly's barb was pressed down, but I neither got to touch my prize, nor take a picture. Dang!
I hooked and lost another good fish, after which the bite stopped. As I worked my way up the St. Regis River, I learned Teva sandals make lousy wading shoes. It was like wading in an icy boulder field. Slippin' and a-slidin', peepin and a-hidin'...
Didn't fall. Got lucky.
Tied on a dry fly. A good strategy it was! Fish rose steadily to the Purple Haze. Most were small cutts, but at one run a suicidal rainbow trout attacked that fly like it hadn't fed in weeks. The reel's drag worked well, the tippet held. Five or six leaps, a solid run, and the fish was tired. I got it to hand and carefully took a couple photos, then made sure it swam away.
This rainbow trout from the St. Regis River took a Purple Haze dry fly and fought like a dervish.
Tried a Stimulator- the fish did not care. Because they float so well, I wished I had some foam flies. Those fish would have hit anything. It was a wonderful day.
Sometimes too soon, days end. We had other things to see, other places to go. We had dashed through Idaho, and now were moving on to the next stage of our road trip.
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