The judges awarded Central Washington Sportsmen Show passes to DeVar Gleed for his entry in this year’s outdoor adventure writing contest. For so many of us, fishing is all about family.
“Getting youngest son Nicholas and his grandpa together fishing was worth another trip to Utah and Wyoming. I figured, he’s in 8th grade – he can miss a week of school. The primary stated reason for the trip was to see my daughter (in her last semester in BYU’s math ed program), but visions of fall brown trout and fine Snake River cutthroats gorging for winter put me to sleep each night before our trip. Friend Ben Jewett couldn’t pass up an opportunity to go back and see good friends in the beehive state, and sharing gas and good company turned into a great road trip. We prayed the car would make it there and back, and off we went. Mom had family dinners and activities planned with my brother and three sisters in Utah. Nicholas, of course, was the center of attention as seemingly dozens of cousins came and went. Mom doted on Nicholas in her typical grandmotherly way – which he soaked up like a dry sponge! Each evening Nicholas and Dad sauntered off to a corner to play their game – Monopoly. Somehow, they both inherited an unexplainable ability to play for hours on end! Nicholas is denied every request to play anyone at home – but knows Dad jumps at every chance to play. It’s typical back and forth – each trying to outdo the other – with grandma occasionally having to referee cronyism with the bank or sleight of hand cheating. Both hate to lose – but blood runs deeper than Monopoly money every time.
“The trip to Star Valley started early. Mom sent homemade cinnamon rolls, margarine tubs of her famous sloppy joe mix and quart jars of home canned apricot and grape juice. (We were not going hungry!) A quick shot up the interstate to Evanston, then weaving through Utah, Wyoming and Idaho on U.S. 89. Pronghorn antelope graced us with their presence just outside of Evanston and each small town brought its own character, reminding me of paradise back home. The drop into Star Valley was punctuated by warmth not typical of early October in Wyoming – drought conditions similar to Kittitas County. We made sure our keys still worked in the homestead – a gift my sweet mother-in-law continues to give. She and her sisters, in their wisdom, kept the small home they were raised in, in Grover, Wyoming; population 147. The keys worked, thankfully. As we turned on power and lights we were faced with 100s of dead and dying flies. (Note to self: replace the decades-old windows ASAP!) A sight to behold: Nicholas and his grandpa chasing dying (but still fast) flies with a small shop vac. The flies didn’t stand a chance! We cleaned up the rooms and hit the river.
“The Narrows Bridge was first. We saw a few small fish chase our offerings (worms and minnow rapalas). With two fish on the stringer, we hiked to the first bend and caught one small brown. The water was expectedly lower and trickier to fish. We made our way over to a large culvert through which flowed one of the many small, cold, crystal clear streams originating on the eastern slope of Idaho’s Caribou-Targhee Range and feeding Wyoming’s Salt River. Nicholas, as most limber, crossed the wire fence. Large and small cutthroat darted in and out of the culvert. I flipped the worm into it and handed the rod to Nicholas. Immediately, a large cutt hit the worm. Nicholas was so excited that he didn’t notice the 6lb. test line rubbing the concrete bridge and it quickly broke. (That boy hates to lose a fish!) I grabbed another rod and went at it again. The willing cutthroat hit again and my coaching of holding the rod well away from the bridge worked. Nicholas proudly brought in a hefty, 18” cutthroat – a beauty! He caught his limit out of that small culvert as dad and I rebaited the hook. Evening filled with stories of Dad’s younger years. He might forget where he put his glasses or hearing aids in a moment – but memories of he and his brother on the Malad Dragons Idaho state champion football team and winning a gold watch for best male athlete his senior year were as clear as if it were yesterday.
“The next morning it was Mom’s scrumptious cinnamon rolls and hit the river before sunrise. We drove to our secret spot – with property owner permission. Down a bumpy gravel road, through three fence gates and past 100s of healthy staring angus steers, we approached the riverside. I left Dad and Nicholas near productive bends and wandered off to test a lesser known holes. A few hefty browns later, I tracked down Dad and Nicholas. Mom called Nicholas a few times to make sure dad hadn’t fallen in. He assured her that dad was right next to him and both were having a great time. This giant bend for some reason traditionally has not been productive, but Dad didn’t hesitate, and immediately got a huge hit. I was concerned his drag was set a little tight and that bruiser was headed toward the current, so I encouraged Dad to lead him into a small eddy behind a rock outcropping built to help sustain fish populations. The calm water allowed Nicholas to net his grandpa’s cutthroat of a lifetime! Dad grinned from ear to ear, and true to form, sat back to soak it all in. He encouraged us to get our rods in the water. Nicholas was anxious to get another fish on the shore – he had been skunked to that point. I took him to a fast moving section with slow moving eddies every 20 yards or so – where I once pulled out a 7lb. brown. He must have cast that F9 rapala 100 times…nothing. We rounded the next bend and I gave it a try – bam – a hungry cutt came to shore – not helping Nicholas’ competitive attitude any. He finally hit paydirt on the next bend, just about time to head south out of this beautiful valley. Mom was overjoyed as she thought of the wonderful, tasty trout dinners from the cold, clear waters of the Salt River. We came home with Nicholas’ big culvert bruiser, and left the rest in the freezer for grandma and grandpa. The memories Dad will have as those trout sizzle on the fry pan will last a lifetime and beyond!”
