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  • Sunday, July 05, 2009

    Mornin' Glory II


    Even If It's Not Planned
    midlife alarm clock
    great fishing

    .. As sometimes happens to folks of the mature persuasion, the eyes just pop open - at 3:oo O'clock AM. We've learned that this happenstance will not be denied, and no amount of rolling over will return the bliss that is slumber. We've come to accept it. It's not all bad. Get up - drink cold coffee - grab gear - go fishing.
    .. It must have happened simultaneously to several of the neighbors as well as us. They beat us to the fog. They beat us to the spinner fall. They did not beat us to the fish.
    .. Gobs and gobs of hungry fish were enjoying an early breakfast on the Madison River.
    .. We grabbed a box of Yellowstone Morning Glory flies and did battle for about an hour. We waved goodbye and headed to the Gibbon River: no delays, no traffic lights, no construction, no traffic. Good does happen.
    .. Early morning fog, low clouds, and river mists are very regular occurrences in Yellowstone National Park. The landscape and personality of the park are different. The vistas are cropped and accentuated in ever changing and wondrous ways.
    .. We amateur "point-&-shooters" are at a loss to capture the ethereal beauty that wafts the mist through the valley, along the river, and up the slopes. We have a sneaking suspicion that the very early morning is reserved for accidental encounters. Good does happen.
    .. Old and friendly places become new and fleeting friends. Bits of landscape jump out of the roiling mists and just as quickly disappear... The road is devoid of the long train of vehicles that will appear in a few short hours. There are no gawker blocks. There are no mobile condominiums. There are only the park personnel, (hi guys,) and the occasional poor soul that happened to wake at an unseemly hour. Good does happen.
    .. There were only six fishers along the 14 miles of road adjacent to the Madison River. The trucks and cars were all familiar to our eyes. Two were hooked up so we honked to distract them, (not so sorry 'bout that.)
    .. There was a veritable circus of catching along the Madison River early on the 4th of July. The giddy sensation of sharing the park with only the neighbors pervaded our soul. Good does happen.
    .. The second largest city in Wyoming, (Madison Junction Campground,) was blissfully comatose as we entered the area around National Park Meadows.
    .. Deep in the mists of the meadow were two neighbors strolling toward the Junction Pool and the honey holes on the north and east bank of the Madison River. Good on 'em: all alone with history and eager fish. Good does happen.
    .. The swallows and something infinitesimally small greeted us as pulled off the road at the one-cast waters in the upper Gibbon River meadows. The birds were gobbling bits of stuff so small that the only saving grace was that the sun peeked out and allowed us to see the whitish specks against the sky and dew-damp vegetation.
    .. We believe the UFOs were mayflies of some sort. We guess they were size 24 at the biggest. There were squadrons of them in aerial combat with the swallows.
    .. They were fast. They were many. There were dimples in the water and no large bison in the emerald green of the meadow. Rig up and chase the dimples. Good does happen.
    .. The catching was so good that we frequently took two fish from the same pool. The fish were so hungry that they took big flies - after we left several itty-bitty bits of fluff stuck in their snouts.
    .. [Yes it is possible to break off an 8" fish. Roots, submerged logs, weeds, small pools, evil spirits, all contribute to the silliness.]
    .. These trout are the sociable sort. We took Brookies, Browns, and Rainbows - still no Grayling this year. We stuck with pink Feather Dusters in sizes 14 - 16 - 18. The fish were not selective.
    .. We left while the craziness was in full bloom. You might ask why. The answer: a hoard of visitors from Hawaii invaded the meadows with equipment designed for Mako Sharks. They had just too many screaming children!
    .. The fog had cleared from the meadows, and the condominiums were belching billows of black smoke on their climb toward the "blow-down" and then to Canyon. The swallows were gone. The bits of fluff were gone. It was time to go.