As an angler, I delight in finding the places that no one knows about, that aren’t on the radar, and are still a secret even in today’s world. This could be a small mountain creek, a river that gets overlooked, or a lake that simple doesn’t get talked about. Searching out and finding those places is one of the many things that keeps me involved and invested in the fly fishing world.
But every now and again, it is nice to fish water that is known world wide. In this instance, that water was the Railroad Ranch at Harriman State Park on the Henry’s Fork during the fabled green drake hatch. This piece of water at this time of year draws anglers from all over the world and is regarded as some of the most technical and difficult dry fly fishing in North America, if not the world.
So when the invite came down from Ken to tag along with him and a fellow guide from work, Ty, I jumped at the chance. Shane happened to have the day off as well, as his friend Ryan was visiting from Michigan. Ryan had never held a fly rod before but he was invited as well. Shane told him all about the beautiful scenery, the drive, and how fishing such hallowed water on your first day would be really cool. He neglected to mention the ultra selective rainbows and spring creek conditions that can have even the most seasoned fisherman muttering to himself after a few hours.
5:30 rolled around bright and early and we all piled into Ken’s truck and headed south. Any day you can watch the sun rise over the Madison Range is going to be a good day. A couple hours and a quick stop at Trouthunter later, one of the shop guys confirmed what we had been hearing: the green drakes were on. Apparently they were out in force the day before, as well as large numbers of PMDs.
The forecast called for sunny skies and temps in the 60s all day, which would be perfect. But we arrived to a low cloud deck and 38 degrees. We passed around a bottle of fine bourbon and headed out. Ken has been fishing this stretch since he was 12, but for the rest of us it was virgin territory.
Walking up to famous water and getting your first look is always interesting. Will it measure up to the mental image you have? In this case, absolutely. It looked just like I always imagined it would. Anglers crowded the banks upstream, so we split up and headed down.
From all I have read, the Railroad Ranch during the green drake hatch is played by a particular set of rules. You stand or sit on the bank with a dry fly tied on and watch for rising fish. When you see that head coming up, you wait for the opportune moment, and delicately present your dry, hoping for the perfect drift. These fish are notoriously picky and only the most perfect of presentations will be rewarded with an eat. So, Shane and I slowly made our way down our side of the river, watching for heads.
Two hours and no risers later, we did exactly what everyone else in the group did: commit sacrilege on hallowed ground. With a nymph rig and an indicator. I would have loved to have been a little bit closer to see the look of disgust on the face of the guy who stopped and stared at us from the bank. Ha.
We met up with the group and crisscrossed the river and fished every bit of fishy looking water we could find. Nothing. Few bugs on the water and no rising fish meant we just kept working our way downstream. Shane wondered off into a side channel, and I just happened to glance over and see this:
And upon running up, I saw this:
Shane’s first fish on the Henry’s Fork. Pretty cool deal. And for those of you who might throw a fit about a fish being caught on a streamer on the Railroad Ranch, you should know that it was a hand tied zonker on the swing. So the “purist” form of streamer fishing.
Ken and Ty had found a good run where we spent the next few hours. Ty got into a few nice fish, and we alternated fishing and sitting on the bank drinking whiskey, bullshitting, and making wisecracks about whoever was fishing in front of us. It was the perfect low key afternoon.
Then the dries started to show up.
We saw a few big sailboat green drakes on the water, and then started noticing the heads coming up. Oh boy. During the course of the next hour or so, I got my ass served up on a platter. But I can say this; I got four eats on a dry fly on the Ranch. That I can be proud of. It’s entirely my fault that I messed them all up, but still. One of those eats was from perhaps the largest fish I have ever seen in a river. She ate, I felt a couple good headshakes, and she jumped; showing me her silvery slab of a side before snapping my 3X like it was nothing.
The day moved on, and as the rising fish slowly tapered down to nothing we began the slow mosey back to the car. Talking about the day over burgers and chicken wings at Trouthunter, we all agreed. It was a damn fine day.
