Idiot

Where did the day go?  My sister Betty, from Morro Bay, California and her friend Andrew are coming to join us for a few days and are flying in to Jackson.  But before that happens, the fish called and Miki and I went to visit the Snake River that winds it’s way through the park.  Finally a chance to fish.

Upon arrival we took a quick peek at the river to see how it was looking.  Miki reported back that the fish were jumping all along the eddy line at a bend in the stream and indeed they were feeding on top, slurping up the insect du jour for brunch.  As I was finishing stringing up my fly rod, another car drove up.  I heard a door open, then another, and I assumed that another fisherman was gearing up as I was for some action on the Snake.  I quickly grabbed what gear was left and hurried toward the trail, cause I got there first!  Turns out that the little old lady that drove up, was getting her fly rod together too, but was in no hurry to out run me to the river.  If so, I think I could have taken her with a track and field Olympic style kick in the last 30 feet to the riverbank to take her.  The prime spot was to be mine and was. 

Oh Yeah!  Me and the Snake.

Little, but mighty.  What I am identifying as a Snake River Cutthroat.

I was giddy on a number of levels.  First, the setting was the Snake River with the Tetons in the background.  I had been reading about it for months.  Second, I landed my first trout of the trip on my 3^rd cast.  Finally, I had numerous bites where the fish got away, but more bites where they didn’t.  It didn’t hurt either that a drift boat that lazily made it’s way down the river saw a few of them, while we never saw them land any…coup for me!  Our 20% chance of sprinkles became 100% and a cool breeze picked up, but not before 3 hours passed in the blink of an eye.  To be continued.

Back to the doghouse, where we ate lunch, cleaned house, did laundry, and headed to Jackson to pick up our guests.

On the square in downtown Jackson Hole with the antler arches in the
background.  Each corner of the square has an arch made from numerous
elk antlers.  Most people have their picture taken under the arch.
We are not most people.
(Oh bell boy, can you help me with the bags under my eyes please?)

We got acquainted with the town again so we had our bearings and grabbed some dinner.  We picked up a few supplies and I was sort of looking for a place to buy a pair of low top hiking shoes, so I wouldn’t permanently do any damage to my feet over the next three weeks.  Of course I did not bring my hiking boots (idiot!), I thought our hikes would be leisurely in nature (idiot!).  We found the airport, grabbed a spot, and knowing we were early, we cleaned the windshield and called my sister Alice back home and asked if she had talked to Betty lately.  After hearing she talked to her this morning (after she should have been off to the airport), a red flag scurried up the flagpole and fell on my head.  Betty was not on her way.  I was a day early!  For whatever reason, I had it in my brain that she was showing up on Thursday for weeks and I would be at the airport no matter what (idiot!).  So, I know where the airport is and even the parking spot I would like to be in tomorrow evening.  My bad.

The gift of it all was the sunset we saw on the way home.  Every evening so far has been hazy from the smoke from the wildfires in the area, so what turned out to be our recon trip to Jackson was not a total loss.  We saw moose and elk to boot.

Oxbow Bend on the Snake River with Mt. Moran in the background.

Well, we’ll try it again tomorrow.  What may be a déjà vu day will be welcome…all over again.

My Zen from the Road:  Shortly after a friend of mine lead me down the road to learning to fly fish (thank you god man…no religious overtones associated) and I actually felt sort of semi-adequate doing it, I started picturing it in places I would read about.  The Snake River in Grand Teton National Park was one of those places.  I was familiar with the river in the sense we had traveled here many times on vacation growing up.  I had always pictured those men in their waders along the shore as hardcore and planned every action of their fly rod the evening before.  Well I joined that group today and expanded it to those that want to be semi-hardcore and don’t really know what they are doing, but can fake it.  Call them dreams, bucket lists, whatever…it can happen.