Elk Camp

This past September I earned my third invitation to elk camp with my son's hunting party. But this year was a bit different as all three hunters had their fathers along. The other two fathers are brothers and 40 year hunting partners; I was the lone angler. If my son was embarrassed that his father was a catch and release fly fisherman in a camp full of steely-eyed killers, he didn't let on. 

This year the hunters tackled a new river drainage to hunt and, again, Google Maps satellite view enabled me to do some pre-trip scouting and drop waypoints at the juiciest spots.  The hunters have some pretty skookum map apps but I found that Google Maps gave me what I needed to scout fishy water and access.

The Law

The ATV that partially blocked the FSR was a bit of a puzzle as I approached, but when I saw the operator wore a holstered sidearm, it became clear that I was going to have my first encounter with a Conservation Officer in over 30 years.

The CO waved me over, introduced himself, and I said I was fishing, not hunting, He asked how the fishing had been and asked to see my license. "You bet", I said, and hopped out of the truck to retrieve my license from my pack. I produced the license, he looked at it for a moment and said "This is last year's license"

I was shocked, I think I said a little swear, but I told him I had it on my phone. That was the good news. The bad news was that the files on my phone were saved to the cloud and, being well out of cell range, they could not be opened.

There was a file saved  as "2025-26 freshwater license" but when the CO zoomed in on the thumbnail with his fingers, that also was a 2024/25 license!

I nervously explained that I purchase a license every year, including this year. He looked at me (rather sternly it seemed, or maybe he was just trying to figure out if I was being straight up, or a bull shitter) and said "Normally I'd issue you a ticket and then change it to warning if you could produce the license, but I have a lot to do today (Translation: there are guys with guns running around out here and firearms and wildlife offences are a higher priority than a non-licensed fly fisherman) so I'm going to take a picture of your ID and if, when I get back to the office, I see that you don't have a license, a CO will visit you at home"

"Sounds good", I said. I thanked him for his flexibility, we shook hands and a suitably chastened flyfisherman carried on his way

Lessons learned:

1) Destroy hardcopies of previous year licenses.

2) Delete electronic copies of previous year licenses.

3) Save electronic copy of license to phone and not to the cloud.

First Elk 

My son and his hunting buddies have been hunting elk for six years and have been successful on two previous hunts but my son was not been behind the trigger for either of those kills. He was pretty determined that this was his year.

On the fourth day of the hunt, the hunters left well before daybreak in order to be in position on the mountain and calling when the sun rose. On their way up, they passed a couple of lawn chairs on the edge of a large clearing. When my son's buddy started calling, a bull responded almost immediately. Alternating cow, calf and bull calls he drew the big bull in from over 100 yards away. My son, looking through his scope, and laying prone, couldn't get a good view of the points on the rack but his buddy, on binoculars, counted six. "Kill it", he said. "Kill it?, my son clarified. "Kill it!" And at 17 yards my son dropped his first bull elk.

Later, as they humped the dressed elk down the mountain, they met the owners of the aforementioned lawn chairs who remonstrated the lads for shooting "their" elk that they had been calling for two days. Sorry oldtimer, but if some young mountain men are willing to walk 2 km further and 500m higher in elevation to call a bull while you sit in a chair on the edge of a clearing and wait for a bull that will probably never cross that clearing in the first place, then to the victors go the spoils.

The Fishing

You never know what to expect when exploring new water, but that's the allure; the unexpected and the delightful all await; and this fishing trip had both.

But I'll be honest I was a little on edge fishing solo in the river bottom; I never felt truly comfortable. Sure I had bear spray, made a lot of noise and practiced situational awareness, but golly, I still had an undercurrent of anxiety running through me most of the time. I suppose that's healthy and helpful, but it made me a little jumpy too. I swear had a grouse exploded from underfoot I would have dropped dead from a jammer there on the spot.

I came across this confluence pool with big fish rising energetically.  

I rested my rods on a log and pulled out a coveted fresh crop Macintosh apple from my pack to munch while I tried to figure out what was going on out there. I walked upstream to see if I could see any bugs drifting in the current...none. I returned to the pool and thought I saw some cream coloured caddis flies in the air, which would make sense given the energetic rise forms of the fish. I tied on an elk hair caddis, started casting thoughtfully, and seriously, I could feel my heart beating faster with the anticipation of a grand day of cutthroat fishing. 

I had several rises to the fly and then finally a take. I got the fish close and it popped off the hook, but not before I saw... a whitefish?  I kept casting, hooked another fish firmly, and landed another whitefish. Whitefish are known to have small mouths but this one absolutely crushed a big bushy size 10 elk hair caddis, and inhaled it. 

I resumed casting, landed another whitefish, and came to the slow realization that this pool of rising fish were not cutthroat after all. Makes me wonder how many times I've seen rising fish in a pool, and mistakenly assumed they were trout.  I also felt a little sheepish mistaking whitefish for cutthroat. When the fish were jumping I thought I saw flashes of colour and I think I mistook the rosy gill plate of a whitefish for a westslope's coloured flank. 

After I caught number of whitefish on dries, I began to wonder how else can I fish for them?   I caught my first fish contact nymphing on a trip earlier in the summer and this pool of actively feeding whitefish  presented opportunity. When you are learning a new fishing technique and you don't catch anything, you begin to wonder "Am I doing it all wrong, are there no fish here, or are they here but not feeding"  In this case, the last two variables were moot; the fish were here and they were feeding. This gave me the perfect opportunity to blame my lack of success entirely on me!

I retired my dry fly rod to the log, picked up my nymphing rod, and over the next hour or so practiced contact nymphing.  Previous to this trip, the other fish I caught contact nymphing I felt the take rather than observed any movement in my sighter. But in this pool with the close quarters fishing, the even current flow, and my ability to cast where I looked, I was able to pay close attention to my sighter...and I saw subtle movements in it that I had never seen before. I saw the drifting sighter pause ever so slightly: set the hook, fish on. I saw the sighter move underwater: set the hook, fish on. I saw the sighter move sideways: set the hook, fish on. And yes, I also hooked some when I felt the sharp, unmistakable tug on my line.

I also practiced, and got better at, casting where I wanted and line management. All in all, a very productive and enjoyable fishing-cum-nymphing practice session. 

I began to wonder again...how else can I fish for them? Hmmm... soft hackles! I first swung a soft hackle in a half arsed attempt three years ago and haven't done it since. This is was the ideal scenario to try it again,  so I tied on a soft hackle fly and caught fish on the drift, the swing, and the retrieve.

What a wonderful afternoon. Fishing in the sunshine in the Rocky Mountains on an early fall afternoon, a pool full of eager whitefish, and catching fish on three different techniques, two of which I was relatively inexperienced at.

The next day found me at another confluence pool with yet more rising fish. 

Before yesterday, I would have assumed they were cutthroat, but today I was not so sure. I tied on a  black foam ant pattern thinking that it might selectively fish better for cutthroat than whitefish.

Nope.

I caught a couple more on dries then switched over to nymphing to practice casting, managing line and reading my sighter. Again, it was a gift to practice over a pool of eager fish.

 Mountain whitefish are cool, but what I was really after was westslope cutthroat so I headed downstream where there appeared to be some deeper water in some bend pools and came across some fish rising in a foam line. If "foam is home and wood is good" then these had to be cutthroat but the foam line running alongside the fallen tree left little room for sloppy casts. 

First cast on a parachute Adams.

And a bunch more on dries and nymphs. They weren't big but they were cutthroat and that's OK.

Overall a great time at elk camp. It was fun to hang with the hunters over supper, trade stories, and be in camp to share in the joy of my son's first bull elk. On the fishing side of the ledger,  I developed even further as a fly fisherman and I got to do one of my favourite things: walk along a stream and hunt fish. I guess I am a hunter too.

Other pictures: 

A vein of limestone running across the river


I was hoping I would get a glimpse of a bull trout...


Lots of butterflies on the floodplain.



Two of the largest cutthroat from the trip; the biggest was 15"
Apologies for the poor picture quality. Just took a quick picture so I could get them back on their way.











 

   

Comments

  1. Awesome articles! As someone getting into the sport I would love to pick your brain. Can I buy you a coffee sometime?

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  2. I’m relatively new to fly fishing streams in the eastern part of the Province, and there are other, better, anglers that have forgotten more than I currently know, but I like coffee! Feel free to shoot me an email at the addy in my profile.

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