The trail stretched ahead of me. My quick exit from the beaver pond left me soaking wet and trailing 20 feet of fly line behind me as I jogged down the path. Thoughts of a moose stomping me into the underbrush kept me moving, though I still held that excitement of my first catch fly fishing. I stopped after a few hundred yards, prepared to meet my fate.

The moose hadn’t moved at all. Bullwinkle was having itself a nice cold drink of pond water.

Read part one here.

Finding the River

I stood there for a few minutes, trying to catch my breath and slow my heartbeat down to a reasonable level, and once settled, I headed towards the river.

The trail was pretty overgrown with grass with a narrow path carved out by animals making their way down the mountain. The terrain was starting to get steep again, and I had to grab pine branches a few times to keep from tumbling ass over ears. Things shortly leveled out, and the going got easier.

Around the next grove of pines and willows, the trail widened out into an old, overgrown 4×4 road. It had a few mid-sized pines growing on it, showing that a 4×4 hadn’t accessed it in several years. Trees along the sides of the trail had grown tight, and roots grew in tangles on the ground.

Fallen trees added to a thick, almost impassable undergrowth. A large log was lying along the side of the trail, rotted out and only holding its shape because of the termite colony that inhabited it. I was happily plodding along, having regained my nerves after the moose. I had taken care of my rod and line. No worries in the world. So basically, I was kind of daydreaming as I walked along.

Termites and Marmots

A sudden sound from behind me sent me tumbling sideways into the termite mound. I looked up at the eastern side of the trail, and there, not three feet away, was a marmot staring right at me.

If you’ve never been eye to eye with a wild marmot before, let me tell you, it is one of the cutest little animals you’ll ever encounter. Think squirrel, but eleven pounds. And fuzzy.

Don’t let a marmot bite you, though. Marmots might carry all sorts of horribleness, like ticks that want to jump on you, Rocky Mountain fever, hantavirus, and more. With a mouth like a horror story science kit, they are best looked at and not approached. Scare one, and you’re likely to lose a tiny nibble of skin and weeks at the doctor’s office getting crazy shots in your butt.

I stared down that little fuzzball and felt like I had stood my ground like a real man until I realized the movement I felt on my skin was from the ants and termites I had fallen in. It would have been hilarious if it was happening to anyone but me.

I immediately jumped to my feet and started swiping frantically. Things were going from bad to worse. I felt them squiggling in my boxers. Game Over.

The marmot was long gone, having darted off a second after I felt the invading army on my pant leg. I was involved in my own personal war for the next five minutes. Pants, shirt, and boxers flew off in different directions.

Here There Be Bears

As I investigated and brushed off any remainders, I pulled new clothing out of my backpack. Dressing quickly, I headed down the trail. The river was close, and no termite mound would stop this kid from catching some wild native cutthroats.

Around the next bend, I heard one of my friends hollering at the top of his lungs. It sounded like he was about to die, so I started running towards the commotion. There was a large stand of willow trees between me and the screech, so it took me a few minutes to get through to him.

I found him sitting on a log, head in hands, and his right foot tapping like a rabbit when I got there. There was also an unpleasant smell in the air.

He looked up and started into a story about bears. He had just walked up on one that was eating termites out of a log. It startled as he came around the corner, standing up and growling at him. He swung his hiking stick at the bear, scaring it off. From the smell in the air, it hadn’t gone very far.

I helped him gather up his kit, and we headed down the trail. The river had to be within a hundred yards at this point.

Fly Fishing for Cutthroats and Whitefish

I stepped out of the treeline, and there was the river. It was beautiful. A solid rock cliff met the river on the far side. It worked through the bend ahead of me, and I saw that it went from a few inches on my side to at least five feet on the opposite bank.

Excitement and a drive to catch fish drove us as we tossed our packs on the ground and immediately started rigging our lines. He cast a fly first. I watched as he laid his line perfectly across the river into a nice groove of current. The little Yellow Humpy sat high in the water column. As it swept past a sizeable submerged boulder, a cutthroat snatched it in a flash of color and dove.

It was a beautiful fish. It had perfect coloring, fantastic energy, and put up a great fight. When he landed it, we were surprised to find that it weighed almost two pounds. We hadn’t anticipated anything close to that size.

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Brave or Stupid?

I put a little more floatant on my terrestrial, then prepared to cast. A loud snort from behind me changed my plans. I saw the bear who had scared Brian half to death moments earlier.

Brian was around two hundred yards up the river from me, so he didn’t hear me scream at him. I reached for my bear spray, which our overprotective friend Paul had forced us to bring along. The little pouch he had supplied was empty.

I reached down, grabbed a rock, and threw it with all my strength. My aim was so far off that I hit a tree about fifteen feet to the bear’s left. It was beyond me how I missed that badly. I turned to face that bear straight on. Fear was pressing down on me like a lead blanket.

On the other hand, the bear looked like it was in the mood to play. I stood as puffed up and imposing as possible until the bear turned away from me and bounced around in the water. It picked up a whitefish a few seconds later and walked off into the trees.

What a day. Moose, marmot, bear, whitefish, and me. And I hadn’t even made it to lunch yet.

To be continued