Utah…I Think I Have A Little Morman In Me…And I Think I Like It

23 Aug

The last time I left you we were on our way out of Colorado and on our way to wild and woolly Utah.  I had lived next to Utah for a number of years, while in Colorado, but I never personally made the trek over.  My reasons at the time were numerous but they all boiled down to Utah freaked me out.  I am a man of certain proclivities that your average tabernacle attending Ute would not appreciate nor tolerate (Utah is not exactly famous for it’s high levels of tolerance). I always imagined myself in a Utah prison being forced to take on as many wives as possible.  Unfortunately this would not be  as much fun as it sounds.  Personally my one wife cuts in on my fishing time to an almost unbearable level, with 10 wives I would be lucky to get out once every decade (…plus I am way to lazy to satisfy ten women…I can barely work up enough energy to satisfy myself most days…a tear just rolled down my cheek).  I don’t want people to get the wrong idea here, I have nothing against Mormans.  They seem like a happy go lucky bunch…I was just a little terrified by the draconian nature of their law enforcement.  So with much trepidation we crossed into Utah on our way to the thriving metropolis of Dutch John.

Upon our arrival in Dutch John we arranged shuttles through the nice folks over at Trout Creek Flies and ran over to the Flaming Gorge Dam to get an evening session in on Section A of the Ripley’s Believe It Or Not Aquarium West also known as the Green River.   We threw the boat in at the dam, put on our life jackets and off we went for our first taste of Utah tailwater tomfoolery.

We started throwing hoppers right from the start and the trout thankfully started eating them from right from the start.  The Moorish Hopper out performed everything else we threw and we beat them up pretty good all the way until dark  when we took out at Little Hole. 

The word on section A is, that it is scenic and full of middle of the road fish.  I don’t know what happened because most of the fish we caught that night would take great offense to being called middle of the road.

You will notice that my lovable mug is missing in these grip and grins.  The reason for this, is that I am a moron.  I thought the fishing would remain this good the next day and I should give the fellas a good evening session and then they could split most of the rowing the next day.  I am a moron.

We awoke the next day with a plan to do Sections A and B.  The day started off fine with Ryan rowing and yours truly in the front of the boat where I belong.  I was able to bang out a couple of rainbows early.

It was just after my mid-morning trout snack that the wind picked up to more than a slight gust.  Here I would like to state, that if wind was a person I would kill it, I would then go to jail and die content that I rid the world of the insipid wind so no other fly fisherman would have to endure what we did that day.  I understand that when you fish out west wind is always a factor, but there’s a difference between wind and what we had to deal with that day.  Spray being constantly blown off the water and the boat being pushed up stream is a whole different monster and one that I personally will not put up with anymore.  Luckily for us Murphy found a pair of old blu-blockers that kept us entertained for a spell.

We spent the rest of the day catching a few fish here and there and taking in all the wind swept scenery.

We had originally planned on floating Section C the next day but, with another good blow in the forecast, we made a game time decision to pack up and bust ass to Wydaho.   We were intrigued by the possibility of spotting the common western redneck that is so close in relation to our redneck variety at home.  I have a theory that a band of southern rednecks migrated across the great plains many years ago only to settle in the Republic of Wydaho to grow numerous and flourish.  But alas, that is a story for another day…I’m Sleepy.

Till next time,

– Nymph-o

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