Mile: 2,042
One foot lands in front of the other on the well beaten path. Both sides of the path the grass grows shin high. The occasional wild flower disrupts the shades of light green, tan, and brown the thirsty grass holds. My eyes rise from the trail looking out over a mile of flat grasslands before the topography changes rising into a foothill. Looking to my right and left this sea of grass stretches out over two miles each direction. I find myself on the edge of somewhere north of 2,000 acres of stretching grass lands. I turn around to make sure I didn’t walk through a doorway into a land of Narnia, it seems so surreal. Sure enough, there’s the parking lot and highway behind me with the sign listing the fishing rules and regulations. “There’s a river out here?” I think to myself half wondering if this whole thing has been an elaborate prank that Bill and others put together to get me to wander miles through this prairie in search water. “It’s got to be out here somewhere...” I mumble to myself as my feet tread on. A couple hundred yards in and I see a few specs of color rising above the grasslands. “People,” I think, “those are people,” and sure enough, I see where the grass turns from tan to a deep green telling me there is water close by.
Soon I can tell that there is life flourishing along a winding path through the middle of the valley. The grass is getting higher and thicker on either side of the trail. And the trail has shoots spurring off the to right and left showing where feet have matted down the grass, but not enough to kill it and turn it into a dirt path like that which I started on. I bank left choosing a path solely based on gut feeling. I’m getting the tingle of excitement that comes during the exploration of a new place that my eyes have never met before. Even more paths diverge off this trail, but they all lead towards what I can now see is a story book stream winding through the middle of this vast meadow.
Coming to the waters edge, I see that the shape of this river resembles a slinky being stretched out. It twists this way and that making turns so drastic it almost folds back upon itself. I turn North and begin walking the bank of Flat Creek following it upstream. I’m taking it all in. The setting sun, the sound of the creek as it narrows around the bend creating a section of rushing water, the smell of the land - its fresh cool sweetness that enters my nostrils. These are the obvious sensory awakenings. I soon become hyper aware of the finite details of the water. My ears hone in on sounds of disturbances upon the surface of the water, this helps my eyes to find the hidden details beyond the obvious. I begin to dissect the creek flow like one would dissect a frog in high school biology, separating organ from muscle and muscle from bone. But I am separating out where the riffle becomes the run and the run becomes the eddy. ”There you are...,” I say to myself without words locating the neutral water of the eddy. Knowing what lies below. After that comes the pool and then the tailout, the shallow area at the end of the pool. It’s all there. My eyes are playing the scalpel and separating piece from piece because within this living organism known as Flat Creek, lies the prize. They are masters of water hydraulics, minimizing effort while navigating the current. They are the gold medalists of hydrodynamic drag, also known as, underwater surfing. They find the negative flow where they can rest alongside the moving water effortlessly and then chose their meals as the current brings them past. By dissecting the river it allows me to better understand where the best swells are and where the biggest fish will most likely be surfing. The one who can best dissect and understand these different segments of the creek have the best chance at bringing out the prize.
I come upon a guy roughly my age, short brown hair showing out he bottom of his ball cap, “Have you fished here much?” I open the door of the conversation. “This is only the third time this season but I fished it a good bit last season.” He replied back. Obviously not concerned about our current pandemic he begins walking my way to continue the conversation. It puts me at ease and I walk forward to meet him. We talk for ten or fifteen minutes as I inquire more about Flat Creek. He continues, “Some say it’s the hardest water in the state to fish and that you need to treat the fish much like whitetail that you’re stalking to shoot with a bow. Which I agree that it’s some tough water. They just see so many flies, they get educated. They can even feel your footsteps as you approach the water’s edge with these large in cut banks.” He continues and divulges some specific knowledge of what flies he has caught them on in the past. “It’s hard fishing but, knock on wood, I’ve never been skunked here. Which if you can come and catch one fish, you’re doing alright.” He finishes with a confirming head nod. We talk a little more after a few laughs begin to go our separate ways. As I walked away he hollers over his shoulder, “don’t over think it, when in doubt tie a fly on and put it in the water.” I nodded and tipped my imaginary hat down as a thank you and walked on.
Flat Creek is tough. It’s clear and majority of the time when you see them, they’ve already seen you. But boy, are there some lunkers in there. Wyoming Game and Fish record that they have roughly 129 cutthroat trout over 13” for every mile of water. I guess I did something right because I too never got skunked at Fish Creek. But boy, you have to really work for those fish. They didn’t come easy. I learned to hunt for the risers not just fish the water that holds them. It’s a patient game. A watching game. Walk twenty feet and stop. Be still. Listen and watch for the near silent surfacing of a trout as he picks and chooses his meal. Once you find a fish rising up to eat hatchlings or crippled flies, or some kind of protein floating along the surface, then you have to figure out what’s on their menu and what’s not without spooking them.
Flat creek will truly test your skills with casting, fly selection, fly presentation, stalking, patience, reading the flow of the creek, and even outthinking other fishermen to present the trout with something they have not been educated on yet. It’s like no other place I have fished in my life. My hat is off to you Flat Creek, you play chess with the fishermen and if they are not skilled or patient enough they will leave finding themselves in checkmate.
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