River Things
West fork duchesne river // cutthroat trout and deer bones
Nights out: 2 Miles driven: 142 Soundtrack: Jesse Welles, No Kings
Accomplished goals, tomfoolery and lots of time standing on a river bank.
@James Gessel
Day 1
I recently caught the bug for fishing again. When I did, I set a goal to catch a native fish in a freestone stream. For no particular reason, either. I don’t think there’s necessarily something more honorable about catching a native fish, but the whole river just doing river things is what drew me to that goal. There’s no dam, no flow control, no gauges. Just native Colorado River Cutthroat Trout in a stream they’ve lived in naturally for who knows how long. Simple. Clean. Real.
So I packed up the truck, prepped my fishing stuff, and picked up James. We headed to the Uintas, specifically the West Fork of the Duchesne River, which I had been told was a great spot to catch a native Cutthroat Trout. We found a campsite right next to the river in a little depression. One thing you should know about rivers is that they cool the air nearby. Also, cold air likes to sit in depressions and low spots. We didn’t care. It was pretty and, maybe more importantly, right on the creek. We set up camp, cracked some cold ones, and rigged up the rod.
@James Gessel
While I fished, James found some bones, probably deer, and spent the rest of the trip trying to reconstruct the skeleton like some sort of quasi-paleontologist. He was all but useless for keeping a lone angler some company. Not that I was too upset. Some peace and quiet is always something I’m more than willing to make time for.
I rigged up an ant, cast into a nice-looking bit of water, and immediately the surface exploded as a fish eagerly took the bait. I had tricked my first fish of the trip. And wouldn’t you know it, I pulled a perfect little Colorado Cutthroat out of my net. Goal accomplished. Let’s call it a year.
And then my luck ran out. One and done. So I headed back to camp and fired up the stove. Steaks and salad rounded out the day as we sat around the fire and watched the sun’s last rays scrape across the aspens.
Day 2
After a good night’s rest and a hearty plate of bacon, I grabbed the fishing gear again and went for a walk to find some fish that looked hungry. I stomped through icy brush, holding an icy rod, while my boots were still covered in ice. I found myself some beaver ponds with hundreds of fishy shadows darting across the bottom. I rigged up my trusty ant and threw it into the water. The all-you-can-eat buffet started with almost a fish every cast. After a dozen or more fish, my little fly had been shredded. There wasn’t much left other than a bare hook.
After some hot dogs on sliced bread, don’t ask, and a few hours of plinking cans with the BB gun, I decided the fish were probably hungry again. I found another pool loaded with fish, but they did not want my ant. After trying a handful of flies and rigs, I was about to head back, defeated. I tried one last nymph, and sure enough, it was exactly what was on the menu. I fished for another hour or so until I snagged the golden ticket fly on the wall across the river. I’d like to blame it on the wind, but more likely than not, it was my lack of talent. The universe decided I had tricked enough fish.
After dinner, James had almost rebuilt an entire deer on the ground right in the middle of our camp. I stepped on a rib, or it could have been a femur, but either way, I was admonished for not “watching the skeleton.” We sat around being boys, talking about the conquests of the day. I bragged about my fish and James about the bones he’d found. We were both happy and content to sit in the woods with nothing to do.
Day 3
I rolled out of bed, climbed down the ladder, threw on my boots, and grabbed the rod leaning on my truck. I went for one last trip to the river, hoping the fish wanted anything I had to offer them for breakfast. Two more eager cutthroat decided not to be picky and took me up on the proposition. My hands didn’t enjoy the icy water, so I headed back for some bacon and to tear down camp.
@James Gessel
Lately I’ve been hell-bent on not optimizing every part of my life. It’s ok to suck. It’s ok to not know. It’s ok to not feel the need to get better every single day. Some days I just want to sit in the woods, doing something I enjoy that I happen to not be good at, and watch the clouds go by. That just might be what it’s all about.
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Yes. The West Fork Duchesne River offers small-stream fly fishing for Colorado River cutthroat trout in the Uinta Mountains. We found plenty of fish in the river and nearby beaver ponds, including stretches where we could see dozens of trout holding in the water.
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We primarily encountered Colorado River cutthroat trout. These native cutthroat were the entire reason I wanted to fish the West Fork in the first place, and every trout we caught on this trip appeared to be a Colorado River cutthroat.
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A small foam ant was easily our most productive dry fly and, at times, produced nearly a fish every cast. When the trout stopped taking the ant, a small nymph immediately started producing fish. Bringing a selection of small terrestrial dries and nymphs would be a good starting point.
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There are dispersed camping opportunities along the West Fork Duchesne River and surrounding Uinta National Forest. We found a primitive campsite right beside the river, which made it easy to walk out of camp and start fishing. Check current Forest Service regulations and restrictions before choosing a campsite.
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We fished the West Fork in late September and found plenty of active trout, but mornings were very cold, with frost and ice around camp. Early fall can offer beautiful conditions in the Uintas, but be prepared for freezing overnight temperatures and rapidly changing mountain weather.
Keep Wandering
Perfectly Level: If sitting beside cold mountain water sounds like a good way to spend a weekend, wander over to Christmas Meadows for another creekside camp in the Uintas, this time with kids, friends, and a few more trout.
Wild Witness: For another quiet corner of the mountains, head deeper into the Uintas for a cliffside campsite, big views, and one very unexpected visitor.
Lazy Day: Or trade the river for open meadows and absolutely no agenda with a slow weekend in Soapstone Basin, where doing very little was pretty much the entire point.
