Luckily I awoke late Thursday morning to a cloudy sky and some lingering snow showers, and by 2 p.m. I was heading over pine creek pass on a recon mission. My plan was to fish the damn, but I stopped at huskies to check the water level and clarity. Everything seemed good to go, maybe a tad low for what I like this time of year. As I crossed the new bridge below the damn (possibly hurt the fishing there but that's a story for another time), I spotted a contingency of mallards soliciting downstream. I parked on the south side of the bridge, applied waters, donned the ol' 12 gauge and crept through the willows on the NW bank. All of the ducks spooked immediately before I got within range, reminding me that migratory birds can be more weary than big game some times. As the flock went north a small group peeled off and headed back my way, flying directly overhead. As the words "I don't think that's too far" escaped my mouth a bang occurred, followed by silence and the soft thud of the crumpled drake hitting the ground. 1 for 1.
After I collected the duck I waded up to the damn to do some fishing. I didn't see much in the way of brown spawning activity (maybe once the water hits 1000 cfs they head for deeper parts), but did manage a few cutties on a nymph rig. Before coming up to Idaho I had made a goal to try and capture or kill dinner everyday I was up there, something that is more difficult for me to do in the heavily populated front range. I didn't get any keeper rainbows, so I would have to settle for a solitary duck for dinner.
On Friday I met up with my good buddy Eric to do some grouse hunting. Once again I found myself going over Pine Creek pass to meet up with him in Swan Valley. Some dude was in his favorite spot (not hunting, just walking his huge dogs, surely with the intent of sabotaging our plans), so we headed out from a different trail, mostly catching up and shooting the shit. We gained some pretty good vert, but we didn't see any birds or grouse sign, just a bunch of elk and moose tracks in the fresh snow. We decided to abort our original plan and headed back down towards the South Fork. We spotted a drainage with a closed jeep trail, and on a whim we decided that this would be the starting point of our next grouse conquest. After about an hour Eric located the partially decomposed body of a fawn whitetail, and about 20 minute after that we both spotted what we were looking for. A ruffed grouse about 7 feet off the ground in a deciduous shrub, head bobbing and weaving like somebody trying to see whats going on from the back of the line. I alerted Eric, he informed me he saw it too, and instructed me to kill the bird. I walked up until I was about 25 yards from the bird, and just when it looked like he might spook I raised my 28 gauge and fired. Feathers flew, but the bird remained perched, so I shot a little higher, and he dropped out of the tree. 2 for 2.
At that point Eric was underneath the bush, closing in on the kill like a freakin bird dog. I muttered something about "how you rarely see just one 1 year old bird by itself" and I that point I spotted my bird's likely kin. He was about 7 feet to right of the one I just killed, same height in the same bush. How we missed him I have no idea. As I reloaded my gun my instinct told me to shoot immediately, but then I pondered the future condition of Eric's eardrums after the potential ordeal (since he was below and between me and the bird). I told Eric to quit looking for my bird and look up to his right. In less that 2 seconds that bird was dead and we walked out of the woods with a pair of ruffies. Dinner would be ruffed grouse, some of my favorite table fare.
Friday night my sister rolled into town and our plan was to float from Irwin to the bridge, our favorite float to do this time of year for spawning browns and pre-spawn rainbows. We rolled out of the house by 6:30 and we were getting set up at Irwin well before 8. No new snow meant I had to back the boat all the way down the slide as opposed to letting it race down on its own, but the slide was in better shape than I've ever seen it. After putting in the boat I noticed a bunch of no parking signs around the traditional parking on the side of the road, but I was convinced the rules did not apply to me. I waited until after we hit the back yard barbecue run to call in the shuttle. The day was moderately sunny, the fishing fantastic, and there was no one on the water yet. After a handful (or more) of merry go round drifts in the BYBBQ I decided to call Julie to set up the shuttle. She informed that the no parking signs were for real and they were trying to phase out the Irwin launch. She said she would run my shuttle (all the way to Conant) as fast as possible but more than likely I would have a 75 dollar ticket waiting for me on my sister's vehicle.
This information soured my mood slightly but the fishing was too good for any unhappy musings to last long. Someone was on one of our favorite holes by fall creek, but luckily Darby wrangled a handsomely built 20 incher right upstream. After a quick grip and grin we fished a spot river left of where I wanted to be, and probably 150 yards down stream. We tore it up in that spot as well, and we proceeded down to Conant, with surprisingly little activity between the bridge and the takeout. Above the ramp I filleted the four rainbows we decided to keep (dinner again!) and we recovered the shuttled vehicle, sans ticket! It was a good day; however, I am deeply saddened that they are phasing out the use of Irwin. Someone is conspiring against me to prevent easy access to the BYBBQ. I am sure it is the work of the two houses on the river there, and as soon as I finish school I am going to run for mayor of Irwin and make that shitty-ass boat ramp great again.
Saturday evening is when the rents showed up and our plan was to go grouse hunting with Dad the next day and try and hit the BYBBQ on Monday. We hit a few spots close to home in the Big Holes, but we only turned up one bird with no shooting opportunities. We then went over the pass (again) and hunted the zone Eric and I went a few days prior. Right near where Eric and I got our birds my sister informed me that she saw a squirrel. I had my 22 pistol and was keen to get dinner, feeling as though we were running out of time with the grouse. As I worked my way over to her we heard a shot behind us, and then we could hear my Dad praising Butterball for retrieving the bird. Meanwhile my focus was on the pine squirrel who had corkscrewed to the top of a rather large Doug fir. What transpired next will surely be chronicled in Knoll family lore until the meteor hits. I set my 28 gauge down and drew my pistol. I could see the head of the squirrel and nothing else, probably about 70 feet up in the tree. I was about 10 yards away from the base and on the uphill side. I drew up on his head and fired, watching in disbelief as the critter tumbled out of the tree. My sister started busting up laughing in complete disbelief, and I soon joined in. 3 for 3. In the past I have missed grouse at less than 10 yards with this pistol, so I'm a pretty crappy shot with one. But I had done it, secured another meal.
After walking out we realized we still had 2.5 hours of light left, and we went to a spot closer to the reservoir, near where Eric and I initially went. My Dad said he remembered a spot he used to see birds, but sometimes he doesn't remember a whole lot so I wasn't too confident. When we found the spot there was a closed road for gravel and snow berries every where, so I knew we would see something with 3 people and the 2 dogs. Sure enough, an hour later we were head back to the trail head with 4 more grouse and echos of my father rambling about his "secret" spot. We should have had at least 2 more, and I missed 2 shots, ruining the perfect streak. Dinner that night was awesome as squirrel and grouse are some of the finest small game you can eat. As my buddy Kevin Murphy once said on a MeatEater podcast "Squirrel is the most mildest meat you can eat." And as my good buddy Eric likes to say "Blam Blam we eaten' ham."
The following day we went Huskies (not Irwin) to the bridge with my father, who has not had the opportunity to do that float this time of year since the BYBBQ really came to fruition (last 3 years or so). It was about 36 degrees and rainy the whole day, so great fishing weather but our hands didn't work too good. Nonetheless it was great fishing, with my father getting near the 30 fish mark by 230 pm and plenty of rainbows for dinner. I think we ended the day with 6 doubles between my dad and sister, so you know it was good. Super glad he was able to experience that level of rainbow fishing before people catch on.
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| My sister's last fish of the day, if you look closely you can see my father's in the net below. |
After the quick fish we took Butterball across the river in the canoe to hunt a "secret" side slough. When we pulled up the channel was full of ducks, and after sky blasting at a few that spooked (to no avail) we set up our decoys and waited. Nothing. Dead calm. A few came by but no shots were fired. Thankfully we had taken preventive measures with the fish or else we would have gone hungry that night.
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| The duck spot |
On Wednesday we did some stuff around the house and then went out for a family grouse walk in the Palisades range with the whole family. We spooked one adult ruffy, but it did not provide any shots. We would have to eat some more fish, along with some pheasants that my father had got on a recent trip to North Dakota. The next day was Thanksgiving and as I packed up to head back to boulder I reminisced about the times had. It was the first Thanksgiving I had not skied in probably 10 years, but I didn't miss it. I knew this winter would provide endless opportunities for joy like she always does, and I was just happy to get back to my roots and do some meat gathering.
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| Lenticular on the drive home, outside of Rawlins |
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