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| The Nature Conservancy/Ketchum Historical Society |
It was 1950 and I had just turned 20.
How a kid from Oklahoma came to be in that place at that
time was the result of youthful fantasies, a passion for fly-fishing, a
carefully written letter, and a rabbit hunt.
When Averall Harriman,
Board Chairman of the giant Union Pacific Railroad, wanted a place to ski, he
just built one. Appropriately named Sun
Valley, the new Idaho resort opened in 1937 to soon become a favorite of the
rich and famous. And the Union Pacific
streamliners took them there.
Although known primarily
for its wonderful skiing, Sun Valley also offered many summer activities such
as golf, tennis, trail riding, shooting, and trout fishing.
The resort lies along Trail
Creek above its confluence with Big Wood River.
The headwaters of the Big Lost River are just beyond the Pioneer range
to the east. These are all fine trout
streams, but Silver Creek, 30 miles to the south, was the crown jewel. So the railroad also bought 480 acres along
the stream and named it Sun Valley Ranch.
Back in Oklahoma, my
youthful fantasies were mostly about hunting and fishing. Reading the outdoor magazines at the local
barbershop just fueled my dreams of living exciting adventures. And such magazines had advertisements for an
intriguing place called Sun Valley, and a stream with the magical name of
Silver Creek.
As my high school days were
ending with little hope for college, I wrote a letter to Sun Valley asking for
a job. A return wire offered one and a
rail pass to get me there.
I was hired as a houseman, a janitor-like job, but then
luckily assigned to the night shift in Sun Valley Lodge. Our crew worked hard and fast from 1 to 6
a.m. getting the place clean and ready for early rising guests.
The daylight hours could then be spent exploring and fly
fishing local streams, but that did not include Silver Creek. That dream stream was literally beyond my
reach. Sun Valley Ranch was closed to
all but guided resort guests, higher level employees, or off duty guides, while
private sections of the stream were rife with no-trespassing signs.
For two seasons, I hiked or bummed rides to all the other
streams I could reach, while learning all I could about fly fishing for trout.
And, with youthful
optimism, I also wanted to be a Sun Valley guide. Strangely enough, a rabbit hunt opened that
door.
Returning on snow-covered
Trail Creek Road from an overnight ski trip into Sun Valley’s Pioneer cabin, I
saw an apparition in some willow-fringed meadows. It was a large white rabbit hard to see against
the snow. The next day I was back with
a rifle.
The Lodge night mechanic
took the two rabbits I shot, and later said they tasted great. Hunting snowshoe rabbits or hares on skis
became a regular pursuit that was soon known around the resort. So when Sports Director Joe Burgy asked me
to take a Lodge guest snowshoe rabbit hunting, I sensed a heaven-sent
opportunity.
We skied up Trail Creek to
those meadows where I floundered through the brush to flush out several
rabbits. He shot three which I cleaned
and left with the Lodge’s head chef.
All he had to do then was call when he wanted his rabbits cooked.
The man told Burgy about
the great time he had and when Joe told me this, I said, “Joe, I’d like to be a
guide.” The hours spent watching Taylor
Williams tie flies then paid off. Burgy
asked the head guide what he thought and Williams said “good."
As an apprentice, I helped
other guides when they had two or more guests to take out. I went with Taylor Williams only three
times, but was out with Don Anderson,
Adolph Rubicek, and Dutch Gunderson on a regular basis. Dutch’s nickname came from his skill with a
dutch-oven. I would guide until he
joined us after burying the oven in hot coals. Those delicious streamside beef pies were an important part of his
guided trips, and his “guiding” was much in demand.
Sun Valley guides would
fish only if our “guest” suggested it. Our fly vest pockets were stuffed with full fly boxes, leader materials,
and other items for their use, and we had to know where, and hopefully how,
they could catch some fish. Our rods
were just to demonstrate the cast for a given situation, but many said go ahead
and fish.
Knowing little about Silver Creek, I began fishing there
on my own when I wasn’t guiding and if the stream was not too heavily
scheduled. Those smooth flows, dense
beds of aquatic plants, deceptive depths too often over the wader tops, and
rainbow trout wary beyond belief – collectively conspired into an angling experience
that could be downright exasperating while still an all absorbing
challenge. This was graduate school!
Silver Creek often has
multiple hatches, two or more kinds of mayfly coming off at the same time. The fish would key on one of those, and deciding
which was not easy. And it wasn’t always
the most obvious bug on the water. A
fish conditioned to feeding on a smaller insect will often stay with the bug it
knows rather than change to one it doesn’t. But then, they could suddenly start taking almost everything that came
along.
It could be a real
crapshoot, and finding the answer made your whole day.
After the 1950 season I left for college, but returned to
Sun Valley and guiding for two more summers.
Silver Creek was now one of my streams.
Silver Creek trout were seldom easy but with more
experience, I became fairly successful there, even to reaching the point where
former guests asked for me.
Early in that second year
of guiding, Dutch Gunderson asked me to come with him and a Mr. Hayes to Silver
Creek. I wasn’t booked that day and
eagerly agreed.
Mr. Hayes was from New
York, in his 80’s, and with the tackle and demeanor suggesting wealth. Most summer days on Silver Creek are very
bright and this one was no exception. While insects often hatch throughout the day, trout spook easier under a
mid-day sun. But Mr. Hayes did not want
to drive down early, so it was 10 o’clock when we reached the stream.
While Dutch fired up some
charcoal to cook lunch, Mr. Hayes and I walked over to watch the water. A hatch was on, the trout were feeding, and
if we could just cast without spooking them, we might catch a few.
In those pre-Polaroid
sunglass days, a floating fly could disappear into the surface glare, and also
be distorted to the fish. A dark fly was
the logical choice, easier to see against the glare, and in that brightness,
perhaps acceptable to the fish. My
choice was a Black Wulff, and I tied one onto Mr. Hayes’ tippet.It was almost as easy as
the proverbial shooting fish in a barrel! My younger eyes saw the strikes and I’d say when. But not seeing the strike, Mr. Hayes broke
tippets on so many fish I was getting low on Black Wulffs. But he did catch several large rainbows, and
when Dutch joined us, Mr. Hayes was taking a rest on the bank.
On returning
to Sun Valley, Mr. Hayes gave Dutch some bills, then turned to me
and said, “the sports desk
will have something for you in a few days.”
That fine old gentleman had Abercrombie and Fitch, the great New York sporting
goods emporium of those days, send me a Kaybar multi-tooled pocket knife with Fly
Fisherman on one side of the yellow handle and my name engraved on the
other.
Greatest tip I ever had and I used that knife for years.
In 1964, the railroad sold
its Sun Valley holdings, ending the Union Pacific’s management of Silver
Creek. Today, the Ranch property is the
centerpiece of The Nature Conservancy’s Silver Creek Preserve.
I last fished Silver Creek
ten years ago. My wife Pat and I were
heading home from attended a meeting in Oregon and pulled the RV into the
Hayspur campground in late afternoon. We planned to overnight before heading on east, but I did want to fish
Silver Creek the next morning. We drove
over, put our donation in the box and walked upstream. Just past the footbridge over Sullivan
Lake’s outlet was a long, grassy bank.
A pod of trout was feeding steadily just upstream.
Pat sat down on the grass,
so saying “keep the camera handy,” I carefully waded in. The insects floating by were the fairly
large Green Drakes and smaller Blue-winged Olive mayflies. I watched for a few minutes and saw the fish
were taking the olives.
The size 16 hair-winged fly
looked right but like many youthful experiences there, the fly drifted right
through that pod as the fish continued taking the naturals. I cast for an hour with no strikes but at
least my casting hadn’t put the fish down.
Could those clumps of
aquatic plants, some just under the surface, be affecting the seemingly smooth
surface currents? If there were such
counter currents, the leader might be causing a nearly imperceptible drag on
the fly.
I changed leader tippets to
a lighter one that was two feet longer.
A tippet too long and light for the fly size would not straighten on the
cast, and that’s what I wanted!
When cast, the tippet piled
up around the fly but allowed a natural drift as the long tippet slowly
straightened out. The fly was almost
through the pod before a fish took it.
I tightened up, moved the fish towards me so as not to spook the rest,
and released a 14-incher. Three more
casts and I hooked a 17-inch fish.
Several more casts and a big trout casually took the fly. I yelled, “here’s grandpa,” and after a
spirited fight, landed and released a 20-inch rainbow.
Wading over to Pat, I said
“now we can leave.”
In 1972, I flew from my
home in Billings, Montana into West Yellowstone to rent a car and drive to a
Sun Valley meeting. It was Sunday and
the meeting was to start that evening.
Reaching Picabo before noon, I drove up to the Hayspur Campground which
was then adjacent to the hatchery diversion ditch from Loving Creek. Loving Creek is Silver Creek’s largest
tributary with its lower reaches now within the Silver Creek Preserve. Climbing the stile over the brush-covered
fence, I saw beautiful water and trout making scattered, lazy rises.
I only caught one fish that
day but it was the biggest rainbow trout I’ve ever landed, at least five pounds
and perhaps even six. Phenomenal! It was so big I didn’t dare tell about it at
the meeting.
A year later, I repeated that trip. With memories of that huge rainbow, I again drove to Hayspur Campground
so I could fish Loving Creek for a while. But on climbing the fence stile,
I was dismayed to see a new house right where I had stood to catch that big
trout!
This sort of thing seems to
be happening everywhere today and, without Nature Conservancy protection, I can
visualize a worst case scenario. Silver
Creek would be flowing between expensive homes with manicured lawns down to the
water. Those “No Trespassing” signs
would just be for float tubers and such since locked gates would keep the rest
of us out.
But under ownership of The Nature Conservancy, the stream
will stay in its natural state and available for those of us who love the
challenge of angling for sophisticated trout. After nearly 60 years of trout fishing in many parts of the United
States and Canada, Silver Creek still gets my vote as the ultimate trout
stream.
About the author
Charlie Most, with degrees in wildlife biology and in
journalism, enjoyed a more than 30-year career as a biologist, public
information specialist and public information supervisor with Federal land
managing agencies.
He has lectured about or taught fishing at American
University in Washington, D.C., Rocky Mountain College in Montana, Chesapeake
College in Maryland, and George Mason
University in Virginia.
While serving on the
National Conservation Committee of the Boy Scouts of America, Most wrote the
earlier Conservation of Natural Resources Merit Badge handbook, the chapter on
fishing in the Boy Scout Fieldbook, and developed the Scout’s national Fish-N-Camp
program. He also served as a
conservation instructor for four Boy Scout Jamborees.
He has written many free-lance articles about fishing,
hunting, natural history, and related subjects, and was an award winning
outdoor columnist for two northern Virginia daily newspapers – the Potomac
News and the Alexandria Gazette.
Most served three years on
the Board of Directors for the Outdoor Writers Association of America, and two
terms as president of the regional Mason-Dixon Outdoor Writers Association.
He and his wife Pat now
live in St. Petersburg, Florida, where he wade fishes near home for things big and mean. He does try to go west each summer to fish
for trout.
