Paradise found: Chasing salmonflies in the Black Canyon of the Yellowstone
By BEN PIERCE Chronicle Outdoors
YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK – There’s a place on the Yellowstone where two-pound native cutthroats rise to three-inch dry flies. They rise so slow you’ll never believe it until you see it with your own eyes.
Those cutts have eaten those bugs for as long as both have been in that river. And they eat them like they haven’t a care in the world.
I first heard about the salmonfly hatch in the Black Canyon of the Yellowstone eight years ago. At that time I built fishing waders for Simms Fishing Products here in Bozeman. Back then, there were a lot of rumors that circulated about the factory floor. It seemed like each weekend someone went somewhere and had the best fishing of their life.
I’ve got a list of those rumors written down – kind of like a bucket list for a lifelong angler. It’s tucked away where any honest thief would be unlikely to find it. Each summer I scan that list and try to check off a destination or two.
So it happened that I set out of Bozeman early on Tuesday morning with a pocket full of dry flies and a backpack loaded with fishing gear.
The Black Canyon begins near the confluence of the Yellowstone River and the Lamar River at Tower Junction in Yellowstone National Park. It extends for approximately 20 miles along the park’s northern border to its terminus near Gardiner.
Access to the Black Canyon is limited – and part of the reason for its great fishing. Within the park, the canyon can be reached from the Hellroaring, Blacktail Creek and Tower Junction trailheads, all located on the Grand Loop Road.
The Yellowstone River Trail, accessible from those trail heads, parallels the river through the canyon with plenty of fine fishing opportunities along the way. Until last September, the Black Canyon could also be accessed from Gardiner. However, a portion of the Yellowstone River Trail passes through private property that has been closed by the landowner, so a through-hike of the canyon is currently not possible.
On Tuesday, I chose the Blacktail Creek trail head as my starting point. I’d hiked the trail through to Gardiner in 2008, but that was in November and I didn’t have a fly rod along. This summer, I hoped to catch the salmonfly hatch.
Word was the salmonflies hit Gardiner on Sunday and they’d be travelling up the canyon in the coming days.
“The Black Canyon is great just to follow the hatch,” James Anderson of Anderson’s Yellowstone Angler in Livingston said on Monday. “The hatch is moving up and you have to move with it if you want to stick them on the big bugs.
“Nothing comes close to the Black Canyon of the Yellowstone,” Anderson said. “It is untouched. There are areas of the river up there that just don’t get fished.”
At the trail head I met Keith Mangum of Charlotte, N.C. Mangum and his father Sam were camped at a backcountry campsite on Rescue Creek. Mangum was carrying a fly rod and I asked him if he’d seen any salmonflies.
“No,” he said, “Rescue Creek isn’t even big enough to fish.”
I stood there feeling discouraged for a moment before it dawned on me that Mangum hadn’t yet hiked down to the Yellowstone. I told him about the hatch and what I’d heard about fishing the Black Canyon. Having primarily fished for small rainbows in the creeks of the Smoky Mountains, Mangum’s face lit up at the thought of two-pound cutthroats. He said he might make the hike.
We parted ways at the trailhead and I began my descent into the Black Canyon. The hike down is a pleasant stroll through flowered meadows along Blacktail Deer Creek. The hike out, after a day of fishing in the afternoon heat, is a bit more of a slog.
Along the trail I passed a pack train with three riders and several mules. The woman in the lead informed me the three were park employees packing gear into the canyon for workers. Construction is under way on the Blacktail Bridge, a suspension bridge that spans the Yellowstone, to repair the concrete reinforcement on either side of the river.
Shortly thereafter the lush meadows gave way to the steep drainage of Blacktail Deer Creek as it began its plunge toward the Yellowstone River. A first glimpse of the Yellowstone solidified my hopes as the fluttering silhouette of salmonflies hovered over the water.
I crossed the Blacktail Bridge and angled down the rocky incline to the river. Along the shoreline, the big bugs were right where they were supposed to be, clinging to the willows.
I rigged up my rod, tying a large salmonfly pattern to the end of my tippet, and cast the fly into a pool beneath the bridge. The fly landed with a plop and in short order was inspected by three big cutthroat trout. One of the fish slashed at the fly, but I set the hook too early and missed him.
A couple more casts netted some blank stares from the cutts, so I switched to a slightly smaller Golden Chubby. The fly hit the water and I watched in awe as one of the fish rose for what seemed like an eternity before rolling on the fly. After a brief fight the 17-inch cutthroat, full bodied and yellow bellied, came to hand.
The predominant species of trout in the Black Canyon is native Yellowstone cutthroat trout. A smattering of rainbow trout and whitefish also reside in the canyon, though in fewer numbers.
“Those cutthroats, I don’t think they have ever been caught,” Anderson said. “They will follow that fly back really slow, so you have to hold off pulling the trigger. Then a rainbow will come up and slam it. It is like a fastball after all the knucklers.”
I fished for a while on the north side of the river, picking up a few more cutthroats and enticing a bunch more rises. After a time I decided to cross the bridge to try my luck on the shady side of the canyon. That’s when I ran into Mangum. He’d hiked down with his fly rod and I could see his excitement at laying eyes on the river.
“The first thing that struck me was how big the water is.” Mangum said. “This is a whole different ball game than what I’m used to.”
We talked for a bit on the bridge and decided to fish for a time upstream on the north side of the river beyond the water I’d already hit. Mangum rigged up his 7-foot-6 4-weight rod with a stonefly pattern. While suitable for the small streams of the Smoky Mountains, Mangum said he was worried his equipment wouldn’t cut it here. I assured him he’d be alright, though a 5- or 6-weight rod would be preferable.
We worked our way upstream dropping casts in all the likely pools. Mangum’s first strike from a cutthroat trout was one to remember, the fish rising longingly to his fly in that classic cutthroat kind of way.
“I got kind of nervous. I think my pulse picked up a bit,” Mangum said. “The fish are so much bigger than what I’m used to in North Carolina.”
We fished for a little more than an hour picking up a couple nice cutts before turning back for the trail head. On the return hike we talked of North Carolina and Montana and fishing and sports – like two old fishing buddies catching up.
“I might have to spend the next two days down there fishing,” he said when we parted ways. “I’ve never seen anything like that.”
Neither have I.
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