Green River

When you go fishing with your son, the fish and the fishing are the first and last thing you think about. The picturesque snow covered mountains, trees, and the moving sunrise all take a back seat to father and son conversations. We are headed to The Green River in Flaming Gorge Utah, in the four wheel drive pickup; it’s early March where the fishing is slow.

The trip is about being together, making up for our lost time. The natural world is all around us, the smell of sage on the high desert, the sound of whistling cold-cutting wind surround our excitement. My son fishes at Green River almost every year, he comes early in the year to be alone.

The people at the resort know him by name, they send him Christmas cards, and are happy to see him. They give us a good deal on our room, friendly and very happy to have more guests to cook for. It’s a cold paradise; red sandstone rock canyons surround us with heavy spring snow on the cliffs.

The Unitas mountain range is the only major range that runs East and West in North America (I read that in a local history book), when you are in the canyon fishing the river, and the south side is next to warm red rock cliffs where it feels like spring about 50 degrees, while the North side is still white with waist deep snow. Harlequin ducks randomly fly by, skimming the river at high speeds; the trout can be seen from the banks swimming in pools behind free standing boulders which have tumbled down past the banks.

Hiking down the canyon about 800 feet below Flaming Gorge Reservoir in your waist high waders is very tricky, but when you arrive at the river you find yourself in a different part of the world where nature rules and you are but a speck of life. You began to notice your wants are only secondary, and it’s a comfortable fit. Our hike has just started as we press close to the canyon walls and gaze at the transparent crystal green fast moving water.

I find learning how to fly fish is a never ending process, sort of like learning to play the guitar, you are never truly a master. Also like learning to play the guitar when you first start you stink. In your mind you have a vision of success, you become an air guitar pro, and well this is air fishing. You look the part, you have found the stage but the music has not been perfected. You go through the motions; and from afar you might be mistaken for someone who has perfected this craft. You begin to pay your dues, like any success in life there are no short cuts.

Like I said; it’s not about the fish or about fly fishing, but they have their place when the conversation fades, and you recognize the bountiful beauty that surrounds.