To the St. Joe

And Yet, Another River I've Wanted to Fish

After one final morning swinging wet flies, Ghillie and I packed up and headed over to Northern Idaho and the St. Joe River.

An afternoon drive from Spokane over to Coeur d'Alene, Id, and then south to St. Maries. 49 miles up river to Avery and then a couple more miles to the campground.

Again, the river was at a higher level than normal. From what we could find out, the river was about double the size (CFS) than what it should have been for late July. Wading access was limited to above Avery and by what we observed on the drive upriver, those reports were true.

At Avery, the river tightened up, but the bank was accessible - probably due to the fact that most of the larger run-off streams were below.

River make up consisted of pool and drops, class 3-4 rapids and numerous flats. Not a lot of frog water.

After we set up camp and had a reasonable cocktail hour, we BBQ'd dinner and swatted mosquitoes and other biters.

In the morning we toured the river on both sides locating access and optimal runs. Overhead, a bald eagle swooped by clutching some sort of furry creature in its talons and black clouds gathered in the west moving directly toward our location.

It didn't take long at all for the rain to reach our stretch of river, sending us to the fly shop in Avery for bugs and b.s. Ghillie even broke down and bought a wading stick - after several years of cajoling he finally succumbed to the pressure.

Lucky the rain shower was a passing visitor. It was time to get line to water.

We spent the rest of the morning and much of the early afternoon exploring the riffles and tailouts, swinging nymphs and wet flies along with various dry flies.

A couple of bright St. Joe wild cutthroats apiece and it was time to nap through the belly of the day.

Overhead, angry clouds bounced around a stunning blue. Chipmunks in camp raced for thrown peanuts, squeeking like surprised cartoon characters and a pair of white tails in velvet sneaked a few munches of green near the picnic table but trotted off before a camera could be found.

A quick nap followed by an even faster snack and we headed down river.

To the west, angry clouds were growing fast. As the humidity climbed, the black fists roiled above the tree tops and choked back the afternoon sun.

The perfect dry fly evening was about to begin. Or so we thought.

Ghillie and I rigged up and jumped to the river at the first sweeping gravel bar. He was using a huge golden stone pattern. I opted for the smaller yellow stimulator.

Within seconds of dropping the fly on the water, I took a nice St. Joe Cutthroat. A few more casts and it was fish-on again. Ghillie has scooted down river and fought his own monsters is the seam.

Just about the same time as my four weight nearly leaped out of my hand and a huge Cut tail walked across a riffle, the sharp crack of thunder echoed up the canyon, followed by another. And then the rain...

The storm arrived with vengence and river was now not for us.

Hightailing it back to the rig, we made it to camp and celebrated our day by sitting under the rear hatch of the truck drinking B&B, counting One Mississippi, Two Mississippi, Three Mississippi between thunder claps and lightening flashes and toasting our good fortune to be vertical in an upside-down world.

The rain continued at a heavy pace all night, breaking near daylight but it was time to travel and off we went, opting for a route west through the Palouse to I-90 out of Ellensberg.

And there you have it. Stay tuned.