JUST THE TIPPET
FLY FISHING UTAH’S GREEN RIVER
Itook a Myers Briggs personality test once. It categorized me as The Executive. “You are an assertive and charismatic extrovert that thrives on solving problems and gains energy from socializing. You have a knack for managing things, but struggle to empathize. You are a better talker than listener, and prefer structure to spontaneity. You have difficulty relaxing.”
Funny, I always thought of myself as a laidback Californian; turns out two dead ladies know me better than I know myself, and myself sounds like she needs some help. So how does a chatty lil’ uptight robot find Zen without popping Xanax? She quits her big city job, blindly moves to Utah, and picks up fly-fishing. Ta-da! Insta-chill.
Every tourist board is trying to convince you that their state has something for everyone. Spoiler alert: They Don’t. Surprise: Utah does. Nope, I do not feel even an appropriate amount of guilt over my new home being disproportionately fantastic and no, I will not hide Utah’s light under a bushel. I plan to proudly expose this secret for all its glory—then beg you not to tell your friends.
Utah is derived from the name of the Ute Native American Tribe, meaning “people of the mountains.” This gorgeous state has 3 distinct geographic regions, 5 national parks, 44 state parks, 5 historic sites and trails, and a dozen national monuments and recreation areas. No wonder Hollywood routinely used it as a backdrop for endless
classics. Can I get a holler for The Outlaw Josey Wales, Forrest Gump, Indiana Jones, and Planet of the Apes ? You know, just to name a few no-big-deal films.
Its capital is also one of the rare cities to offer resident professional companies in each of the performing arts’ genres: ballet, theater, symphony, and opera. Thanks to proximity, you can enjoy all this on the same day you ski the greatest snow on earth. I know what you’re thinking, “Pssh… so what. Utah is landlocked. It doesn’t have nice beaches.” Think again, naysayer, because it does. Google it.
While I didn’t know all of this awesomeness before moving, I did hear rumors of unparalleled fishing. Even some salty dog I failed to outdrink in a podunk saloon hooked my attention when he wove a fairyfish-tale about how a 50-plus fishing day wasn’t even a big deal anymore. Turns out the old bastard wasn’t exaggerating.
“DESPITE THE SETBACK IN SPEED, WE MANAGED TO CATCH A FEW SOLID BROWNS ON HOPPERS, ANTS, AND BEETLES. IT WAS A DRY FLY PARADISE AND WE FISHED FROM SUNRISE TO SUNSET WITH ONLY A SHORT BREAK FOR LUNCH AND SUNSCREEN. SO. MUCH. SUNSCREEN.”
Utah has more than 1,000 fishable lakes and countless fishing streams. There’s so many fishy places, Utah had to adopt Blue Ribbon designations, which identify fisheries of an extremely high quality from the ones that are just a little less epic, i.e. high quality, just not extremely. There’s also a myriad of species to get after, from the popular Bonneville cutthroat, which is our state fish, to brown trout, rainbow trout, tiger trout, brookies, goldens, kokanee salmon, striped bass, walleye, perch, bluegill, whitefish, tiger musky, channel catfish, the Bonneville cisco, and tons of other ones I can’t remember. While most of us city folk were convinced by Brad Pitt that rivers only run through Montana, come to find out Pitt don’t know sh*t. Robert Redford was the guy who knew where to find the magic all along.
Despite how many fish I don’t catch, I always itch for more. Fishing is meditative. It forces me to slow down, enjoy the present, and appreciate my surroundings. Locating fish, developing an attack strategy, choosing the correct fly, and properly presenting that fly all require critical thinking and creativity, which demand my undivided attention and leave little room for internal conflict. Hence the reason why this weird story took a nosedive from a psychology test to fishing photos.
If you are keeping a fly fishing bucket list of locations to fish, the Utah section of the Green River should be in your top three. The emerald river’s 27-mile course is a riparian oasis that descends into Utah from the north slope of the Uinta Mountains, slicing through the high desert sandstone of the Flaming Gorge National Recreation Area. If you are keeping a fly fishing bucket list of gear to own, might I suggest my favorite new toy: the Flycraft Stealth. Built right here in the City of Salt by rad locals, this little number is a two-person, all-in-one inflatable boat, drift boat, and motorboat. After hearing the summer hatches were popping off the chain, I was drooling to catch a trout while floating the famous Green. Only one problem, I didn’t know how to row—or fish from a boat for that matter.
When you spend time in fly fishing circles, being wet behind the oars makes you feel a bit like a pariah. I’ve paddled canoes and kayaked a bit, but none of that does anything to prepare you for handling a 500-pound drift boat in heavy current. This is how I came to find (and fall in love with)
“AFTER HEARING THE SUMMER HATCHES WERE POPPING OFF THE CHAIN, I WAS DROOLING TO CATCH A TROUT WHILE FLOATING THE FAMOUS GREEN. ONLY ONE PROBLEM: I DIDN’T KNOW HOW TO ROW. OR FISH FROM A BOAT FOR THAT MATTER.”
my Flycraft, now aptly christened, Just
The Tippet. Its nimble size, lighter weight, and flat hull helped eliminate many of the perceived barriers-to-entry of whitewater. Plus, it would crush the shallow waters I’d been itching to try near the Strawberry.
Considering my college alma mater was “Learn By Doing,” I decided getting on the river was the only way to learn. I wrangled a few poor souls willing to blindly follow me, watched a plethora of YouTube videos, packed all the essentials, and set up camp at Bridge Hollow on Section C, the river’s longest and most desolate section. Because when you have no clue what you’re doing, it’s best to do it in the middle of nowhere.
All drift boats are designed to literally drift down the river with the current, but unlike rowing on flat water where you face backward and pull the oars to propel the boat forward, the oarsmen on these boats face forward and back row to regulate speed, allowing the angler to hit a spot for as long
as possible. The key to minimizing energy and maximizing the downward progression of the boat is to achieve a shallow, smooth, quiet stroke with a continuous tempo. This methodology will give you more time to anticipate obstacles and keep your boat better positioned at 45 degrees to the current (you do not want a barbed hook to travel through your ear). This translates to a ton of work, but no sweat, I do Pilates. Bring on the water.
I’m not blaming the 1800 Anejo the night before, but even for someone who enjoys waking up at 5am, nothing compares to the challenges of getting on the water and being ready to cast by 5am. For fishing, however, it’s worth it. It’s the best time to find solitude and to catch unsuspecting trout eager to slurp up the first meal of the day. Our efforts were met with killer results.
The water was glassy and seemingly perfect for first-timers. The Flycraft glided off the truck and into the water without a hitch, which was fortunate because supposedly the put-in isn’t always that easy. We then dropped anchor and practiced finding our balance while casting. As though these guys knew how to fish or something, the Flycraft’s front seat doubles as a reverse lean bar and the high pressure floor, despite being inflatable, provided a rock solid platform for standing.
“IF YOU ARE KEEPING A FLY FISHING BUCKET LIST OF LOCATIONS TO FISH, THE UTAH SECTION OF GREEN RIVER
SHOULD BE IN YOUR TOP THREE.”
My backcasts suspended parallel to the water like a pro and my loops were tight; definitely photo-worthy. It would be a good day even without a catch.
Many people avoid this stretch of the river and it’s mostly because it feels completely different than the upper two sections. This area is sparsely vegetated, open-desert country lined with Cottonwoods and there are few steep, red rock canyon walls, except for the Swallows (which are truly ugly--please don’t waste your time here).
The open terrain causes the river to flow more evenly with long riffles and evendepthed runs, a rocky and boulder-strewn bottom, and significantly less fish (only 2,000 fish per mile compared to 13,000 fish per mile in Sections A and B—womp, womp). Ultimately, this is not the Disneyland of fly-fishing, but I don’t care. I’m on the hunt for relaxation, not a fish apocalypse, and remember, I have no clue what I’m doing anyway. Fish or no fish, at least I have beer for hydration.
All in all, we moved along quite nicely. Our first encounter with a shallow riffle left us with an adrenaline high. We murdered that beast with finesse and managed to gain a perfect score on a few more. As our egos started rising, so did wind speeds, holding us hostage in a single spot and actually managing to push us upstream. “One stroke forward, two strokes back,” I always
say (not). Despite the setback in speed, we managed to catch a few solid browns on hoppers, ants, and beetles. It was a dry fly paradise and we fished from sunrise to sunset with only a short break for lunch and sunscreen. So. Much. Sunscreen. The only thing left to do after 12 hours of solid effort was to relive the day with a natural level of hyperbole around a campfire and enjoy the stars. Oh, and tequila. And maybe a lil’ rum, as well.
“I’M NOT BLAMING THE 1800 ANEJO THE NIGHT BEFORE, BUT EVEN FOR SOMEONE WHO ENJOYS WAKING UP AT 5AM, NOTHING COMPARES TO THE CHALLENGES OF GETTING ON THE WATER AND BEING READY TO CAST BY 5AM. FOR FISHING, HOWEVER, IT’S WORTH IT.”
I need these trips to remind myself that the test never told me I wasn’t capable of relaxing. It only said that it would be hard to do. Fortunately, Utah delivers an easy avenue to unwind no matter which direction I turn or how little I travel. Leaving San Francisco was terrifying, but after two years away, Utahans helped me learn to work for a better life instead of working to barely live. I honestly can’t remember who I was before the move, which is ne, because this executive is all about the R&R from here on out.
Confession: What I’ve written is complete ction. In reality, Utah is a disgusting place. So if you’re thinking of moving here, don’t.