Read the Article on the Telegraph Website HERE
Nicky Holford gets back to nature at a wilderness lodge in America’s rugged northwest – and proves to be a dab hand at fly fishing.
The crescendo of the dawn chorus wakes me in an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar room. It was dark when I arrived and nothing prepares me for that first glimpse of nature outside my window.
A veil of mist hovers over the surface of a lake as ribbons of light flit across it. In the far distance I can see the outline of a mountain range. In between is nothing, just a wild, endless landscape with not a sign of civilisation.
We are in south-east Idaho near the Wyoming state line and within easy reach of both Yellowstone and Grand Teton National Parks. More specifically, our wilderness base is in Swan Valley, at Natural Retreats South Fork Lodge, overlooking one of the finest fishing spots on Snake River, which over millennia has formed deep canyons and roaring waterfalls amid cottonwood forest.
The mighty river is a few steps away from my log cabin. I can hear it crashing over boulders, sweeping up stray flotsam, and racing ever onwards toward the Pacific. Within it swim white fish and cut-throat, brown and rainbow trout. This stretch of river is among the best anywhere for fly fishing, the former host site of the World Fly Fishing Championships, and it is here that we will cast our lines and, with luck, reel in some decent-sized prizes.
But before our fly fishing baptism we are let loose in the surrounding Wild West with a menu of activities that includes white-water rafting, riding, zip-lining, hiking, biking, boating and target shooting on Mark Rockefeller’s ranch (the Rockefellers have been pioneers of conservation, contributing to the national park systems and helping preserve much of the West’s great wildernesses).
One day we drive over the 8,432ft Teton Pass to Wilson for a short stack of blueberry pancakes at Nora’s Fish Creek, near Harrison Ford’s ranch. We also stop in the town of Jackson, admire the ski resort of Jackson Hole and hike up Death Valley canyon in Grand Teton National Park, which leads to superb views of the Teton mountains and Phelps lake. Elk, marmots and birds of prey abound, and once we have to tiptoe past a moose and her calf.
We have picnics and barbecues, feasting on elk kebabs and chilled wine in secluded spots along the river under sunny, deep-blue skies; stop for square-scoop huckleberry ice cream at Rainey Creek; and hike in wild landscapes with names such as Argument Ridge and Moody Swamp.
On our travels there’s never much on the road and when we do pass a car it’s likely to be a huge pickup towing a boat or a trailer. This is serious hunting country; one where trophy antlers of elk or moose adorn the bars and lodges. We listen to our guides talking about bow hunting on horseback and the Wild Turkey Draw, when a limited number of the creatures can be killed. With no such thing as supermarket delivery most households rely on a freezer full of meat to get them through the winter.
When we saddle up to explore the backcountry, crossing creeks and climbing narrow trails, we cover country that was once part of the 2,000-mile Oregon Trail for pioneers travelling between Missouri and Oregon. There are still families living in the original homesteads granted by the government that have been passed down the generations.
I’m up early, still jet-lagged, for the fly fishing day. As I wander along Snake River en route to the main lodge for another mountain-man breakfast, I’m told I’ve just missed an osprey catch a trout and a bald eagle wrestle it away in mid-air. Such sparring is not uncommon. South Fork is home to more than 126 bird species including 26 raptors.
Osprey, bald eagles and red hawks are constantly on the hunt, and their nests, which look like huge inverted straw hats, are easily spotted. The corridor also is rich in moose, elk, deer, black bears, bobcats and coyotes. I watch an otter skim across the lake (not good news for the trout) and see several beaver dams.
Armed with peaked cap and sunblock we buy our fishing licence and watch in awe as our guide Brett Novik attaches a drift boat to his pickup in a nanosecond. Then we are off to “put in” at Spring Creek.
Quickly, we all enter a world of nymphs, stonefly and rubber legs. The fly we will use replicates the insects fish eat. With most species the life cycle is a year, so the relevant time of year of the insects’ life-cycle – egg, pupa, larvae or adult – will determine our fly. Brett’s expertise decides on a fly called rubber legs and off we go.
We have a few trial casts and Brett tries to put us at ease by telling us how many clients have hooked his shorts or various body parts. We must keep our wrists firm with more of a pendulum movement than a jerky throw.
Gliding down the river, I’m in the front, Brett is rowing in the middle and Victoria, from our group, is at the back. It’s warm, the sky is blue, and the views are breathtaking. We are surrounded by steep granite cliffs, rising from the riverbank in great jagged shapes. “That’s Sleeping Indian,” says Brett and sure enough, the peaks he points at lie in the shape of a man wearing a headdress.
Early on we fish the Canyon, a corridor of rock inaccessible except by river. Brett steers the boat to prime feeding ground and we cast into the current. Every time the line gets in front of the fly Brett tells us to “mend” and get the line behind the fly. Early on I get a bite and he yells “set” but I am too slow to hook the fish and it gets away. Seconds later I get one. I can see a silver flash in the water and let out my line as instructed and then haul it in a bit. It’s exhilarating and the adrenalin is pumping. Gradually I haul it up to the surface. We’re bound by catch-and-release laws, and though between us we catch 19 fish (the biggest a 17-inch rainbow trout), this catch of mine is the only one we keep.
Back at South Fork Lodge, tired yet exhilarated, we give our fish to the chef. With great enthusiasm he disappears to the kitchen while we sip huckleberry martinis made from a local Idaho vodka. When our trout reappears, it looks like a work of art and tastes even better. We tuck into a feast fit for kings. My induction into the Wild West is complete.