A fishing spot that gives me pause

I don’t do too many scary things anymore.

Not that I ever did on purpose, but in pursuit of fish and game I’ve certainly scared myself.

Last weekend three friends and I fished the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone, a stretch of river I’m quite familiar with, yet a place that still gives me pause.

With good reason.

While we were in the canyon, a search and rescue crew recovered the body of a drowning victim just a few miles downstream. The 22-year-old from Georgia had been floating the Lamar River on an inner tube (an illegal activity in Yellowstone Park) and somehow lost the tube. He was last seen by his two companions being swept downstream at the confluence of the Lamar and the Yellowstone.

One of my companions last weekend was an old friend from Cooke City. I remember Steve once swimming the Lamar a mile upstream from the confluence to reach what looked like better water on the other side. He fished downstream to the Yellowstone, swam that river, and fished back out to the road.

There was nothing remarkable about it at the time. We were young and dumb and full of ourselves. We took chances we shouldn’t have.

We’re a bit more careful now.

The river was as high as I’d ever seen it the middle of August and where we usually picked our way along the rocky bank there was still roaring whitewater.

We’d have to climb up and around the inaccessible stretches to keep fishing upstream. Steve, nursing a bum knee, wisely declined to follow.

Dallas, the youngest member of our group, led the way. Mark and I fell in behind.

I’d followed Dallas in a similar climb a couple of years earlier and scared myself silly crossing a loose, rocky slope a hundred feet above the river. The exposure on the trail he took this time wasn’t quite as bad, but I took great care where I placed my feet.

The day after we fished the canyon an 8-year-old girl from California died in a fall a short ways downstream from the lower falls. She fell more than 500 feet.

Falls in the canyon, unfortunately, aren’t an uncommon occurrence.

Luckily, none of us fell, but after dropping back down to the river, we found the fast water offered few places to fish and blocked any further progress upstream.

We didn’t stay long. No matter how good or bad the fishing is, the hike out always looms large. It hasn’t gotten any easier after all these years, but neither has it gotten any harder.

Sweating and tired, I reached the top of the canyon where I stopped to catch my breath and enjoy the feeling of relief that always seem to overcome me there.

With good reason.

Parker Heinlein is at

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