A Fly-Fisherman’s Dream : Remote Region of Wyoming Has What Few Trophy Trout Fisheries Have: No Crowds

Ever dream of a lake where the trout are so big that they can yank a man clear out of his lawn chair? A river full of trout that shun the normal insect diet, choosing instead to cruise the brushy bank, searching for a wayward sheep or calf?

Well, keep dreaming.

But if you’re searching for one of the last true frontiers, a place where the wind sweeps over the grasslands where the Sioux once roamed, where the deer and antelope really do play and where a lake and a river sit unspoiled and virtually untouched, just begging for a fly-fisherman to come and enjoy, then it’s hard to beat this decidedly rural region of a decidedly rural state.

The lake is Saratoga Lake, a beautiful chunk of water nestled amid rolling hills and wind-swept sand dunes. But what’s around it is nothing compared to what’s in it. Beneath the often-choppy surface swim some monstrous fish, rainbow and brown trout that grow fat and strong on freshwater shrimp and react to the proper presentation of a shrimp imitation fly like actor John Goodman to a buffet.

The river is the North Platte, a majestic ribbon of water, rocks, riffles and pools interrupted during its long haul through Wyoming by an occasional angler and the frequent visits of deer and elk and antelope that come to drink or ford the shallow stretches.

The North Platte trout--Department of Fish and Game surveys indicate there are more than 5,000 of them per mile of river--are big and strong. And wary and elusive. Not from angling pressure but because of pressure from the sky. Eagles patrol the river nonstop during the day, slamming hard onto the surface whenever a trout makes the mistake of showing itself in shallow, unbroken water.

Other than having to share the water with those pesky eagles, a fisherman might have miles and miles of the river to himself. The summer draws some interest, but in the spring and again after Labor Day it becomes a river of great solitude.

Of course, nearly every place in Wyoming is a place of great solitude. A state of 96,988 square miles, it’s the ninth largest in the nation. But with a population of about 455,000--less than the combined population of Anaheim and Santa Ana, it’s the least populated state in the nation.

The Saratoga area sits just above 8,000 feet in the Rocky Mountains, with the breathtaking Medicine Bow National Forest at its southern and eastern doorsteps. It is 80 miles west of the state’s third-largest city, Laramie, which has a population of 26,000. There are probably that many trout in Saratoga Lake.

The drive from Laramie or Cheyenne brings you over the stunning Snowy Range Pass. At nearly 11,000 feet, the views are enough to make most people stop and stare--not to mention gasp, because of the alarming lack of oxygen. But not the fly-fisherman. Because beyond the hills lies an area that will make the heart thump.

Huge herds of elk roam the wilderness pine. Rare combination herds of mule deer and whitetail deer--normally an eastern animal--roam together in the forests and along the hundreds of thousands of acres of ranch land and farmland. And pronghorn antelope, North America’s swiftest animal, still thunder in great herds across the grassland.

And then you find Saratoga Lake and drop a tiny shrimp pattern fly into the shallow water and the rod is nearly snapped out of your hand by the strike of a rainbow or brown trout of three pounds. Or four pounds. Or five or six or seven. An eight-pounder was wrestled into submission earlier this year. And the few local anglers who fish Saratoga hard swear there are bigger trout than that. Much bigger.

“I nailed a brown in 1990 that hauled me nearly across the lake,” said Jim Thacker of nearby Rock Springs, who was fishing from an inner tube, a popular way to navigate around the sometimes-weedy lake.

“I saw him twice, within five or six feet. With a two-pound leader, I didn’t quite know what to do, except hang on.”

The fish ended the game, Thacker said, after about 40 minutes, snapping the thin leader with a violent shake of his head.

“It was, easily, 33 or 34 inches long,” Thacker said. “And I know fishermen exaggerate. But not this time.”

Thacker and the others who hunt the big fish said the fall is clearly the best time, the cooling water and often stormy conditions sending the giant fish into feeding frenzies that can last an hour or more and occur several times a day.

That is the pattern here, long stretches of inactivity punctuated by wild outbursts. The quiet moments can be used to practice your casting as you gaze out over a land unchanged except by the wind.

And then, without warning, Arthur Donley is out of his pickup truck at the water’s edge and fires a shotgun into the brush and you nearly leap from your waders.

Donley, 72, limps into the scrub brush and emerges with a dead rabbit, one of two he said he bags for food each week, year-round, along the shores. It’s legal. Most everything is in Wyoming.

“If you came here for a week and fished nonstop eight hours a day and never caught a single fish, it still might be a trip you’d be talking about for years,” Thacker said.

Fat chance. If you fish the waters of this undiscovered place for a week and catch no fish you are:

Forgetting to use a hook.

Forgetting to use a rod.

Facing in the wrong direction, making your casts up onto the shore.

More likely is a steady, weeklong diet of hard strikes, broken lines and a soaring pulse rate.

Because if the lake doesn’t grab you, the North Platte River will. If a more perfect trout fishing river exists in America, it’s probably around Yellowstone National Park, 300 miles northwest of here, and if you think standing elbow to elbow with 1,200 people--most of them from California--on a place like the Yellowstone River is a terrific experience, then the North Platte might give you the willies.

Mile after mile, the river slices through the land, sometimes raging but more often flowing quietly.

Emm Johnson and her husband, Les, have fished the North Platte off and on for the better part of three decades. They talk about the change in the area, the new buildings, and you have to suppress a smile. The town of Saratoga has 1,966 people. There isn’t another town with more than a few dozen people for 75 miles. How much change could there have been?

But the thing that hasn’t changed, even Emm admits, is the river. The Johnsons, who live and ranch near Reliance, not far from Rock Springs, said they drive the 125 miles to the river about once a month--except in November, December, January, February and March, when the temperature frequently drops to 25 below zero and fly-fishing becomes, well, uncomfortable--just for the solitude of the North Platte.

“There’s nothing like it,” said Emm Johnson, 66. “For a day or two, it’s just me and the river and the trout. And Les.”

During the peak summer months, a few outfits send a few rafts full of tourists meandering down the North Platte. Key word: few. And if you want to float the river with your own raft or canoe, it’s safe enough. The only problem is an odd Wyoming landowner law that gives ranchers and farmers who own the riverside property ownership of the bottom of the river, too, making it illegal for you to step from the raft or canoe into the water. Unless you don’t plan to touch bottom.

Once again, it’s Wyoming, and the chances of getting nabbed for such a thing by a fish and game warden or a police officer or sheriff’s deputy is, well, thin.

Floating or wading, the rewards are great. The eagles don’t get all the fish. Two- and three- pound browns and rainbows are common. Bigger fish are frequent, feeding actively and taking tiny nymphs and large woolly buggers with equal abandon. And you will probably see a deer or 15, moving along the banks and even making a river crossing.

Sound too good to be true? Like a dream? Well, it isn’t a dream. It’s Wyoming. Need some bad news about the place to make you feel more comfortable?

OK.

There’s not a decent Mexican restaurant--or French or Italian or Chinese--within a day’s drive.