After we left Diamond Fork on July 3rd, we followed google maps north to Heber City, just south of Park City, and up the hill from Provo Utah. We ventured up I-15 to Provo and then turned right, through Provo Canyon, along a beautiful stretch of the Lower Provo river.
It was hard for me to not stop the RV and jump out and throw a line. I remember when I was young, my mom drove me across the US from Oregon to Pennsylvania and back. Every river I saw, I begged her to stop and let me fish it. This stretch of the Provo brought back those memories. The tube hatch (rafters) was on point. As a fisherman, it would be cast, cast, wait, but it looked worth it.
Tube hatch
I exercised some professional level restraint and kept the foot on the gas pedal, and Marge needs it when going up a steep hill pulling Farley and all my fishing stuff.
We finally made it to the top of the canyon road to find the Provo spills out of Deer Creek dam holding back the Deer Creek Reservoir which looked to be a popular summertime hang out for those with really cool water ski boats. Oh, that got me excited. I was finally out of the heat, just drove up along a big river, and come out onto this beautiful lake with lots of activity. Im still gonna be hot, but I can use the local aquatic resources to have some adventure and keep cool. Game On! I couldn’t get Marge parked and get on with the fun fast enough.
Eventually, we got settled into Mountain Valley RV Resort at the recommendation of my friends Todd and Michelle. We were meeting them there, but they weren’t to show up for about another 4-5 days. I was really looking forward to hanging out with them. A little piece of home, great peeps, great friends, and awesome kiddos.
When the setup dust settled, and I was able to take care of some maintenance things, I contacted a local guy I met on one of my fly fishing facebook groups, Scott Antonetti. I put out that I was going to be in the area, and he contacted me saying that he would give me the tour. AWESOME We arranged to hit the middle provo the next morning, July 4th, at 630am. I would have to be off the river by 930 so we could go into Park City and ham it up at their small town 4th of July parade and celebrations. Stoked!
When I met Scott, I learned about how involved he was with the Utah and Salt Lake area fly fishing community. As well, I learned of his generosity as the first thing he did was throw some swag at me from the Wasatch Fly Fishing Expo. Sweet. He explained to me how the Provo was one of the better rivers around, and that it fills up with fisherman quickly as mostly Salt Lake City residents traverse the hill to get their moments of zen, just as we are attempting this morning. He also introduced me to his friend, “Wheat”. After a few pleasantries, we leave the 2 lone cars in the parking lot, and meander through the weeds, thickets, swamp and brush to finally come out onto a beautiful stretch of the middle Provo river called the bunny farm. Of course, yours truly asks the question, “For what silly reason do they call this the bunny farm?” Of course the answer made me look like a rocket scientist when Scott noted, “It used to be a bunny farm.” Ahem…. Let’s fish.
Scott was wielding a 10’+ 3 wt rod and it was his intention to throw long casts with small Pale Morning Dunn PMD dry flies.
A similar fly and the natural it is supposed to imitate.
Me, on the other hand, the expert fly fisherman that I am, decides, ehh, locals be cra cra. Im gonna hook up some meat (streamer) that is kind of like a spin fishing lure, but made with elk hair, rabbit fur, etc.. made to imitate bait fish or a leach. Early mornings and late nights are good for this type of fishing, and my favorite, Brown Trout, who are aggressive attacking fish, go crazy over them. It was game on. I started working up in a hole they explained to me, while Scott walks downstream just a bit.
As the dawn is breaking, and the sun is thinking to pop over the hill, and with mist still in the air, I threw a ton of great looking casts with no love on the streamer. Arg… About 5 minutes in I see Scott with a nice bend in his rod, Wheat has the net out and soon a lunker fills the net and Scott has this smile on his face that said a million words. Which reminds me to tell you, I ALMOST get as much joy of watching a friend catch a fish, as I do myself. I went downstream to get a look of this beautiful dry fly sipping brown trout. Scott still elated, smoking a cigar, looks like he just sold 1000 shares of apple stock that his grandpa gave him. Love it. He explained the take, the fight, the excitement. We all reminisced for a moment, and then he hands me a similar fly out of his box, with a look that said, “Listed to the local, I got your back.”
Wheat with Scott’s Brown
You see, Im often a lone wolf out on the rivers, and when I can fish with someone who is just a great person, but also a great fisherman, the moment, and memories, fill me with joy I am unable to share on this blog.
Back to the fishing. I tied on the fly after ripping off my streamer and sink tip line (to sink the streamer deep into holes) and started walking upstream, when Scott stopped me and told me to just fish his spot. He was content, and still enjoying his celebratory cigar. My inward smile grew, and I was thankful for these few morning hours I had on the river, and the new friend I had acquired. Im not worthy.
After a bit, he and his buddy headed downstream, as i worked up. I was trying to hit all the soft water around the banks and rocks, where the trout can see the small fly, and come out of their soft water holding spots to take a sip. Nuthin. Where’s the luck?
Soon after I start to see people walking along the banks like zombies in the apocalypse. They are coming from everywhere, and began to surround me. Ahhhh, this is not what I had bargained for, but I was thankful for the time I had alone, with friends, in peace, before the sun and the zombies.
I didn’t see Scott any longer, so I wandered downstream a bit. I found he and Wheat set up, alone, in a great little bend of the river. I walked down below them and watched them float their dry flies through the bend. I also noticed a hatch starting and lots of fish hitting the surface. Shortly after Scott hooks up to another nice brownie.
No a little impatient, and anxious that I have to be home in a bit, I start to wade into the river just below Scott. I ran my fly over many actively feeding fish. Doing my best for a natural drift, I had a few takes, and a few looks, but no hook ups. Arg again!
Of course, ever the gentleman, Scott rolls down to me and hands me another fly, a much longer leader, and some desiccant. “Here, try this. Use desiccant this fly, as floatant wont work well on CDC.” “Thanks Scottie!, I did not know that.” (My WOW grows)
After tying on the new leader, emerger fly, and dusting it a bit with desiccant, I toss it out to a rising fish. BAM. A big ole head pops out of the surface film for some breakfast. I set the hook like a crazed beast out of amazement and excitement, but my line and fly came back at me like a boomerang. “Dang it.” Scott throws down a little chuckle, which of course makes me smile. I often say, the take is 80% of the goal for me, the fight is the other 15%, and netting is only 5%. At least I (Scott) fooled the little fella. I will take the win, Hey, I’m not proud.
After a few more casts, Scott asks me, “What time do you gotta leave?” “Around 9:30.” “Oh, OK, thats like 5 minutes ago.” “Dang it.” I yelled goodbye to ole Wheat, explained to Scott what a great time I had and how thankful I was, and I was off to go get some July 4th action. God Bless America.
More to come on this Heber City trip. Stay tuned for the next article and let me know if you like the detail of the article, or if, I should shorten it up, etc.. Thanks.
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