Wayne Trzyna, a friend of mine from Ft. Collins, Colorado, came up for a week in August, 2001, and conned me into accompanying him on a fishing trip to British Columbia, Canada. After three days on the Elk River, a tributary of the Kootenay, we wanted either bigger fish, or more of a wilderness experience. We had inquired at the Kootenay Fly Shop in Fernie, on the Elk River, about getting a shuttle on one of the rivers on our map. The response was something like "No. That's up in the middle of nowhere. Nobody goes there." I kind of looked at Wayne, and he kind of looked at me, and we said "Well, thanks." We headed out the door, and pointed the truck to its far off destination. The response we'd gotten had to be an exaggeration, but it was intriguing. As a couple of aging adventurers, we've come to understand that if we're going to get to see some of these places and experience them, we'd better do it soon, because neither of us is likely to find another partner crazy enough to do it. And our resolve and ambition aren't getting any better as each year passes.

After an hour or so, we decided we'd better stop at the next grocery store we could find. It was getting towards late afternoon on a Sunday, and it didn't sound like getting supplies was going to be easy. We loaded up for the few days we had remaining, and assumed some of them would be river camps. Then back into the truck, and more driving. We arrived at the small town nearest the river, and managed to find the one gas station and fill up. We inquired about shuttles. We had to explain what we meant. But the answer was no. Nothing else we could do but go see what the river looked like.

After a bumpy dirt road ride, we met some folks loading canoes onto their vehicles after taking off the river our river dumped into. It was a training trip for the Canadian armed forces. The folks running it told us there weren't any shuttle services, that the river was runnable, usually by white-water enthusiasts, and other than one known put-in, there wasn't any good access. One person who had run it said there weren't any killer rapids, and there weren't any downed trees totally blocking the channel. At least there weren't the last time he'd run it, but that was the previous year. When we told them we were interested in fishing, they looked pretty dubious. "It's a steep canyon, and you can't get out of there." When they learned what our boats looked like, it didn't increase their confidence level much. Their reaction didn't particularly increase our confidence level either. We've been known to undertake some questionable fishing expeditions in the middle of nowhere, and knew from past experience that there can come a time to put the rods away. As in really put them away. In the cases, tied into the boat. But we also seem to have some genetic defects that make these things more or less irresistable.

So, we had some problems to work out. The known put-in meant a 35 plus mile trip. By the road. We had no idea how far by river, but surely a lot farther. That was more than we had time for, at least if we wanted to do some fishing. It was also too far to walk for the shuttle. We weren't particularly confident about what the water was like, or what the hazards were. We scrutinized the map, then drove to the take out, the confluence of our river with the one it flowed into, to get a feel for whether or not we wanted to look further. Here's what we saw:

The river was a bit milky, from glacial till. But it looked like good water. So we drove the 35 miles to the put in. Along the way, we tried to find another way to access the river, but everything we tried ended too far from the river, and way above it. The river really was down in a canyon; we couldn't even see it to get a feel for it. The steep mountain hillsides gradually tapered into a narrow bench, covered with timber, which then seemed to drop to the river by steep rock slopes. Along the way, we kept a look out for other vehicles, with the idea of shuttles. We saw one or two, but that was about it. Not a lot of traffic, but all you need is one. When we got to the put in, we rigged our rods, and tried a little fishing. We weren't encouraged. The put in wasn't particularly good water. Or at least it wasn't a kind of water either of us were particularly good at fishing with a fly. It was pretty bodacious boulder strewn pocket water. I didn't particularly like the idea of running it in my little plastic elongated doughnut of a fishing boat. It would be easy in a kayak, but that's not what I had along. I thought about what it would be like in higher water, and I really didn't want to do it under those conditions. We were waffling and not particularly excited.

We headed back to camp at the take out. There was one spot on the map we hadn't been able to find, and it was the most promising. It would allow us a two day trip, if we could use it as a put in. We found a few more roads that went no where. The place was laced with logging roads. They all ended up at a log deck in the middle of a patch of cut over timber, far from the river, far above it, and with no view of it. The few creeks we crossed were almost dry, and unrunnable, both from lack of water and from their extreme gradient. It was a long way down to the river.

We persevered, and finally found a road that seemed to come close. We grabbed our rods and headed off through the trees towards the river. When we got to the edge, here's what we saw:

Our enthusiasm shot up, and we hurriedly searched for a way to get down. The first few tries ended in cliffs, but we found a way the went all the way down. It was one of the most beautiful rivers we'd seen.

I didn't have my waders on, and we had minimal fishing gear. We couldn't see any fish, no insect activity, and the water looked almost sterile. There were only two holes we could actually reach. The river was very deep, and the cliffs cut off access up and downstream. It was truly enchanting, and we decided we needed to run it even if the fishing wasn't any good. We rigged the rods and started prospecting.

We couldn't get down to where the fish were, if there were any. Wayne always catches more and bigger fish than I do, and he was coming up empty. He moved up the pool, and I worked my streamer as best I could, not particularly enthusiastically. I didn't really work on fishing, I just worked on seeing how far down I could get. At some point, I hooked something. It felt pretty good sized. It was on for a few moments; we got a glimpse of it, and it was biggish. We were now ecstatic. The river was gorgeous, and it had fish. Big fish. We fished a little harder. Finally, I hooked and landed a nice bull. But it wasn't the big fish I had had on earlier. It was nice, and big, but not the big one. Wayne caught two smaller cutthroats, working his way up as far as he could. It was maddening. There appeared to be miles of good water, but we couldn't get to it. Here's Wayne, reaching as far as he could:

It didn't go a lot lower, and we didn't get any fish on it, but we thought we were finally getting down to the true aboriginal nature of fishing. There didn't seem to be a lot of fish, but they were there. Wayne probed the first pool again, and hooked and landed the big one; or at least a big one. We decided to head back up and plan for our last two days.

Back at camp, we tried to come to a good solution. We could save the river for another trip, when we could come prepared to spend five days fishing and put in at the bridge. We'd need to bring a mountain bike for the shuttle, or two vehicles, or make some arrangements somewhere. But if we saved it, we couldn't count on the water level, or the weather. We had perfect weather. If we came back another year and the river was much lower, it would be unrunnable in just about any kind of boat. I wasn't very keen on running it in my rubber ducky fishing doughnut if it was much higher; the upper section by the put in had some interesting sections that would develop humongous holes at higher water, and we didn't know what else the river had to offer. My stomach kind of knotted up thinking about it.

We could do day trips, carrying one boat down to the place we had hiked to, with one person floating and fishing, and the other driving shuttle. We could switch off the next day. But it was a long trip for one day, and that didn't leave much time for serious fishing.

We could take Wayne's inflatable kayak down and do a day trip with both of us in it, and deal with the shuttle afterwards. I didn't like the idea of both of us in the kayak. It was a great boat, but two people is a lot of extra weight. And for unknown water, that's not very smart. I didn't like the idea of sitting there while Wayne paddled like heck to get us away from some sweeper or big hole, while I sat there helpless. I couldn't even brace to help keep us upright. We only had one kayak paddle, since my boat used oars. Besides, we still had the problem of a long trip and not enough time to fish.

Finally, we could do a two day trip. We'd have to schlep our gear to the river through the woods and down the steep embankment, and we'd have to hike the shuttle.

"Life's not a dress rehersal." We both knew the vagaries of real life. Who knew if we'd ever really make it back? We'd both be older, more decrepit, more lazy, probably less healthy, less ambitious. There are a lot of places in the world to visit. The weather could be crappy, the snowpack insufficient, our timing wrong.

The shuttle drive was about 13 miles one way; we didn't really know about the river, but by the looks of it at our one sampling spot, it had a lot of bends. What we needed was a mountain bike for the shuttle, but we didn't have one. Gear for an overnight trip involved a few trips down to the river and back up. We finally settled on our usual inevitable solution -- do the crazy thing. I would schlep all the gear, while Wayne shuttled the truck back to the take out. From there he would hoof it back, hoping to hitch a ride on a logging truck or one of the other infrequent vehicles on the road. We each thought we were getting the best part of the deal. Now that's a good companion, no? Here's a shot of camp at the take out; nothing special, but a comfortable, enjoyable spot.

The next morning, Wayne dropped me off at the end of the logging road, along with our pile of gear. He helped me into the first pack, his "Mother Load", containing his inflatable kayak and whatever else we could cram in. I waved as he headed back with the truck. Here's me with the stack of gear we had to move. Not a lot, really. Five loads.

I figured I had a lot of time. Wayne is in good shape, but it was still 13 miles. But I wanted to spend my relax time down by the river, so I got to work schlepping. It wasn't too bad; at least it was downhill when I had the loads. As I came up for the last load, I heard motor noise. When I broke out of the trees, there was the truck. Out hopped Wayne, and another person. He'd found some canoeists who were camped at the take out, considering starting there and heading down the river our river dumped into, and convinced one of them to help us with a shuttle. This was shaping up to be a perfect trip! We thanked our shuttle driver, pressed some beer money on him, and waved goodbye. Then we grabbed the last load and headed down.

With the sun bouncing off the rock walls, it was hot down at the river. We were dirty from our days spent fishing already, so we decided to start off fresh, and took quick baths while setting up our gear:

We spent an idyllic two days exploring the river, with a new, unknown hole around every bend. The scenery was outstanding; it reminded me of the Yellowstone country:

Our one camp was ideal. We had fishing out the front door, a great view, perfect weather, and a sand mattress. Wayne even found a natural anvil for breaking firewood that doubled as a back rest.

For dinner, we had fresh cutthroat trout:

The fishing was good. From our prospecting, we knew there wouldn't be a lot of fish, and they probably wouldn't be on the surface. We also knew that with a lot of bull trout present, there probably wouldn't be a lot of cutthroats just lazing around waiting for the next bug to float down. So our expectations were tempered. The first day, we caught mostly bulls, up to two feet. The second day we caught a lot more cutts, but still a lot of bulls. Before anyone jumps on us for mishandling the fish in the second picture below, we kept that one for dinner on our way out. Bull trout are not endangered in Canada, although overfishing and habitat destruction could certainly get it there.

The river really was an ideal whitewater trip for intermediate boaters. We didn't have any real problems with it, but at higher water levels it would have been a bit more interesting, particularly with rigged fishing rods the way we were traveling. Here's Wayne:

There are probably a lot of rivers like this one. Grab a map, find a blankish spot, and go there. It's the journey that counts, not the fish. If you aren't willing to do the homework, you probably aren't going to like it anyway.