Once a year I fish upstream for 26.5 miles, wading continuously. It seems crazy every time I do it, more so, every year I get a little older. This year, fishing for the fourth time on the Greys River in western Wyoming, was no different. It was crazy! But, I got to share the experience with my younger brother Robert Walters, his buddy Alex Muedder, and my good bud from childhood, Joe Larson. Tricia Curley, my mother and Tom Sexton, my father also showed up to keep us heading steadily upstream, as did my wonderful girlfriend, Sarah, and the mutts: Ariell, Moriah, and Teagan. Below are some pictures to take you to the event, the 7th annual Cuttiethon -- the most extreme fly-fishing event in the World. I do it primarily as a fund-raiser for Cutthroat trout restoration and to fund research to find a cure for diabetes. I am a type I diabetic, my dad a type II.
Why am I the only one laughing? Well, whatever. I am building a leader for Alex, and tying on a suggested fly, while Robert (R) rigs his rig. I started fishing a Sweetgrass 8'3", 6 wt., Robert fished a 7'6", 4/5 wt. I made him, and Alex had some graphite rod. Man it was early. Before noon, even....
It rained all night before we started, soaking the surrounding vegetation. It was evident from the start that it wasn't going to be easy navigating the river channel. Places where we normally avoided thick, riparian vegetation in the cobbled river bottom had to be avoided, or we'd surely be pushed over like this old-growth Spruce tree. It meant more walking through what Joe later termed, "Willow Hell."
We walked quite a ways before fishing too seriously. And it took some fishing before Joe managed to land this nice Snake River Cutthroat! He caught it on a Sweetgrass fiberglass 6 wt. Good job, Joe! Now I had to catch a fish....
I think this is me lost in "Willow Hell." Only one who has had to walk miles upon seemingly endless miles of thick willows, mixed with stinging nettle will understand. It was worse than Purgatory.
In the middle of Willow Hell, making a path where none exists, Sweetgrass rod leading the way!
This is me real happy to be in Willow Hell. The only real highlight to this experience was later, when Joe was caught in his own Willow Hell. Here's a somewhat accurate quote from Joe, "The willows are so thick I can't see the end of my d!c$. I'm in the middle of Willow Hell. I think I'm in Idaho!"
But, somehow I managed to spend some time in Greys River Heaven, and hooked up with my first fish.
A healthy Snake River Cuttie! This mean gal, slammed a brown and yellow streamer.
The 'Thon consists of constant movement -- either walking upstream, or working water that seems like it might have fish. This year the water was a bit off color, still coming down from a late run-off. We noticed lots of changes in the stream from previous years. Many pools were washed out, with the logs that formed them, and the deep holes were mostly too deep to fish effectively in the short time we had to fish. Walk-fish. Walk-fish. Get tangled and frustrated. Walk-fish. For twenty-six and a half frickin' miles!
Alex fishing, surrounded by the Greys, trees and willows.
Robert wading the middle of the Greys, surrounded by water, trees and willows.
Alex, Robert and myself fishing one of our favorite holes. Actually, the water Robert (middle) was fishing was the only real hole. He missed a take there. I usually fish a pocket above him (where I am pictured fishing), and manage to land a couple/few Cutties most years. Not this year. Robert got the one take, and I didn't move a thing, as my pockets were part of a rushing riffle:-( Sad, I know.
After a while, fishing harder, and using more weight on my line, I managed to get a beautiful fine-spotter before sunset, along with about nine other fishies. Then the sun set, making time for the walk-a-thon. We mostly hike at night, because we never catch anything when we fish the few holes we can find in the dark. Time to put down tracks!
Sarah keeping her hands warm while we take a short break at night. Thank goodness for Dad, Mom and Sarah for keeping a camp/break station handy and moving along the way!
The next morning was a bit dryer, but man were we tired. Casts get sloppy, but it still feels good to fish the familiar Sweetgrass cane.
Dad films us fishing as Mom and Teagen make sure we don't fall in... too many times.
Moriah makes her way over a pile of sticks left when the water was easily two feet higher. Moriah somehow found some poison along the route, and Mom brought her to the veterinary clinic in Alpine. But, it was too late. Moriah was not able to recover. We fished the rest of the way thinking fondly of Moriah, and the many days I've spent with her on streams, and the happiness she always brought Mom. We miss you, little girl!
My biggest fish is dedicated to Moriah. A good-ol' Cuttie for a good ol' puppy. It goes to you, too Mojo. And you, Gal.
Here's Ariell taking time to sniff the flowers while we meander upstream. This is one of the last bends before we hit the home stretch to the finish line. My back, knees, and legs burn just thinking about it.
Sometimes we get so tired, we take a break any way we can -- while fishing at the same time.
Five of us trudging along the bank in wonderful grass (not willows), for the last few yards....
We made it! From L to R: Alex, Joe, me and Robert enjoy a favorite brew at the "finish line." Man, I don't think I've ever been so happy to see a bridge. We were dog-tired and happy to finally make the end of a mind-boggling event. Thirty and a half hours to hike/fish 26.5 miles of river. Wow. I landed 10 Cutties and six Whitefish all told. Everyone else did quite well, though I forget numbers. They don't matter much in an event that means much more. Thank you Sweetgrass for your support.
In Wild Waters,
Zac Sexton
The Meandering Boo Boy
Why am I the only one laughing? Well, whatever. I am building a leader for Alex, and tying on a suggested fly, while Robert (R) rigs his rig. I started fishing a Sweetgrass 8'3", 6 wt., Robert fished a 7'6", 4/5 wt. I made him, and Alex had some graphite rod. Man it was early. Before noon, even....
It rained all night before we started, soaking the surrounding vegetation. It was evident from the start that it wasn't going to be easy navigating the river channel. Places where we normally avoided thick, riparian vegetation in the cobbled river bottom had to be avoided, or we'd surely be pushed over like this old-growth Spruce tree. It meant more walking through what Joe later termed, "Willow Hell."
We walked quite a ways before fishing too seriously. And it took some fishing before Joe managed to land this nice Snake River Cutthroat! He caught it on a Sweetgrass fiberglass 6 wt. Good job, Joe! Now I had to catch a fish....
I think this is me lost in "Willow Hell." Only one who has had to walk miles upon seemingly endless miles of thick willows, mixed with stinging nettle will understand. It was worse than Purgatory.
In the middle of Willow Hell, making a path where none exists, Sweetgrass rod leading the way!
This is me real happy to be in Willow Hell. The only real highlight to this experience was later, when Joe was caught in his own Willow Hell. Here's a somewhat accurate quote from Joe, "The willows are so thick I can't see the end of my d!c$. I'm in the middle of Willow Hell. I think I'm in Idaho!"
But, somehow I managed to spend some time in Greys River Heaven, and hooked up with my first fish.
A healthy Snake River Cuttie! This mean gal, slammed a brown and yellow streamer.
The 'Thon consists of constant movement -- either walking upstream, or working water that seems like it might have fish. This year the water was a bit off color, still coming down from a late run-off. We noticed lots of changes in the stream from previous years. Many pools were washed out, with the logs that formed them, and the deep holes were mostly too deep to fish effectively in the short time we had to fish. Walk-fish. Walk-fish. Get tangled and frustrated. Walk-fish. For twenty-six and a half frickin' miles!
Alex fishing, surrounded by the Greys, trees and willows.
Robert wading the middle of the Greys, surrounded by water, trees and willows.
Alex, Robert and myself fishing one of our favorite holes. Actually, the water Robert (middle) was fishing was the only real hole. He missed a take there. I usually fish a pocket above him (where I am pictured fishing), and manage to land a couple/few Cutties most years. Not this year. Robert got the one take, and I didn't move a thing, as my pockets were part of a rushing riffle:-( Sad, I know.
After a while, fishing harder, and using more weight on my line, I managed to get a beautiful fine-spotter before sunset, along with about nine other fishies. Then the sun set, making time for the walk-a-thon. We mostly hike at night, because we never catch anything when we fish the few holes we can find in the dark. Time to put down tracks!
Sarah keeping her hands warm while we take a short break at night. Thank goodness for Dad, Mom and Sarah for keeping a camp/break station handy and moving along the way!
The next morning was a bit dryer, but man were we tired. Casts get sloppy, but it still feels good to fish the familiar Sweetgrass cane.
Dad films us fishing as Mom and Teagen make sure we don't fall in... too many times.
Moriah makes her way over a pile of sticks left when the water was easily two feet higher. Moriah somehow found some poison along the route, and Mom brought her to the veterinary clinic in Alpine. But, it was too late. Moriah was not able to recover. We fished the rest of the way thinking fondly of Moriah, and the many days I've spent with her on streams, and the happiness she always brought Mom. We miss you, little girl!
My biggest fish is dedicated to Moriah. A good-ol' Cuttie for a good ol' puppy. It goes to you, too Mojo. And you, Gal.
Here's Ariell taking time to sniff the flowers while we meander upstream. This is one of the last bends before we hit the home stretch to the finish line. My back, knees, and legs burn just thinking about it.
Sometimes we get so tired, we take a break any way we can -- while fishing at the same time.
Five of us trudging along the bank in wonderful grass (not willows), for the last few yards....
We made it! From L to R: Alex, Joe, me and Robert enjoy a favorite brew at the "finish line." Man, I don't think I've ever been so happy to see a bridge. We were dog-tired and happy to finally make the end of a mind-boggling event. Thirty and a half hours to hike/fish 26.5 miles of river. Wow. I landed 10 Cutties and six Whitefish all told. Everyone else did quite well, though I forget numbers. They don't matter much in an event that means much more. Thank you Sweetgrass for your support.
In Wild Waters,
Zac Sexton
The Meandering Boo Boy
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