Green River VideoWatch Video

We pulled into the trout bum house late at night. When I say that this house was inhabited by trout bums, I am not kidding. Drift boats littered the front yard. Some on trailers some attached to trucks and some looking as though they were on their last legs having already paid their dues on the Green River. Jason knocked on the door, as if knocking was the polite thing to do. We were greeted with the hospitality that I would expect. Some dude opens the door, with sleep in his eyes and says, “What’s up Curry?” He then turns his back and goes back to bed. After stumbling my way over reels, old waders, fish mags, feathers, pizza boxes and beer bottles Jason found a light switch. The lights went on and I swear, for me, it was like I had seen the face of God. If heaven were a place on earth, this house was my definition of heaven. Fly tying benches were stacked to the ceiling with all sorts of boxes of threads and materials. Rods, some broken and some intact, were scattered everywhere. Broken reels and backing and fly line covered the kitchen table. You get the point. The dwellers of this house were not weekend warriors who had corporate cushy jobs to get back to. This was it, full time and all the time. So, Jason threw a sleeping bag on the floor and said, “Go to bed dude.” After a long day of fly fishing in the summer heat on some creek that I can’t even remember, I wasn’t gonna argue. My head hit the wooden floor and I was out. First light found me sitting on the broken steps of the trout bum house drinking black Folgers coffee and shooting the breeze with a couple of the dudes that lived in the house. I can’t remember their names and I would be willing to bet that they don’t even remember me. So, whatever. They took off and took the drift boats with them. Jason came stumbling out saying, “You ready bro?” We made the 1 mile drive to the Green River and all I can say is this. You gotta see it to believe it. Trout, big trout lined the shorelines. Literally thousands of trout were everywhere. The water was crystal clear and I walked the Green River banks like a kid at Disney World. Jason took me under his wing and said, “dude don’t get sidetracked by those trout on the side of the banks.” It was hard but I resisted the urge and followed Jason’s lead. Jason brought me to his little secret runs, where the tourists were nowhere to be seen. Jason and I fly fished together without anyone in sight except for an occassional drift boat that would float by every now and then. I caught a Brown Trout that I will never forget. I saw this fish rising all the way across the river. I waded out as far as I could and the water was rising. I knew I had just enought time for a couple casts. I had to get the job done. I pulled off a ton of line, relaxed and with one double-haul I lucked out and got the fly where it needed to be. The huge Grass Hopper pattern dropped on the opposite bank. The trout didn’t even question it. He hammered the fly and we did battle as I fought him and the rising river at the same time. I finally made it to the river bank. Jason helped me land the fish. We took a few photos and release the fish. As long as I live, I will never forget the Green River, the trout bum house and this Brown Trout.