Field Testing in Wyoming

The way south was marked by roadside vista signs, noting the Nez Perce trail, Thermopolis hot springs, and the mountains of Yellowstone to the west. It was mid-spring, warm enough to sweat, cold enough to prefer waders in the mountainmelt fed waters of southern Wyoming. 

I called ahead and a friendly old head in Laramie told me that the water levels were ripe for floating. Guide trips were being moved up from summer to now. The Platte and the Encampment had good water temps, despite the 30% of a typical moisture year in this part of the state. Now was the time to get on the water!

View of the Bighorn River in Thermopolis

Rolling into Encampment, I met my friend Jason outside the Lions Club frisbee golf course, just a stones throw from the town stretch of river. Beers cracked and whiskey poured, a welcome embrace after the 8 hour drive from Bozeman. Not far on the map, just far enough to keep the wolves away.

I met Jason at the Denver fly fish show. I was working the Simms booth, he was making his rounds on the Riversmith team. Both of us interested in product development, only Jason doing it as a full time professional. Since then, we reconnected and have been following each other's business and life pursuits.

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The next morning we cooked a hearty breakfast and set out to the Encampment river. Already off the grid within a few twisty turns, we packed into Jason's euro van and set off down dirt roads. Wadering up, I got to show the wet gear tote I was working on to Jason and Django the pup.

Wet Gear Tote prototype

We hiked a bit and dipped into the river. Jason lit up the scoreboard first on a beautiful rainbow with ripe colors. The river was wadeable, but tricky to navigate, and left me dreaming of a longer backcountry trip.

Back in town we slurped down Mountain Dews and BBQ from The Pit. After warming up to locals and stopping at a peddlers mall, we headed past Saratoga and set out to the Platte. My waders, nearly dry from earlier, were packed inside the mesh gear tote and ready to go.

Jason's van kitted with the Rambl Gear Organizer

Following an old canal road, we parked and set after the evening hatch. After I dived under in pursuit of sunken nippers (to no avail!), we split up. As I flipped my waders and waited for them to air out, I spotted a corner of rising fish. The islands and surrounding pools reminded me of the river I first cut my teeth on in SW Montana.

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Nosing back out onto the highway, mindful of the sections where I'd seen the WY state troopers, I got back on the road. Past the Sand Creek massacre turn off, and the one quesadilla shop in a 100 mile radius, I was headed back north towards big sky country.

Wyoming roads do a number on your brain - reminding you of how singular you are in the mass of humanity on earth. The plains stretch endlessly, the roads lonesome, but somehow the landscape catches you before you drift too far off.