Frigid Fails
Not every adventure goes according to plan. But some trips snowball harder than others.
Whenever you plan a fishing trip, be it a week-long expedition or a casual afternoon, you always check the weather. Whether you’re bait casting off of a local shore or fly fishing waders-deep in a rushing river, any trip is at the mercy of the weather. Usually, looking ahead to the online extended forecasts and weather stations will leave you with a good idea of what’s to come. But usually you’re not trying to thread the needle between two late winter storms.
In April of 2019 my buddy Jacob and I loaded up on what could’ve been an epic weekend fishing expedition, planning to only be gone for a total of three days. Jacob is a new but passionate fly fisherman, and is one of the few who fly fishes the panhandle of Nebraska, which is his backyard. He also writes the “Living On the Fly” column here on the website, and his Instagram is filled with tons of catches and scenery. Over the past year he’s discovered a rather hidden wealth of Nebraskan fly fishing locations that most bait casting fishermen would overlook. I, personally, was more preoccupied with nabbing some great photography and filming, and it seemed like we could fulfill both of our respective goals. Our destination was Curt Gowdy State Park in Wyoming, specifically the southern body of water Crystal Lake Reservoir. The reservoir flows into Middle Crow Creek to the north, which makes for a good-sized reservoir and a small stream; perfect trout territory.
Just before our planned expedition a late winter storm had ravaged the park, with howling winds and plenty of flying snow. There was a small window where the weather stepped back a bit, a few days of clear skies and warmer weather before the next storm was forecast to roll in. That was our goal; slip-shot between two storms, avoiding the remnants of the first one and dodging the beginning of the second one. What could go wrong?
Middle Crow Creek. This small stream just off of the main reservoir seemed like a perfect bottleneck for fly fishing.
When we pulled into the Ranger Station about midday the weather was perfectly clear, if not brisk. There was a consistent crisp breeze which chilled the high-40s into feeling like 30s, but the sky only had a few ragged high cirrus racing across the sky. It looked like we would make it in between the two storms, as if the weather parted just for us. Confidence was high.
Knowing that a storm could roll in at any minute despite the clear skies, we circled the reservoir to look for a campsite, taking advantage of the calm weather to set up camp. We pitched our tents in a spot that had more windbreaks than others. Jacob had a newer 6-person dome tent with a removable rain fly all to himself, and I had brought my father’s old White Stag triangular pup-tent that he’d taken on various motorcycle trips during the ‘70s and ‘80s. I’d verified that his decades-old fiberglass patches still repelled water before I left, but I brought a large tarp as well just in case.
We first wet a line just a few steps away from the reservoir, still just at the mouth of Middle Crow Creek. There was a sharp bend in the stream with a high cliff face on the north side which seemed to make a perfect windbreak. A large sheet of ice still sat peacefully in the crook of the stream, and Jacob began casting right at the edge of the ice, trying to catch the attention of any fish that might be hunkered underneath it. Not more than five minutes later, he landed the first fish. By mid-afternoon we had made our way further away from the reservoir and deeper into Middle Crow where Jacob landed two more small fish. And that would be the end of our catches for the entire trip.
The first of only three fish we caught the entire trip. Or rather, Jacob caught. I came up empty across the board.
It wasn’t long before the soft gray canvas started rolling in, covering the once pristine sky with foreboding snow clouds. We decided to head in around 5:00 p.m. right as the first flakes started to fall, but the flakes weren’t especially large and the temperature hadn’t plummeted yet. We thought that certainly we could simply rest up, eat some dinner, and head back out after the snow had blown over.
By the time we got back to the campsite the snow was falling steadily, and rather than try to start a fire we grabbed Jacob’s small camp stove to heat some water to prepare dinner. While the kettle was heating the snow started to get worse, and the visibility was taking a plunge. As the early evening folded in, we decided that heading all the way back to Middle Crow might end in a wet and cold hike back in the dark, so we played it safe and cast off into the reservoir not more than 100 yards from the tents. The snow had fully matured and the flakes were getting bigger and thicker by the second. The wind had started coming in heavy gusts, tossing fly lines aside and ruining on-board camera audio. I had nice thick base layers and was shod with warm windproof jackets, but lacked a face mask. My thin bargain-bin scarf would get lifted by the wind, sending chilling gusts directly down my shirt, and my face was being constantly blasted by snowflakes that were starting to feel like ice shards. I stepped over the rocks towards Jacob and was about to tell him that things weren’t getting any better, when all of the sudden I looked up and couldn’t see the other side of the reservoir.
An undeterred Jacob casts off on the southeastern end of Crystal Lake Reservoir, minutes before the worst of the evening blizzard swoops in.
We reeled lines in and stuffed cameras into our coats as we briskly walked the short distance back to the campsite, the worst of the storm nipping at our heels. It was only about 8:00 in the evening but we took one look at the water, the sky, and the fire pit and decided to turn in for the night.
Campsite the morning on the second day, which felt eons worse than it looks here. We learned later that temperatures had gotten down to the teens during the night, and only our sleeping bags, base layers, and dumb luck had saved us from a very bad time.
The scene waiting for us the following morning felt much worse than it looks in these pictures. 15 degrees might not seem like much in a cabin or a running car, but 15 degrees with only a tarp and 40-year-old canvas between you and the elements is bad. The only saving grace was our gear and our sleeping bags. I slept in my thermals cocooned in a bag rated for -20 degrees Fahrenheit, which meant that when I was hunkered down inside of it, I was nice and warm. But when I peeked my head out that morning and felt the cold tent interior rush in, it felt like Antarctica. Frost had formed on the inside of my tent canvas, and I quickly grabbed the pants, shirt, and hoodie I was going to wear that day to stuff into my sleeping bag and heat up myself.
In a stroke of forethought and planning we’d actually placed our firewood under the vehicle the night before. It was somewhat dry, but we still went through a ton of kindling before any would catch and hold a flame. In hindsight, we should’ve put it inside the vehicle. In the process of getting the fire started that morning, we discovered that Scott’s Blue shop towels burn very slowly. They’re a thick cotton work towel designed for cleaning up heavy duty automotive fluids, and while they don’t burn very hot they’re consumed far slower than a paper towel or newspaper. We finally got our fire going to the point it would accept any branch we threw in, and right at that moment the sun peeked out from behind the clouds. With the night’s freeze averted and our body’s survival mode settling back to normal we started to plan our day. I asked Jacob what our goal for the day was. He responded with, “Try not to go home.”
Mid-morning on day two gave us blue skies and light breezes. It seemed as if nature was simply pausing to wind up for another fastball.
Our first stop would be the dam at the north end of the reservoir. The day before we’d met a young local fisherman before the storm hit, and he told us that a small space at the base of the dam on the northeastern side of the reservoir might be a good spot. Like us, he hadn’t had a ton of luck by that point, but we trusted the local knowledge and headed towards the dam after putting the fire out and wrapping things up at camp. We cast off a few times at the dam until the thought of fishing Middle Crow again with clear skies popped into our head. So it was back across the water to the small stream once again.
My bait caster had been tangling up something fierce during the first part of the day, largely due to a tangle from the previous day’s wind that I hadn’t really solved. The other issue was the line I had shod my reel in. It was nice and tough Spider Wire, a very beefy and resilient line. But because I had spooled the reel with heavier woven line, my drag and the wind completely mismatched and wouldn’t release the bubble, leader, and lure at a reasonable rate. The line unspooled faster than the reel would spin and I had tangle city. Rather than spend precious time in the calm weather respooling a reel, Jacob broke out a spare fly rod he’d brought with him when we passed camp on the way to Middle Crow.
We cast over the same spots we’d tried the day before, places where we’d seen fish and places where we hadn’t. We kept an eye on the clouds, which were gradually growing in numbers, but we pressed on. We were striking out on finding fish, but hitting well into the outfield in regards to great views.
Around 11:30, in the middle of shooting photos, grabbing footage, and basking in the calm weather, snowflakes began falling once again. But due to the relative warmth of the morning, they were melting midair, making for a wet sleet. I packed up my camera gear and headed off to find Jacob who had shifted back towards the reservoir. Each step I took seemed to escalate the weather, with the wind picking up and the sleet flakes growing in size. During our hike back the visibility closed in just like it had the previous evening. Things were looking bleak.
Jacob tried a few more casts at the crook in Middle Crow just before we reached the reservoir, the same cliff-lined bend that had been our first stop the day before. Wind blasted in from the reservoir, tossing sleet and snowflakes at our faces. More than once Jacob’s fly line was whipped out like an unfurled flag, and I hesitated to film or photograph with anything but my GoPro due to the wetness of the snow coming down. Temperatures were dropping as well, and one by one I started pulling out the gear I’d brought with me in my pack just in case. First, I swapped my light gloves for my winter gloves. Next was surrendering to the wind and wrapping my face up in a thin scarf. The final step was when I swapped my ball cap for a stocking hat, and by that time we both silently knew it was just a contest of who would call it first. We said it almost simultaneously; it was time to throw in the towel.
We could have stayed; we’ve toughed out harsh snow, freezing temperatures, and roaring wind many times before this trip. But the fact of the matter was, the snow and wind wasn’t going to let up. Fly lines were being thrashed about, onboard camera audio was ruined by wind noise, I was getting concerned about water damage to my camera gear from the mushy sleet, and our faces felt like ice cubes. Even as we tore down our tents, the weather broke again and the skies were clear. But looking at the forecasts, it was clear that the on/off onslaught of wind and snow was far from over. I still believe that we made the right decision calling it quits. Many people would’ve left the night before, not wanting to tent-camp in such frigid temperatures. But we didn’t; we stuck around and didn’t turn around the second things took a turn. That’s the lesson to be learned here. No trip is going to go according to plan; there’s always going to be something that gets in your way and doesn’t obey your itinerary. Sometimes it’s simple things like a forgotten shirt or a missing lure. Other times it’s major things like inclement weather or a car breakdown. Regardless what the road block is, you just have to face it and try to solve it as best you can. We didn’t tuck our tail between our legs the instant nature reared her ugly face at us, and we made the most of it. As a result we got tons of photos, footage, and a great story. There’s no shame in admitting defeat after trying, as long as you tried in the first place.
