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| Henrys Fork at Harriman State Park (author photo) |
Fish 1, Sightseeing 10, Four-Wheel Noisemakers, Zero
Henry’s Fork of the Snake River is a unique resource in Idaho.
Flowing straight out of the side of a mountain at Big Spring, just south of West Yellowstone, Mont., this river with a nearly constant cold temperature has nurtured generation upon generation of trout and trout angler, and it deserves a visit even if you just appreciate nature, and are not a trout fisherman.
Near the small vacation community of Island Park, which boasts the longest main street in America at something around 33 miles (done in the 1940s to circumvent the state’s liquor sales laws), the Park and Henry’s Fork have become huge draws for recreationists and fly anglers, both after fun, but both of a different sort. The problem is, do the two mix?
The upper river above the U.S. 20 bridge has become a spot where hundreds of kids and adults jump on their tubes and float the cold waters. Below, the river is still somewhat sedate, and fly fishermen can find trout. Henry’s Fork is termed the largest spring creek in America. No lesser folks than Teddy Roosevelt and William Jennings Bryan fell in love with it.
Some 120 million gallons of water a day— think about that; that’s enough to provide a city of one million people—flow from its point of origin at Big Spring. Trout Unlimited declared it as late as 1998 to be the best trout stream in America. However, since then, the river’s health and fishing have suffered.
At the famed Railroad Ranch, now called Harriman State Park, fishing used to be phenomenal all summer. Note the past tense. Except for the fishing shops whose business depends on anglers coming here from across the globe in search of monster rainbows, browns and cutthroat trout, the locals I talked with said that the river here is not what it used to be. Shop employees even alluded to the fact that the river may not be what it once was, except for certain times of the year, such as the green drake hatch in mid- to late June, and possibly during other mayfly hatches in mid-August.
Over the years, a series of natural and manmade mishaps have occurred here since I visited last. First there were problems at the Island Park dam disturbing critical spawning habitat as well as the insect life the fish depend on for food miles downstream. Then came the white pelicans. Beautiful yes, but fish killers you bet. You can see them working the river, herding fish like cattle before gobbling them up.
The cormorants also. Diving little critters that chase their prey underwater. Michiganians who fish are very familiar with those, which have gotten so bad that Michigan and federal officials have taken to oiling eggs so they never hatch to keep their population somewhat in control.
Then there are the people. Well-meaning, yes. But people tend to love a thing sometimes to death, and that’s what’s happening at Henrys Fork in many areas.
Upper Coffeepot’s Boiling Point
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| The river at Coffeepot Campground (author photo) |
There once was a great little campground, for example. Once. As in, past tense again. It’s not anymore. One with the peculiar name of Upper Coffeepot. About a dozen or so sites along Henry's Fork about two miles down a gravel road into the woods and just upstream of Coffeepot Rapids.
People loved it. I loved it. Note the past tense, again. The last time I camped there, new arrivals kept track of who was leaving so they could immediately take a vacated site. A cow moose crossed the river downstream every evening. Deer came out into the river to delight kids. And the fishing here too was great.
People still love it. The problem is, they’re loving it to death. What was a peaceful piece of heaven to campers who saw and appreciated its beauty and quiet, would now turn their heads away in disgust and disbelief that the National Forest Service would have let something happen that’s happening right now.
When I visited this unique resource last summer, what I found is a heaven for motorized machinery and the motorheads who use them. You name it, someone’s riding it, either through the woods on a dusty, beaten up hodgepodge network of trails ground into the forest by four-wheeler enthusiasts in their quest to enjoy their own brand of “peace and quiet,” just scented with a little gasoline and oil and most of all, constant noise and grime.
Fathers and sons scream down the road on their wheels rather than walk. Through the stands of lodgepole pine that never used to be carved up with dirt trails. Back and forth. Many not wearing helmets. Many a lot younger than they should be allowed to pilot these exhaust-belching …things.
The campground I loved for years has become such a dirt bike and four-wheeler haven. There’s even a corral where all riders must (thank God someone at the Forest Service thought of this at least) park before entering the campground proper, so at least the campground isn’t buzzed by one every 30 seconds.
The cacophony continues in the campground, however. As if to mimic what they ride, kids raved and screamed as loud as they could. I asked one camper, “Why is it that the people here have to bring the city with them when they come to what should be the quiet of the forest? Why not just leave part of that home? Isn’t that what this should be about? And not making as much noise as they can?” He just smiled, and walked back towards his air-conditioned RV.
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| Feeding the gulls at Big Spring... (author photo) |
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| ...When they should be feeding these--rainbow trout (author photo) |
Meanwhile at Big Spring, tourists feed the gulls. What you’re really supposed to do is stand at the bridge at the spring, and watch below as huge rainbows keep station, feeding on passing insects. Now, they too are gone, a victim of having been loved to death. Now, tourists throw popcorn and bread to seagulls—Utahans should be so familiar with gulls that their appearance shouldn’t be a novelty. It’s not that I’m picking on Utah, but they are the prevalent tourist species in the Island Park area. Apparently they don’t realize that if the seagulls wouldn’t be fed, the dirty birds wouldn’t be there at all.
Then they could see what people have been coming to see for decades: the trout. Not seagulls. Trout see the gulls as potential predators, so they leave. And people still feed the gulls. A dispenser containing fish food sits unused at the side of the bridge, but I’d bet all the trout in the river that not one in 100 visitors here knows it’s not for gulls; it’s for fish. All that’s needed is a sign: Please don’t feed the seagulls. Why is that so hard to place, Targhee National Forest?
All this leads to questions. What outdoors are we trying to show our kids? One that needs machines to enjoy? What are Americans teaching our kids about enjoying the outdoors? Sure, there’s a place for everything, and four-wheeler and dirt bike riding is fine in its place.
But there also should be a place so kids don’t have to feel they have to be entertained by gasoline-fume-spewing equipment all the time.
As if the Targhee National Forest supervisor cares (or do you?), but what about us? What about those who don’t want to see dads with a helmetless five-year-old tucked on the gas tank riding away in a cloud of dust on numerous routes plowed through what used to be prime moose, deer and bear country without a tire track between the trees not so long ago?
What about those who come to the woods to hear the whisper of a river and the subtle splash of a rising trout? What about those who enjoy the sight of a moose slowly meandering across the river, and stopping for a mouthful of vegetation before disappearing into the forest? And to sit around a campfire at night and tell tales of the road as the setting sun turns the sky ruby red.
Campers who entertain themselves with themselves and the wonders that surround them, not with generator-fed televisions and videogames… What about us who want to fish a stream and enjoy the outdoor experience without the cacophony of mechanical crap that people THINK they need to enjoy the very outdoors they are destroying?
Here’s what I propose: A perfectly good campground exists on the Henry’s Fork near the rest of the weekend rowdies that hang out at Mack’s Inn, part of the Island Park complex. It’s called Flat Rock. It’s within walking distance for the tubers and other camping facilities for those who float the river here on weekends upstream from the highway bridge, plus the rickety lodge rooms at Mack’s Inn (the motel rooms are good).
Make THAT area the headquarters for motorhead fun. And please, please, please, return to us who love this special piece of Idaho called Upper Coffeepot Campground.
In fact, innovate, and make it a “quiet” campground. No dirt-tossing four-wheelers or dirt bikes. No mega-decibel noise. No rowdy campers. Just the sound of the river. Of a moose splashing a path through the current. Of an eagle swooping low. Things that would amaze even the most ardent fan of motorized toys if they only stopped to listen. Reserve those city noisemakers for Flat Rock or another campground nearby. Make this the spot it once was. How about it?
And yes, a copy of this will go directly to the Targhee National Forest supervisor, and others.
And what about the fishing at Harriman State Park and in other areas on Henrys Fork? We still found small fish downstream from the noise pollution at Coffeepot campground.
And guides who tell tales of big trout in Harriman State Park greeted us with “well, you should have been here in June during the green drake hatch.”
Sorry boys, but I’ve fished this stream before, during, and after that prolific hatch. From mid-June through mid-August. And I’ve always seen and caught big trout. ALWAYS. Until the last few visits, that is.
They may be there during that hatch, but they’re not there in mid-July when they should be. And to me, that means something’s wrong here with a river that no optimistic words from a fly shop owner can fix.
And, unless and until something is done about the desecration of the beauty of Upper Coffeepot, and an improvement is made in the river quality of Henry's Fork, I know a lot of people who are already avoiding the area, and more who will now do so. Me included.
