Wyoming Warrior Joy Peak Lake

The next day was planned for an early morning departure. We were to ride for three hours up to the top of the mountain by the camp. The plan was to ride for three hours, fish for three hours split by lunch, then ride three hours back before dark. Any delays put us on mountain trails in the dark. Think about that for a second.

That morning, we awoke to an extremely cold tent. Paul started our stove the night before. It was difficult to start and by morning it was out.  Don had struggled getting his started as well. We dressed quickly and gathered at the mess tent.

Our breakfast was cold cereal. We each were given a paper lunch bag and told to fill them for lunch. Our lunch was a peanut butter sandwich, a snack bar, and an apple. So much for a cowboy breakfast and chuck wagon food. We were told we could bring back fish if we wanted, but we declined.

We all were given new horses to ride. The horses were saddled and tied on a rope line in the camp. My light brown steed was an absolute pleasure to ride. He responded to my movement of the reins and never looked back. We crossed behind the camp, and started out.  Our campsite was at the base of the mountain we were to climb. The trail was wooded and vertical.

It seemed we were traveling up at all time. This was so different that the trip out. Shane had loaded all of our fishing gear on our horses, and they were struggling with our weight and the boot waders. They kept going, following Shane’s lead.

When your horse is struggling, you are too. Trying to ride leaning forward and holding tight makes for an exhausting ride.

After a short rest we continued to the top and broke out of the trees. The site at the top rewarded all of the effort.

The Joy Lake was about two acres and azure blue. It was so clear, you see the fish swimming. At the back of the lake sat an outcropping of rock that formed the top of the mountain. Joy Peak is over 10,000 ft high. It was the type of view you see at photo exhibits.

 We took another brief break. Don and Paul unloaded their fly rods and put on boot waders. I elected to not wade.

I had my trusty spinning rod. While they took time to tie on flies, I started casting my rooster tail spinner from shore. I had a fish at once. A huge trout, the biggest I had ever seen.

The mountain trout are cutthroats. They are similar to rainbow trout, except they have a red band on their lower neck, as if bleeding. This fish was at least fourteen inches.

The lake had few places to bank fish as it was surrounded by downed wood. Fly fishing requires much room to cast. Paul waded out when he started to fish. He found the bottom was not solid. He sank in the muck and lost his balance. As he fell forward, he caught himself on a branch, but not before the top of his waders went below the surface. Coors ads talk about pure cold mountain water; Paul was introduced to it in his crotch.

We helped Paul up and out of his waders. He dumped out the water and stripped off most of his wet clothes. The day was cool but clear and the sun was warm. Paul laid out most of his clothes to dry on tree branches.

I worked around finding a few places to reach the water. It seemed every cast caught another cutthroat. Don and Paul also caught fish with their fly outfits. 

Shane stood by and watched all of this circus. He helped with Paul’s wet clothes, but basically he had to sit with nothing to do. When we finally stopped for lunch, he asked if he could use my rod. I said fine. He caught a trout on the first cast. 

After lunch Don and Paul both switched to spinning rods. Never one to brag, I did manage to get a few digs at the “elegance” of fly fishing. It certainly looked elegant when Paul fell in.

After another hour of fishing, we rode down the mountain through the woods. The shade was quite cool and we were cold by the time we reached camp. Tomorrow was to be to a different lake, on the continental divide.