Fly-fishing along the Middle Provo River

Photo: Deb DeKoff // Neighbors of Park City.

After we receive instructions from Fish Heads Fly Shop in Heber City on what to bring, as well as where to buy our fishing licenses well in advance, the day finally comes. The weather is gloomy, but when we arrive at 8:00 a.m., Curtis Lindley, general manager/head guide, greets us with enthusiasm and introduces us to our guide, Kris Clemons. They proceed to outfit us with waders and boots. The waders have attached waterproof sock feet; I feel like a hobbit. The socks stick out two inches past my feet, which prompts Curtis and Kris to bring me bigger boots—that way, they fit without cramping my feet. I imagine this is what astronauts used to feel like. When my straps are adjusted properly, we head back to our cars and follow Kris to the fishing area. Driving with my giant boots, surprisingly, isn’t a problem. The rain starts shortly thereafter.

Only one other car is parked at our destination. Kris grabs the poles and net along with his other gear and leads us on the trail to Provo River. When he spots a line already in place at his intended spot, we loop back and hike farther down the river. The mountains peek out of the clouds in the distance, and wildflowers are blooming. We can hear the birds squawking and chirping over the sounds of the rushing water. Provo River is flowing quite fast today; along the way, Kris explains where the trout and the native mountain whitefish like to hide. 

When we arrive at our fishing spot, a large, well-established beaver lodge flanks the opposite river shore. Kris explains that on a sunny day, we’d be able to see Mount Timpanogos from here, but we’re here on a rainy day with 44-degree temperatures. Kris puts weights and fake worms on our poles and leads us into the river to show us how to cast. Walking in my giant boots requires concentrated attention to placing my feet. The casting steps aren’t hard—you position your hand with a finger on the line as a brake, twist the pole, raise it, and cast it to the other side of your body, which works most of the time. Neighbors photographer Deb says she did it once before as part of a breast cancer–recovery event. After waking up the next day, I understand why they pick fly-fishing; I can feel muscles I haven’t consciously exercised before.

Standing in the river observing nature is calming. Canada geese, mallard ducks, sandhill cranes, and a bald eagle fly overhead. The first fish that pulls my line jumps in the air, shortly after Carl catches an eight-inch-long trout. Kris and Carl don’t hear me shout to them over the rush of the water, so by the time I remember to reel the fish in, it has already freed itself. Along the way, I have to free three twigs from my line. The rain picks up, and I can feel myself getting colder in the water, despite long underwear and warm clothing. I hook another fish and start reeling it in. I see it as I reel in the line, but before Kris can get to me, it also has freed itself. Carl manages to reel in two fish.

Soon after that, I discover that I have made a tactical error—the rain jacket I’m wearing has cloth lining inside. I feel something tugging on the back of my jacket, and the lining gets wet, the chill spreading faster through my body. One more fish nibbles on my line before I leave the river. 

Even though I have more warm clothing in a dry bag, Kris offers me a down jacket to wear back to the cars. Combined with the exercise of hiking back, I warm up quickly. Two young moose watch us from the other shore. Kris suggests another spot for more fishing, but I choose to call this outing good enough. Kris is full of knowledge on the Middle Provo area, its history, wildlife, and fishing. I thoroughly enjoy this adventure and may return when better weather is likely.