We headed North on Saturday morning, just my nephew and I. Since retiring from the army, he hasn't done much fishing. But we were ready to change that. We got his license online and headed out at 11:00, stopping to buy bratwurst, buns, and beer(the three b's) at the one store between us and our destination. We arrived at the first lake precisely at noon. I had read the planting reports, and had high hopes for some fast fishing for rainbows in the 14-16 inch range, with holdovers to two foot fairly common. The one problem is the lake is tiny, and can get fished out fast some years. We launched our toons and my nephew broke his spinning rod on the first cast. He retired to shore to eat lunch and repair his pole. He joined me again, cleverly duct-taping his rod together along with a six inch stick for strength. We both had several strikes, and saw a few fish rising, but I made the call to move to the next lake in line. It was a wise choice, the westslopes rose to the occasion. Literally! They were rising everywhere. We drug our toons to the shore, but as we were rigging up a small stormcloud rolled over the hillside above, bringing with it wind. We cast from shore, waiting out the squall. Enough cutthroat were willing to take dries from shore that, by the time we left for our campsite two hours later, we never launched. My nephew caught his first two fish on a fly rod, which he was pretty stoked about. On home for leave during his second deployment, we tried without success for two weeks without making it happen. We drove away from the lake, taking a long, bumpy, very overgrown, dirt track that sometimes had a creek running down it, to find one of my favorite camping spots in a different valley. With this years non-existant spowpack in the mountains draining it, I was hoping the freestone steam would already be in perfect shape. It was a gamble, but it payed off. Big time. I was reminded all over again the beauty of creek fishing. My nephew hadn't done it in over a decade, since before joining the Army. We made camp, then set out to explore the camp water in the last hour of light. Not seeing any bug activity right away, but noticing stonefly shucks on nearby rocks, I tied on a stimulator tied by Big E. It worked! I was noticing a few mayflies trickling off, but was unable to catch one to see what it was. I finally noticed some brown mayflies in a spiderweb, but couldn't get my camera to focus in the fading light. We landed four each in the camp water before retreating to the camp to get a fire started. I was up first in the morning. While waiting for my nephew to wake up, I fished the camp water again, going upstream this time. The trusty stimulator was still tied on, so I went with it. I landed one brookie and one redband before checking in. Beautiful colors on both wild fish! He was still sleeping, so I went even further upstream. Finding some sweet water, I landed fish after fish away from the camp a couple hundred yards, including a gorgeous fourteen inch redband that slipped away before I could photograph it. It was so pretty, it boggled the mind. Back at camp, still no movement. I started a fire to cook breakfast on, and checked the time. 11:00 Am. I had been fishing for a little over three hours. Time to wake him up. I turned on some music at the truck, and sure enough soon head the tent zipper. I was kicked back beside the campfire in my waders, watching my breakfast brawt slow cook over the coals while sipping a Dr. Pepper. "Morning sunshine," I quip. "You missed all the good fishing." I then told him what time it was. "What!?" He hadn't slept in that late in years. I guess mountain air, good whiskey, and a couple beers makes for good sleep. After breakfast we bounced around, trying to find some better spots on the creek. The first two were a bust, but the third spot we tried was an amazing stretch I can't wait to go back and explore even further. Within a few casts using a spinning outfit, my nephew caught the best fish of the day. A very red seventeen inch bow. A great fish for this creek. My personal best is an eighteen inch bow and sixteen inch brookie in over five years of fishing it. I go downstream, soon spotting rising fish. Alot of them. As far up and down the creek, which is wide, slow and glossy here, as I could see fish rose steadily. I waded slowly and carefully down the middle, casting up stream a few times at risers, then downstream a few times at risers. A few steps, repeat. I have no clue how many fish rose to the dry, but by the time my nephew came to find me to go, I had landed well over a dozen. The brookies outnumbered the natives, but just slightly. My nephew told a similar story about the fishing upstream. I fished that one stimulator the whole time, and it still looked no worse for wear at the end of the day. Great tie, Big E! All in all a great weekend, I can't wait to get back out camping again.