Wide, dry, sage flats stretched across the steep hillsides surrounding me. When I stomped on the ground a small cloud of dust exploded around my boots and drifted slowly away. The incredibly bright sunshine beamed down from the cloudless, bright blue sky, thank goodness for my sunglasses and a hat. Strangely enough, there is a 30-yard-wide swath of thick willows winding up the valley in front of me and centered in the middle of those meandering willows a clear trout stream rushes, singing and splashing among the stones.

In these arid conditions is it possible there can be anything living in those sparkling clear waters; surely, they must be too warm for trout. But when I stuck my fingers into the swift current the waters were surprisingly icy cold.

The water itself is crystal clear, incredibly transparent. Even four-pound test leaves a shadow on the bottom. I’m glad my tiny reel is filled with fluorocarbon monofilament to help camouflage my presentation. Just how far away can trout see you? There’s little doubt these conditions will require crawling and creeping to remain out of sight.

I’m parked at the KOA campground, where I have just taken my first shower in three days. We were staying in tents up the valley, sleeping on cots, eating in a cook tent and walking 100 yards to the primitive outhouse. You can talk about your television, iPods, telephones, computer, e-mail, gas stoves, electric lights and fluffy beds, but a hot shower is the authentic mark of civilization and a bona fide, blissful comfort. I was fortunate to have bagged a nice mule deer buck. Now I can fish.

Feeling much more human after that steaming hot, soapy heaven, it was now time to grab the UL and go fishing. The campground driveway crossed the creek and underneath a large deep hole swirled. In the eddy were several trout. To an eastern boy seeing that many trout in a heavily fished stream was a dream come true.

I sneaked to the foot of the hole and slid like an eel through the willows. A previous fisherman’s boot tracks were still muddy on the small beach in front of me. This little beach was the only area you could fish from, but those tracks didn’t bother me at all. Any fishermen naïve enough to stand in plain sight would spook every fish in the hole.

After waiting five minutes, I cast, letting my piece of nightcrawler drift through the hole. Several rainbows darted up in the eddy, hit the worm, released it instantly and returned to the depths. I managed to catch one, then sat a while thinking.

Surely there must be additional trout in the deeper part of the hole, underneath the swift water shooting beneath the bridge. Perhaps, the actively feeding fish were holding there, while those holding in the still water were not hungry. I put on two small sinkers and cast as far up underneath the bridge as possible, leaving my line slack to get a deep drift. I tightened up just in time to feel a hit. Setting the hook my UL bent in a deep bow as the trout rocketed out of the current, turning a complete summersault in that brilliant sunlight, a halo of water droplets surrounding him. Wow, what a beautiful sight.

I couldn’t believe how hard the trout fought and when he was finally on the beach the bright red slash on the bottom of his jaw was clearly visible showing it to be a rainbow, cutthroat cross. The rainbow was hard and lean and while unhooking him quickly discovered that those tiny little teeth were longer and much sharper than the eastern trout I was used to. Having forgotten my forceps, my index finger was soon slashed and bleeding from releasing trout after trout.

The next morning daylight found Gary Housely and I investigated a nearby reservoir. Its waters were crystal clear as well, you could distinguish a trout from a perch 10 feet down. The shadow of your lure could be distinctly seen at that depth moving across the bottom; such clarity is hard to believe, it was more like glass than water.

In an hour, we’d landed a dozen rainbows apiece up to 18-inches. About one in every six trout seen would hit a carefully presented fly as long as you remained hidden. The number of fish rising was amazing and many more trout were just too far out from shore to reach. In such clear water even the motion of your moving fly rod would spook them.

This area of Idaho was trout heaven; it was easily possible to have caught 100 trout a day, or more, if one was willing to fish long enough, especially in the stream. Gary Housley of Tennessee and I caught enough trout to feed the deer 24 hunters in camp and fried them up for breakfast the next morning. You couldn’t believe how fast those crispy pieces of trout vanished; most were simply amazed how delicious properly prepared trout were.

So hunters, if you’re planning a trip out West this fall, pack your fishing rod as well. You won’t be sorry.