LEFT The sockeye salmon roe of Alaska’s Margot Creek doesn’t just fatten the rainbow trout, it also puts a thick layer of lard on the valley’s grizzlies. Rotation angling gets new meaning as fishermen and bears share the runs. Photo: Adam Tavender Charlie calm enough to let me look at his ass. It was bleeding good. I pieced it back together, packed the worst bleeder with QuikClot and applied a compres-sion dressing. There were multiple lacerations along his back and thighs, but nothing that was going to kill him anytime soon. I cut away the rest of his pants. Up front, I tenderly laid a good wad of Kerlix and wound a bandage tightly. Just outside Yellowstone is a part of the Gallatin that splits into a few braids. Most folks slide down the bank along the highway and fish the closest water. The far braids are fishier. The water is deeper and slower. To get to them, not only do you have to cross the fast water, but you also have to wade a hundred yards of willow and aspen scrub. Smart anglers let the bears know they’re coming. I’ve never run into a bear in that stretch, but I’ve seen the matted rounds where they’ve slept and stepped in their prodigious dumps. I hate walking through those willows. It doesn’t stop me from doing so, I just hate it. For now, the willows were tight and quiet. I spoke to Charlie. He was more lucid than before. He was worried about his wounds. I told him the bear was gone, even though that was just a hope. There was a well-traveled bridge about a mile away. If we didn’t get a cell signal before then, I was certain we could flag someone down. Half a year at Fort Sam Houston and two tours in the foothills of the northern Afghanistan had wrung the flight instinct from me. I dug out my trauma pack and leapt into the scrub. I wished I had my M4 carbine. THE FLYFISH JOURNAL 037
The Flyfish Journal Volume Eight, Issue Four: Page 37
