160 
FOREST AND STREAM 
April, 1921 
TROUT FISHING IN UINTA BASIN 
A WEEK OF SPLENDID SPORT WITH THE NATIVE-BORN CUT-THROATS OF 
UTAH ON STREAMS THAT HAVE SELDOM BEEN VISITED BY FISHERMEN 
By RAY FROST 
A CROSS a couple of high mountain 
ranges, seventy miles to the east 
of Salt Lake City and as far from 
a railroad, lies the Uinta Basin, a 
region as little visited as any part of 
the United States. The Basin is about 
seventy-five miles across by a hundred 
from west to east and is almost entirely 
encircled by mountains gemmed with 
scores of lovely lakes that are the 
sources of many rushing streams. The 
waters of these lakes and streams 
abound with lusty, gamy native cut- 
throat trout. There are trout there 
ten years old that have never seen an 
artificial fly. 
Early one morning Davy and I left 
Salt Lake City in a big touring car. 
In the back were the articles appro- 
priate to the occasion and before us 
was the long smooth climb of Parley’s 
Canyon. Down the farther side we 
scooted and on past the famous old sil- 
ver camp of Park City where it nestles 
in a steep ravine high above the valley. 
Over another divide to Kamas Flat and 
down a dugway to the hamlet of Wood- 
land on the Provo we had reached the 
limit of previous expeditions and we 
opened the log book for further in- 
structions. 
Fifteen miles to the summit. Eleva- 
tion 8800 feet. A newly-constructed 
Forestry Service road curved and looped 
and twisted by a series of tortuous dug- 
ways among the pines until it took us 
to the top. Down into the head of Wolf 
Creek it swings like a standard railroad 
grade, smooth as a boulevard, past a 
wonderful forest of pines. Deep in the 
canyon we came to the west branch of 
the Du Chesne and a little later the 
waters of the north fork poured in over 
a bed of white boulders. It was a 
charming spot to stop for lunch, and 
as we uncovered the basket under the 
trees at the junction of the streams we 
were strongly tempted to get out our 
tackle. We had covered something like 
eighty miles of splendid road and had 
enjoyed every mile of it. 
W E had arranged to meet Mr. A. 
J. Charles, Engineer in charge 
of the Uinta Irrigation Project, 
at Tabiona, a few miles down the valley. 
The greater part of the Basin has 
been retained by the government as a 
reservation for the Ute Indians, who 
have lived there during countless gener- 
ations. Forty acres of the choicest tilla- 
ble land, with water for irrigation, are 
alloted to each member of the tribe. 
Twenty-two ditch systems convey the 
waters of numerous streams to the vari- 
ous cultivated areas, and the duties of 
Mr. Charles include the maintenance of 
these canals and the regulation of the 
flow. In 1905 the government opened 
some of the reservation lands for home- 
stead by whites. 
The goodnatured Utes had shown 
little enthusiasm for husbandry and it 
was thought the example of a few in- 
dustrious neighbors might spur them 
to greater industry. The wisdom of the 
theory has been born out to a certain 
extent, but as a rule the Indians of 
the Basin cannot yet be said to be good 
farmers. The government looks far 
ahead. If the present generation of 
Indians does not become enlightened and 
self-supporting maybe the next will, or 
the next. Perhaps it may be a hun- 
dred years before they outgrow the old 
traditions of indolence — or two hun- 
dred. 
Tabiona takes its name from the Ute 
chieftain Tabby, who ruled the tribes 
of the Basin three-quarters of a century 
ago and was the last of a line of great 
chiefs. Since the time of the coming 
On the trail to Uinta Basin 
of the white man the affairs of the Ute 
tribes have been conductd by numerous 
factional leaders called headmen. 
Mr. Charles spent a part of the fol- 
lowing day with us whipping the pools 
and rapids of the Du Chesne. He has | 
had the advantage of three years’ ac- 
quaintance with the cut-throat trout of 
the Basin and knows their ways as he 
knows the amiable ways of the Ute In- ! 
dians. Davy and I learned something 
of fly casting that morning. The river 
in the vicinity of Tabiona had been 
pretty well whipped by touring fisher- 
men throughout the summer and the 
first hour on the stream was disappoint- 
ing. It was too much like the home 
streams some of us know so well. 
Charles had been working hard. 
“Plenty of them in here,” he cheer- 
fully declared. “They’ll begin to rise 
pretty soon.” 
About the middle of the forenoon the 
fish began to show more interest. Davy 
and I had relaxed our efforts somewhat 
to study the amazing technique of this 
man Charles. In the precise manner 
of his profession he seemed to plot the 
surface of the water into twelve-inch 
squares into each of which he dropped 
his flies with tireless persistence and 
unerring accuracy. He handled at jj 
least ten feet more line than Davy or 
I could manage, and when his flies had 
drifted for a foot or two recovered them J 
with a snap as he brought the rod 
straight above his shoulder for another 
cast. He apparently made no effort to 
set them on the water lightly, but we 
noticed that they always struck before i 
the leader settled into the water. His 
line seemed always taut for the strike, 
and when the trout finally decided to 
investigate those fuzzy insects that i 
blundered into the water he rarely 
failed to hook them. Often, where the 
water was too rough or too shady to 
see the fish rising, that snappy recov- 
ery he employed set the hook before the 
feathered lure was rejected. 
T HE day was bright and warm. The 
trout became more active and oc- 
casionally Davy or I also snared 
one from the crystal waters. Davy made jj 
a cast at the foot of a foaming rapid ! 
and struck when something tugged at 
the line. Unusual resistance developed 
at the farther end and Davy began to 
get excited. 
“Easy, old man,” Charles shouted, i 
“Handle him easy!” 
But Daw was in no mood for tern- 
