The Allure of the Bighorn: A Fly Fisher's Paradox
There’s something almost contradictory about the Bighorn River. On paper, it’s the kind of place I’d instinctively avoid—a popular fishery where drift boats dot the water like buoys, and the promise of solitude feels like a distant memory. Yet, here I am, writing about why it’s one of the most compelling destinations I’ve ever fished. What makes this particularly fascinating is how the Bighorn challenges the very idea of what a ‘perfect’ fishing trip should be.
Crowds vs. Catches: A Trade-Off Worth Making?
Let’s be honest: no angler dreams of elbowing their way through a picket line of fishermen. I’ve always prioritized peace over trophy fish, which is why the Bighorn’s reputation as a busy river initially gave me pause. But what many people don’t realize is that the Bighorn’s crowds are a symptom of its success. The river’s abundance—reportedly 3,000 to 4,000 trout per mile (though I later learned it’s closer to 1,500 due to silt issues)—creates a magnetism that’s hard to resist.
Here’s the paradox: the Bighorn’s popularity is both its curse and its blessing. Yes, you’ll share the water with others, but the guides have mastered the art of spacing. On my first day, there were stretches where it felt like we had the river to ourselves. Even on busier days, the fishing remained exceptional. Personally, I think this is a masterclass in managed fisheries. If you take a step back and think about it, the Bighorn proves that high traffic and great fishing aren’t mutually exclusive—they’re two sides of the same coin.
The Moss Factor: A Love-Hate Relationship
One thing that immediately stands out is the moss. It’s everywhere, clinging to your flies like an uninvited guest. The Bighorn Slap and Bighorn Banjo—two rituals taught by guides to de-moss your gear—become second nature by the end of the first day. It’s frustrating, no doubt, but here’s the twist: the moss is a sign of a healthy ecosystem.
What this really suggests is that the Bighorn’s fertility is its superpower. The moss provides habitat for sow bugs, scuds, and other invertebrates, which in turn fuel the trout population. In my opinion, this is the ultimate trade-off. Sure, you’ll spend time picking moss from your leader, but those same weeds are why the fish are there in the first place. It’s a reminder that nature isn’t always convenient, but it’s always interconnected.
Lessons from the Water: Beyond the Catch
Fishing the Bighorn isn’t just about the numbers—though catching a 23-inch brown trout on your third day of fly fishing (congrats, son-in-law!) is hard to beat. What makes this river truly special is what it teaches you. For instance, our guides used 3X fluorocarbon tippet and barrel swivels on their nymph rigs, challenging my own assumptions about leader size and line twist.
This raises a deeper question: how much do we overthink our setups? The Bighorn’s fish aren’t picky because they’re spoiled by anglers—they’re opportunistic because the river is teeming with food. From my perspective, this is a lesson in simplicity. Sometimes, the best approach is the one that works, not the one that looks perfect on paper.
The Bighorn’s Bigger Picture
If you’re like me, you’ll leave the Bighorn with mixed feelings. It’s not the quiet escape I usually seek, but it’s undeniably productive. The scenery—rolling plains, red cliffs, and austere beauty—feels like a world away from New England’s lush greens. Yet, it’s the river’s contradictions that stick with you: the crowds and the calm, the moss and the magic.
What this really suggests is that the Bighorn isn’t just a fishery—it’s a reflection of our relationship with nature. We want it wild and untouched, but we also want it abundant and accessible. The Bighorn forces you to reconcile these desires. Personally, I think it’s a destination every angler should experience, if only to challenge their own assumptions about what makes a river great.
Will I Return? Absolutely.
Despite the moss, the occasional boat traffic, and the missed strikes (yes, I’m still haunted by ‘the one that got away’), the Bighorn left me with a sense of awe. It’s not perfect, but it’s real. And in a world where perfection is often overrated, that’s exactly what makes it unforgettable.
If you take a step back and think about it, the Bighorn isn’t just a river—it’s a reminder that sometimes, the best experiences are the ones that push you out of your comfort zone. Here’s to hoping I’ll be back, moss and all.
