Written and photographed by Mary L. Peachin
Vol. 30, Vol. 9, June, 2026

During late May, while flyfishing on the South Fork of the Snake River, the cutthroat trout were spawning. Other species swam deep requiring us to nymph with our flies. Hooking a trout before my expert guide, Buck Leonard, could shout “take” made the thrill of catching and releasing trout even more exciting. Of the 52 trout I released, during three full days of fishing, I would succeed beating Buck’s “take “command to the hookup

Drifting through canyons of volcanic basalt, the swift running water flowed through canyons edged by willow, birch, aspen, and cottonwood. We felt so lucky to see a moose drinking along the river’s bank, sandhill cranes grazing, bald eagles, colorful mergansers and mallards.

Most of our releases averaged 12 inches, a brown was 16 inches. Fishing over a holiday weekend, the river was busy with most of its campgrounds filled.

Buck Leonard has been guiding for the incredible Lodge at Palisades Creek for 25 years. Also a real family man, he knows every nook and granny of the river’s four drift fishing sections.

Buck has his own slang using “rope” for line, “take” for hook.  He taught me to water load or “plop and go” to get further distance as well as to add a “single haul” to increase the distance of my cast.

The views along the Snakes include many beautiful trees: flowering dogwood, willow, birch, cottonwood, and aspen. I learned to identify the similar species of hybrids and cutthroat trout, the latter by the orange rimming its mouth.

The South Fork of the Snake River does not hand out fish. It makes the angler work for every clean drift, every angle, every trout that decides at the last second whether to eat or slide back into the current. That’s part of its appeal. The river’s reputation attracts fly fishers from all over the country.

We launched at one of four drifts for a day long float. The South Fork is broad but deceptive. At first glance it looks manageable, almost gentle. Then you begin drifting and notice how many side channels, shelves, submerged rocks, and conflicting currents exist within a single bend. Guide Buck Leonard is constantly adjusting. Good guides on this river earn their money every hour.

The first trout came fast. The fish was not large by South Fork standards, maybe sixteen inches, but it fought with the speed and attitude that make native cutthroats memorable. It cartwheeled once, ran downstream, then turned broadside into heavy current. Cold water fish are built differently. They feel stronger than their size.

Nesting bald eagles has not yet hatched their eggs. We were excited to see a moose step from the trees to drink while the boat drifted silently past. The moment lasted maybe fifteen seconds before the animal disappeared back into the cottonwoods.

Lunch was served on a gravel bar beneath steep hills covered with sagebrush and scattered pines. No staged gourmet production. Just delicious sandwiches, chips, homemade cookies, fresh fruit from a lunchbox, along with a cold drink. Buck checked leaders while I gazed at the beauty of the river.

The best fish of the trip came from a side channel that looked too shallow to hold much. The trout drifted beneath overhanging trees and disappeared before swimming into faster current forcing Buck to follow it downstream until reaching calmer water. The fish finally surfaced beside the boat, a heavy cutthroat with its identifying bright orange slashes beneath its jaw and thick shoulders from feeding in current. It measured just over twenty inches, large enough to remember without exaggeration.

What separates the South Fork from many destination rivers is not simply trout size. It is the combination of scenery, technical fishing, wildlife, and unpredictability. Some famous rivers become too polished, crowded, and easy to summarize in brochures. The South Fork still feels operational. It offers a challenge to fishing. Guides row hard, anglers adjust constantly. Weather can change by the hour.

Driving back toward the lodge, the river disappeared along the road. Only occasional reflections from side channels showed where the current still moved through the valley. Tomorrow we would launch our drift boats again. Buck would repeat his same routine. I would convince myself that the next bend held the biggest trout in the river.

On the South Fork of the Snake River, that possibility always feels believable.