Castwork: Dave Faltings

Castwork: Dave Faltings

Silver Creek – Picabo, Idaho

A fly bin will tell you almost everything you need to know about an outfitter and his or her business. There are, of course, other telltale criteria for judging a fly shop. But “show me the bugs” usually will let you know where things stand, right then and there.

So, upon entering the back door of Silver Creek Outfitters in Ketchum, Idaho, after a sweaty August drive, we wander up to the counter and ask to see some grasshoppers. A man reaches down and slides out an old converted typesetter’s tray, so wide he has to stretch to grip both sides. He lays it on the glass counter, revealing a mind-blowing array of terrestrials: hoppers, ants, crickets, beetles–rubber-legged, foam bodies, biot bodies, hair wings, yellows, greens, oranges, bright reds, and more. Next, we ask to see a few Callibaetis mayflies, and he pulls out another drawer, this one also with dozens of separate compartments, stocked with spinners, no-hackles, parachutes, cripples, CDC wings, and on and on and on.

We spend the next 45 minutes pawing through another half-dozen bins of mayflies, caddisflies, stoneflies, and streamers. “Where are you going fishing?” he patiently asks.

“We’re here to fish with Dave Faltings.”

With that, an unassuming gentleman, with wire-rimmed glasses and a baseball hat, quietly rises from a stool across the room, where he had been intermittently eavesdropping on the conversation, and introduces himself.

“My guide trip ended early,” Dave says. His hand zeroes in on a compartment in the sea of flies, where he pinches a bunch of size #16 Red Quills and hands them to us. “If you want to fish the Big Wood tonight, I’ll meet you in an hour. I’ll draw you a map.”

* * *

We begin our fishing rendezvous at suppertime, just as the sun is starting to set on the southwest corner of the Sawtooths, taking the edge off what was a hot, dusty day. Patches of shade begin to finger across the surface of the Big Wood River, which, in turn, prompts sporadic rises from a few small rainbows. The river is in classic late-summer form, low and clear, with bony shelves of exposed gravel, deep pocket pools, and well-defined runs. There is no need to guess where the fish will be. Insects already are emerging–carbon copies of the Red Quills Dave had picked out earlier, interspersed with handfuls of small caddis and the occasional stonefly. We each tie on a store-bought dry fly, and within the time it takes to make a few short casts, we are in business.

Dave Faltings soon busts through the brush on the far bank, giving a silent wave and smile. He and his Labrador retriever, Rip, quietly wade across the current, then take their seats on the rocks and relax. We ask Dave to join us on the river, but he politely declines, preferring to watch the shallow riffles for any indications of fish. He asks about our trip out, the book, and most importantly, the fishing in Colorado.

After releasing an acrobatic 14-inch rainbow, we press upstream, quietly working in and out of pockets, understanding that the clock is running on our sunlight. As the river darkens, Dave begins to spot hidden rises our eyes never would make out. We work our way behind an elegant riverside home with a wood deck overlooking the river. The owner walks out to watch, folding his arms and saying nothing. His hope is to engage us in a stare-down, so we nod politely, but otherwise pay him no mind, too tired for that game. The sun finally disappears over the ridge, turning the river black, and we call it a night.

“Not a bad start for the Big Wood,” Dave says as we walk back to the put-in. He is happy with how the small freestone and its rainbows are holding up under a hot and very dry summer. Referring to the porch sentry, he adds: “Most people around here are pretty laid back. I wouldn’t worry about him, or anyone like that. The rivers in Idaho are open to the public, so it is our water. And besides, the river is the last place on earth you want to find two people in an argument.”

* * *

The fact that Dave tacked an extra three hours on his day for our sake was a kind and somewhat surprising gesture. We don’t know many guides who would blow off “Miller Time” for a chance to spend the evening with three high-maintenance, camera and fly rod waving strangers. The fact is, Dave Faltings is completely obsessed with fly fishing. Maybe even over the line, but unlike anyone we ever have met.

On the exterior, you would not take him for an all-or-nothing fly fishing addict. His presence is reserved, always polite, and kind of quiet. But in short time the truth surfaces. Dave makes a point to mention that, despite the array of recreational opportunities in Sun Valley, he does not bike, climb, or ski, and only plays golf once in a while. He fishes. There probably is not a second that passes in most given days when Dave is not doing or thinking about something trout-related.

“I guess my internal fishing drive always is on a ‘slow-burn,’” he explains.

Dave is a Californian, raised in Danville. As a kid, he would spend summer vacations at his grandparents’ home near Bar Harbor, Maine. It was there that he grew attached to fly fishing. He ultimately let his growing interest for the sport dictate his college choice–the University of Idaho in Moscow–where he earned a degree in economics. But his college days introduced Dave to much more than economic theory.

He regularly investigated northern Idaho’s steelhead runs, kicked around the Henry’s Fork and the Big Lost River near MacKay, and even took a summer job in Sun Valley as a junior guide. By the time he was handed his diploma, his mind already was fixed on making trout fishing a career. After weighing his options, Dave decided that Ketchum offered the friendliest town, miles of amazingly diverse water, and some of the prettiest country he had ever seen. His decision landed him back at Silver Creek Outfitters, where he began guiding and working the shop. It is the only job he has had since graduation.

* * *

Later that night, after Dave had gone home, and well after the regular dinner crowd had knocked off, we find a table in a small Ketchum eatery, coaxing the waitress and cook into a dinner for three before they turn over chairs and lock up. The food is good, and the conversation centers on Hemingway. It is an appropriate topic, especially here in Sun Valley, a place Ernest Hemingway discovered in 1939, and fished off and on for 20 years. Hemingway also died in this valley, committing suicide on July 2, 1961, after disease had riddled his body, and robbed him of the ability to fish, hunt, or write.

For us, EH is an awkward topic, often held in reserve and seldom spoken in public, along the stream, or especially in taverns. We have studied and admired his works, likely to a fault, and acknowledge we inadvertently have traced many of his life’s paths–growing up in the Midwest, learning to fish on family property in northern Michigan, exploring the Upper Peninsula, tempting saltwater fish off the Keys, migrating westward, our endeavors in the writing business–but realize any aspirations or comparisons are pale and invalid. There is little solace in his 1955 Nobel Prize acceptance speech, where he writes: “It is because we have had such great writers in the past that a writer is driven out past where he can go, out to where no one can help him.”

Perhaps it is the growing number of beer bottles, or the absence of onlookers, but tonight we let the EH conversation run wild. We are not concerned with what the ghosts in these walls might hear. This is the region that inspired EH the fisherman, and to a certain extent, EH the writer. Tomorrow, we will embark upon another stage of the Hemingway road, experiencing our first real tastes of Ketchum, Hailey, and the formidable challenges of Silver Creek. Everyone is excited, but maybe it is time to get some sleep.

* * *

The Hemingway name has been deeply rooted in Sun Valley and Silver Creek lore throughout much of the last century. Interestingly, it is the work of Ernest Hemingway’s eldest son, Jack, that may have stamped the more indelible, visible impression on the region.

Silver Creek always has been a unique resource. It is born as a series of natural springs that pour from the earth in the high desert of south central Idaho, concentrated near the crossroads village of Picabo, a good half-hour drive south of Ketchum. The constant flow of cool, clear water, mixed with the semi-arid climate and a diverse corridor of willow, river birch, and tall grasses, create an ideal environment for trout, both browns and rainbows, as well as a myriad of aquatic insects. Soon after the elder Hemingway arrived in the region 60 years ago, he wrote his son a letter, in which he said of Silver Creek that he saw more big, rising fish than anywhere else he had been–tall praise, even for that era.

The heart of the Silver Creek waterway originally was owned by Averell Harriman, the same railroad baron who owned much of this region, including what would become the famous “Railroad Ranch” section of the Henry’s Fork. The Creek eventually came under ownership of the Sun Valley Company, and by 1975, it had suffered under years of ranching, hunting, and fishing overuse, and was placed on the market. It was Jack Hemingway, then Idaho’s Fish and Game Commissioner, who spearheaded an effort by the Nature Conservancy to acquire the land and water. The Conservancy took control in 1976, and now holds the Creek in trust, opening it to the public under carefully regulated conditions.

But the story did not end with the acquisition. Since that time, the Conservancy aggressively has acquired adjacent land, and also sought and received the donation of conservation easements from neighboring landowners. The net result has been the all-inclusive preservation of the watershed: the Creek, its tributaries, and the wetlands that impact this environment. Today, over 20 miles of stream and thousands of acres are safeguarded by this private initiative. It is a unique and lasting example of what locals, conservation groups, fish and game agencies, and sportsmen can accomplish, working together, to protect more than one single resource, for one special interest. Papa Hemingway may have started us all thinking about the sporting life. His son Jack gave us a place to experience it.

Says Dave: “When I go other places in the West and eventually return home, I look at Silver Creek, and I’m the happiest guy in the world. To think about the number of people who had to join together to make this effort possible is incredible. Everyone here is very proud of, and very committed to saving the Creek.”

* * *

Hoisting awkward float tubes over our shoulders, we unearth the river path from Kilpatrick Bridge, then follow narrow, wooden planks through a field of chest-high grass until we reach a put-in spot on the north bank of Silver Creek. The Trico hatch is on, so we have gotten an early jump on the day, hoping to simultaneously navigate the famous “S-Turns” and coax a few hungry bows into eating some tiny, black mayfly imitations. Dave says he will meet us midday near the bridge. He has a standing Wednesday morning engagement with a member of the private Purdy Ranch.

Fishing from a tube on Silver Creek is a foreign experience. Shoving off from the bank, the river bottom falls off to sandy depths, leaving the angler exposed to the heavy and very cold current. Without the aid of flippers, you steer by leaning, or frog-kicking your way from one weed mat to the next, where you clamp on with your boots, hoping to steady your balance long enough to cast. Always trying not to stir the muck, or send clumps of green floatsam downstream, which would betray your presence to the pods of surface feeding fish. Stealth and silence are critical, though not often plausible, at least not for first-timers.

Still, we each manage to hook a handful of healthy fish, first on Trico spinners, then small chartreuse mayfly duns, and eventually Callibaetis cripples. The takes are subtle, the ensuing battles are not. A hooked Silver Creek trout leads with trump, plowing toward the depths, hoping to wrap your fragile tippet around the acres of underwater vegetation. The rainbows and browns we are able to lift into our nets are remarkable specimens, many unscarred, and all gamefully speed away when freed from the hook.

The morning quickly passes, and soon we spot a lone float tube motoring downstream in our direction. It is Dave. He glides in for a gentle landing, latches on to our tubes, and quickly points out a substantial brown working a slick on the far bank. We try a speckled-wing spinner, but three solid casts yield no interest. Dave gathers the leader ties on a different bug. Same species, different pattern–a Callibaetis cripple. The first shot connects.

“Sometimes you just need to give these guys a different look, no matter what it is,” he says as our flotilla turns downstream. “There's no instruction manual for the Creek, or its trout.”

* * *

Dave is now the guide coordinator at Silver Creek Outfitters. The shop hires out 30 full and part-time guides, and of those, 12 have the confidence to run trips on Silver Creek. It is an incredibly technical and unforgiving waterway. Small shadows, flashes of line, micro-drag in the leader, and even talking too loudly matter here. One of his toughest challenges, Dave says, is matching clients with guides, measuring skills and expectations on the floor of the shop, or over the telephone, where the picture does not come into focus as clearly as it does on the banks of the Creek.

They often discourage first-timers from tempting Silver Creek. Still, he says, he will not turn away anyone dead-set on experiencing the Preserve. If a person has an open mind, is willing to absorb some suggestions, and places a premium on “atmosphere,” success is usually a given. Experiencing migratory Sandhill Cranes, drifting up on mule deer, soaking in light from the Picabo Hills, and floating through the channels and sloughs of Silver Creek, all create a memorable experience that usually dwarfs the running tally of hooked and landed trout.

“It’s hard to put into words the feeling you get when you fish here with people who have never walked on anything but concrete their whole lives,” Dave says with a smile. “I get a real sense of satisfaction, watching their faces. They don't even have to talk–a lot of times, there’s no reason to say anything.”

* * *

It is important for Dave Faltings to be on top of his game at all times. Years ago, he had the opportunity to guide trips in the off-season for a lodge in Chile. Because he was so concerned with ensuring success for his would-be clients, Dave flew to South America several weeks early, so he “would be good–not just be there.” By the time his customers arrived from the States, Dave already was tuned into the runs, hatches, and fly patterns they would need. The trip ended up being a huge success.

Dave’s attention to detail has earned him a reputation as a master guide in Sun Valley and on Silver Creek. When the outdoor pros, celebrities, and other assorted power players fly into Friedman Airport for a trout fishing escape, many of them make a point to search out Dave Faltings. Still, Dave says keeping an open mind is critical for fly fishing success in the region. If you get too set in your ways, or try too hard to pin down the “science” of fly fishing, you become your own worst enemy.

He recalls his own evolution on Silver Creek to make his point.

“When I first got here, I didn’t know much about Silver Creek, or anything about the fishing. All I used was 4x-tippet, some hoppers and beetles, and had pretty good success. Then I went through this phase for years where I had to understand every bug, every emergence, and every fly to use on the river. But now, I’ve come back to using those hoppers and beetles in more and more situations, and they work as good as anything. You can make this creek as tough, or as easy as you want. It’s your choice.”

* * *

From an outsider’s perspective, there seems to be a strange level of harmony within this fly fishing community. That is not to say there are not standard disagreements, or streamside run-ins among the public, but turf wars between guides and outfitters are relatively uncommon. Dave says that is because everyone here realizes they have a stake in something special. All the outfitters are committed to preserving this pristine water, not only for their livelihoods, but because they can. Bickering over a hundred dollars here and there, or who has the right to fish this or that riffle, simply is not worth it in the grand scheme. Anyhow, Dave says, with 25 miles of Big Wood River, all of Silver Creek, and with Idaho’s open stream access, there is plenty of water to go around.

Sun Valley locals and outfitters understand and welcome growth in the fly fishing industry. As Dave explains, people are embracing the solitude of the outdoors now more than ever. The sport only will expand as more and more baby-boomers retire. That is a given. A guide’s mission is not to create walls to exclude newcomers, rather to instill ethics, share insights, and foster concern for the environment so that the far-reaching impact gathers momentum. As such, Dave organizes a “conclave” of guides every spring, where guides from his shop and others review ground rules and objectives, in effect making sure they all are on the same page.

“This place isn’t like the Bighorn or the San Juan, where the guides and outfitters can get down-right cutthroat,” says Dave. “Silver Creek is a prime example of how things can be shared on the river.”

* * *

Driving home at the end of a long day on Silver Creek, Dave reaches into a lunch sack and offers ripe nectarines. We spurt juice on the inside of his windshield, then wipe it down with our dirty shirt sleeves. Dave says he is buying a home down-valley from Ketchum, where lots are a bit more affordable. He is comfortable in this extended community–with his job, the rivers, and his routine. He points out that many people find haven in the Wood River Valley.

It is a place where even those from Hollywood can carry on in relative anonymity. Perhaps because there is so much money in this Valley, folks are not preoccupied with social climbing. Or maybe it is because the natural world bandies no favors for the status-bound. Dave’s world, the river, is an honest and unforgiving place. The fish, snakes, and weather could care less about Golden Globes or the Fortune 500. Either way, his home is a pretty quiet place, and just the way he likes it.

Now, some questions, no matter how sophomoric they seem, have to be asked.

“So Dave, do you ever go fishing with any of the movie stars around here?”

“Yup,” he says, tossing the nectarine pit out the window and wiping his chin. And, true to his characterization, he leaves it at that.

* * *

The seasons are relatively short in Sun Valley. Realizing that prime time trout fishing will wrap up in several weeks, we ask Dave what he does to keep the fishing fires burning when the snow and ice begin to gather across the river.

He says he hunts ducks and geese from time to time down on the Preserve. Both of his labs are pretty good in the marsh. He also spends more time in the shop, catching up on business and charting plans for the next spring. Beyond that, he says, he keeps fishing.

The off-season is travel time for Dave Faltings, and he has seen and experienced most of the premier trout and saltwater destinations in the world. Every spring, he flies literally half-way around the world to fish Alphonse Atoll in the Seychelles off the African Coast. The bonefish in this region of the Indian Ocean are virtually untouched, so green, he says, he often finds them using his legs as current breaks as he wades the flats. He also has been to Central and South America to fish for permit and trout, and to Christmas Island for bonefish, a place he says he knows “like the back of his hand.”

One of his most exotic trips was an expedition with five Americans and six Russians to the Kamchatka Peninsula in Siberia. The group caught salmon, Zundzha (a mysterious East Siberian white-spotted char), and coastal rainbows that averaged between 24 and 28 inches long.

“I want to see as much as I can, experience as much as possible,” Dave says. “If I have to go half-way around the world to find something new, I’ll do it.”

* * *

Dave’s favorite fly fishing diversion does not require 30 hours of plane rides, rather, a seven-hour drive to the Lewiston, Idaho area, for steelhead fishing on the Snake, the Clearwater, and the Grande Ronde Rivers. He loves to steelhead, because he respects the inherent challenges of the sport, and the tenacity of Snake River Basin steelhead that swim nearly 1,000 miles and overcome eight separate dams on the Columbia River to reach spawning grounds.

Most of the steelhead are summer-run fish that leave saltwater between June and October, then spawn in the spring. Dave and his fishing companions mostly catch “A-run” fish that have spent a little over a year in the salt, and average between 6 and 10 pounds apiece. The prized fish are “spuds,” or “B-run” fish that range between 12 and 20 pounds after spending two years in the ocean.

Steelheading in Idaho has its own identity and character different from other more notable Pacific Northwest locales. The rivers cut through dry, rugged country, thick with cactus, poison ivy, and rattlers. Idaho steelheaders also employ a lot of dry-line casting as opposed to using full sinking or sink-tip lines, because of the shallower character of much of the water. Dave’s newest challenge is working these dry lines on long Spey rods. He says covering the water with a 16-foot rod, a two-handed roll cast, and a Green Butt Skunk can be as much fun as actually catching fish.

“More and more, I’m looking for runs that might not hold as many fish, but will just be plain fun to Spey cast in,” he describes. “Every time I get to Spey cast, I learn something new.”

* * *

We spend another day working Silver Creek, first poking around Sullivan’s Slough and later, driving downstream to fish the pond below Kilpatrick Bridge. The trout are less cooperative today. It is windy and hot, dispersing many of the small mayflies and making the trout edgy and sluggish. We almost get blanked.

“Anybody who brags about not getting skunked on the Creek is either lying, or they haven’t been fishing very long,” Dave laughs.

Below Kilpatrick Bridge, Dave switches bugs, tying on a large Whitlock’s Hopper, trailing it with a small black beetle from the hook shank. The wind has turned the river’s surface into a wide washboard, making it hard to keep track of our flies, even through polarized glasses. Dave says the trick is to cast and move, banging casts against the banks and weeds, leaving the flies on the surface for three, maybe four seconds maximum. The fish start working, mostly on the beetles, cruising in and out of cuts in the vegetation and shoreline.

Dave is on a tear, reefing in one fish after another. It is a fly-fishing clinic, showing just how good he really is, though we are sure he is not trying to impress us. Dave quietly sets the hook on each fish, then gives them full pressure, stretching the 5X-tippet to its limit, keeping the trout on, near, or above the surface, effectively tail-walking the fish to his net.

“If these fish go down in the weeds, they’re as good as gone anyway,” Dave explains. “You might as well give them a little muscle. Besides, when you let ‘em go quicker, they’ll thank you for it later. Those fish belly up on the bottom–they don't fight too well.”

* * *

We open the truck’s tailgate, toss our muddy float tubes in the bed, then dip into the cooler for bottles of water, tucking handfuls of ice cubes under our hats. Silver Creek has, by all accounts, exceeded expectations. Dave Faltings has done better than that.

The conversation lasts a good hour, and not surprisingly, it is all about fishing. We will be shoving off tonight for Last Chance, Idaho, heading back to the Henry’s Fork. Dave says he might go poke around the Big Wood tonight, but he wishes he could join us. He always is up for another challenge and says the Henry’s Fork never disappoints.

Dave often makes overnight trips to the Railroad Ranch, driving over four hours each way for a chance to apply the lessons he has learned here on the athletically inspired Snake River rainbows. He says that Silver Creek and the Henry’s Fork are two of the toughest rivers in the West, but would give the slight nod to the Henry's Fork, because there, the fish do not “sit and wait for you.”

We shake hands and thank Dave for three days of polite hospitality, telling him we hope to be back on Silver Creek sooner rather than later. We are not looking forward to the long drive or the heat, but Dave says not to worry. A five-hour drive in Idaho is a drop in the bucket.

“Just start thinking about all those fish cruising around, waiting to be caught, and you’ll be there in no time.”

* * *

River Notes

South central Idaho is not for everyone, especially at the end of a long, hot summer. It is rough, but genuine country, grounded through generations of cattle ranching and farming, prone to drought, harsh winters, and a rugged individualism. Those who do not fish, hunt, or farm, find themselves quickly bored by the endless fields of dirty-blond wheat and barley, the planed, high-desert landscape, and the lonely, two-lane roads stretching on for miles. As two addicted fly fisherman and a hungry photographer, we consider ourselves lucky to spend the next three days bumping around greater Ketchum, burning film and fishing with Dave on the priceless veins of river stretching from Ketchum south to Picabo and beyond. The local paper says the weather has been dry and windy, which should make for memorable hopper fishing as long as we avoid the crowds and snakes along Silver Creek.

On our first afternoon in Ketchum, we run into Dave at Silver Creek Outfitters, purely by accident, while sorting through flies and grubbing for trout-info from the college-age fishing studs behind the counter. Dave’s guide trip ended early, which rarely happens, and he is nice enough to meet us for an evening fish on the Big Wood River, ten or so miles down valley. By late august, the Big Wood is low and clear and showing its gravel bones, yet stubbornly holds its ground. Originating high in the Sawtooth National Forest, the resilient freestone currents have stayed cold enough all summer to crank out clouds of small, egg-laying caddis, Pale Evening Duns, and Red Quills from dinnertime on, bringing most of the 8-to-20-inch rainbows to the surface for an evening free-for-all. We fish until dark without seeing another angler, then wander back along the well worn trail to the put-in. Beneath a giant blanket of stars, the river catches just enough light to reveal fish still feeding in the slicks and tailouts. They will go all night, or until the bugs quit, whichever comes first.

For the next few days, Dave recommends saving the Big Wood until evenings (because of the heat) and hitting Silver Creek early each morning for the renowned Trico emergence and staying for afternoons to “see what happens.” You do not have to look very hard to see things “happening” at the 882-acre Nature Conservancy Preserve on Silver Creek. Sandhill cranes, spotted sandpipers, willets, and staggering numbers of spring-fed trout are just a few of the creatures that call this rare, high-desert ecosystem home. Through the dedication of the Conservancy and many of the area’s ranching and farming families, nearly 8,500 acres of land surrounding Silver Creek and its tributaries have been set aside and saved from development in a patchwork of conservation easements. Land being protected like this, Dave says, is something you hardly ever see in the west.

The diversity of insect life and difficulty of fishing conditions on Silver Creek are rivaled only by the Henry’s Fork, four-and-a-half hours to the east. The near-constant, spring-fed water temperatures and flows, along with the Conservancy’s watchful eye on the riparian integrity, have allowed stream banks to grow thick and sturdy, in-stream vegetation to bloom, and spawning areas to reemerge after years of siltation. All of which adds up to lots of fish, bugs, and reliable places for them to live and breed. At Dave’s suggestion, we launch float tubes in the S-Turns by 8:30 each morning, hoping to find clouds of Trico spinners and pods of rainbow trout. The bugs materialize by the thousands and the fish do their best to cooperate, eating small Harrop and Poor Witch spinners with confidence. The afternoons are left to floating the wide flats of the Creek below Kilpatrick Bridge and casting adult damselflies, hoppers, beetles, and speckled-wing mayflies to a healthy mixture of browns and rainbows that, despite enormous pressure from anglers, are as feral and unmarked as any in the west. Tell me these fish aren’t hot, Dave says, more than once.

Tip: Afternoon winds and surface chop, which often create superb spring-creek terrestrial fishing, also make it extremely difficult to keep track of small, dark patterns like ants and beetles when casting at an appreciable distance. Dave recommends fishing these hard-to-see flies as droppers behind a larger, more visible hopper or damselfly that can act as a point of reference and/or strike indicator. Even with the aid of a larger point fly, detecting strikes can range from maddening to impossible when Silver Creek trout head out to “ant like church mice.” The number of times we picked up our flies to recast, only to find a large brown hanging on, would surprise you.

This chapter is excerpted from Castwork: Reflections of Fly Fishing Guides and the American West (2002). Photo proofs: Liz Steketee