Winter fishing on the Big Wood isn’t for everyone, but for those who embrace the season, it has its own kind of magic. The river slows, the crowds thin, and the fish—though selective—are still there.
Guest writer and staff for Silver Creek Outfitters Sam, takes us along for a January day on the Big Wood.
Check it out for a firsthand look at why winter on the Wood might just be its finest hour.
Written by Sam Ernst
I am fortunate to live where my first day of fishing in the new year can be on January 4th. The Big Wood might just be at her finest in the winter.
January may not rank terribly high on a fish-y-ness scale, but I could make a case for this long, cold month. Today was a textbook winter day on the Wood. No need to rush out of the house at zero-dark-thirty—I know the fish will cooperate once they warm up a bit. It’ll be 30-something soon, which, after acclimating to winter in southern Idaho, may actually feel comfortable. I don’t have to think too hard about where to fish. The obvious spot will likely be vacant because, well, it’s January.
On my way there, I check another access just downstream of my usual choice. The plan is to acquire two spots for the price of one. Given the recent snow, it’s plowed in. Step one of the plan has come to fruition. Step two insists that no one else is parked where I’m headed. A quick rip up the highway, and sure enough, the plan comes together. All that’s left is pulling on my waders.
I’ve got a little walk downriver before any trout fishing takes place. A group of diving ducks comes whizzing around the first bend. A buddy recently pointed out that diving ducks fly like maniacs. Goldeneye, maybe? Whatever the species, they’re movin’—up, down, left, right—whistling wings barely shy of hummingbird speed. My focus returns to my footing, trying to avoid ending up on my rear.
A few more bends, a few more bird musings, and I reach the run I had in mind. I take a look at the flies I left rigged last time. A size sixteen—something vaguely Prince-adjacent—and a twentyish midge. I give the knots a good tug, fiddle with my bobber. Should be fine. I scan the water, hoping for a rising trout in the tail-out. No such luck.
To be fair, I haven’t seen any adult midges in the air. The water’s lower than I expected, though that’s not necessarily a bad thing. I work a few drifts through what I’m pretty sure are the right seams. No bobber-down scenarios. My brain insists I’ve picked the wrong twentyish midge. I bring the whole deal in. If they’re not eating the black midge, try the red one. Mess with the bobber again. A few drifts later, a healthy little rainbow confirms that red is on the menu.
My downstream nature walk put four or so good runs between me and the truck. It’s not yet midday, and I start picking my way back upstream. Some runs fish better than others, but patience and a fly change usually buy a fish or two. None are particularly big. None are particularly small. Just stout, bright Big Wood rainbows.
I fish the Wood more in the winter than in the summer. Could be an occupational hazard, but if I’m honest, I just enjoy it more. January is quiet, still. I have to slow down to match the river’s pace. Yeah, there might not be a drake hatch or size 10 hoppers bouncing everywhere, but the trout are still in the water, earning their keep. The menu is mostly limited to appetizers, and a little stealth is usually rewarded.
A guy could romanticize the fishing here twelve months a year, and the same guy could be accused of just really liking to fish. Every month has its moments of perfection on the water. January has plenty of its own to share.
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