The Ignorant Angler

I made an impromptu stop along the Firehole River a few weeks ago.  I'd spent the morning fruitlessly poking around the Henry's Fork.  Outside of seeing one good fish porpoise a couple of times, there was nothing doing.  So, rather than wait out the day and hope for some sort of a hatch, I pulled out and headed home.  I was driving through West Yellowstone around 4 p.m. and decided "what the heck" and detoured through the Park gate.
The Madison, as advertised, was running a bit high and off color.  I continued on to the Firehole.  I pulled over, made a sandwich and commenced to watch the water.  A few fish rose sporadically.
What the heck?  Might as well fish I thought.  After all, I felt obligated.  You see, I'd tied up a dozen soft hackles a couple of days earlier.
So, I rigged up and went for a little walk.   I found a spot with fish rising in nice soft bank water.  A few white miller caddis buzzed along the surface.  Just as I was about to step into the wate…

I tied a few of these a couple of weeks ago.  Not sure what I ended up with.  It's nothing unique, just another soft hackle, something that I rarely fish.  But, if a person intends to fish the Firehole, they'd better have some soft hackles.  No hatch?  Soft hackle.  It's the law.  I checked the Park regulations.  I'm kidding of course.
Regardless, the intent here was to imitate some stage of the white miller caddis.  It's pretty simple.  A blob of antron for a shuck, roughly wrapped thread body, hare-tron thorax, partridge hackle.  Do soft hackles have shucks?  Maybe it would be better fished as an emerger?  With a dab of floatant, maybe even as a PMD cripple?  Or, maybe it's just another fly tying disaster gone awry....

Three o'clock in the morning.  Can't sleep.  Start coffee.  Well, since I'm up, might as well go for a drive.....to Yellowstone.  The drive through the Gallatin Canyon is eventful as regards wildlife. There's deer, loads of elk, a moose runs across the road.  I get to the park before six, vehicle intact.  
Along the Firehole River, it's early morning, the sun is barely up, barely visible through the high hazy clouds.  An ethereal mist hangs in the air, plumes of steam from the geysers that spew forth along the river.  I smell sulphur.  I smell bison, they're everywhere.
I walk the river, no particular destination in mind, I've never been here before.  I play tourist. The geysers and hot water pools are splendid, fascinating.  I snap a few pictures, bend over, stick a pinkie in the water.  Nice and warm.
Bison stream from a patch of open timber.  They mill along the river.  One jumps in, the rest follow.  Steam rises in the background.  It's an iconic Y…