Most visitors to Nevada never venture beyond their favorite casinos. If they did, they would find a landscape shaped by millions of years of geological stretching and compression, with diverse ecosystems carved by floods and merciless droughts. They would also find a state ideally located—geologically and hydrologically speaking—for capturing a snapshot of trout diversity in the western United States.
My interest in Nevada’s native trout species stemmed from two sources. Primarily, I had just finished the California Heritage Trout Challenge, which involves catching six of the state’s native trout species from their historic drainages, and I was keen to continue the pursuit in another state. Secondly, I have a history with Nevada. Both of my parents worked as geologists in the Silver State, so a significant portion of my youth was spent nestled against sample-bags and sledgehammers while camped in the back of an old 4Runner along some remote gravel road in the Great Basin. I was determined to return, this time with me in the driver’s seat while I pursued all six of Nevada’s native salmonids—deemed the “Nevada Native Slam” by the Nevada Department of Wildlife.
Unlike many of my previous western flyfishing trips, this wasn’t a solo adventure. My mom came along. As we drove over Cajon Pass, past Las Vegas, and through valleys of tule and pronghorn, I listened to stories of her time in the most remote stretches of this mostly remote state—the flat tires, flash floods, and
