Should we be targeting bull trout anywhere? | Hatch Magazine

The ethics of fly fishing for bull trout are nebulous. They’re also a bit ephemeral, depending on where you’re fishing and your intent. The endangered char of the Northwest is protected by law in both the United States and Canada, but fishing for them throughout most of their native range is legal, so long as they’re released unharmed.

In the U.S., bull trout can be intentionally targeted in states like Idaho, but must be released in all instances. Regulations vary in Washington and Oregon, with some waters open to bull trout fishing and others closed to protect both resident and migratory populations. Montana offers perhaps the strictest regulations in the region, where intentionally targeting bull trout is prohibited in any river other than the South Fork of the Flathead, and all lakes and reservoirs, save for Lake Koocanusa and Hungry Horse Reservoir.

Why the caution? Bull trout are perhaps the most sensitive native salmonid in the Northwest. They require the coldest, cleanest water to survive and, in a warming world, the fish’s habitat is not expanding. Today, bull trout occupy only about 40 percent of their historic habitat, and that habitat is almost always at the center of one public lands controversy or another. In 2001, prior to leaving office, President Clinton put in place the contentious Roadless Rule that set aside undeveloped public lands, mostly in the West, from further incursion by roads or industrial development without rigorous environmental review. Clinton may not have had the bull trout in mind when he put this forward-thinking rule in place, but this fragile native fish that can grow to 30 inches in length and eats 15-inch cutthroats for dinner was perhaps the rule’s biggest beneficiary.

In states like Idaho and Montana, where bull trout are still present in relatively good numbers, the Roadless Rule protected millions of acres of pristine backcountry habitat, and it did so in perpetuity. It should be noted, too, that the Roadless Rule was a boon for other important fish and game species, from mule deer to moose, and from elk to wild sheep and goats. For hunters and anglers, the Roadless Rule was a generational accomplishment, and many of us, from the mid-2000s on, devoted careers to protecting it from those who didn’t share the vision first shared by the likes of Gifford Pinchot and Theodore Roosevelt. It should be noted that Congress, thanks in large part to the nefarious efforts of Utah U.S. Sen. Mike Lee, bought and paid for by his funders in the energy industry, is on the verge of repealing the Roadless Rule by including its demise in what was a bipartisan funding bill to address the very real threat to wildfires in the West. It’s a kick in the crotch to western anglers and hunters delivered by the GOP, the party most sportsmen tend to support thanks to its adamant pro-Second Amendment bluster.

In Canada, from southern British Columbia and Alberta north to the Yukon, the bull trout enjoys strict protections that require anglers to release any bull trout they catch. The wild and mountainous “crown lands” of western Canada provide everything bull trout need to survive: cold, clear water, dependable food sources (cutthroats, rainbows, whitefish and suckers), and the general absence of people throwing giant metal spoons at these backcountry char that, if given the chance, will eat just about anything.

A fish of legends

Often called Dolly Varden by locals throughout the Northwest, bull trout (which are not Dolly Varden — the two are very similar, but they are recognized by science as separate subspecies of char) have turned up in fishing adventure tales for well over a century, and their connection to indigenous peoples in the Northwest is virtually timeless. I remember reading about bull trout in Jim Kjelgaard’s Snow Dog and Wild Trek, first published in the late 1940s, where the author describes his main human character, Link Stevens, flipping a bare hook into the fictional Carney River to catch the native char.

Today, bull trout are pursued by a tight-lipped cult of fly fishers who view the pastime much like Tyler Durden views Fight Club. These under-the-radar anglers meander lonely Forest Service roads that lead to even lonelier trailheads, where they’ll walk miles into the backcountry to swing oversized streamers through deep, green pools employing sinking fly lines, 0x tippet, and unbridled optimism. Sometimes the fish are there. Sometimes not.

Swinging for bull trout on a remote Canadian river (photo: Earl Harper).

The payoff might seem a bit muted, much like the bull trout’s generally drab appearance for much of the fishing season. Only later in the summer and into fall does this olive-green char start to sport some serious glamour. Much like its brook trout and coastal Dolly Varden cousins — the latter is named after a gaudy character in Dickens’ Barnaby Rudge because of her penchant for colorful gowns — the bull trout dresses for the migration, sporting splashes of bright orange, creamy whites and deep, amber fins. This is when the bull trout is at its most gregarious — not only is it drop-dead gorgeous, but it’s social and energetic. I’ve watched sizable schools of migrating fish gather in a deep pool and just hang out together, like buddies in a sports bar.

And, of course, this is when they’re most aggressive. Often, the “hangouts” devolve into shoving matches and quick chases turn into melees as males stage to move up and on to meet females that are busy sweeping redds clean. The bull trout club will target these fish with zest — the chase can be epic. But even the most fervent “charhead” will cease and desist when it’s clear that these backcountry behemoths are on the redds. Any conscientious angler understands that casting over redds is a no-no, and if they don’t, there are plenty of examples of bad behavior exposed in this age of instant digital karma.

A small bull trout (photo: Earl Harper).

Just because we can, should we?

But the ethical questions remain. Should we be targeting bull trout at all? Should this last bastion of the wild Northwest be left alone as its habitat shrinks and anti-wildlands despots like Lee wander the halls of Congress? It’s a fair question. I think, much like the regulations that govern the pursuit of these noble char, the answer is nuanced.

Certainly, some bull trout populations are healthier than others. Here in Idaho, to get at quality bull trout fishing means you really have to earn it. You’ll need 10-ply tires and good boots, at a minimum. You’ll have to get above the waters where, years ago, fisheries managers intentionally planted non-native brook trout that have spawned with the native char and stunted their way into a fertile population of hybrid dinks. Bull trout truly are a backcountry fish. Just as soon as their habitat becomes readily accessible, it also becomes noticeably void of bull trout.

That may be the best answer out there. Sure we can fish for bull trout. But should we?

Protection over exploitation

Just as with any native fish or animal, it’s easier to protect the bull trout we have than it is to try and resurrect a bygone population. That said, there are well-intended bull trout restoration projects taking place from one end of the char’s native range to the other. In Glacier National Park, fisheries managers were actually moving bull trout to higher-elevation lakes and streams to, at least temporarily, address the impacts of climate change and the warming waters that come with it. The effort, a seemingly noble effort to stave off the localized extinction in the park, is now a subject of a lawsuit and as of summer 2025, was on hold — the “new” habitat was originally void of fish, which, ironically, makes the introduced bull trout the invasive species in this odd scenario.

Other efforts continue, and some may be successful. But, as they say, “an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.” The best way to ensure bull trout have a future is to keep them safe, secure, and gloriously tough to get to in their existing habitat. And that makes this latest effort on the part of Lee and his political minions to void the Roadless Rule really sting. We know how to protect intact fish and wildlife habitat, and, by extension, the critters that swim and roam in these wild places. Yet there are still those among us who have different values, and answer to well-funded masters who have worked the system and found willing sycophants to help them game the outcome in the halls of government.