A few days ago, I was thinking about fishing trips to one of the places I’ve mentioned in some of my past stories, East Tensleep Creek, near Buffalo, Wyoming. This amazing place is still a highly popular spot for locals and visitors alike. It also happens to be along part of the path to one of my favorite fly fishing spots, greatly due to the fact that it isn’t easy to get to. As you’ve probably figured out, the name of the place is Maybelle Lake.
While researching the current resources with information on the place, I found out something that still has me wondering. Many, and I daresay, most of those resources swap its location with another nearby lake. One of the resources you’d think would be highly reliable actually shows both lakes, in their proper locations – until you zoom in. The name of the other lake then superimposes itself on Maybelle Lake. That’s how weird it gets trying to locate this lake online. I’m not the only one who’s noticed it.
Now, before I tell you about the place, let me take a moment to give credit to the two gentlemen who introduced me to both the creek and the lake. Time was, I was living in a single wide trailer, rented from two brothers who lived in Mills, Wyoming, a tiny community just outside of Casper. I’d recently separated from my wife, and he only occupants of the trailer were me and my Labradane, Johnny Reb.
I went to work for their handyman business after doing some repairs on the trailer and we inevitably got around to talking about fishing one day. They offered to show me one of their favorite places, and though I was younger, I wasn’t dumb. I took them up on it.
The turnout to the road in to the creek was easy to miss on the highway, and once you found it, the road was rough enough to discourage casual visitors. One hill, in particular, bore oil stains on some of the boulders that had to be crawled over. By “crawled”, I mean locked into 4L and easing up, then using one foot on the brake to inch down gently.
Once that hill was climbed, you reached the left turn that put you on the road running parallel to the creek. From that road, the water was easily accessible and there were plenty of places to turn out and park. In those days, it was a pretty good bet it wouldn’t be too crowded. If you finally find your way to a site that correctly describes the trail, you’ll discover that this road is the first Forest Road mentioned.
This is probably a good time to say that I’m not going to provide directions. I’m normally not too stingy about revealing my favorite spots, but in honor of the Rayburn brothers, one of whom passed away in 2022, I’ll refrain from doing so.
So, if you managed to make it this far, you need only follow the creek upstream until the road runs out and you have to walk. From there, you’re going to need to watch carefully for the creek crossing that will put you on the right path.
You’re going to be crossing huge boulder fields and looking for cairns in order to navigate your way across that. You’ll also be going in and out of the trees as you follow the trail. You’re also going to be going uphill, and on the last leg, the climb is pretty steep. Maybelle, and nearby McLain Lake are both alpine lakes at almost 10,000ft. The two-mile McLain Trail that gets you there is only about a 500ft climb, but it’s going to take you a couple of hours, and I assure you, you’re going to feel it.
Getting back to that first trip with my landlord-friends, they weren’t equipped for, or interested in, fly fishing. Their method of choice was trolling a worm, agonizingly slowly, and it worked. I didn’t have the knack, and worked my way around the lake with my fly rod, seeing fish, watching risers, and casting to those I could reach, with no luck whatsoever. They caught both Brookies and Cutthroats, and in keeping with their reputation, they shared their catch with me when we returned home.
That trip would be the first of many I’ve taken, along with Pam and often with friends and family, to the creek. The side trip to Maybelle didn’t happen often, due to the nature of the hike and the fact that heading downstream from our regular camping spot was easier and productive,which suited the less adventurous nature of our companions. I loved it myself, and shared it here recently. There was one more excursion “up there” that’s burned permanently into memory, with good reason.
My late brother-in-law, Arnold, was a great friend and mentor to me during my teens and twenties. His prowess with a fly rod was what inspired me, and we shared countless impromptu trips along the Arkansas River in Colorado, as well as other adventures I’ve written about.
During one of those trips, he and my sister joined us at the camping spot on the creek, and on the last day, he and I made our way up to Maybelle. We were primarily stream fishers, but I’d described the experience to him, and it had been on his mind since.
The trip to the lake was slower than we’d anticipated, due to something he’d experienced before, but I’d never seen – altitude sickness. I was concerned, but he assured me that with a few minutes’ rest, he’d be fine. He was right, but there were two other rest stops. Nevertheless, we made it, and still had time to fish our way around the lake. For the most part, it was reminiscent of my luck fishing with the Rayburns. Arnold wasn’t discouraged, though, and we kept at it.
As the air started to cool down toward late afternoon, we found ourselves at a small, calm cutback, where we could see the fish lying still among the rocks in the astoundingly clear water. I was ready to abandon the idea of casting to them, assuming we’d already spooked them.
In true Arnold fashion, he simply cast once, and hauled in a hefty Yellowstone Cutthroat. Two casts later, he had another one. I had stepped up onto a large boulder at the edge of the pool and was tossing the same fly, but the fish didn’t respond.
As Arnold was hauling in his third, I asked him why they weren’t coming up to my fly, and he stated, matter-of-factly, “I’m guessing it has something to do with the shadow of your rod on the water.” A short time later, we both had our limit, though not a lot of time to get back down the trail before we lost daylight.
There are bears in the area, which we were fortunate enough not to encounter. We did, however, almost come face to face with a young bull moose as we rounded a curve into a small meadow. Fortunately, he was only interested in his evening graze and let us slip by without so much as a nod.
A few minutes after that encounter, we strolled back into camp, each with his limit of gorgeous cutthroats, and a great story to tell.
That was my last trip to Maybelle to date. If I have my way, it won’t be the last one I take.
For the curious readers, let me state again that I’m not going to tell you how to get there. I will tell you that if you’re interested in fishing there, there are conflicting reports. Some resources claim that Maybelle self-maintains its Cutthroat population. A quick check of stocking reports from the Wyoming Game & Fish stocked it with 847 little ones in July of 2026. Note that they refer to it as “Maybelle Lodge Lake” in reference to a structure that’s no longer there. I think that’s the information I’d go with. That should mean it’s still worth the trip. I know I’d be going soon if I was in the area now.
Last, but not least, you’ll be hiking into Cloud Peak Wilderness, so be prepared to register and leave the motorcycles at home. Good luck!
