After a long wait all through the winter and spring the time finally came for our big trip to the Madison River in South West Montana. With the well above average snowfall and cool spring we'd been watching the flowrates and river reports with much concern. The day before we flew out it looked like the Madison would be blown out and off-colored, but being the fishing mecca that it is we knew we had options. I must preface that this trip belonged to Ted. He has fished Montana for twelve years and knows it pretty well. For Byran and I, it would be our first serious fishing trip in Eldorado. I had taken some jaunts around the rivers and streams around Missoula and Glacier National Park (which was great) but to be able to focus entirely on the fishing was a dream come true. For the first couple of days I just couldn't believe that a kid that grew up in North Queensland was going to get to flyfish the best rivers of Montana.
Day One: Madison River, Montana
We began our journey from Ted's driveway and Bryan drove us the short journey up to the park-n-ride and Minnepolis airport. It was a direct flight into Bozeman, Montana and the time passed quickly. We picked up our rental car and after a brief problem-solving stint dealing with a trailer hitch and picking up some groceries, we were on our way to Ennis.
The scenery as we headed towards the Madison went from good to awesome with snow-capped mountains and rolling hills. Unfortunately the Gellatin and Madison Rivers were, as expected, heavy and brown. The cabins were pretty good and our neighbors were all fly-fishermen so we knew we were in the right place. We had stopped at Madison River fly-fishing Company on the way through and got some, well.... mediocre advise but they must get pretty tired of being asked the same questions every day, from the full range of skill and personality.
From there it was a quick jaunt up to our cabins and we quickly settled in and rigged up for an afternoon session. We spoke with the resident guide and our hostess, Rachel, and decided our best option was upstream, just below Hebgen Dam and down towards Quake Lake.
It was difficult not to be overawed by the scenic mountains and river and I couldn't believe I was about to fish the Madison River - how cool is that? To top it off we stopped in at the Slide Inn and got to chat a little with Kelly Galloup. You don't get to do that every day. I almost fell out of the car in anticipation when we finally did arrive at our fishing spot. Ted and Bryan headed downstream while I opted to check out the squirming waters closer to the dam discharge. The water was zooming and heavy and I slowly gained a feeling for it and began to move deeper and deeper, methodically probing the river for takers. After some time the indicator finally stopped abruptly and there was no doubt a fish was on. I'd heard so much about the fight of these wild rainbows I was quite disappointed with the fish on the other end of my line. When I got it to hand I realized why - it was a whitefish. I wasn't in the slightest disappointed as I'd never caught one but was eager to get back to the river to hook up with the rainbow I was sure I'd encounter. Unfortunately though, I only hooked up with two other whitefish, each smaller than the last.
I decided to leave the beautiful looking stretch of water I was in and head upstream and I found an even more inviting hole. It was a big, undercut back-eddy with deep fast water zipping all around. My mind was convinced it must be full of eager fish. I flogged that hole to white foam and saw nothing. I drifted it upstream, downstream, across, high, low. I threw everything in my nymph box before FINALLY giving up. I headed up to a less inviting run and within a couple drifts my indicator popped in a "fishy" way. I ran it through a few more times and saw a silvery flash deep in the run. As my eyes adjusted I noticed a few shapes feeding in the break between the fast and slower water and they didn't have forked tails. After several drifts and a busted off fish I finally hooked up well. The fish left little doubt as it leaped well clear of the water within moments of being hooked. I was onto my first rainbow trout of the trip. The fish ran back into some heavy water and finally I got into good water to land it by the pool I'd just wasted so long in. After running the tape it came out to be a touch over seventeen inches, but a skinny fish.
My first taste of Madison River rainbows
Proof I was actually there
A sight soon to be repeated (I hope)
Proof I was actually there
With no more fish and fatigue starting to catch up with us, we headed back to our cabin. Bryan cooked up some fantastic steaks, we had a couple of beers, then slept like babies.
Day Two: Henry's Fork, Idaho - Ashton Reservoir to Chester Dam / Harrington State Park
We awoke early, scoffed down a couple of breakfast burritos, Ted called his wife and sniffed up some local fishing information from our motel host, Rachel and then we were on the road to Idaho. The Madison was clear up by the dam, but with record winter snowfalls the melt had the river blown out and all but unfishable once the smaller tributary streams began dumping in. Ted felt our best option was to head for the clear waters of the Henry's fork. This river is a tailwater and runs cold and clear year round. The drive was, once again, spectacular with pronghorn antelope, mule deer and whitetails everywhere. There was even a grizzly bear spotted a quarter mile from our cabins, but we felt fishing was more important than wasting too much time looking for something that might eat us (at least that was our excuse).
On the way in Ted got our juices flowing by taking us to Big Spring. This upper stretch of the river is closed to fishing and the water is gin clear. You can see huge trout casually slurping down a feast of bugs coming down in the current. It was great to see but we couldn't stand not being able to fish to them for too long so it was off to "Premier" to pick up our drift boat for the day. It was Bryan's first trip in a drift boat, and my only previous experience was only during the spring in Michigan so it was great to have Ted's experience along. My hopes were high when I noticed an angler hooked up to a fish as we drove down to the landing. Rigging up took FOREVER as I itched to get out there and try my luck. We did have to sit and listen to some wealthy types showboat and brag as they tried to impress one another and generally annoy their poor guides. There is no way I could do that job without drowning at least one client a week. I can tolerate fools, but not "bullshitters" and braggers, no matter how much money they give me.
There was quite a good caddis hatch but it didn't seem like the fish were on it too much, but we did pull up at one spot where there was some sploshing. Ted hooked up and landed a nice rainbow quickly and Bryan hooked a good fish also. It seemed caddis dries might be the answer. I found a few splashy risers in a run and fished them hard. They were small fish and I just couldn't set quickly enough when they sipped down the fly. I must have had over a half dozen takes but I got it "caught in my skirt" every time and came back to the driftboat with nothing to show for my time, except a big grin. I believe both Ted and Bryan hooked up on other fish during that time but no more came to hand. Clients drifting by in boats seemed to hook up fairly regularly and a few decent fish were caught, just not by us.
As we drifted downstream the mood of the river changed, from a more intimate tree-lined, steep banked rolling river to a wide, open river in the middle of open prairie. We threw streamers and moved a couple of large trout but they didn't connect, still it was great to drift down such crystal clear water. We pulled up for lunch in some shade under a tree, just in front of "three forks ranch". A tremendous black caddis hatch was coming off and a few giant golden stoneflies were drifting down the river and being picked off periodically. The wind was quite strong but not enough to hamper casting. While Ted rested from the rowing, Bryan and I wandered out and threw a few flies about in the cross currents behind an inland. I was throwing a big salmon fly dry and became pretty excited when I saw a large fish swatting excitedly in a feeding lane near me. I walked into position and, like textbook, the giant fly dipped beneath the surface as a huge brown trout back porpoised out of the water. I felt the weight, the fish felt the hook and took off. We parted company after just a few seconds but it was great to have felt the weight of such a big fish.
Almost the instant that fish got off the wind began to howl. Casting became, first problematic and then almost impossible, which I proved when I stuck the barb of my giant salmon fly into my chin right up to the bend. I tried yanking on it with all my might but ended up needing Bryan to slice the skin with his knife, before resorting to brute force for final removal. Surprisingly it didn't bleed that much. Of course the wind picking up coincided with our arrival at the most open stretch of our drift. I hadn't gotten to row by this point and volunteered to give Ted a break in the tough conditions. The wind howled and there were times we were actually going upstream. We could only make any headway if we traveled along the shoreline on the slightly protected shoreline. It was actually quite fun despite the challenge.
I did manage to give the boys one last scare as we came up to the takeout. The takeout was right before a significant dam and despite my best efforts I managed to get caught in the current and wind towards it. Evidently Bryan hasn't fished enough with me to realize his life was in danger and he seemed quite calm. Ted, on the other hand, was quite aware of my tendency to put out lives in danger and almost leaped into the very deep water in an attempt to get to shore. Even the guide at the ramp watched with a look of slight concern for a second or two. It took me a few strong strokes of the oars before we were back in still waters and heart-rates could come back to basal levels. We did look over the dam as we drove away and let ourselves think about the possible consequences with only humor, however each of us was quite aware that we'd have been in serious trouble had we gone over that dam.
Day Two: Henry's Fork, Idaho - Ashton Reservoir to Chester Dam / Harrington State Park
We awoke early, scoffed down a couple of breakfast burritos, Ted called his wife and sniffed up some local fishing information from our motel host, Rachel and then we were on the road to Idaho. The Madison was clear up by the dam, but with record winter snowfalls the melt had the river blown out and all but unfishable once the smaller tributary streams began dumping in. Ted felt our best option was to head for the clear waters of the Henry's fork. This river is a tailwater and runs cold and clear year round. The drive was, once again, spectacular with pronghorn antelope, mule deer and whitetails everywhere. There was even a grizzly bear spotted a quarter mile from our cabins, but we felt fishing was more important than wasting too much time looking for something that might eat us (at least that was our excuse).
On the way in Ted got our juices flowing by taking us to Big Spring. This upper stretch of the river is closed to fishing and the water is gin clear. You can see huge trout casually slurping down a feast of bugs coming down in the current. It was great to see but we couldn't stand not being able to fish to them for too long so it was off to "Premier" to pick up our drift boat for the day. It was Bryan's first trip in a drift boat, and my only previous experience was only during the spring in Michigan so it was great to have Ted's experience along. My hopes were high when I noticed an angler hooked up to a fish as we drove down to the landing. Rigging up took FOREVER as I itched to get out there and try my luck. We did have to sit and listen to some wealthy types showboat and brag as they tried to impress one another and generally annoy their poor guides. There is no way I could do that job without drowning at least one client a week. I can tolerate fools, but not "bullshitters" and braggers, no matter how much money they give me.
There was quite a good caddis hatch but it didn't seem like the fish were on it too much, but we did pull up at one spot where there was some sploshing. Ted hooked up and landed a nice rainbow quickly and Bryan hooked a good fish also. It seemed caddis dries might be the answer. I found a few splashy risers in a run and fished them hard. They were small fish and I just couldn't set quickly enough when they sipped down the fly. I must have had over a half dozen takes but I got it "caught in my skirt" every time and came back to the driftboat with nothing to show for my time, except a big grin. I believe both Ted and Bryan hooked up on other fish during that time but no more came to hand. Clients drifting by in boats seemed to hook up fairly regularly and a few decent fish were caught, just not by us.
As we drifted downstream the mood of the river changed, from a more intimate tree-lined, steep banked rolling river to a wide, open river in the middle of open prairie. We threw streamers and moved a couple of large trout but they didn't connect, still it was great to drift down such crystal clear water. We pulled up for lunch in some shade under a tree, just in front of "three forks ranch". A tremendous black caddis hatch was coming off and a few giant golden stoneflies were drifting down the river and being picked off periodically. The wind was quite strong but not enough to hamper casting. While Ted rested from the rowing, Bryan and I wandered out and threw a few flies about in the cross currents behind an inland. I was throwing a big salmon fly dry and became pretty excited when I saw a large fish swatting excitedly in a feeding lane near me. I walked into position and, like textbook, the giant fly dipped beneath the surface as a huge brown trout back porpoised out of the water. I felt the weight, the fish felt the hook and took off. We parted company after just a few seconds but it was great to have felt the weight of such a big fish.
Almost the instant that fish got off the wind began to howl. Casting became, first problematic and then almost impossible, which I proved when I stuck the barb of my giant salmon fly into my chin right up to the bend. I tried yanking on it with all my might but ended up needing Bryan to slice the skin with his knife, before resorting to brute force for final removal. Surprisingly it didn't bleed that much. Of course the wind picking up coincided with our arrival at the most open stretch of our drift. I hadn't gotten to row by this point and volunteered to give Ted a break in the tough conditions. The wind howled and there were times we were actually going upstream. We could only make any headway if we traveled along the shoreline on the slightly protected shoreline. It was actually quite fun despite the challenge.
I did manage to give the boys one last scare as we came up to the takeout. The takeout was right before a significant dam and despite my best efforts I managed to get caught in the current and wind towards it. Evidently Bryan hasn't fished enough with me to realize his life was in danger and he seemed quite calm. Ted, on the other hand, was quite aware of my tendency to put out lives in danger and almost leaped into the very deep water in an attempt to get to shore. Even the guide at the ramp watched with a look of slight concern for a second or two. It took me a few strong strokes of the oars before we were back in still waters and heart-rates could come back to basal levels. We did look over the dam as we drove away and let ourselves think about the possible consequences with only humor, however each of us was quite aware that we'd have been in serious trouble had we gone over that dam.
We dropped off our drift-boat and headed to a diner to re-group. Apparently the place is quite famous locally and we sampled the famous frosty root beers. It was great to be in a diner where nobody battered an eye when we wandered through in waders. Our waitress had quite the "spicy" personality as well and I suspect she was quite a handful for her parents. I don't think she'd even heard the "customer is always right" mantra. It had been a great day and the light entertainment at the restaurant gave us new energy. We headed off towards the Railroad Ranch and drove a beaten up path of Harriman State park. The wind was still howling and there was no way the fish were going to rise. After a brief and unsuccessful effort we headed back towards Ennis. On the way back we ran into a bad traffic accident and the cars and trucks were backed up. There were ambulances and a helicopter on the road up by Mike Lawson's flyshop. We realized we were right by the river so jumped out of the car and fished for a while. When the chopper took off we headed back to the car and drove our exhausted selves back to the cabin. The wind was supposed to drop off to nothing in the morning and that news was welcomed by us. I vaguely remember some quite conservative radio conversation that startled me but I can't really recollect the specifics. I knew I was out west though.
Day Three: Henry's Fork, Idaho - Warm river to Ashton / Ozborne Bridge
Despite promises of no wind there was a light breeze blowing when we awoke but not enough to be bothersome. It was off to Idaho again to the Henry's Fork. We again picked up our drift boat and headed off to our put in point at warm river. The amazing thing was how different this stretch of river looked - you wouldn't have thought it was the same river. This was a wooded valley with evergreens flowing down the gentle slopes to comfortably cradle you as you drift the moderate flows. As we prepared we watched two or three drift boats hook up right in front of our put in. This certainly sped me up in my preparations. The sun was warm, the water clear and cold and we were in a beautiful valley - what could be better? We had barely been in the water when we hooked up. I can't remember who was first but I remember the disappointment as we brought a whitefish to hand. We weren't to know how many of them we'd catch on this drift.
The weather was plain, old perfect as we drifted down the secluded stretch of blue-ribbon trout stream and there was certainly a number of big trout hooked, but we just couldn't get them to hand. We just couldn't keep the whitefish off our flies though. Between the three of us we probably caught between twenty and thirty of them. I would love to say that Ted continued his tradition of being the sucker catching king (he caught a big one) but I also managed to catch one of those junk fish.
Around lunchtime we finally noticed a few fish taking on top so we tied on drys (tan caddis) and went to try and pick them off. Ted landed a small brownie and I scored on a rainbow of about six inches. I might have even got a couple of them but mostly they're mouths were too small to swallow the hook. There were many times the fly went under but few which resulted in hookups. However, that small change did make the fishing pick up a little. We were hooking up with whitefish at will and Bryan caught his first Montana trout, a nice little rainbow, as we drifted down towards the landing.
As we closed in on the landing we began getting quite a few small rainbows but I suspect they were stockers close to the public fishing area. We were pretty surprised how quickly we covered the eight mile float. We even thought about doing the whole float again as there was certainly enough daylight. Instead we headed back to the frostop for another cheap meal and some of that good root beer, dropped off the driftboat and began deciding how to finish our day.
After some deliberation it came down to trying our luck nymphing the box canyon or trying dries back at Harriman State Park and we decided on Harriman's. We started downstream from Ozborne Bridge quite a way and the mosquitoes were quite bad. As Ted and Bryan rigged up and headed for the water I had some urgent bodily functions to take care of that had snuck up on me like a cougar. I ended up in some trees and a depression and couldn't help but wonder what would happen if I ran into a bear (I certainly didn't need any help doing what I was doing). The mosquitoes were pretty bad and, coupled with no sign of any fish, was enough to force our party back to the car. On our way we ran into an older guy who was camping there. After some prompting he decided to let us in on some information. He told us that things began happening as the sun dropped over the hill and the bigger fish were closer to the bridge.
After a brief, expensive stop for some bug spray we headed back to Ozborne Bridge. There was certainly a few guys out and waiting for the fish to begin feeding on the surface. We walked downstream to find ourselves a little space. There was a small fish slapping close to the bank and I decided to give it a whirl. Bryan went a little downstream while Ted went well down. The little fish I was targeting rose steadily and consistently but took a little to figure out. Finally I decided to throw something I knew they must be seeing - a mosquito. Almost instantly I had an eight incher dancing towards me. It wasn't much but nobody else was catching anything. In no time at all I had another one and fish began working all around us.
The advise we'd been given was not to get distracted and focus on only one feeding fish at a time. This advise seemed to be good as I eventually hooked up with four fish, two about eight inches long and the other two in about the twelve to thirteen inch range. This mightn't sound like much but I only saw two other fish among the dozen or so other anglers around us. All were on the funky mosquito pattern. The highlight of the night was when a huge rainbow began working just downstream from a smaller fish I'd been working. There was a couple of the guides from " "Premier" fishing behind me and they also saw the fish. After a few rises I was in position to offer my fly. First drift the head and shoulders came out of the water and the fish was huge - well over twenty inches, possibly high twenties (even the guys behind me sighed on the take). I felt the hook and gently lifted the rod to set the hook. A heavy headshake and I knew I was firmly connected. A second or two later the fish must have begun a run and that was it. I guess the 6X tippet and fourteen foot leader wasn't enough. There was a lot of black caddis on the wing and I suspect the fish thought my black ant was one of them. I remember that fish like it happened only a moment ago. Soon it was totally dark and the fish just switched off. It had been another great day.
Day Four: Beaverhead River, Montana
Ted's morning ritual was to get some coffee and head down to the main cabin to call home and pump Rachel for fishing information. What he'd gleaned was that the Beaverhead River was fishing well. We also heard the Firehole was fishing well, but with a national flytying convention going on in Yellowstone National Park we figured that river might be too crowded for our liking. It was fairly early when we set off towards Twin Bridges. I couldn't believe it when we crossed the Ruby River. This is a first class, blue-ribbon trout stream so I really couldn't wait to see what the Beaverhead looked like. When we got to the flyshop I was happy to learn that many of the guys were out on the Bighole River (another half hour away) because the salmonfly were coming off. That suited us fine as I'd say we're better nymphers anyway.
The scenery was altogether different out here, being more high desert than snow-capped mountains and it just seemed much hotter and dryer. Still, the river looked great and very easily waded. We arrived at Henneberry put in and immediately began fishing a lovely run. We soon spread out and in five minutes or so Bryan hooked up and lost a decent fish. About ten minutes or so later I hooked up on a nice brownie in some broken ledges and rocks along an undercut bank. It went about fifteen inches, which is a very nice fish in Minnesota. That short stretch ended up grabbing my attention for the rest of the day. I spotted a nice rainbow feeding (probably eighteen inches or so) and as my eyes adjusted I noticed there were several fish working. I swapped out flies until I had something working, which happened to be a small, pink scud. Although I hooked that rainbow a couple of times I didn't sink the hook in well enough and never brought it to hand. However I did manage a couple of brownies of similar size to the first one from that hole and I was always casting to fish.
While I was fishing Ted hooked up with a monster brown trout - the ones you read about, into the upper twenties (the ones measured in pounds instead of inches). It was a textbook fish tucked up under the willows in the shade. Unfortunately he didn't show himself after the first encounter, despite Ted plumbing that hole thoroughly. Bryan, on the other hand ended up working upstream of me and finding a good concentration of fish working the head of a pool. He hooked and landed at least one, and probably two good brownies before I saw his rod again quivering in response to a good fish. I wandered up to help land this fish that had worked him over. As I got it into the shallows I could see it was a long fish, probably twenty inches. I asked him if he wanted to see it. He replied yes and I repeated the process. I could see it was just a whitefish and he was a little disappointed when he realized it wasn't a trout. Still, there were more fish in there.
We fished that stretch for a while longer until Ted suggested at least checking another spot he knew. Apparently under the interstate bridge are some huge rainbows that you can watch but are tough to catch. I was up for that. When we got there a single cattle rancher and his daughter were there and soaking worms but there was enough space for me to slip in. Ted and Bryan began to walk upstream. On my first drift the indicator jammed forwards and a good-sized trout leaped four feet clear of the water. I immediately thought it must be one of those big rainbows and signaled to the guys to come back so we could catch some big fish. It turned out that single brown trout is all we landed from that spot.
We walked up quite a way through some crystal clear water filled with selective and non-feeding trout. We even drove up to the dam for a look before heading back to the spot we'd started the day at. Something about the water looked different and none of us caught, or hooked a thing. We got home a little earlier than the previous few nights and when we got back we again got to dine, this time on perfectly grilled pork chops. I had fantastic meat on my trip to Australia with my brother, but this meat was cooked to perfection. Bryan makes a great camp cook! I should say at this point that Ted also made some good sandwiches but he still has something to learn from his wife (her packed sandwiches taste like they were made fresh with the perfect amount of mayonnaise). Anyway, I digress and you can probably tell I'm quite hungry as I write this.
Day Five: Beaverhead River
We decided our best fishing had been at the Beaverhead so we'd head back for another go. By this time we had settled into a comfortable rhythm and were getting on pretty well. There were a couple of beers in the cooler and we knew they'd go well in the hot sun. On the way we called into the headquarters of Winston Rods. Although they were closed Ted gazed lovingly in the front window, resembling one of the small children staring at Willy Wonka's chocolate factory. When we got back to Henneberry's Wwe fished our same spots and again my rainbow and his friends were present but it took me a while to figure them out. In the end it required a single fly with the splits lumped together. In fact, I hooked three fish in three drifts with the first two landed so when Ted shouted it was time to leave I was a little reluctant.
The destination was just a little upstream at a hike-in area of Henneberry. Upon arrival there was already two cars there (not a good sign), the sun was high in the bluebird sky and it was hot. My confidence wasn't high. That changed somewhat the moment I saw the river. It was perfect, with shallow gravel sections interspersed with deep troughs and fast water. The river divided and rejoined with a blend of overhanging willows and open banks. The bends were gradual but cut deep troughs on the inner curves, just deep enough you couldn't see the bottom. The water had that very fishy green hue and was delightfully cold. Even if you didn't fish, just wading or drifting down this river on an inner tube would be fun.
Ted and Bryan headed upstream as I attacked the first likely run. I drifted the seams between the fast and slower water around the willows with no sign. I was at the convergence of two riverlets and one shallow run was swallowed by the deeper, stronger flow of the other channel. I drifted my fly right into the belly of the hole and as it dropped off the shallow gravel the indicator dropped and then shot off. There was no doubt I was onto a fish. At first that fish wanted to stay in the pool and stubbornly went from one bank to the other, however, when I tried to get close to it there was instant panic. The fish took off downstream in a hurry. I had only 5X tippet and I saw the fish was large. It shot through some heavy water but I saw there was a decent place to land it on the next bend so I decided to risk it and head through the whitewater. As it turned out the fish had other ideas and wouldn't come into the slack water. Once I tried to put the wood to him he again shot down through some hairy water.
While all this was happening Bryan had noticed the commotion and followed through some of the troublesome water. He knew it was a big fish and I'd be able to use his help to land it. The two of us stumbled and fell and swam about two hundred yards down that river, through some nasty water. It was only adrenaline and excitement that dared us to try to wade through some of that water (for the wives ready this, it wasn't that dangerous, I'm just playing it up for effect). At one sweeping bend the stream shallowed and it looked quite safe but the sheer volume of water made it tough to cross, and we needed to cross. Both Bryan and I went down, filling our waders. I desperately tried to keep tention on the fish as I paddled and grasped for the far bank. When I got there I saw Bryan still slipping and sliding towards my prize. Now I was in secure water and the now exhausted fish was ready to be landed. There was a few interesting moments as the fish slipped through hands and fingers, but finally Bryan held my first twenty inch Montana Brown. That fish cost me another cellphone (it was in my pocket) but fortunately the camera was still OK. We went through the usual handshakes and smiles while we tried to catch our breath. It wasn't until we headed back upstream we realized how dangerous some of the water had been. Still, it didn't matter now.
Once back at the top pool Bryan made a great discovery. He tied on a black caddis pupa and almost immediately hooked up with, and landed a nice fish. Then he hooked another and another. That was probably the start of it and once I switched over the two of us were hooking up regularly, so much so that it took fish over that sixteen to seventeen inch mark to warrant even putting in much of an effort. I lost track of the number of fish but a few stand out. The most memorable, for me at least, was when we made it back down to the stretch of river that had nearly drowned us the first time. There was a drift boat anchored up in the pool above and the client had just hit two nice fish. I was watching this guy boat his fish while Bryan attempted to wade across the fast water. When I looked up I Bryan had his head down and had been spun into some deep, fast water. It was serious and I had that horrible feeling that something bad was going to happen and I was in no position to do anything. The guide across the way yelled to see if he was OK and then instantly pulled his anchor. He was going to leave his client on the bank and rescue Bryan. Fortunately Bryan managed to get to his feet before his waders filled with water too badly and got to some slower water. If he'd been a foot or two further out it could have been interesting.
As we sat and let our nerves settle Bryan suggested that perhaps "the big fella upstairs" might owe him a big fish after that ordeal, after all he had just brought him to his knees and humbled him. Within a few moment we noticed a few nice fish finning just out from us, one of them was quite large. Bryan ran a drift or two through and BAMM...fish on. It wasn't the easiest spot to land a fish (and I wasn't going back across to the other side again) but it was too long before Bryan held a nice seventeen inch fish. He earned that fish!
We'd been catching fish for a while and realized we hadn't heard from Ted. We suspected that must mean he was onto fish. On the way up we saw a big rainbow feeding near a run. I drifted a fly out and was soon tied into a fish - I thought the big rainbow. After taking me fifty or sixty yards or so I ended up landing my biggest fish of the trip, a twenty-one incher. It was quite gratifying to release that fish as a driftboat with a couple of clients sailed on past me.
We headed back upstream and Ted was fishing no more than fifty yards from where we walked in. He was onto the mother-lode. There was a whole school of fish feeding at this one convergence out from an undercut bank. It was deep and you could only fish it from one spot. Landing a fish was almost impossible. Nevertheless, Ted was just slamming fish, some of them smaller but many significantly larger than twenty inches but almost none coming to hand. It had taken him over an hour, and fourteen different fly patterns, to figure out those fish but now he was dialed in. After a while he became tired and let us catch a fish or two but we ended up going further upstream to leave Ted to the fish he'd earned. There was great water upstream and although I didn't hook up, Bryan did but it was getting late and we were ALMOST tired of catching fish. We wandered back down to see how Ted was doing.
As we trudged through the willows we jokingly mentioned the only Ted would have moved from the spot would be if he's had to go to the toilet so we both nearly barreled over with laughter when we found his spot empty and him coming back from the bushes doing up his waders, (at least we know one way to get him out of a hole now). Ted graciously let us catch a few fish at his spot and we each enjoyed an ice-cold beer streamside. Eventually though we were forced out by swarming mosquitoes. We briefly tried downstream (that rainbow was still there but wouldn't commit) but soon gave it away. We headed off to "Pizza Hut" in Dillon and gorged ourselves before heading back to the cabin. The atmosphere around camp was great (as a great day of fishing will do) and each of us swore to make this an annual event. Of course time (and wives) will dictate if that wish comes true. I remember sitting outside the cabin watching satellites in the clear Montana sky almost unable to believe I'd been here and enjoyed such a good trip. Times like this remind me it's good to be me and I often wonder what I did to enjoy such good times. It sure helps balance out those inevitable low points.
Day Six: Heading home
After a brief clean up we were soon on the road towards the Bozeman airport. The trip back was uneventful (other than Ted losing a bag at the Minneapolis airport) and was a perfect ending to a trip that will be hard to surpass. However, I suspect the three of us will give it a go soon (perhaps even in Iceland). Stay tuned.
Leaving BozemanDay Three: Henry's Fork, Idaho - Warm river to Ashton / Ozborne Bridge
Despite promises of no wind there was a light breeze blowing when we awoke but not enough to be bothersome. It was off to Idaho again to the Henry's Fork. We again picked up our drift boat and headed off to our put in point at warm river. The amazing thing was how different this stretch of river looked - you wouldn't have thought it was the same river. This was a wooded valley with evergreens flowing down the gentle slopes to comfortably cradle you as you drift the moderate flows. As we prepared we watched two or three drift boats hook up right in front of our put in. This certainly sped me up in my preparations. The sun was warm, the water clear and cold and we were in a beautiful valley - what could be better? We had barely been in the water when we hooked up. I can't remember who was first but I remember the disappointment as we brought a whitefish to hand. We weren't to know how many of them we'd catch on this drift.
The weather was plain, old perfect as we drifted down the secluded stretch of blue-ribbon trout stream and there was certainly a number of big trout hooked, but we just couldn't get them to hand. We just couldn't keep the whitefish off our flies though. Between the three of us we probably caught between twenty and thirty of them. I would love to say that Ted continued his tradition of being the sucker catching king (he caught a big one) but I also managed to catch one of those junk fish.
Around lunchtime we finally noticed a few fish taking on top so we tied on drys (tan caddis) and went to try and pick them off. Ted landed a small brownie and I scored on a rainbow of about six inches. I might have even got a couple of them but mostly they're mouths were too small to swallow the hook. There were many times the fly went under but few which resulted in hookups. However, that small change did make the fishing pick up a little. We were hooking up with whitefish at will and Bryan caught his first Montana trout, a nice little rainbow, as we drifted down towards the landing.
As we closed in on the landing we began getting quite a few small rainbows but I suspect they were stockers close to the public fishing area. We were pretty surprised how quickly we covered the eight mile float. We even thought about doing the whole float again as there was certainly enough daylight. Instead we headed back to the frostop for another cheap meal and some of that good root beer, dropped off the driftboat and began deciding how to finish our day.
After some deliberation it came down to trying our luck nymphing the box canyon or trying dries back at Harriman State Park and we decided on Harriman's. We started downstream from Ozborne Bridge quite a way and the mosquitoes were quite bad. As Ted and Bryan rigged up and headed for the water I had some urgent bodily functions to take care of that had snuck up on me like a cougar. I ended up in some trees and a depression and couldn't help but wonder what would happen if I ran into a bear (I certainly didn't need any help doing what I was doing). The mosquitoes were pretty bad and, coupled with no sign of any fish, was enough to force our party back to the car. On our way we ran into an older guy who was camping there. After some prompting he decided to let us in on some information. He told us that things began happening as the sun dropped over the hill and the bigger fish were closer to the bridge.
After a brief, expensive stop for some bug spray we headed back to Ozborne Bridge. There was certainly a few guys out and waiting for the fish to begin feeding on the surface. We walked downstream to find ourselves a little space. There was a small fish slapping close to the bank and I decided to give it a whirl. Bryan went a little downstream while Ted went well down. The little fish I was targeting rose steadily and consistently but took a little to figure out. Finally I decided to throw something I knew they must be seeing - a mosquito. Almost instantly I had an eight incher dancing towards me. It wasn't much but nobody else was catching anything. In no time at all I had another one and fish began working all around us.
The advise we'd been given was not to get distracted and focus on only one feeding fish at a time. This advise seemed to be good as I eventually hooked up with four fish, two about eight inches long and the other two in about the twelve to thirteen inch range. This mightn't sound like much but I only saw two other fish among the dozen or so other anglers around us. All were on the funky mosquito pattern. The highlight of the night was when a huge rainbow began working just downstream from a smaller fish I'd been working. There was a couple of the guides from " "Premier" fishing behind me and they also saw the fish. After a few rises I was in position to offer my fly. First drift the head and shoulders came out of the water and the fish was huge - well over twenty inches, possibly high twenties (even the guys behind me sighed on the take). I felt the hook and gently lifted the rod to set the hook. A heavy headshake and I knew I was firmly connected. A second or two later the fish must have begun a run and that was it. I guess the 6X tippet and fourteen foot leader wasn't enough. There was a lot of black caddis on the wing and I suspect the fish thought my black ant was one of them. I remember that fish like it happened only a moment ago. Soon it was totally dark and the fish just switched off. It had been another great day.
Day Four: Beaverhead River, Montana
Ted's morning ritual was to get some coffee and head down to the main cabin to call home and pump Rachel for fishing information. What he'd gleaned was that the Beaverhead River was fishing well. We also heard the Firehole was fishing well, but with a national flytying convention going on in Yellowstone National Park we figured that river might be too crowded for our liking. It was fairly early when we set off towards Twin Bridges. I couldn't believe it when we crossed the Ruby River. This is a first class, blue-ribbon trout stream so I really couldn't wait to see what the Beaverhead looked like. When we got to the flyshop I was happy to learn that many of the guys were out on the Bighole River (another half hour away) because the salmonfly were coming off. That suited us fine as I'd say we're better nymphers anyway.
The scenery was altogether different out here, being more high desert than snow-capped mountains and it just seemed much hotter and dryer. Still, the river looked great and very easily waded. We arrived at Henneberry put in and immediately began fishing a lovely run. We soon spread out and in five minutes or so Bryan hooked up and lost a decent fish. About ten minutes or so later I hooked up on a nice brownie in some broken ledges and rocks along an undercut bank. It went about fifteen inches, which is a very nice fish in Minnesota. That short stretch ended up grabbing my attention for the rest of the day. I spotted a nice rainbow feeding (probably eighteen inches or so) and as my eyes adjusted I noticed there were several fish working. I swapped out flies until I had something working, which happened to be a small, pink scud. Although I hooked that rainbow a couple of times I didn't sink the hook in well enough and never brought it to hand. However I did manage a couple of brownies of similar size to the first one from that hole and I was always casting to fish.
While I was fishing Ted hooked up with a monster brown trout - the ones you read about, into the upper twenties (the ones measured in pounds instead of inches). It was a textbook fish tucked up under the willows in the shade. Unfortunately he didn't show himself after the first encounter, despite Ted plumbing that hole thoroughly. Bryan, on the other hand ended up working upstream of me and finding a good concentration of fish working the head of a pool. He hooked and landed at least one, and probably two good brownies before I saw his rod again quivering in response to a good fish. I wandered up to help land this fish that had worked him over. As I got it into the shallows I could see it was a long fish, probably twenty inches. I asked him if he wanted to see it. He replied yes and I repeated the process. I could see it was just a whitefish and he was a little disappointed when he realized it wasn't a trout. Still, there were more fish in there.
We fished that stretch for a while longer until Ted suggested at least checking another spot he knew. Apparently under the interstate bridge are some huge rainbows that you can watch but are tough to catch. I was up for that. When we got there a single cattle rancher and his daughter were there and soaking worms but there was enough space for me to slip in. Ted and Bryan began to walk upstream. On my first drift the indicator jammed forwards and a good-sized trout leaped four feet clear of the water. I immediately thought it must be one of those big rainbows and signaled to the guys to come back so we could catch some big fish. It turned out that single brown trout is all we landed from that spot.
We walked up quite a way through some crystal clear water filled with selective and non-feeding trout. We even drove up to the dam for a look before heading back to the spot we'd started the day at. Something about the water looked different and none of us caught, or hooked a thing. We got home a little earlier than the previous few nights and when we got back we again got to dine, this time on perfectly grilled pork chops. I had fantastic meat on my trip to Australia with my brother, but this meat was cooked to perfection. Bryan makes a great camp cook! I should say at this point that Ted also made some good sandwiches but he still has something to learn from his wife (her packed sandwiches taste like they were made fresh with the perfect amount of mayonnaise). Anyway, I digress and you can probably tell I'm quite hungry as I write this.
Day Five: Beaverhead River
We decided our best fishing had been at the Beaverhead so we'd head back for another go. By this time we had settled into a comfortable rhythm and were getting on pretty well. There were a couple of beers in the cooler and we knew they'd go well in the hot sun. On the way we called into the headquarters of Winston Rods. Although they were closed Ted gazed lovingly in the front window, resembling one of the small children staring at Willy Wonka's chocolate factory. When we got back to Henneberry's Wwe fished our same spots and again my rainbow and his friends were present but it took me a while to figure them out. In the end it required a single fly with the splits lumped together. In fact, I hooked three fish in three drifts with the first two landed so when Ted shouted it was time to leave I was a little reluctant.
The destination was just a little upstream at a hike-in area of Henneberry. Upon arrival there was already two cars there (not a good sign), the sun was high in the bluebird sky and it was hot. My confidence wasn't high. That changed somewhat the moment I saw the river. It was perfect, with shallow gravel sections interspersed with deep troughs and fast water. The river divided and rejoined with a blend of overhanging willows and open banks. The bends were gradual but cut deep troughs on the inner curves, just deep enough you couldn't see the bottom. The water had that very fishy green hue and was delightfully cold. Even if you didn't fish, just wading or drifting down this river on an inner tube would be fun.
Ted and Bryan headed upstream as I attacked the first likely run. I drifted the seams between the fast and slower water around the willows with no sign. I was at the convergence of two riverlets and one shallow run was swallowed by the deeper, stronger flow of the other channel. I drifted my fly right into the belly of the hole and as it dropped off the shallow gravel the indicator dropped and then shot off. There was no doubt I was onto a fish. At first that fish wanted to stay in the pool and stubbornly went from one bank to the other, however, when I tried to get close to it there was instant panic. The fish took off downstream in a hurry. I had only 5X tippet and I saw the fish was large. It shot through some heavy water but I saw there was a decent place to land it on the next bend so I decided to risk it and head through the whitewater. As it turned out the fish had other ideas and wouldn't come into the slack water. Once I tried to put the wood to him he again shot down through some hairy water.
While all this was happening Bryan had noticed the commotion and followed through some of the troublesome water. He knew it was a big fish and I'd be able to use his help to land it. The two of us stumbled and fell and swam about two hundred yards down that river, through some nasty water. It was only adrenaline and excitement that dared us to try to wade through some of that water (for the wives ready this, it wasn't that dangerous, I'm just playing it up for effect). At one sweeping bend the stream shallowed and it looked quite safe but the sheer volume of water made it tough to cross, and we needed to cross. Both Bryan and I went down, filling our waders. I desperately tried to keep tention on the fish as I paddled and grasped for the far bank. When I got there I saw Bryan still slipping and sliding towards my prize. Now I was in secure water and the now exhausted fish was ready to be landed. There was a few interesting moments as the fish slipped through hands and fingers, but finally Bryan held my first twenty inch Montana Brown. That fish cost me another cellphone (it was in my pocket) but fortunately the camera was still OK. We went through the usual handshakes and smiles while we tried to catch our breath. It wasn't until we headed back upstream we realized how dangerous some of the water had been. Still, it didn't matter now.
Once back at the top pool Bryan made a great discovery. He tied on a black caddis pupa and almost immediately hooked up with, and landed a nice fish. Then he hooked another and another. That was probably the start of it and once I switched over the two of us were hooking up regularly, so much so that it took fish over that sixteen to seventeen inch mark to warrant even putting in much of an effort. I lost track of the number of fish but a few stand out. The most memorable, for me at least, was when we made it back down to the stretch of river that had nearly drowned us the first time. There was a drift boat anchored up in the pool above and the client had just hit two nice fish. I was watching this guy boat his fish while Bryan attempted to wade across the fast water. When I looked up I Bryan had his head down and had been spun into some deep, fast water. It was serious and I had that horrible feeling that something bad was going to happen and I was in no position to do anything. The guide across the way yelled to see if he was OK and then instantly pulled his anchor. He was going to leave his client on the bank and rescue Bryan. Fortunately Bryan managed to get to his feet before his waders filled with water too badly and got to some slower water. If he'd been a foot or two further out it could have been interesting.
As we sat and let our nerves settle Bryan suggested that perhaps "the big fella upstairs" might owe him a big fish after that ordeal, after all he had just brought him to his knees and humbled him. Within a few moment we noticed a few nice fish finning just out from us, one of them was quite large. Bryan ran a drift or two through and BAMM...fish on. It wasn't the easiest spot to land a fish (and I wasn't going back across to the other side again) but it was too long before Bryan held a nice seventeen inch fish. He earned that fish!
We'd been catching fish for a while and realized we hadn't heard from Ted. We suspected that must mean he was onto fish. On the way up we saw a big rainbow feeding near a run. I drifted a fly out and was soon tied into a fish - I thought the big rainbow. After taking me fifty or sixty yards or so I ended up landing my biggest fish of the trip, a twenty-one incher. It was quite gratifying to release that fish as a driftboat with a couple of clients sailed on past me.
We headed back upstream and Ted was fishing no more than fifty yards from where we walked in. He was onto the mother-lode. There was a whole school of fish feeding at this one convergence out from an undercut bank. It was deep and you could only fish it from one spot. Landing a fish was almost impossible. Nevertheless, Ted was just slamming fish, some of them smaller but many significantly larger than twenty inches but almost none coming to hand. It had taken him over an hour, and fourteen different fly patterns, to figure out those fish but now he was dialed in. After a while he became tired and let us catch a fish or two but we ended up going further upstream to leave Ted to the fish he'd earned. There was great water upstream and although I didn't hook up, Bryan did but it was getting late and we were ALMOST tired of catching fish. We wandered back down to see how Ted was doing.
Day Six: Heading home
After a brief clean up we were soon on the road towards the Bozeman airport. The trip back was uneventful (other than Ted losing a bag at the Minneapolis airport) and was a perfect ending to a trip that will be hard to surpass. However, I suspect the three of us will give it a go soon (perhaps even in Iceland). Stay tuned.
A sight soon to be repeated (I hope)
The St. Croix River at dusk