Catches and Misses

"Gotcha!" I yelled to nobody.  As far as I knew, there wasn't another human within a quarter mile or so.  This can only mean one thing:  I've started talking to trout.  This particular one was connected to the other end of my fishing line.  I missed him (or her) a couple of times before I finally set the hook with decent timing.  The fish ran back at me after I pulled it away from the willow where I'm sure it wanted to hide.  My line went slack because I wasn't fast enough, so I was sure it had self-released when the tension was lost in the line.  In short order, the eight-inch brook trout was in hand and released.  Father's Day was shaping up nicely.  Much better, in fact, than the previous two days, where I'd only managed one little brown each day.  Those were short sessions with several brief hookups, but only one tally mark each day.  No worries.  We anglers can always formulate rationalization and tales of the ones that got away.  I don't mind them getting close and then escaping.  I prefer to identify the species, but I'm in it for the supplemental dopamine.

Trout Trek Part V - The Undiscovered Canyon

April 17, 2016 -  Fishing Day 2

Sunday Adventure begins here

It was an act of negligence on my part to wait this long.  I should have taken notes at the end of the day, or early the next day.  Alas, many of the details of this day have faded.  Many key events are still vivid in my memory, but a good amount of the moment-by-moment images have been washed downstream.  I need to be quicker to record trip details, probably rely on technology a bit more.

I remember waking myself up early.  I had a mission before the day could begin:  get down to Headhunters Fly Shop and retrieve the Epic 686 unidirectional fiberglass rod that John Arnold had set  aside for me.  They opened at 7 and I was in the door at 7:12.  The rod was waiting and the staff helped me take care of the paperwork.  In hindsight, it was rude/unprofessional of me not to buy SOMETHING while I was in there.  I feel badly about that.  No, I feel stupid.  Apologies to John and Mark.

I was back at the lodge before Mrs. Fading Angler was out of bed.  Breakfast was excellent and served with Lindsay's usual flair and TLC.  As food settled, the tone got serious between Joe and his anxious clients, all two of us.  What ARE we going to do today?  The weather was expected to be nearly identical:  full sun, some breezes, slightly warmer.  We could run the same stretch from Craig to the Dearborn River ramp and expect about the same as yesterday.  I'd had my fun there, and was actually looking forward to something new and a little more challenging.  The decision was made to float the "lower canyon."  Joe said it would be a lot of trial an error, relearning how fish were feeding because of the flow, temperature, and weather changes.  There was hope for some rising fish in some of the shaded sections later on.  Finally, he was confident that we'd have a good time tucking into some deep eddies.  I was anxious to see some new water, as yet undiscovered by me.

Trout Trek Part II - Slow Mo'-tion

April 16, 2016 - Fishing Day 1

The River giveth, and The River taketh away
(click photos to enlarge)

There was nothing hurried about this day, in sharp contrast to the same weekend one year prior.  My 2015 solo fishing trip to the Missouri River (aka 'The Might Mo' or just 'The Mo') felt frantic.  Even the fish were in a hurry.  Not so this trip.  It was kinda zen.  There was even a moment of perfection for me that I doubt will ever be matched.

If you read Part I then you know we arrived late on the 15th.  Before retiring, Mrs. Fading Angler negotiated a late start time, reasoning that the cold, snowy day and overnight freeze had pushed the fish into hibernation.  The truth is that she didn't want to sit in a drift boat in the cold.  And I cannot blame her at all.  We all laughed, retired, and slept late.  Breakfast was spot-on: thick, perfectly cooked french toast and fresh strawberries. I opted for the Montana huckleberry syrup.  (More about the Lodge and Lindsay's gourmet cooking in a future chapter.)   Then it was time for a plan.  If there's one thing I know in life, it's that Joe Bloomquist knows this river, and deserves the nickname "Mo' Joe."  He asked what section we wanted to fish, saying that everything from Holter Dam to the lower canyon had been fishing well earlier in the week.  I was feeling nostalgic and opted to float from Craig to the Dearborn Ramp (see map if interested.)  Joe agreed.  His plan: hit the hotspots and look for rising fish in between.  After the prior year's bug hatches, I was really looking forward to some spectacular dry fly opportunities.  Paraphrasing German military strategist Helmuth von Moltke: No plan survives contact with the enemy.

Trout Trek Part I - The Corps of Rediscovery

Lewis and Clark lead the Corps of Discovery up the Missouri River in 1804.  In June, they found their way to The Great Falls of the Missouri, located in present day Montana, where they were forced into one of the most challenging tasks of their entire voyage: portaging (modern translation: DRAGGING) their equipment and supplies on an 18 mile land-trek around the various falls and rapids in this stretch of the River¹.  Their efforts and success are well documented, though modern historians are still debating their exact methods of bypassing Holter Dam, further up river.  Clark's maps and Lewis' journals are remarkably short of details on that particular obstacle.

Today, nearly anyone can find their way to Great Falls, Montana, thanks almost entirely to the maps left behind by these hearty pioneers.  We can easily chart a course via land or river to arrive at this small city in northern Montana.  However, the feat appears to still be somewhat elusive for technology-dependent airlines.

The original marker left by Clark in 1804.
The Corps was also relieved to discover
the nearby state-maintained outhouses.²

In January of 2016, the Corps of Rediscovery was commissioned by executive order of Mrs. Fading Angler.  She has explored remote and primitive parts of the Bob Marshal Wilderness with local guides on elk hunts in years past. She successfully negotiated a treaty for safe passage and provisions in April from one of the guides.  The local guide could be found near a Montana encampment called "Craig," located upriver from Great Falls.  Again, the original Corps archives are sketchy on the details of how this place was given its name.  But at least one source claims that it was named after a bearded dude wearing a bandana and Maui Jim sunglasses, who sold Clark some trico and hopper patterns that were "guaranteed to slay, with a sweet drift on a 4 weight."²

Trip Report: Piney Creek

Prelude

Saturday, September 19.  This was a challenging day of fishing.  Since I’ve already pontificated extensively on how Parkinson’s Disease, inflicted insight, and a little humility shaped this day of fishing, those aspects will be omitted.  This one’s about the fishing.  Also, this was Day 2 of the trip.  I've written elsewhere about Day 1.

Hay meadow adjacent to Piney Creek

But First, A Little Philosophy…

If you don’t care to read about or ponder the moral or ethical aspects of stream access, feel free to skip ahead to the next section.  Where I grew up in Wyoming, land ownership and access are sacred to most (except for oil, gas, and minerals companies.)  You just don’t walk onto someone else’s land, period.   There is no stream or river access without landowner permission.  If a waterway is big enough to float, the spirit of the law goes something like this:  The State owns the water, but the land on both sides and under the waterway are private property.  Ergo: you can float on the water because it is public property, but you cannot anchor, and you cannot wade without permission, perhaps unless your name is Thomas or Jesus.  Sorry, John, you may be the favorite among the “fishers of men,” but you’ll have to stay in the boat unless you want a citation from the Sheriff.  So I grew up fishing public waters.

When I moved to Montana in 1998, I discovered something both wonderful and disturbing:  Montana’s Stream Access Law.  From the Montana Fish, Wildlife & Parks website:

“Under the Montana Stream Access Law, the public may use rivers and streams for recreational purposes up to the ordinary high-water mark.”

So, in spirit, if you can legally access part of a waterway, you can wade it, float it, and anchor in it for its entire length.  Very cool for anglers.  Not so cool for folks whose private property is now not-so-private.  While living in Montana, I enjoyed the former and pretty much ignored the latter.  But let it be said that I believe those who fail to treat other people’s land with the utmost respect, even though they have legal access rights, should face painful consequences.  “May he catch three doses of clap.”  They ruin it for the rest of us.

Trip Report: It Wasn't That Cold Outside

As usual, I didn't respond well to the alarm on Saturday morning.  Ambition was still fast asleep at 5 AM, and didn't stir until 6 AM.  I puttered about the RV gathering my angling things, piling them near the door.  After brewing a tumbler of coffee for the road, I dumped my gear from the RV and hit the road at 7:20 AM.  Arrival at Trout Run Creek was sharply at 8 AM, a full hour behind schedule.  Looks like some of the 13 Habits of Unaccomplished Anglers are shining through.

Outside temperature when I limped into the kitchen area was 31 F.  Add a little sunshine at Trout Run Creek: 37 F.  I pulled on waders and a tech vest over my long sleeve PFG (gasp!) shirt, and decided that was sufficient in the absence of wind.  I never felt chilly the rest of the morning.

I've only fished Trout Run once before, and that was with the assistance of a guide. I had a basic prospecting strategy, hoping for some kind of hatch to develop.  No hatch.  The strategy was mildly successful.  I missed several solid strikes while fishing wet flies under an indicator, but had no takers under caddis, blue wing olive, or stimulator dry flies.  So, for me, the secret to feeling really good about fishing is simple: low expectations.  Missed strikes are still strikes, meaning that I had offered something attractive to the fish.  If I'd had more time, I have little doubt things would have improved.

I "caught" one fish, but it didn't count.  The little nine-inch brown trout fought hard.  In fact, I thought it was a much bigger fish from the feel of things, something in the 12"-14" range.  As I pulled it in, it appeared that I had foul-hooked the fish just behind the dorsal fin.  Fish in hand, I grabbed my hemostat to carefully pull the hook out of its meaty little back, but found the hook had not even punctured the skin.  The hook had looped over the line, and I'd managed to lasso the fish when I "set the hook."  Feels too much like dumb luck.  Noon arrived and I high-tailed it back to my family.  Beer, brats, and s'mores around the campfire concluded the day.

This was a bittersweet trip.  I got some angling time with some mild success, but it was also the final camping weekend for the year.  I'm hopeful that I still have more angling time before New Year's Eve, but not confident.  So, I have a feeling I'll write something soon, in a reflective perspective on my adventures and accomplishments for 2015.  But it's not over yet.  And I have a writer's To-Do list:

• Finish part 2 of my trip report for the mid-September 2014 trip to Montana and Wyoming. (DONE!)
• Conclude the "Opportunity Knocks Twice" series. 
• Sage 5-Weight Rod "Shootout" - My family now owns 4 different Sage 5-weight rods (plus a second Sage Grace for my daughter and my wife.)  I've yet to take the time to try them all side by side.  When I do, I hope somebody finds some use in it.  If not, that's okay.  It's something I need to do anyway.

Trip Report: Casting Lessons on the Big Horn River

I spent my junior high and high school years less than three hours from Fort Smith, Montana, yet never fished the Big Horn River.  Heck, I’d never fished the Tongue River up on top of the northern end of the Big Horn Mountains until a few summers ago.  Since then, I’ve felt drawn back to the lands of my youth to explore some of these waters, now that I chase trout instead of girls.

A playground for chasing trout.  Trout won't kick your shins.

I contacted Gary Thompson at the Fly Shop of the Big Horns in Sheridan, WY.  He put me in touch with Rock Creek Anglers for their professional guide services.  After discussing my goals for the trip, Gary’s suggestion was to spend my Friday on a float trip down the Big Horn River from Fort Smith.  With any luck, there’d be a decent trico hatch and plenty of opportunities for tossing dry flies.  His suggestion for Saturday was to wade Piney Creek downstream of Lake DeSmet between Sheridan and Buffalo in Wyoming.  This would be “private water,” since it’s located on private property.  Unlike Montana, Wyoming does not have stream access laws that allow angler access to moving water on private property without landowner permission.

I hastily packed my gear Thursday afternoon following a full day of work.  Actually, the word I should be using instead of “hastily” is “recklessly.”  You’ll understand shortly.  My wife shuttled me the 90 minutes (each way) to the MSP airport.  I soon settled in for a pre-flight double bourbon and relaxed for the trip into Billings, Montana.  I arrived 17 seconds too late to grab a steak at the restaurant I targeted near my Billings hotel.  The young lady literally locked the door in my face as I reached for the handle.  Montana hospitality ain’t what it used to be…

I spent a free night at a budget hotel near I-90, courtesy of some hotel points I’d earned in my travels for work.  After a 5 hour nap, I started tossing the day’s gear from the hardsided suitcase into a duffel bag.  Boots, dry bag, buff, folded waders in a stuff sack…  wait.  What the %@# was that?  When I tossed the waders across the bed, something lavender-colored fell out of the stuff sack.  Hmm.  That looks like the pair of my daughter’s socks that my wife borrowed when she tried on and purchased her waders.  (Insert long, painful pause here.)

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooooooooooooooooo…………  !

More Than Words

Sending out thanks to:

• Headhunters Fly Shop in Craig, MT for letting us park the 5th-wheel RV for a few nights, and for letting me try the new Sage Mod!
• Isaak's for the food and beverages
• Matt Mortensen, our fishing guide with Missouri River Lodge and X-Stream Fly Fishing, Wolf Creek, MT.  Matt, you are absolutely crazy.  And we love you for it! (This was our second trip with Matt as a guide.  There will be more!)

The rest of this story can be told with photos.  Mostly.

Pretty Sure I Was Dreaming

Sunrise on the Missouri River

Craig, Montana.  7 AM.

20 inch rainbow trout hooked and landed right here.  Look Ma, no net!

Happiness achieved.

Chasing the Sun

A first-class view from five miles high

Without exaggeration, I’ve spent thousands of hours on commercial aircraft in the past 18 years.  When I know I’ll be flying at dawn or dusk, I make every effort to select a window seat.  Seeing the entire visible spectrum flow from horizon to zenith as the sun warms the east is an emotional wellspring.  The view from 30,000 feet is one of deep indigo, neon pink, and soothing orange.  I’ve always considered it a privilege to have this eastern spectacle unfold on an AM southbound flight segment.

This previous Thursday, I went west.  I found the evening sun suspended many degrees above the horizon as we gradually pushed above the cloud layer, with the eye-catching yellows and oranges fighting for their ephemeral moment.  I connected my phone to the plane’s WiFi network and sent my status into the Twittersphere:

    Currently chasing the sun…