Sunday, September 11th, 2011
Last week my wife and I drove down to Yellowstone Park to try our hand at catching a few Yellowstone Cutthroats on the Lamar River. We arrived early in the morning and immediately began to fish. I wasn’t too concerned when we didn’t start catching fish right away. The Lamar heads in pretty high country and my experience has taught me to allow the river a few hours of warming up under a bright late summer sun before the action begins. What I was not expecting was one fish between the two of us by noon. I decided we should take a break and head back to the truck for lunch and some reconnoitering.
On our way back we ran into Montana fly fishing icon George Kelly. I asked George how his morning had gone and he reported that his had not been much better than ours. However, his fishing buddy had done quite well fishing a pink flippy floppy. Since I had never heard of a flippy floppy fly I had to ask George what the hell it was. George’s answer was pure George Kelly. The term flippy floppy is one that George uses to describe all of the new age foam patterns that are now in vogue throughout the west. Apparently, in George’s mind, these foam patterns conjure up an image of us fishermen tying on bits and pieces of someone’s old discarded shower clogs. Something that George just can’t make himself do. Generally I have held the same opinion of these new foam patterns so it goes without saying that I had no flippy floppies, especially pink ones, in any of my fly boxes. Since going fishless or close to it was not an option I wanted to entertain after such a long drive when George’s fishing partner finally showed up I very politely inquired as to what pattern he had used with such success. He proudly showed me a handful of foam hopper patterns of which one in particular he said worked the best. When I asked him what he called the thing he somewhat sheepishly replied Trixie the Hooker. In my mind I thought, of course, what else would you call a pink foam fly pattern.
Well, I might be somewhat of a stubborn old traditionalist, but I’m not so stubborn that I can’t be convinced to try something new, especially if it worked as well as this guy claimed it did. Lucky for me I had packed a few PBR’s on ice before I left home so I had something to barter with. The offer of a couple of ice cold beers on a hot September day was all it took to procure a few Trixies for myself and my wife. After lunch we headed back to the river with our new flies and great skepticism. It did not take long for our skepticism to evaporate in the warm afternoon sunshine. We proceeded to take a good number of cutthroats in the 15” to 18” size category and everyone of them on pink Trixie the Hookers. So, the moral of this little story is, never go to the northeast corner of Yellowstone Park without a couple of Hookers.
Sunday, August 28th, 2011
Last week I thought I might write a blog about fishing for brook trout, a fish that is prized by some but despised by many. This is a non-native fish that many blame for the disappearance of Montana’s native cutthroats, especially in headwater streams where brook trout have been extensively planted, both legally and illegally, in years past. I invited my friend Tad Sweet to accompany me on my quest. Tad grew up in New York state where brook trout our native and considered a prize even to this day. I knew Tad would jump at the opportunity to fish for these beautiful and sporty little gems. We loaded up our 7 ½’ 3 weight rods, an ideal choice for 6 to 10 inch brookies, and headed for the upper Boulder River south of Big Timber. We left Bozeman early in the morning so we could stop for breakfast at Pinky’s in Livingston, always a fun stop for a good breakfast or lunch. With our stomachs full we continued on towards our destination via the Swingley Road to Mcleod and then on up past the Natural Falls to the upper Boulder. Once there we hurriedly lined up and headed to the water. I selected a Trude to begin my quest. This is a pattern that has proven to be my go to fly when it comes to brook trout or any other trout for that matter. Tad opted to start with his favorite all around pattern, an Adams Parachute. We hit the water with unbridled enthusiasm. Two hours later, with only one small rainbow to show for our combined efforts, our unbridled enthusiasm had turned to downright despair.
Neither one of us had expected it to be that hard to catch a mess of usually aggressive and mostly unselective brook trout. We were pretty dejected to say the least as we sat and ate our lunch next to this beautiful mountain stream. After lunch I decided to take a walk down to the water’s edge to see if there was anything going on in the way of a hatch. I was hoping that the afternoon sun had warmed the water enough to generate some sort of insect activity. What I saw was absolute delight and totally unexpected. There were a number of mayflies in the air and on the water and the fish were feeding on them aggressively. What I saw was a large olive mayfly which I was able to easily identify as a Green Drake. Which species of Green Drake I’m not quite sure. All I know is that once I tied on a size 12 Green Drake Para-Wulff the catching was on.
Tad and I spent the next couple of hours hooking and landing a good number of beautiful and feisty Boulder River rainbows in the 11 to 14 inch size category, nice fish for a piece of water of this size, and great sport on three weight rods. The long drive home was a joyous one with the exception that we did not accomplish our main objective. Not once during the Green Drake hatch and subsequent feeding frenzy did we catch a single brook trout. Oh well, my expose’ on brook trout will just have to be put on hold for another day.
Saturday, August 13th, 2011
Every year my wife and I like to take a handful of days and fish some of the small lesser known creeks and streams around the area. What we enjoy about the small stream experience is the solitude and the more relaxed less demanding fishing. What small stream fish lack in size they make up for in numbers and beauty.
And, often times, we catch a fish or two in the 14” to 18” size category. A real trophy in a small stream caught on light tackle. Most years at the end of the season we find ourselves talking more about the 16” cutthroat or rainbow that we caught on some small stream than the 20” fish we took on some bigger river. Last week we decided to take one of those small stream days. We packed the gear into the old black pick-up and headed west toward Anaconda and the Mt. Haggin Wildlife Management Area. However, before we got too far out of town we stopped at one of our favorite restaurants, the Garden Café in Manhattan, for breakfast. If you have never had breakfast, or for that matter lunch or dinner, at the Garden Café you are missing out on one of the areas unique dining experiences. The place is pure Montana. The food is great, the portions are big and the price is right.
After a hearty breakfast we were back on the road heading for the 56,151 acre Mt. Haggin Wildlife Management Area and the small streams that traverse the mountains there. After about a two and a half hour drive we arrived at our destination and found exactly what we were hoping for and have come to expect from our small stream fishing experiences. A beautiful small mountain stream, and except for an occasional vehicle passing by between Anaconda and the Big Hole valley, not another fisherman in sight. We rigged up, put on a couple of Royal Coachman Trudes, and headed to the water. The creeks in the Mt. Haggin area are inhabited by brookies, small rainbows, an occasional cutthroat and a rare grayling. It didn’t take long before we were into several small but beautiful brook and rainbow trout. We proceeded to enjoy a very relaxing, no pressure day of fishing. We arrived home later that evening completely refreshed and ready for another week of work.
Sunday, July 31st, 2011
Last week my wife and I found ourselves with the same day off and of course we were going to go fishing. But where to go was the question of the day. The Gallatin River was still a little too high and off color, the Yellowstone was still way too high and off color, the “lower” Madison was starting to see water temperatures in the 70’s by mid-day so that really wasn’t an option and we had been fishing the “upper” Madison a fair number of days the previous couple of weeks and we wanted to do something different. Before the day was over I didn’t know how different it was going to end up. I decided to drive over to the Shields River north of Livingston. I have a friend who owns some property on the “upper” Shields with about a half mile or so of river frontage. He had described the conditions on the river as fishable but when we arrived at the house and looked at the river for ourselves we thought it looked like a smaller version of the Gallatin. Still a little too high and off color for two fishermen hoping to do some dry fly fishing. We got back into the truck and decided to head farther north. I thought we might find better conditions on the Smith River just outside of White Sulphur Springs. When we arrived at the Smith we found the river to be almost bank full and off color. Like the Shields, the Smith was probably in good enough shape for some good nymph fishing but we really had our minds set on doing a little dry fly fishing. I stood on the bank and contemplated our next move. I told my wife I had one more idea up my sleeve so let’s get in the truck and take about a twenty minute drive to another spot not far away. Minori got in the truck reluctantly and gave me that, this better be good, look. I drove over to the Newlan Creek arm of Newlan Reservoir.
When we got there I was surprised to find that nobody was camped at any of the two or three primitive campsites up where the creek enters the reservoir. Minori and I got out of the truck to take a quick survey of the water and what we saw brought smiles to our faces. Fish were rising, no exploding, all over the water. A closer look revealed that the fish were actively feeding on blue damsels. We could hardly contain ourselves as we raced back to the truck to grab our gear and start fishing. Minori was the first to get down to the water and on just her second cast we watched as an 18” rainbow moved ten feet to grab her fly. It took me about half a dozen casts before I was hooked up to a nice 15” cutthroat. Over the next couple of hours we were consistently into 14 to 18 inch healthy cutthroats and rainbows on adult blue damsel imitations. You talk about blind luck. As we drove home I tried my best to convince Minori that I had had everything under control the whole day.
Wednesday, July 20th, 2011
With reports of salmon flies hatching on the upper Madison pouring in daily I decided I better get up there and get in on the action. I have to say I drove to the upper river with guarded optimism. During the 35 years I have lived and fished in Montana I could count the number of days of successful salmon fly fishing I have experienced on the fingers of two hands. I made up my mind long ago, after a number of years of chasing the hatch with only frustration to show for my efforts, not to get too excited about this often times over hyped hatch. Over the years I have learned that there is usually better fishing, especially with dry flies, during the golden stone hatch that follows or is sometimes simultaneously occurring with the bigger salmon flies. I arrived at my predetermined spot on the river and was pleasantly surprised to find no one else there or even in sight. This was totally unexpected given the hysteria that the salmon fly hatch usually creates within the fly fishing community. The second I was near the water I fell prey to the allure of the salmon fly. I saw adult salmon flies drifting on the water, in the grass and willows bordering the river and in the air.
It was too much to resist! I hurriedly tied on a #4 adult salmon fly imitation and started flogging the water. Over the next hour I experienced the same response from the fish that I had grown far too familiar with when fishing big adult salmon fly imitations. I had looks, flashes, rolls, short strikes and sniffs, as my good friend Dom Traverso describes those rises when a big fish comes up from the depths, puts its nose on the fly, seemingly sniffs it, and then returns to the darkness of the river bottom without a take. Why any fish would exhibit this type of behavior is a mystery to me and defies nature. To refuse that fly is a complete waste of energy. Oh well, that’s what makes fly fishing, especially dry fly fishing, where everything unfolds before your eyes, so addictive. Eventually I did hook a nice fish and while netting the fish the mystery of what was going on was suddenly revealed to me.
While I had that fish in the net and was preparing to release it out from its mouth crawled its last meal. Struggling to make their way to freedom and to live another day were several golden stones. I immediately cut off the salmon fly imitation and tied on a size #8 golden stone. For the rest of the afternoon and into the early evening I took a number of respectable trout without the agony and frustration of short strikes and missed opportunities. The fish were looking for the smaller, and as I was able to determine upon closer observation, more numerous, golden stones, which they seemed to feed on without hesitation. As I walked back to my truck at the end of the day I promised myself that the next time I go chasing after the salmon fly hatch I would first thoroughly investigate the bank side vegetation to check for the presence of golden stones before I tie on any fly.
Another mystery that day may have been solved as I was driving out of the area. All day long I could not figure out why there was no one else on the river. As I was driving past a nearby campground something out of the ordinary caught my eye. As I slowed down to take a closer look I could see that there was a bear trap parked in the middle of the campground and that the campground entrance gate was closed. Was it possible that the whole area was closed due to a marauding grizzly bear and I didn’t get the memo or were people just cautious about being in that area and decided to avoid fishing there just to be on the safe side. Either way I had a great day of fishing without another fisherman in sight. A very rare occurrence at any time but especially during the salmon fly hatch.
