Rambler23
L-i-v-i-n'
In the weeks leading up to my brief Montana vacation, I was sure to
check the water temperatures and flows on the Big Hole River several
times a day like a mad man. I would sit at my desk and daydream,
yearning at the thought of immersing myself in the back country of the
land adequately titled "the treasure state." It was worth every second
of my abrupt 2:30 am wake up call and seemingly endless subway ride to
the airport. I found myself singing the lyrics of renowned mandolin
player and songwriter, Mr. Drew Emmitt... "Get me outta this city,
take me back where I belong." Soon enough, I would be right at home in
the Big Sky country.
I was lucky enough to attend college with a friend who has lived in
Montana his entire life, the son of the owner of the Big Hole Lodge in
the small town of Wise River. My friend Wade, though just 23, has been
fishing the river since he was first capable of hoisting up a fly rod
some 19 years ago and guiding it for almost a decade. Between his
expertise and the hospitality of the first class people at the lodge,
it definitely made for an amazing few days
When I arrived, Wade was out guiding. I spent a lovely afternoon
casting to the tumbling pockets and flat pools of the Wise River. Any
easterner will tell you that you've found a true gem when wild brook
trout like the below are the norm. To have such a gorgeous little
stream with such gorgeous fish running through your back yard is truly
priceless.
I saw Wade for the first time in over a year the next morning. After a
quick greeting and catching up period, we both expressed the mutual
thought..."Let's go catch some fish!" Lucky for me, Wade is a bit of a
mad man himself (in the best possible way of course), and he was eager
to show me the waters he grew up on. That day he successfully
conquered the ambitious task of covering roughly twenty miles of
water.
I could not have asked for better conditions. Whether it be clouds of
tricos in the morning or spruce moths blanketing the canyon, I was
optimistic about the thought of landing some nice fish. Shortly after
getting situated on the raft I found that the trout were eager for a
quick meal, opportunistically rising to my offering. After more missed
hook-sets and snapped tippets than I'd care to admit, I eventually
caught up to the speed of those vivacious, yet delicate Montana wild
trout.
Between tricos in the flats, attractor patterns in the riffles,
hoppers and ants along the banks and spruce moths throughout the
diverse terrain of the canyon, The Big Hole has the characteristics to
entice every type of angler. The canyon particularly was quite
impressive, and I was in awe of the number of fish rising present.
I sat at the front of the boat, ingesting the scenery as if it were
palatable. I took notice of the braids of water slowly trekking
towards the Jefferson one cubic foot per second at a time and thought
to myself of the big fish that were likely residing within its depths.
The plight of my suspicion was often validated upon casting to my
desired location, whether I successfully set the hook or not.
Throughout the trip, I was surprised by these guys…
A Brookie
A Cutbow
Even a rare Big Hole Cutthroat
Of course you had your usual suspects…
And plenty of these familiar faces as well
Among the many large and beautifully colored fish, one thing that
stood out to me was the rainbow trout in the canyon, most of which had
a bright white colored belly that just looked simply gorgeous.
When I decided to take a little break, I’d encourage Wade pick up the
rod. With the grace of somebody who has spent more time on the river
than on land, he just made things look so effortless.
We awoke bright and early on day two and plotted our plan of action.
Wade laid out our options which allowed for an easy decision “We can
go here and catch a lot of small fish, we can go there and maybe catch
some big fish, but nothing certain… OR we can go right back to the Big
Hole and catch a lot of big fish!” We elected for that option.
Given the splendor of the canyon on day one, we started right back
there and picked up right where we left off. The spruce moths were out
and the fish were well aware.
...we didn't take out.
After the canyon the game turned back to attractors and terrestrials,
and these patterns got the job done just the same.
As we pressed on, the inviting allure of the Maiden Rock canyon
consumed us. It wasn’t difficult for one to find solace before the
presence of the gleaming cliffs that ascended overhead. Here, the
characteristics of the river yielded an amicable and seemingly
homogenous blend of cascading riffles and long, quaint pools.
[Union Pacific Rail running through the Maiden Rock Canyon]
As the canyon gradually conceded to a large, serene meadow, the river
contained many of the same qualities. Riffles gave way to even larger
pools, followed by even larger riffles, illuminated by the Montana sun
dancing across the horizon.
We arrived in Melrose and finished up our 22nd hour on the water over
two days. Of course, no day is complete without sitting back and
drinking a nice Moscow Mule, the Montana drink of choice
