After all the small stream goodness outlined in prior reports, the Montana Road Trip 2009 took a turn for the worse… or – more accurately – the stormy.

[Name Redacted] and I found ourselves headed for Georgetown Lake – a large, shallow impoundment that’s heavily stocked, and where the fish grow quickly under the impetus of a staggering food chain.

Thunderstorms do have their advantages, but fishing isn't one of them.

Last year, my first cast on Georgetown produced a good sized fish, and a gratifying percentage of the subsequent casts did too.

Fly fishing Georgetown isn’t hard if you’re around at the right time. In truth, it’s a little like a visit to fly fishing’s red light district; the fish are easy, and too much self-congratulation over the result simply looks stupid.

Of course, with that mindset, the Undergrounders can already see into my Georgetown Lake future, which involves only a glimpse of the kind of fly fishing the lake offers.

Karma, it seems, it not the warm, fuzzy construct that some would have us believe.

The First Clue

After cruising the state campground once, [Name Redacted] and I seized a prime camping slot, and because I’m a seasoned outdoorsman, I began setting up my lightweight-but-sizable backpacking tent without even glancing at the directions.

For someone with my utter lack of spatial analysis skills, this, of course, is an act of hubris – a grandstand guaranteed to draw the attention of the gods.

And sure enough, no sooner had the tent gone up (only two do-overs) then “the flash” came. The very bright flash.

A thunderstorm had snuck in over the Pintar Range, and the flash was followed almost instantly by a loud crack of thunder – the kind of thunder that might send a fly fisher back to his just-erected tent for a clean pair of underwear.

Then, of course, it started raining.

No problem. Afternoon thunderstorms roll through here all the time, and we still had plenty of time before the much-anticipated evening caddis bite went off.

Problem was, one storm followed the next, and we finally found ourselves fishing a narrow 1.5 hour window in the evening between storms – the last chasing us right off the lake.

The rainbows would barely have a chance to form before the next storm rolled in.

Big Dries, Big Trout

The fishing – using #8 caddis dry flies – was spectacular… while it lasted.

You’d cast this enormous dry onto the relatively still lake surface (remember, this is between storms), then either twitch it or simply drag it back.

A surprisingly high percentage of the time, a trout would hammer it (in much the same way the Trout Underground hammers slaw dogs).

The take to hookup ratio is fairly low, and it took me a while to finally get a trout to the boat. That my hosts kept apologizing for the slow pace of the fishing only made me wonder more about what it’s supposed to be like.

I mean, we were getting big, splashy takes from good-sized trout, and a lot of them.

And it was slow?

Broken, Not Beaten

The fishing didn’t get any easier when I performed a long-distance hookset, and broke my Orvis Zero Gravity 9′ 6wt fly rod.

In truth, this was what we in the high-tech world called a “user problem,” and yes – I’d been expecting this. More than a year ago, a pair of us were fishing big streamers on this rod on a local river, and the bottom ferrule came a little loose, and neither of us noticed, and the inevitable happened.

After we picked up the pieces, I realized the Zero Gravity’s bottom ferrule hadn’t broken, but you could visible signs of stress on the female ferrule, and I figured this rod’s lifespan was limited.

I gave it another month, but I was off by more than a year.

Convenience Versus Breaking Shit

Ian Rutter warned that 4-piece rods require a lot more attention when you’re fishing big streamers and putting them under a lot of stress, which is why I started using ferrule wax on my travel rods.

I’ve paid special attention to the thinnest ferrule at the tip of the rod, which have simply cast off a pair of other four-piece rods, but clearly, I started using ferrule wax little too late to save this rod, and now it’s back to Orvis, who hopefully have a replacement section.

Simply put, my bad.

The Next Thing

We figured we’d fish the next day, but it rained at night, rained in the morning, and was going to rain (and storm) all day, and while I’ve got nothing against getting wet, I do have some questions about the concept of electrocution, so fly fishing during the long string of electrical storms was out.

We left, ate a warming breakfast at a nearby joint, then headed back to Missoula, and with work and home issues looming – and the forecast for more crummy weather – I headed home.

The long, long (boring, flat, hot, straight, featureless, high desert) road home.

The Wrapup

This Montana Road Trip was tougher than last years; my time on the little streams was just as gratifying, but the weather – cold and stormy – pushed the better fishing out just beyond the scope of my visit.

Still, I fished the Bitterroot twice, returned to the sites of last year’s small-stream nirvana moments, and – despite a long string of electrical storms – hammered trout for a sterling 90 minutes on Georgetown Lake.

My trip home – in the Underground’s new, air-conditioned Subaru sedan – was a breeze, though a meeting with a client put me on the road late.

I got home at 3 AM after 14 hours of driving, and the only real glitch was my brain’s increasingly inability to process the data my eyes were sending it the last hour of the drive.

Sometimes, things just get weird that way.

John Gierach once told me that his readers had essentially turned him from a fly fishing essayist into a fly fishing travel writer, and in a sense, I can see how that happens.

You can write volumes about your home waters – and the Undergrounders read that stuff with interest – but there’s something about applying the same perspective to new places that wakes us all up just a bit.

We are creatures of routine, but even the sniff of adventure is enough to get the grey matter engaged, calculating fuel costs and available vacation time against the risk of divorce and the chance to see something new.

See you on the road (at least once in a while), Tom Chandler.

Technorati Tags: fishing, Fly Fishing, fly fishing caddis, fly fishing montana, fly fishing road trip, georgetown lake, montana, Road Trip

It’s tempting to say you leave a little piece of you behind every time you fish someplace beautiful, but only a mad poet would buy it – unless, of course, you actually did leave something behind.

Lately, we’ve conducted a small stream festival here on the Underground, and on the Montana Road Trip 2009, that wasn’t about to change.

If you're into beauty and wild trout, not a bad place to be...

The tiny meadow stream carefully not mentioned by name here was one we fly fished last year, and the fly fishing was the same small stream festival I remembered from 12 months ago.

The trout were still small – though we eked out a handful in the 11″-12″ range – and the fishing itself was something even a purist could love.

To the uninitiated, it would seem easy; the casts are short, the flies are floating, and the takes a little greedy.

Then again, the fish are spooky, the casting needs to be accurate to the inch, and the drifts surprisingly difficult.

Cutthroat trout go drab in the water, but neon in the sunlight.

And yes, there are more fly eating shrubs, trees and grasses than trout, so the price for a bad cast might be more than a few choice swear words.

Even when retrieving a snagged fly, you step carefully on this stream; it’s home to a rare freshwater mussel (the Western Pearlshell) that can live in excess of 100 years.

And yes, grinding a small colony of 70 year-old mussels into oblivion under your wading boot is not the memory you want to take from a day of fly fishing.

Western Pearlshell Mussels? These could have been here since WWI

It’s more than an “ooops” moment.

The (Uncelebrated) Grand Slam

Oddly – in the middle of cutthroat country – I found myself the owner of a Grand Slam: I caught a brown trout, a couple Brook trout, and many Westslope Cutthroats.

Brookie spots. Proof of a Grand slam - and too many non-natives?

In some instances, that’s cause for celebration – but only you’re not concerned about finding so many non-natives in a tiny alpine meadow creek. If [Name Redacted] and I go back, we’re packing a cooler and taking the Brookies and brown trout home for dinner.

Finding a brown trout this far up a cutthroat stream made our biologist friend sigh.

Catch and release has become something of a religion among fly fishermen, but sometimes the natives need a hand, and while the Brookie is still the Official Char of the Trout Underground, they simply don’t belong everywhere.

Plus they’re good to eat.

The Other Fishermen

Any time you stumble on a rarely fished stream, you assume complete and total ownership of it (at least in your head).

It may flow through public land and a (barely) drivable dirt road may cross it, but it’s yours, damnit.

So when you find a group of campers – including some who might even be fishermen – at the confluence of your tiny creek and the larger creek it feeds, you’re forgiven if your first thought is streak your face with mud, crawl down there through the brush, and go all Rambo on their camp.

It’s possible I accidentally vocalized some of that thinking, and [Name Redacted] gently reminded me I was standing on public land, and that the knee-high grasses on our tiny meadow stream looked undisturbed.

I mean, what fishermen wastes his time on a tiny meadow stream when a bigger version – with presumably bigger fish – runs right nearby?

Fair enough. Given all the trouble and worry that human greed has caused over the last 18 months, it’s refreshing to realize that wanton greed sometimes works in our favor.

Too small to be interesting? Nahhh...

Later – farther up the meadow – we’d stumble across a part of the meadow ripped up by ATV tracks (which also plowed through the stream at one point, which brought out that Rambo thing again), and sometimes you wonder why hopping on an otherwise useful ATV causes some people to immediately lose 30+ IQ points.

Enough said.

The Paragraph Where It Gets Mortal

Regular readers will recall my father’s death more than a year ago, despite the passage of time, a couple vials of his ashes sit perched on the shelf.

In truth, I didn’t know what to do with them.

My father was a big, gentle, quiet guy who took better care of us than he did himself – a guy who didn’t spend a lot of time “recreating” because that’s simply not what responsible, depression-era men did.

I’ve discovered you don’t get over a parent’s death as much as try to make peace with it, and while time and distance grant you a certain serenity, they don’t insulate you from the random thoughts that surprise you along the way.

Sometimes, I just like a picture - for no reason. Ok?

It’s too late to drag dad along on my adventures – some of which he would have enjoyed – but I am perfectly capable of depositing a few of his ashes in a tiny meadow stream, which links to a bigger freestone stream, which runs to a much bigger stream, which flows eventually to the Clarks Fork, which flows eventually to the Columbia River, which ultimately flows into the ocean.

That he might someday occupy the whole of the Columbia Basin watershed puts a smile on my face.

It also makes sense that a small part of my quiet, patient father now occupies a stream populated by freshwater mussels – which may have been quietly doing whatever mussels do since before he was born.

A thought like that grants an almost totemic power to things like small streams and ashes, and you ignore the wonderful symmetry of it at all your own peril.

If there’s a moral here, maybe it’s this: maybe the mad poets among us know something we don’t.

A tiny, grassy, Montana meadow stream - a good place to hang out for a while.

More Montana

The Underground’s Montana Road Trip 2009 took a turn for the stormy after [Name Redacted] and I returned from our small stream odyssey, but that’s fodder for my next post.

See you on the river, Tom Chandler.

Sometimes you love an image, but don't know where to put it. This belongs here.

Technorati Tags: cutthroat trout, Fly Fishing, montana road trip 2009, western pearshell mussel

Posting reports from the road isn’t all that easy, and rather than force one through right now, I’m looming up the Underground’s new Roadwarrior Mobile (a 2002 Grey Subaru Legacy sedan), meeting a client in Missoula area, then firing the rockets for home.

Unfortunately, I won’t make I90 West until 1:00 pm, which means – even if I stayed awake and drove straight through – I wouldn’t reach the loving embrace of the L&T and the Wonderdog until 3:00 am.

I’m not at all sure that’s going to happen – long drives through remote areas can lead to hairy eyeball moments with roadside deer, any one of which can end a trip – so the Undergrounders may not see a post until late Wednesday.

Still, never underestimate the power of the word “home.”

It exerts a powerful draw on all of us, regardless of where the word leads you.

Still to come from the Montana Road Trip?

We’ve got photos and a report from the coolest little meadow stream in the world.

And a handful of photographs from Georgetown Lake – where one thunderstorm after another finally sent us packing – though not before we squeezed in a couple hours of the lake’s famous Monster Caddis Hatch (Monster CADDIS PULL! Be There! Torque Torque! Torque!!!).

With the Underground’s faithful photographic companion (the much-abused Pentax Optio W10) wobbling on unsteady legs, the picture count is a little short, and with a new camera not really in the immediate budget, we’ll see what we can do to get it back in the ring for future adventures.

What are those? Life is about to take on a more hectic pace, but there are still a host of unvisited alpine lakes sprinkled around Underground/Man Cave World Headquarters, plus all the usual suspects.

In any case, the Montana Road Trip 2009 pictures are already taken, the experiences have already been lived, and the duffel already packed.

See you on the long road home, Tom Chandler.

Technorati Tags: Fly Fishing, montana road trip 2009, Road Trip

I’m in a terrible spot; go fly fishing at Georgetown Lake (where big trout lurk), or assemble a post about our visit to a small meadow stream.

Hmmm.

Looks like the Undergrounders will have to be content with a teaser:

It's (Name Redacted) again, this time on an alpine meadow stream

This meadow stream is a tiny thing and you rarely even touch the water (except to release a trout), but in this instance, [Name Redacted] caught a trout right at the base of the flowers.

This particular stream required a little hiking, and I managed to land a Grand Slam there: Brown trout, Brook trout, and a Westslope Cutthroat.

[Name Redacted] also put the steel to a 12″ Brook trout – a big fish in such little water – and we returned with photographic evidence of the existence of a rare freshwater mussel – the Western Pearlshell.

Its range is shrinking fast, and it would be a shame to see it disappear; it’s extemely long-lived (one specimen lived 67 years), and it’s being killed by eutropification – mostly due to cattle grazing and bad agricultural practices.

More pictures and words coming – I just don’t know when. In the battle between blogging and fishing, well…

See you in Montana, Tom Chandler.

Technorati Tags: fishing, Fly Fishing, fly fishing an alpine meadow, montana road trip, westslope cutthroat

With two days of the Bitterroot River behind us, [name redacted] and I switched gears, heading for a pair of small, cutthroat-trout laced waters.

The Undergrounders know of my consuming love for the little trickles, and revisiting a couple favorites from last year’s Montana road trip didn’t involve a lot of arm twisting.

Name Redacted on his way to the stream.

That storm clouds were gathering when we arrived didn’t matter – after two days of bigger water, I hit this little stream like a racehorse breaking from the gate.

Then again, I seem to have a thing with storms, and this trip was no exception; seconds after I caught a 15.5″ cutthroat (a great big fish for a stream this size), a lightning bolt struck a ridge a couple miles away, and [name redacted] and I found ourselves moving rapidly back to the truck.

A distressingly poor picture of my 15.5" cutthroat trout

Not only was the cutthroat the biggest I’d caught, but it was also the most colorful – a stunning mix of reds, oranges, yellows and colors I can’t quite identify.

You know that colors fade quickly underwater, but emotionally, you can’t quite grasp the idea that these trout actually are that wildly colorful.

The neon-painted cutthroats nicely echoed the wildflowers, which – due to a cool, wet spring – were now carpeting vast swatches of meadow.

Take these, add several other colors & species, then multiply by thousands of acres.

In fact, the blooms mimicking the shape of an elephant’s head were almost as intriguing as the cutthroat trout (maybe if they would eat a parachute):

They're mind-numblingly complex, and yes, they really do like like elephant heads.

Then again, sometimes you simply get too wrapped up in the fly fishing to notice:

In a turnabout for the Underground, I'm fly fishing, he's shooting (photo by name redacted)

The Fly Fishing Itself

This is a remote stretch of stream that doesn’t get fished much, but you won’t catch a lot of trout by looming over the water and waving your 8′ long arm around – even if that long arm is a gorgeously impregnated 8′ 5wt Phillipson Peerless bamboo fly rod.

Trout, it turns out, don’t respect a brand name fly rod.

[Name redacted] fished the 8.5′ 4wt Diamondglass he bought only days after fishing mine on last year’s Montana Road Trip, suggesting he’s a fast learner.

Even better, [name redacted] knows this stream (and cutthroats) well, and after the storm passed, we managed hook a sizable number of Westslope cutthroats – mostly on caddis dries.

Name Redacted didn't catch a trout this cast, but the next...

In a foolish attempt to find the real truth about the waterproof nature (or lack thereof) of Underground’s Official Point and Shoot digital camera, we went for an underwater photo:

He's not all that happy, but he did get to go home in a few seconds.

The bad news? The camera really isn’t waterproof any more.

Still, it only fogged up for a little while, but camera problems are starting to appear with distressing frequency. Tomorrow’s “fishing a tiny meadow stream” report suffers from a distressing lack of photographs due to battery issues – but you’ll still want to tune in.

For now, we’re back at home, I’ve got one more day to report (this on a tiny meadow stream some of you will recognize from last year’s report), and we may be headed to Georgetown Lake in pursuit of bigger trout (and fewer aching knees).

I think the Montana Road Trip 2009 is finding its stride, and while I’m sore from all the walking, climbing, wading, driving and sleeping on the ground, I’m willing to do more – willing to make the big sacrifices for my readership.

Wipe the tears of pity from your eyes, Undergrounders. We’re going back in.

See you somewhere in Montana, Tom Chandler.

Technorati Tags: cutthroat trout, Fly Fishing, fly fishing montana, montana road trip, name redacted

We’re heading out the door for more remote places, but didn’t want to leave the Undergrounders empty handed while I cavort with Montana’s fishier elements.

Yesterday’s float on the Bitterroot was remarkable… for how quickly the fishing plummeted from the day before. Still, a float is a float, and those are generally big fun no matter how many trout come over the gunwale.

Plus, we had a volunteer rowing the boat, and while it’s probably rude to say your host’s outdoor-guide, going to law-school daughter is a Massively Hot Babe, it’s maybe permissible to suggest [name redacted] and I fly fished in an environment offering a considerably elevated level of babeitudeness.

We have questions for Montana's under-30 male population. Like, what's wrong with you??

Enough said.

Two days ago, we waded the Bitterroot, worked rising fish, and saw lots of bugs.

Yesterday, the PMDs didn’t happen, and most of the other bugs were in hiding, and we ended up slapping streamers against the Bitterroot’s many wood piles (and a couple long banks held together by long strings of old cars), which delivered a few hustling attacks, but no hookups.

You know there's a big one in there, but he didn't come out to play.

The body count fell somewhere in the neighborhood of a dozen+ smallish trout, and though we expected bigger things, it simply was too beautiful to pretend at disappointment.

Angry clouds surrounded us all day, yet the sun shone and we barely got rained, yet the weather drama was almost unbearably primal (and beautiful).

Today we’re looming up the truck and heading for more remote areas, and you’re unlikely to hear from me for a couple days, though who knows what might happen if we get cell coverage.

Meanwhile, our wading boot test continues, though we have to say that wading Bitterroot was so easy that real testing of the sticky rubber soles isn’t all that possible, though that didn’t stop the Underground’s Crack Testing Staff from trying:

Even with a different boot on each foot, the Bitterroot waded so easy I couldn't tell the difference.

I will say this: on an easy-wading river like the Bitterroot, the new sticky rubber soles worked just fine, and if these are the kinds of rivers you fish, then maybe you don’t need to hassle with studs, felt or other stuff.

Still, we’re coming to realize that the next phase of testing (back in the Underground’s Natural Northern California Habitat) will involve studs or cleats of some kind.

More to come, Undergrounders. Next up? Some of the little streams we live and breathe for.

See you where there are way more cows than people, Tom Chandler.

With only minutes to go before my eyes close for the day, I wanted to update the Undergrounders.

Arrived in Missoula later yesterday, and spent today exploring the Life of the Proper Country Sporting Gentleman (pinkies up, readers).

Went to the range and terrorized clay targets using the Browning Superposed 20 gauge given to me by the coolest stepfather in-law ever (it’s a proper Euro shotgun).

Then we slipped off to a short section of the Bitterroot and fished bloody proper dry flies to a handful of rising fish.

I landed my first three Montana trout of the year.

Much more to come tomorrow – perhaps even a float on the Bitterroot, where a Heinz 57 mix of bugs seem to be coming off all day.

See you amongst all the other royalty, Tom Chandler.

Technorati Tags: bitterrot river, browning superposed, Fly Fishing

I’m packed and heading out on this year’s Montana fly fishing road trip, but I haven’t forgotten the Undergrounders – a pair of reviews are going to pop up this week, and a Special Bonus Publication awaits those who sign up for the eNewsletter before Tuesday night.

See you on the road (all 14 hours of it), Tom Chandler.

Technorati Tags: fly fishing road trip, Road Trip

It is with great regret that I am packing my bags and (Monday) heading for another 7-10 day fly fishing trip to Montana. Really. I’ll miss you guys.

Last year’s trip produced a handful of reports which recorded exceptionally high readership numbers, clearly suggesting my readers secretly wish me dead for rubbing their noses in my little fly fishing adventures.

And I’m down with that; if I inflict a little pain and suffering during the day, I sleep better at night.

A highlight of last year's trip? Only if you like beauty, solitude, and trout.

For those who missed last year’s reports:

The Great Montana Upper Radiator Hose Massacre

The Underground’s Montana Road Trip Continues to Rock Creek

The Montana Road Trip Continues: Georgetown Lake, and Culinary Breakthroughs

The Montana Fly Fishing Road Trip Continues: This Time an Even Smaller Stream

The Montana Fly Fishing Road Trip Continues: Last Casts, and a Gripping Action Sequence

Much has to happen between now and Monday, which means no fly fishing for the Underground before The Big Drive. Last year, the 14 hours went by pretty quickly – despite the fact I was driving a 1987 Toyota pickup relying largely on duct tape for molecular cohesion.

This year we’ve acquired a road car; a 2002 Subaru Legacy with (and we know this is shocking in this day and age) a working air conditioner and stereo.

I’ll be far more comfortable, but I can’t help but feel I’ve robbed this trip of a sizable (and romantic) element of risk. Is this an improvement, or am I simply flying too close to the sun?

Other questions loom.

Will [name redacted] willingly reveal his identity? Will the fishing be great? Will the L&T forgive me after I’ve slopped the between-bread contents of a mega-death-burger (cheese, chili, ketchup & produce) onto the passenger seat?

Stay tuned – these questions and others will be answered.

See you in Montana (starting sometime next week), Tom Chandler.

Technorati Tags: Fly Fishing, fly fishing montana, Road Trip

With any luck – and assuming I find all my gear – I’ll be fly fishing the Big Wood River in an hour or two, and though word has it the fishing’s pretty slow, it’s not as if that comes as a surprise.

It’s pretty out – the light and water both evidencing that hard-edged, crystal clarity they acquire in the winter – and the fishing is slow and methodical.

That’s mostly due to the cold-blooded nature of trout, who are moving very slowly. It’s also a good fit with the angler’s requirements: you’re wearing extra clothes, it’s hard to tie on tiny flies with frozen fingers, and falling in usually means the fishing day is over.

This will be one of the few times this year I walk out the door firmly resolved to use lead on my leader, though when you’re fishing a #20 midge pupae, you don’t need much.

Slow & steady win the race in winter, and if I land a couple of trout on a pretty river (with a few too many houses on it), so much the better.

See you on the Big Wood, Tom Chandler.

fly fishing, fishing, big wood river, idaho, fly fishing idaho, winter fly fishing

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Technorati Tags: big wood river, fishing, Fly Fishing, fly fishing idaho, idaho, winter fly fishing

Come Monday, the house sitter’s showing up, then the L&T, Wally the Wonderdog and I are loomin’ up the truck and heading for Ketchum, Idaho for Thanksgiving.

Given the natural curiosity of the Undergrounders, I already know the question you’re dying to ask: “Will those Big Wood River trout eat a #22 olive midge emerger this time of year, or are you doomed to nymph a #20 red brassie on light tippet?”

The answer is: “I’m not sure.”

Those who’ve been poking around the Underground for a while know I’ve fished Idaho’s Big Wood River several times, but always in January and February – the dead of winter.

The Big Wood River, 2005

While my time there produced some fun photographs, temperatures in the teens meant fishing was difficult, and also meant rising fish were rare.

This week’s trip should find me facing high temperatures in the mid 30s; cold enough to keep the pretenders away from the river, but warm enough that ice won’t be a problem until late afternoon.

Interestingly, the local fishing reports seem to have faded away for the year, the inference being that anyone with brains is skiing Sun Valley’s famous slopes, leaving the trout for next spring.

My last trip was in 2006, and I did surpisingly well fishing a single tiny midge nymph in the slower runs, plowing through several feet of bankside snow when I wanted out.

My last day of fishing found me walking the two miles home in a chillling post-sunset headwind. I was perfectly warm in my waders and wading jacket, but when I walked in the house, the L&T noticed the whole front of my jacket was frosted over, the lower two snaps iced closed.

That’s either a testament to the quality of today’s fly fishing cold weather gear, or an indicator of my general state of obliviousness.

This year, my poor ears should enjoy a bit of long-sought cold-weather relief; a Patagonia Synchilla Duckbill cap. The Underground already loves the combo of a visor (imporant when you’ve got eyeglasses), ear flaps and yes – enough breathability that it won’t cook my brain while hiking.

The Patagonia duckbill hat

More as it happens.

With 14 hours of driving ahead of us, I’ll be dark Monday and part of Tuesday, but back online afterwards.

See you in Idaho, Tom Chandler.

Technorati Tags: big wood river, fishing, Fly Fishing, idaho, winter fly fishing

I’m still knocking Montana dust off my fly fishing gear, and it’s already time to pack it up for a quick visit to Maine.

First, always bring duct tape. Always.

Sometimes a road trip to a famous place acquires a surreal patina; you anticipate it like a kid anticipates Christmas, and while you’re fishing, you’re trying to experience everything fully.

I often found myself measuring my experience against what happens at home, which was good because the life I’d built myself back there was just waiting, pretty much like I left it.

The transition from one to the next requires only a little recalibration, especially when the place you fished is fly fishing’s Disneyland (only with wolves and 100 year-old freshwater mussels), and home is no slouch on the fly fishing front either.

In truth, Missoula’s a town like a lot of other college/ag towns, though when you exit the freeway and your windshield is so smeared with bugs from the evening Clark Fork caddis hatch that you can’t read the street signs, you know at least some of the hype about the place was true.

Below are a few pictures that simply didn’t fit anywhere else.

That’s not to say they’re beautiful or scenic like most of the photographs I’ve already posted, but they’re representative of something. Enjoy.

John Gierach wrote repeatedly about the giant lake caddis. Now I’ve seen it.

No, we didn’t go in; we admired this Butte Anaconda, MT bar from a distance.

We got tired of dropping trout we were trying to photograph, so…

Waiter, Tables for two, streamside please.

This is what a madman’s streamer box looks like.

Sure, I already used this one, but liked it enough to run it again.

This one too. That stream was unforgettable.

I appreciate all your comments on my various Montana Road Trip posts. I’m glad I could share it with you, and hope that – while the summer’s still young – everyone sneaks out and fishes somewhere beautiful.

Which is my cue for one final image:

See you somewhere beautiful, Tom Chandler.

Technorati Tags: fishing, Fly Fishing, fly fishing montana, montana

Ok, so fly fishing the small meadow stream in my last post was stellar: the trout were bigger than expected, the surroundings prettier than anyone could want, and reclining in the warm, tall grass (“resting our casting arms” as I recall) might have become the highlight of the trip.

Could our next fly fishing adventure possibly measure up to this one?

Later, we discovered we’d walked right by a bed of peculiar, high-altitude freshwater mussels that live upwards of 100 years, and that a small pack of wolves had taken up residence in the area.

Frankly, I wish I’d seen both (the wolves from a greater distance than the mussels), but both get filed under the heading of “things I didn’t know about, but wish I had when it would have mattered” (yes, I do regret too).

After we’d walked around the meadow back to our ridgeline camp site (no mosquitoes), we sat and watched the sun go down.

The Underground goes all artsy on you.

Because [name redacted] and I aren’t exactly shy about sharing opinions, we dissected the state of fly fishing, the world, the environment and even fly rods (perhaps the most contentious subject).

The discussion was as lively as the day’s fly fishing.

Then the day ended, we went to sleep, and dawn broke, and on a whim, we headed back to the creek we fished a couple days before, reasoning the waters would have fallen, and – yes – the fishing would be even better (apparently I do greed well too).

We expected a triumphant return to the site of our earlier small stream adventure, and on one count, we were rewarded.

Sadly, that count didn’t include as many big trout.

We did catch plenty of Westslope Cutthroats, but the stream had fallen farther than expected, and while the trout weren’t really along the banks, they weren’t all that aggressive in the seams either.

A rare image of the Underground (courtesy [name redacted])

[Name redacted] suggested it had something to do with the trout repositioning themselves in the falling water, taking a day off to fight it out for the better lies, but I cared little.

The fly fishing was still damned good, and the only event marring the adventure was [name redacted]’s plunge into the river after a rock shifted under him, banging both his knee and his reel.

As he fell, I could tell it was going to hurt a lot, but I’d also just hooked a small trout, which meant I had a difficult decision to make: do I help my friend so he lives another day (live, damnit live!), or do I land the trout?

Given that my heart is pure – so I have the strength of ten men – I managed to do both.

The Gimp Laughs Last

Of course, the lord giveth, and the lord taketh away, and in the “giveth” column, [name redacted] chose to sit on the bank and let his knee recover a bit, and promptly caught 12 trout from one seam (two of which went 12” or so) without so much as moving his ass an inch.

A Nettrout – my favorite.

If you’re like me, you can’t abide showoffs on the river (except when it’s me), so I fished my way upriver. Today’s rod of choice was an 8′ 5wt Diamondglass rod that’s very sweet to cast (though it grows a little less so when it becomes windy).

It was built for me by good friend (Rich Margiotta), a fact which adds considerably to the rod’s already-considerable charms.

I was more than nine days into the Montana Road Trip, and I think my hyper-web-accelerated internal time clock was finally adjusting to the more human pace the outdoors tends to impose on you if given half a chance.

The casts were falling pretty much where I wanted, the fish were eating the dry (not quite as often as I wanted, but that’s almost always the case), and the whole event had acquired a bit of a dreamlike quality.

That’s me. That’s beautiful. (courtesy [name redacted])

It’s in those rare moments of fly fishing grace that you realize that this sport is actually pretty damned cool, and while many define the sport by what’s happening on the waters that see a couple dozen drift boats every day, that might be more a commercial perspective than a sporting one.

I sat on that for a bit, and [name redacted] walked up and asked to borrow the camera.

The Image Maven

I’d taken damn few pictures so far, and was frankly relieved when I didn’t have to worry about stocking the thing with images.

Of course, that’s how we ended up with rare photographs of me in my own fly fishing blog, including a Gripping Series of Photographs So Graphic, That Small Children and the Weak of Heart May Want to Look Away.

Well. Sorta.

[Name redacted] did a nice job of shooting me while I cast at an inside seam (see “That’s Me” photo above), but he showed his Peckinpah-esque cinematic chops when he recorded me hooking and losing the Big Cutthroat Trout of the Day:

A 14″-15″ cutthroat eats, and I set. Hey, this is eas… uh oh…

The skid mark moment when the trout heads downstream and starts kicking my ass.

It’s all knee-deep riffles below; brilliantly, I try to steer the trout into a seam…

Which doesn’t work. He gets off, while I gaze longingly (with an empty net)

OK, maybe it wasn’t exactly Drama In Real Life stuff. Maybe it wasn’t even that exciting from a fishing perspective, but I’ll bet someone could add a soundtrack (Don’t Get Fooled Again by The Who) and give it a little vibration, eh?

Beginning of the End

I’ve got one more wrap-up post planned for the Underground’s Montana Fly Fishing Road Trip, including a few odds-and-ends photos that didn’t fit anywhere else.

Though I’ve written several long posts on the trip, it’s humbling to realize that so much went unsaid and un-photographed.

Then again, we are not video recorders with legs, and if you could experience the fullness of a fly fishing trip on the Internet, then you wouldn’t need all those expensive fly rods or waders.

More to come from Montana. See you on the river, Tom Chandler.

Bonus Graphic: a “Wordle” word cloud graphic of the report.

Technorati Tags: cutthroat trout, fiberglass fly rod, fishing, Fly Fishing, fly fishing for trout, fly fishing montana, fly fishing road trip, fly fishing small streams, montana

When we last left our heroes, we were wallowing in the big, trouty playpen that is Montana.

We’d fished a stream for surprisingly good-sized cutthroat trout, and then headed home to reprovision – and run a little bluelining exercise on [name redacted]’s topo maps.

Thanks to my benefactor’s Mad Map Skillz, the next morning found us staring at a small stream which – and read this part carefully – may not have been fished this year.

If that doesn’t make the hair on your neck stand up, you’re either not a fly fisherman, or you’re dead.

It looks small, but fished big. And don’t even ask.

The tiny meadow stretch was the prototypical killer small stream.

Deeper-than-expected water, undercut banks, and overhanging vegetation meant trout had plenty of places to hide. And food had plenty of places to grow.

The result?

Plenty of Westslope Cutthroat trout – and even a few Official Char of the Trout Underground (brookies):

The trout weren’t picky, but neither were they stupid.

Like most meadow streams, stealth trumped fly selection, and the ability roll an accurate cast off the rod tip was far more important than tippet size.

And sneaking was good too (it almost always is).

My 8′ 5wt Phillipson bamboo fly rod sometimes felt almost perfect for the job – it’s damned accurate, and throws just the leader with grace.

But it sometimes seemed a little strong for 8″ trout.

Then an 11″ cutthroat would grab the fly and run for a root-studded undercut bank, and suddenly, the rod seemed entirely perfect for the gig (today’s lesson in relative perfectionism).

Meanwhile, [name redacted] had once again latched onto my 8.5′ Diamondglass 4wt, and demonstrated its capacity for this kind of work by landing the day’s winning trout in both the “Length” and “Best Use of Color” categories:

14 inches? We’re not sure, but he’s damned pretty.

We hopscotched each other up the meadow, picking out landmarks for starting points, and waiting for the lower angler to catch up.

We enjoyed plenty of trout, perfect weather, and – due to the utter lack of trampled grass, trails, boot prints, trash or other signs of humanity — the odd feeling that this little meadow stream hadn’t been fished this year.

True? False? We can’t say for sure, but the notion’s almost overwhelmingly romantic.

Looks grueling, eh?

After we’d fished the entire length of the meadow – and stripped several dry flies almost down to bare hook – we set up camp on a windy ridge overlooking a bigger stream, where we fished the next day.

I’ll post that report in a couple days. But stay tuned; I’ve got something interesting in the works for the Undergrounders…

See you on the river, Tom Chandler.

Technorati Tags: brook trout, cutthroat trout, fishing, Fly Fishing, fly fishing for trout, fly fishing montana

After three hectic days speed-floating Rock Creek and a couple days catching way more fish than god intended on Georgetown Lake, [name redacted] and I were ready for something a bit more… genteel.

Or pristine. That sounds suitably elitist.

Acting on a tip from a biologist friend, [name redacted] and I headed for a creek reputed to hold Westslope Cutthroats that might – just might – be a little bigger than the water would suggest.

I like tips like that.

They suggest good fish, but are couched in terms that embrace the small stream reality, which is pretty scenery, challenging casting, and (typically) smaller trout.

These blooms looked like little pink elephant heads.

It’s not as if big trout are required, but I’m still human, and all things being even, I’ll fish the stream with the bigger trout (rumored bigger trout), especially if it’s not trashed, overrun with fishermen, or flows through a superfund site.

In this case, [name redacted]’s tip proved accurate.

Within 20 minutes, he’d landed a cutthroat in the 15”-16” range (that’s a good range). By the time we finished, we’d landed several in the 11”-13” range, and popped another approaching the first fish in size.

An average picture of an above-average 12″ trout

Plus lots of little ones. Really, really pretty little ones.

And to do it, we were forced to throw dry flies on a jewel-like, largely unspoiled, uncrowded stream.

(Cry for me, Undergrounders.)

Fly selection wasn’t critical, but fly placement was. Everything from a Golden Stone to a Beetle Bug caught trout, but only if the fly was carefully placed in the slower water near the bank.

The creek was still swollen with runoff, and the trout hadn’t yet filled the mid-stream slots.

Fishing a trout stream from a patch of wildflowers? It was a hard, hard day.

No matter; accurate casting was needed, but frankly – after a couple days on the “heave it for distance” lake, accuracy was fun. Damned fun, especially when you’re holding something sweet in your hand – in this case an 8′ 5wt Phillipson Peerless.

It’s a rod [name redacted] described as being nothing more than “pure fly rod – no bells, whistles, hinges, technology, or stupidity.”

I took that as a compliment, and like most Phillipsons, the rod did its job beautifully.

Meanwhile, [name redacted] – who owns plenty of really nice fly rods – latched onto my 8.5′ 4wt Diamondglass, fishing it the next three stream days (he said it was a great rod, and in a bitter, cynical fashion I told him “of course it’s a great rod – it was discontinued late last year”).

How do we know it’s a Cutthroat?

Spending a day on a small stream – especially a productive small stream – does things for your mental state that lakes and fast-moving drift trips simply can’t.

The weather was warm and sunny and breezy, and I felt like I could lay down in the tall grass and wait for the day to start over and fish it again.

Naturally, I didn’t do exactly that, but I did fish another small stream. That report’s coming soon to an Underground near you.

See you on the river, Tom Chandler

Technorati Tags: bamboo fly rod, cutthroat trout, fishing, Fly Fishing, fly fishing a small stream, fly fishing montana, phillipson fly rod