The problem? Few trout. Why? We can guess, but…

But First, This Commercial Announcement

Wanted to thank the folks at Headhunters in Craig for the help with the Underground’s shiny new (RIO Outbound) streamer line. If you haven’t been there, it’s a funky little shop that features helpful people inside and an old surfboard outside.

The local Headhunters are helpful...

I fish streamers more than most, but had never progressed beyond flinging them with standard fly lines.

[Name redacted] – a self-admitted leader and line geek – suggested I was (in relatively kind terms) an idiot, and that something more specialized was called for.

The Headhunter folks knew just the line needed to make me current (the new Rio Outbound has earned raves from lots of folks), and though this is clearly a budget trip (see meal info below), one is now wrapped around my old Galvan “classic” reel, waiting for today’s trip to…

But First, Food

Even fly fishermen have gotta eat, but instead of staple “health” foods like Fig Newtons or Spaghetti-Os, [name redacted] steered us towards…

The Pork Chop Sandwich.

The Pork Chop Sandwich (better eat just one)

I envisioned a real pork chop on a bun, but in what amounted to a concession to the rising cost of Real Meat, this particular pork chop sandwich was composed of some kind of Compressed Pork Meat Product.

In keeping with the Underground’s mission (to Seek Out Local Foods Which Don’t Contain Even a Hint Of Wheatgrass Juice), we found these bad boys at Pork Chop John’s in Butte, though later we were assured that real pork chop sandwiches were available somewhere else in the Butte area.

Helpful Hint From Those Who Know: Do not – under any circumstances – attempt to consume two Pork Chop Sandwiches even though the first one goes down very easy.

You’ve been warned.

Finally, Fly Fishing

This particular of stretch of stream suffered from heavy metals poisoning (runoff from Butte’s extensive mining operations), and people weren’t fishing it much in recent years.

We stopped by for a visit, and I immediately fell in love with the place, though – if you weren’t a competent caster – it wouldn’t make your Top 10 list.

Snags? What snags?

That’s because it’s basically a stick factory; the banks are lined with willows, and almost every inch of desirable bank is festooned with leader-eating sticks, branches and deadfall.

Great cover for brown trout, but not exactly an intelligent first stop for newbie fly fishers.

I fished my trusty old 8′ Phillipson 5wt impregnated rod, which might have been designed expressly for this kind of water.

Plus, I’ve been fishing little stuff all year long (for the record, I didn’t consider this a little stream – more a medium-sized stream), so the cast came back pretty quickly.

Sadly, the fishing reflected the stream’s difficulties; we had a few encouraging grabs on hoppers and an October Caddis right away, but the action quickly fell off to a pretty slow pace, though the brown trout we did catch were a bit bigger than you’d expect.

Didn't quite get this one, but he was big (for a little stream)

[name redacted] quickly lost one that could have run upwards of 16″, and I moved one to a hopper (twice) that was an easy 14″-15″, but the bite was slow.

We fished way, way too much “perfect” trout water that should have delivered a bite, but didn’t.

It was a little eerie, and you’re left to wonder if you didn’t dial it in, or if – as the locals suggested – the populations simply weren’t there.

Still, some fish were caught (I landed four; [name redacted] landed a half dozen or so):

Caught him, let him go, and he sat right behind my right boot...

You’d be a fool to write off a pretty little trout stream because of a few rumors and one sorta slow outing, especially since fewer brown trout often means bigger brown trout (which looked to be true in this case).

And there are also these rumors of 20″+ brown trout caught earlier in the year, which you ignore at your own peril.

In any case, it was pure, hands-on-knees, tangled-in-willows, once-in-a-lifetime-cast-after-once-in-a-lifetime-cast… fun.

Clearly, I’m not past this small stream thing.

Today’s Fishing Adventure

Today we’re heading for a pond rumored to hold double-digit (pounds, not inches) trout – one of those flat, open places that doesn’t look like much – and turns messy when the wind comes up (as is forecast) – but offers a shot at some seriously big fish.

Tomorrow? Perhaps Georgetown Lake, which is clearly not a secret in the fly fishing world, but does offer hope of a Big Brook Trout (The Official Big Char of The Trout Underground).

See you on the pond, Tom Chandler.

I’m packing for The Underground’s Monstrously Epic Montana Road Trip, which is expressly designed to be – as one wag said in an email after reading one too many “extreme fly fishing” articles – The Most Fucking Epic Fly Fishing Trip Since The Cretaceous Period.

That’s me.

Prehistoric and epic, and proud of it (you’ll see that in my music selections below).

From the 2009 Montana Fly Fishing Road Trip; More Pics Planned for 2010

Meanwhile, I’m on that pre-vacation treadmill – the one where you work yourself into an exhausted, hallucinatory fugue state trying to wrap up all the loose ends, thereby ensuring you won’t remember the first half of your vacation.

I guess it’s the second half we live for.

The Road Trip

The Subaru is prepped and ready for the trip, shod with a shiny black set of Continentals.

Unfortunately, packing is not going well, and even without the use of my advanced psychic powers, I can safely predict I’ll spend Thursday night basically shoveling random gear into the Subaru (some of you are nodding).

That means I’ll arrive in Missoula (approximately 14.5 hazy hours after leaving Mt. Shasta) with almost no knowledge about what I actually brought, and little ability to find any of it.

Instead, I’ll open the trunk, and – already woozy and roadburned – see little but a heaving, tangled mass of gear, some of which may not have seen light for a decade or more.

Fortunately, [Name Redacted] owns at least two of everything (yes, everything), and because he’s even more of a geezer than I am, a lot of it’s the killer older stuff that makes my naughty bits feel all tingly.

It’s the kind of thing you can get away with when you’re fishing with a gear-collecting buddy, but if you packed that way for a trip to the South Pole, they’d never find the body.

The Great Music Quiz

Through most of my life, I’ve driven beater cars – mechanically sound but lacking unneeded luxuries like air conditioning, working stereos or paint. I have a strong a preference for cars you can drive over 17 miles of potholed road without worrying about the glossy finish, and for the most part, the concept has served me well.

I made the trip to Montana three years ago in a battered, base-model 1987 Toyota pickup, and everything went perfectly (if you ignored 100+ heat).

Last year – with Little M’s arrival imminent – we bought Older Bro’s 2002 Subaru sedan, which came equipped with bourgeois items like low-profile tires, a tuned suspension, a/c and a stereo.

A great, big, finely tuned stereo that revealed every last delicate sliver of sound, and at (if necessary) great volume.

I could hear every whisper. Or bleed out my ears.

My choice.

Which creates a new problem.

What the hell do I play?

Road Tunes!

A five CD changer hides in the back and the player up front takes loose CDs, so my choices are essentially limitless, but the last thing I want to do is juggle CDs while driving through wildlife territory at 70 mph.

That means five key CDs and let’s say three changeable discs, and all have to hold up over a 14-hour drive (which means good enough for two plays each).

And yes, I know I could carry a bazillion songs on an MP3 player, but we don’t have a jack for the thing in the car.

So we’re back to these archaic CD things. Which could look something like…

Top Five In-Changer CDS

1. Dave Matthews/Under the Table & Dreaming
Obvious, but great, surprising stuff.

2. Paul Simon/Graceland
Music by a genius, lyrics by god…

3. Steely Dan/Aja
(Intentionally left blank)

4. Ricki Lee Jones/Flying Cowboys
Surprised? The lady at her [probably clean] peak, and so beautifully produced by Walter Becker that I am tearing up in an unmanly way just thinking about it.

5.U2/All That You Can’t Leave Behind
Sure, my tastes run to quieter stuff with what I’ll grandly term “sophisticated” production values, but every once in a while I need something to keep me awake (and help me exceed the speed limit). This is that CD.

Loose CDs

Heart/Dreamboat Annie
Brain cells are bursting everywhere, but this is seriously good stuff (one or two aside). Haven’t listened since the 70s? Shame on you…

Dire Straits/Love Over Gold
Never got over this CD, and see no reason to start now.

The Who/Quadrophenia
Sure, it’s a two-CD set, but it’s my blog, dammit.

Alternates (could be subbed in at any time)

• Counting Crows/Films About Ghosts
• The Best of Pete Townsend
• Bruce Springsteen/Born to Run
• REM/Document
• Piles of other stuff…

Special Bonus Points For…

The Ultimate Geezer Mix CD. This could get messy, but yes, I’m building one as we speak. Probably not time to build another.

In truth, narrowing the avalanche of good music down to a tiny pile is a pointless exercise – most of the Undergrounders can name a band or album that I will immediately shuffle into the Top 5, leaving me with something more like a Top 50.

Naturally, the Undergrounders are encouraged to play along, and we promise not to snicker.

See you on the road, Tom Chandler.

It’s designed to carry a fishermen’s gear into the backcountry in what amounts to an organized fashion, though the real test will revolve around my inability to comprehend an organized pack (some things are just unnatural).

Expect much hilarity to ensue.

Also, I feel compelled to point out that the rest of the fly fishing industry has apparently failed to recognize the serious Golden PR Bonanza Potential of my trip, illustrating a startling lack of gullibility savvy.

(Must I point out that gear shipped to [Name Redacted's] place in Missoula via overnight express can still be tested?)

What’s finally becomes clear is this: I can’t singlehandedly save fly fishing (despite trying), especially if fly fishing’s foremost gear manufacturers simply won’t save themselves.

See you in the gear whore aisle, Tom Chandler.

[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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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