Georgetown Lake, Montana. Not a lonely place.

Because we found 27 boats bobbing on a single arm of the lake when we arrived, I’m going to assume Georgetown Lake isn’t exactly a secret either.

Why were we there?

In fairness, [name redacted] warned in advance it wasn’t exactly a pristine fishery.

In fact, he said we’d see a lake carpeted with other fishermen.

But when a fishing buddy says “we could hit the damsels, the callibaetis, and even the giant lake caddis – and maybe catch a 20” brook trout,” you tend to forget the parts about crowds.

Montana features a lot of sky. I’m calling it “Lotta Sky Country.” Catchy, eh?

After all, fly fishermen are largely about potential – reality runs a poor second in our fevered brains – and selective memory is a key part of the package.

Where was I?

Oh yeah. Back to Georgetown Lake, where the Stuart Mill arm opened the day we arrived.

Ignoring the hordes of other fly fishermen, we slid [name redacted]‘s little drift boat in the water, and… started catching trout.

A lot of trout.

My damsel-esque streamer made it exactly 1/3 of the way through my first retrieve before something grabbed it.

That something turned out to be your standard 12” rainbow trout, though fishing slowed dramatically after our fish fish; it took nearly 2/3 of the next cast to hook up with a nice 16” specimen that ran me all around the boat.

A Georgetown Lake rainbow (apparently one of many).

Crowds? What crowds?

I’d love to mold this report in words that highlighted my considerable skill at fly fishing, but in truth, of the 27 boats in the Stuart Mill arm, a good 1/8 of them seemed to be hooked up at any one time.

The fishing was good enough that [name redacted] and I started casting our attentions about in a search for bigger trout, and “stupid easy” was a phrase I later used to describe the fishing to the L&T. (Yeah, we had cell phone coverage, and yeah, I miss the L&T. What of it?)

[Name redacted] and I aren’t exactly body counters, and we can’t tell you how many trout we caught, though we can say one was a brookie, though instead of the fabled 20” brookie, he was a 12” fish who twisted off before we got the net under him.

I do know this (and I’m putting it in writing for the first time): it got a little boring.

A Georgetown Lake Callibaetis, courtesy’ someone’s shirt.

You may have read the short story about the fly fisherman who dies and finds himself on a beautiful stream where he catches big fish on every cast.

Eventually, he discovers he’s not in heaven, but in hell, and while nobody would confuse Georgetown Lake with the fiery pit, there is an element of truth to the idea that good fishing is good, great fishing is great, but too-much, too-easy fishing is neither.

Fortunately, the next day’s fishing was tougher, and the days after were tougher still.

We managed to catch plenty of trout – including a 17” Brookie and a fair number of similarly sized rainbows – doing all the usual lake things (speed-stripping a streamer seemed to always work, and the grabs were good, clean, vicious fun).

A 17″ brook trout — the Official Char of the Trout Underground.

Spicing the trip were the daily electrical storms, which lit up the Pintar Range like no fireworks display ever could, and a side trip down a culinary back alley where trip leader [name redacted] almost met his maker.

The prior day we’d rolled into nearby Anaconda for lunch, and made the mistake of ordering the “special” at a restaurant that I won’t name for fear of reprisals.

It sounded good on paper, though in truth, we’d have been better off if we’d eaten the paper instead of the sandwich.

That was bad, but it lead to what can only be described as a Huge Culinary Advance in the State of the Hot Dog.

The Slaw Dog’s Younger, More Dangerous Brother

My reader’s know of the Underground’s affection for the slaw dog – that heart-stopping collection of dog, bun, mustard, onions, chili and cole slaw.

Lacking almost all those ingredients – but craving the rich, tasty goodness of a slaw dog – [name redacted] and I hit upon a substitute.

In retrospect, it wasn’t the best decision we ever made, especially as [name redacted] foundered on a man-sized helping of our new creation, hovering for several hours in the twilight zone between life and death. Eventually, his gastronomical shock troops gained the upper hand and order was restored, but even a near visit from the Grim Reaper leaves its mark on you.

What could cause so much suffering? What simple lunch could push a human being to the brink, there to stare into the never-ending abyss?

Undergrounders, we introduce the Bacon-Wrapped Hot Dog:

The Bacon Wrapped Hot Dog – like nuclear weapons – should never have been developed.

It’s a harmless, friendly appearing snack, but like those fruity-smelling South American plants that lure you in, then bite your fingers off (I read about them in the checkout line), the Bacon-Wrapped Hot Dog looks gentle, but bites hard.

You’ve been warned.

The Fishing Stuff

This being a fly fishing blog and all, I suppose a quick (yet detailed) rundown of – you know – fly fishing gear is in order.

First, we caught trout at Georgetown on:

• Many different Damsel nymphs
• Many different Callibaetis nymphs
• Many different streamers
• A couple different dry flies
• Many different other assorted flies

Now that we’ve established the technical nature of the fishing, all that’s left is to comment on the gear, which included:

• Clear Camo sinking lines
• Floating lines
• Lines that were supposed to do either, but didn’t

The Underground’s rod preference ran to the Raine 8.5′ Hollowbuilt Quad prototype, though what turned out to be the real star of the show – the 9′ 6wt Orvis Zero Gravity fly rod I reviewed a long time ago.

Everyone who cast the Zero G loved its feel, responsiveness and ability to cover serious quantities of water (without assuming the identity of a broomstick), but derided the too-small grip (“I’ll buy it when they make it an adult model” quipped one).

In an age where you find people trying to fling streamers into the wind with 3wts, the oft-forgotten 6wt fly rod deserves a little overdue fly rod love (and some day, I may write that essay).

My word processor tells me I’ve gone beyond 1000 words, and anyway, [name redacted]‘s standing by the door, rod tubes in hand,

I haven’t yet written up our side-trip to a small tributary stream, where we caught three Westslope Cutthroat trout in the 14”-16” class (astonishing size for the small river), but I will.

You’ll hear more as soon as I get back, which is looking like late Tuesday.

See you somewhere in Montana, Tom Chandler.

Instead, calm and serene sounded pretty damned good — and the Upper Sac and its tributaries were moving some serious water — so in a classic example of finding what I thought I was looking for, ended up on Lake Siskiyou.

Steven Bertrand provided the transportation (boat), and we basically didn’t catch fish when we visited the "usual" uplake spots, though I have to say I still looked pretty good doing it.

 
Siskiyou is calm place (OK, not so much on weekends).

Later, we motored to our best smallie/bluegill water, where apparently fish and frustration waited for us in equal doses.

On one brushy stretch, I did manage four grabs on a popper in a matter of minutes, though in ample testament to my laid-back state and the lack of any predatory edge, I only boated one smallie.

Shameless tupperware plug: the 9′ 6wt Zero Gravity is a nice streamer rod.

Soon, the open-water rises started, and we spent a couple hours chasing trout eating… well, we’re still not sure what they were eating.

The surface film was littered with flying ants, and we pounded up a few grabs from very spooky trout on ant patterns, but we didn’t get bit far more often than we did, creating a suspicion that we didn’t quite get it right.

Midges? Mayfly nymphs? Who knows.

This is what we were chasing later; rise rings, usually coming in groups of 3-4. 

Ultimately, we both missed a handful of takes on ant patterns, and the trout were typically spooky.

They’d create two to three barrel-sized boils before disappearing again, so catching them involved leading them — difficult when you’re never entirely sure which direction they were headed.

I finally hooked and fought a nice trout for several minutes (he just took off every time he saw the boat), and then — like so many unexplained moments in life — the hook just came out.

 
And, as the sun sets slowly in the West…

The Gear Guy

I fished poppers and dry flies using Chris Raine’s 8.5′ 5/6wt hollowbuilt quad prototype, and while it throws a popper nicely with a DT6 line, Next time I’ll try it with a DT 5.

When fishing the wide-open expanses of a lake, I can quickly find myself casting 70 feet while thinking I’m throwing 45 feet, leading me to wonder what the hell happened to my backcast.

I also fished a Corltand Clear Camo sinking line on a 9′ 6wt Orvis Zero Gravity, and while people who fish streamers a lot suggest throwing the fastest tapered rod you can get your hands on, I’m happier throwing a mid-flex rod.

That could mean I’ve stumbled on an essential truth overlooked by the rest of fly fishing, but it’s more likely I’m a little hardheaded about my gear.

So be it.

The Weather

Damn, it’s hot up here. With many of the local rivers absolutely blown out by snow melting (fast) in near 100-degree temperatures, I’ll likely be back on Siskiyou sometime this week, this time trying a little harder to crack the code.

Naturally, you’ll be among the first to hear about it.

See you on the lake, Tom Chandler.