Your legislature teeming with fools and industry shills.

Meet SB 306 – the Cyanide Leach mining bill.

Montana’s voters have on several occasions voted overwhelmingly to support a ban on cyanide heap leach mining, but apparently, a few greedy mining companies know better, and have (again) resurrected legislation which would ease that ban.

The Button Valley Bugle site offers up some eye-opening background:

In 1998, Montana voters decided to ban one of the most egregious pollution hazards, cyanide heap leach ore extraction. Under this method, cyanide is sprayed over tons of crushed ore and allowed to soak for months to extract gold and other metals from the rock. Sometimes the cyanide escapes the containment. In 2004, the mining industry funded the passage of an initiative to repeal the voter-approved ban. That measure failed so, the industry sued. The suit failed in the Montana Supreme Court and the U.S. Supreme Court elected to not hear the appeal.

That brings us to round three (or four or five…). Huge mining corporations are again pushing another end run around the wishes of Montana voters with SB-306 in the Legislature. The new measure would allow mines to continue to use cyanide heap leach methods at existing mines around the state, but mainly at the Golden Sunlight mine near Whitehall (which just happens to be in the district of bill sponsor Senator Terry Murphy, R-Cardwell).

Mine owners claim that they are losing revenue due to the cyanide ban even though mining employment is up since the ban. They claim that they know better how to control the cyanide now and won’t allow massive pollution mistakes like Zortman-Landusky where a spill of 5 million gallons of cyanide-laced water following the bankruptcy of Pegasus Gold, has polluted water supplies on the Fort Belknap Reservation. Government regulators reported that water leaking from the mine will have to be treated for “thousands of years”.

In a study of how well hardrock mining companies are able to predict the amount of pollution that their mines will produce prior to beginning operations, Earthworks found that,

• 100 percent of mines predicted compliance with water quality standards before operations began (assuming pre-operations water quality was in compliance)
• 76 percent of mines studied in detail exceeded water quality standards due to mining activity
• Mitigation measures predicted to prevent water quality exceedances failed at 64 percent of the mines studied in detail

The Bugle’s story goes on to profile one of the major players behind the mining bill: Newmont Mining.

This “environmentally friendly” mining company paid a substantial fine in 2009 for a sizable cyanide spill in Ghana, and goes on to detail the threats to places like the Upper Rock Creek drainage and the Blackfoot, which is already the victim of several disastrous mining projects.

This bill passed the senate last month (SB 306), and despite better than 3-1 opposition to this stinker in the House Natural Resources committee, it could easily pass.

Montana already enjoys the benefits of nearly 6000 abandoned mines (most of them the owners simply walked away from); why not create a few more?

SB 306 represents yet another attempt by Montana’s current nutjob legislature to undo what Montana’s voters have already happily done, and it’s worth at least a call or two.

[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.

Read all about it at Yellowstone Fly Fishing blog, which predicts an explosion in Montana turnstile construction.

Get the news from the Fly Fishing in Yellowstone blog

It’s a good day when legal public access to Montana’s rivers and streams is protected from those who would fence fly fishermen out.

Yay, Montana. Yay!

Court Opens Mitchell Slough in Landmark Stream Access Case: New West Missoula

With a 54-page ruling, the Supreme Court deemed the waterway a natural stream, which means access to it is protected by Montana’s stream access law, which is among the strongest in the country. The ruling has been coming for more than two years and overturns two lower-court decisions that had defined the stream the way the Bitterroot Conservation District and several high-profile landowners had advocated it be: Just a ditch.

The case, which has been watched closely across the West as a crucial test of stream access law, has been a long-running extravaganza of protests, celebrity, and political maneuvering but more than that, it has been a spur for complex and often heated discussions on water rights, landownership, what’s natural and what’s not and most of all, how to square the values of the Old West with the demands of the New.

I’m on my way to a class, but you can read the whole story here.

Mitchell slough, montana, montana stream access, stream access

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Yesterday another perfect golden fall day. Missoula’s Hipness Ordinance requires us all to own floating craft (skis too, but that’s for another season), and they were all on display yesterday.

A healthy slug of rafts and drift boats rolled up [Highway Number redacted] yesterday morning. Yours truly was apparently the only person in the queue who missed the memo about Montana Fish, Wildlife and Parks electro-shocking my favorite stretch of the [Famous River Name redacted].

Proving that ignorance is bliss, I pulled into a favorite parking spot, overjoyed at the lack of trailers there. Little did I know.

The sunny calm day spelled Tricos. I pulled out the severely underutilized new ULA reel, affixed it to the Winston Boron 5-wt, and tippeted out with some new highly praised (and even higher-priced) 7x.

Stylishly (and ignorantly) I stumped down to my favorite Trico haunt. On they way I walked within 10-feet or so of a Pileated woodpecker, the red-crested natural model for the laughing, animated “Woody.”

I interrupt this report for an observation: Everyone knows what electro-shocking survey boats do to the fishing.

Observation #2: Everyone is wrong.

Fish – big rainbows to be specific – ate Trico spinners in the fly fisherman-less shallows for hours. The only way I would have even known the shocking boat had just defiled my stretch was that a guide, pleasure boating his lady downstream, told me.

He also helpfully mentioned that some big fish were working right where I was. See, those guides are GOOD.

The ULA performed flawlessly: the fish ALL ran into the backing so the large arbor was helpful and you know how smoothly the Streamworks drag operates. The tippet was strong and supple and has me pondering splashing out for some in heftier sizes.

It was one of those “you should have been there” days. But, honestly, I’m happy no one else was.

fly fishing, fishing, montana, trico

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Found via the excellent Fly Fishing in Yellowstone blog, we learned a judge recently affirmed the public’s right to access streams where they intersect public roads.

This court case was brought by much-disliked-by-fly-fishermen landowner James Kennedy (Atlanta resident and heir to a media fortune) after he blocked fishing access by attaching fences to bridges, and asserted that the public right of way narrows to the bridge itself where it intersects a waterway.

Fortunately, he’s not just an ass, he’s an ass with a losing legal argument:

A judge ruled this week that the public has the right to get to rivers from county bridges, but also determined landowners can attach fences to bridges in a split decision on a 4-year-old case out of Madison County.

District Judge Loren Tucker said in a case filed by the nonprofit Public Lands Access Association against Madison County that county road rights of way remain 60 feet wide across rivers. That means the public can use bridges to get to public waters under Montana’s stream access law.

James Kennedy, a Ruby Valley landowner and billionaire heir to a media fortune from Atlanta, Ga., an intervener in the case, and whose fences prompted the lawsuit, had argued that county rights of way narrow down to the actual bridge surface. He contended the land below the bridges was private property and therefore the public was trespassing when it crossed fences built up to a bridge.

Tucker soundly rejected that.

“His implicit argument is that a county road may not be utilized in the vicinity of water,” Tucker said. “That argument is unsupported by authority or by logic.” John Gibson, PLAA president, called the decision a major victory for Montanans.

A report from the Underground’s Special Envoy in Charge of Tiny Flies suggests big trout eating little Tricos in Montana, so cast away, Montana fly fishing public while you’re still legally allowed to.

montana stream access, fly fishing, stream access, montana

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.

With 100+ degree temps forecast for Wednesday, I’m heading home Tuesday to spare myself the extra 5 degrees (14 hours in a truck without air conditioning forces you to think like a trout; too much heat kills).

Lots more Montana fly fishing to come. See you on the (hot, sticky) road, Tom Chandler.

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.