While researching Rock Creek for my previous post, I found an artist (working in pastels) who’s painted on Rock Creek – site of last week’s Golden Stone hatch.
This looks vaguely familiar to the meadow stretch:
Another favorite is titled “Fisherman’s Castle”:
You can see more of her work by clicking here.
Once again, the Underground leaves no Google link unclicked in our search to make your Online Fly Fishing Experience a Quality One.
See you at the art gallery, Tom Chandler.
Montana’s Rock Creek is hardly a secret, which is why you’re seeing its name in print (don’t expect similar treatment of upcoming locations).
Rock Creek from the “Hogback” overview. Lots of stones – and trout.
The first stop on the Underground’s Tour of Montana’s Fishy Fleshpots, my fly fishing host [name redacted] and I arrived on Saturday for the last three days in the drift boat season.
Last three days?
On July 1, drift boats are banned from Rock Creek (flows are typically too low to comfortably float anyway), and the river becomes a playground for wading fly fishermen.
Yes Undergrounders, the wildflowers are out. You almost don’t need trout.
While I was just in time for the end of the drift season, I should have been several weeks too late for the stoneflies.
Helpfully, a late winter intervened in my favor, and the salmon flies and Golden Stones were out in force (given all the “you should have been here last week†stories I’ve heard, I’m accepting this as my due).
The stoneflies were late — good news for me.
In simplest terms, we arrived in big bug heaven.
[name redacted] and I broke out our big bug fly boxes, argued that the other guy’s patterns were obvious crap, loaded [name redacted]‘s small Santiam Drifter, and pushed off.
I wasn’t really ready for what followed.
Rock Creek flows like the government spends. It was the fastest float I’ve ever experienced, and there were few places to pull over and take a breather.
And while you wanted to drop the big Golden Stone dries right next to the willows and overhanging branches, breaking off a fly meant missing a hundred yards of good trout water – a heartbreaking thought even now.
God help you if you broke off a chunk of leader.
The result was an ongoing exercise in Risk Assesment; bigger trout would come to tougher casts, but no trout were caught if you were tying on a fly and the bank wizzed by.
While the bite varied over the three days, it was almost always good, often crossing the line into great.
Browns by the dozens jumped our dries (mostly Golden Stones as the Salmon Flies weren’t working as well).
Other patterns worked better, but the Stimulators worked (and floated) well.
In one side channel, we stopped and I caught my first pure strain West Slope Cutthroat, though it turns out the things are hard to hold and we didn’t get a picture.
Most of the fish we caught were Browns, the biggest of which might have pushed 16â€.
A fair number of Cuttbow hybrids also made an appearance in the net, though true Cutts were rare.
Neither [name redacted] or I are exactly fish counters, but I’d guess our best day resulted in several dozen hookups (and a bunch of misses).
[Name redacted] and a rare cast delivered outside the drift boat.
The pace of the float was intimidatingly fast; I took damned few pictures on the water, unwilling to sacrifice a shot at prime holding water (I’m greedy that way).
And nobody was surprised to hear we’d broken a rod setting the hook into a big Brown Trout. Manly stuff, but not unusual given that Rock Creek claims a couple drift boats and rafts every season.
These things were big enough to skewer and eat (we didn’t).
It’s a nice place to fish, but don’t show up thinking you’ll learn to row on the river. You’ll mostly learn to hit things.
The Camping Comedy Twins
We camped at the Stony Creek Campground, were we lived through the Harrowing Blown Radiator Hose Nightmare and also found trip mascot Stony: a roadkilled, dehydrated snake.
When a whole day’s float is at stake, you fix stuff.
It’s frightening to contemplate, but [name redacted] and I share a similar sense of humor, so the off-river time passed quickly.
In short order, we solved the fly fishing industry’s woes, heaped piles of scorn on those responsible for our environmental troubles, speculated as to Martha Stewart’s sexual potential, and yeah – managed to squeeze in a little talk about fly rods and bugs.
Trip Mascot Stony. Say “Hi” to everyone, Stony.
The culinary highlight of the trip (the lowlight comes in a later report) was [name redacted]‘s Dutch Oven Pork Chops, which combined simple ingredients into unbelievably tasty camp food, all cooked in a single pot.
Why it didn’t attract bears and other wild animals amazes me still (when we cooked it at our next stop, fly fishermen poured out of the woodwork looking for a free meal).
Meet your campground — and its friendly inhabitants.
Despite the great fishing, we broke camp and moved onto our next stop; Georgetown Lake.
You’ll hear about those adventures (including a new entry in the Ultimate Hot Dog Wars) when I get them written.
Lots of interesting pictures too (the lake moves considerably slower than Rock Creek).
A side channel; sometimes these fished better than the river.
Until next time, see you in Montana, Tom Chandler.
We’re back at the home of the Trout Underground’s Anonymous Director of Freeloader Montana Fly Fisherman Housing – unexpectedly so.
The fly fishing on Rock Creek has been excellent; the trout were jumping on our Golden Stone dries non-stop.
Yesterday found me holding my first pure-strain Westslope Cutthroat (pretty thing) in the net. Today it was non-stop brown trout, with a few cutt-bows mixed in to foment suspense.
Adding to the Extreme Fishing Situation (imagine a rock soundtrack playing under this report) was the oddly pleasant high-modulus “crack” generated when a high-end graphite rod simply snapped in half when my big, burly, sinewy, extremely manly arms attempted a hookset into a big, big brown trout.
Us writers are slight, but wiry.
Later, we pulled out [name redacted]‘s mini-drifter, but when we arrived at Stony Creek campground, the hissing from under the truck’s hood was audible.
The upper radiator hose had passed from this plane of existence, and if we were going to drift Rock Creek tomorrow (Monday’s the last day you can fish it from a boat), we needed a replacement. Fast.
Fortunately, we had the Subaru shuttle car handy.
Which is where it gets a little weird.
Montana’s not exactly bereft of Ford pickup trucks. In fact, they’re pretty much everywhere, but apparently, nobody feels the need to stock this particular hose.
After three hours of driving, we discovered the only hose in the area was back in Missoula — our starting point Saturday morning.
We made the 2.5 hour drive back, retrieved the Extremely Valuable Radiator Hose, then swung by the [name redacted] homestead for a quick shower (yeah, we needed it), a little beer, and a lot of food.
With two more hours of driving still to come, I sat down and added up the chilling figures; by nightfall, I’ll have spent 26.5 hours in a car seat since Friday morning.
I think I’ve seen as much of the world from behind the windshield as I care to – at least for now.
We’re almost back out the door.
Back… Wednesday? Probably. Should have a few pictures, but Rock Creek’s not exactly a leisurely float; the river is moving fast, there are damned few places to eddy out, and you’re focused on hitting the slack spots on the bank.
All of which leaves little time for photos. But because you are my friends, I’ll endeavor to shoot a few.
See you on the water, Tom Chandler.
The aging Toyota (and the aging person driving it) made the 13.5 hour trip to Missoula in great shape.
Though I’d love to describe the effort in terms that elevate it to the level of crossing the prarie in a Conestoga wagon, the truth is rather simpler; I just drove a lot.
In the west — where things are rather far apart — that’s how you get from Point A to Point B.
I’m at the house of the Underground’s Anonymous Fly Fishing Benefactor in Missoula, and we’re throwing gear in the car for a camping trip on Rock Creek.
The stones are still coming off, the creek’s coming down, and for once, it looks like the Underground’s timing is damn near perfect.
Naturally, expecting big fish on top of the perfect timing represents a kind of hubris that can only lead to trouble, so I’m only going to say it’s beautiful up here, The Benefactor’s fun to hang with, and if we catch a few small fish, well, that’s just icing (looks around furtively).
I’ll likely be out of touch for a couple days. But don’t cry for me, Undergrounders. It’s the kind of out-of-touch fly fishermen live for.
See you in Montana, Tom Chandler.
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