"What are you looking at? Think emerging's easy, what with all the fish trying to eat you? Go away."

Wayne’s a guide, so part of his spring drill is to look for fishable water, which at this time of the year is a crap shoot.

I’m not going to spill the beans on the fishable water we found (do that after a scouting trip and you’ll never go fishing with a guide again), but I will say the Upper Sacramento and Upper McCloud rivers weren’t great options, and that we visited a couple other places that also didn’t look promising.

Most rivers were running high (Upper Sac’s yo-yoing between 3000 and 7000 cfs), so when we ended up on what amounted to a freestone-style spring creek – one where salmonflies were just starting to make an appearance – you could say we savored the experience just a little.

Hey look - some dolt left a fly rod on a bridge.

The fly fishing was steady, though catching only stocked trout was a teensy bit less than inspiring.

I under five minutes, I “limited out” on rubber trout from a single medium-sized bucket (hint: you can’t quite see it in the picture above). Later, we hiked up the stream a bit hoping that between the salmonflies, olives, and what appeared to be Pink Alberts coming off, we’d find rising fish (we didn’t).

And yes, there were rumors of Brook trout in this stretch, and the Underground’s poor, overworked heart would have soared if I’d manage to land one, but alas – like Romeo & Juliet – it was never meant to be.

Some of the stocked trout were still damned pretty (despite not having fins)

I briefly considered altering a rainbow trout photograph into a Brookie photograph using image software – a Pyrrhic Photoshop victory at best – but realized the beauty of things left undone is the excuse they provide to go back and fish a creek, stream or river.

We catch trout  and let them go, so there’s really no sane reason we have to fly fish anywhere (though I’m clearly willing to invent one).

We saw what looked like two different-sized bugs

The good news is the stoneflies are starting to get active, though the trout weren’t on them in any concerted way. All my fish came on the small nymph I cleverly dropped off the back of my dry fly, though Wayne was later able to scare up a few grabs on the big dry.

The Gear Stuff

Wayne & I continued the Underground’s extensive Rubber-Soled Wading Boot Testing Program, switching boots midday to see how they compared on the same stream.

Frankly, on the uneven volcanic rock, both boots performed admirably, and in fact, this might be one of those applications where rubber outperforms felt.

I left the Simms boots with Wayne, who will be giving them further testing over the next couple days, once again illustrating the lengths to which we’re willing to go make your life better.

I fished a Diamondglass 8.5′ 4wt fiberglass fly rod that was frankly perfect for light nymphing, though I had an 8′ 5wt Raine Upper Sac Special bamboo fly rod in the truck in case we got on the stonefly bite in a big way.

Wayne fished another Underground Fave rod – an old Sage 389LL that probably should end up in the Smithsonian in the “Things Are Perfect As-Is And Should Have Been Left Alone But Weren’t” exhibit.

I also wore my Patagonia Insulator soft shell jacket, and found it (once again) perfect for the job on a drizzly, upper 40-degree day. And yes, I will try to get that final review written soon.

The River Stuff

The rivers aren’t looking all that grand right now; water levels are fluctuating rapidly (links to local river flow gauges can be found here), and yes, it’s raining as I write this. Our finally green lawn loves it, but it appears fly fishermen have different needs. Who’d have guessed?

See you on the river, Tom Chandler

Once more, with feeling.

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 16”.

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.