I was the bad son. My brothers and wife had been to visit my Mom's new place in Bozeman Montana but I had not been there yet. Why hadn't I gone? I flyfish and a trip to the mecca of flyfishing surely seemed like a trip I would die for. I had had a busy year and with the guilt trip I was getting from my wife and Mom I finally made my plans to head to big sky country. I "dragged" one of my flyfishing buddies from the bay area to fish with me in Montana. The flight in was uneventful and a lot shorter than I thought. I barely had time to drink a beer on each leg before we started our descent into Bozeman. From my window seat I could see a beautiful valley, multiple rivers and mountains that seemed to reach to the sky. I met my Mom at the baggage claim and my buddy Paul. It was a great welcome as I had not seen my Mom in a while and my buddy Paul in almost a year. I was shaking with anticipation of fishing. My mom informed me of some bad news. The weather which had been in the 70-80's was going to take a change for the worse with rain and possible snow showers while I was there. We headed to their new house and got settled in. We were staying in their "carriage house" which was a barn like structure with a 3 car garage below and a 2 bedroom apartment upstairs. This was the caretakers structure that they were living in while their dream house was being built. We checked out their house which was about 50% done. It was absolutely amazing. Incredibly large with some of the most amazing views of Bridger canyon. The house was not gaudily large in anyway but was designed to blend into the mountain and will be amazing when it is finished. But I digress from my primary reason for being in Montana, ok, the secondary reason according to my mom, the fishing. Since we arrived at noon we figured we could get out for the afternoon hatch and get some fishing in before the weather broke. We stopped by the local fly shop bought our licenses, some of the "hot" flies and got some information on where to fish. Our plan of attack was to fish the Gallatin river just outside of Bozeman. We drove up the Gallatin valley to an area where a little creek called Spanish Creek entered. This is where Ted Turners property (of CNN fame) borders the Gallatin. It was absolutely beautiful country.
Castle Rock:
We hit the river with incredible excitement. I couldn't believe I was in Montana fishing one of the legendary rivers I had heard and dreamed about.
Upstream on the Gallatin:
Downstream:
The weather was brisk and there was a pretty steady breeze. There was almost no signs of a hatch and we started by nymphing the different riffles and holes. Our joy soon turned to dismay as we had trouble getting anything to go. After fishing it hard for a couple of hours with only a few small fish to hand we called it a night as it was getting dark and I had some catching up to do with my Mom. We spent an enjoyable evening listening to my Mom's stories of Montana as well as planning our next day. Later in the evening we heard the first ominous sounds of what would make the next day a tough day. The pitter patter of rain fell slowly at first punctuated by the bellow of thunder at irregular intervals. This soon turned to a steady drum of rain on the roof of the house. We checked the weather and the high was called to be around 55 which was a far cry from the previous week. Our main plan in Montana was to fish dry flies and hoppers as this was normally the time of year for it and we were looking forward to getting some big fish on the surface. With the weather change we knew it was going to be a lot of nymphing and cold weather. We fell asleep that night with trout dancing in our dreams.
6:30AM came around too soon and I could barely sit up as an aero bed does just not agree with my back. A quick shower, cup of coffee and we had the truck loaded and ready to head out. Our plan was to head further up the Gallatin and look for different spots to fish. We drove up the canyon and made it as far as Big Sky. The scenery was breathtaking even in the rain.
The Gallatin in Big Sky:
The river was very shallow in this area and looked like it would have been a better place to fish hoppers and dry flies on a warm day so we headed back down the canyon to some incredible water we had seen. We headed to an area we would later call the 50 hole first. This section of the river was a deep pool with water as clear as gin. We started fishing the hole with Paul at the top of the hole and myself at the bottom. The rain had subsided a bit but the wind was up so casting was somewhat difficult and dangerous as I hooked myself a couple of times while casting. There were small fish splashing on the surface at what looked like a blue dunn hatch. We could see much larger fish deeper in the pool rolling on bugs on the bottom so we opted to dredge the pool with bead heads and prince nymphs. It was an amazing sight to see 12-18 inch fish mere feet in front of me. Drift after drift produced nothing as we could see our flies drift right on through the feeding fish. I threw every nymph I had in my fly box at these fish but could not get them interested. Paul and I switched places in the hole and I opted to fish a bwo dry fly for the smaller fish that were rising. I had some success on the smaller trout, 6-10 inches, but the hatch stopped abruptly and we tired of casting at fish that we could not get to eat our flies.
Me fishing the 50 hole:
We headed to the next area we had seen, a place that we would call the 60 hole. This area was a long deep stretch that had some nice boulders in it and a deep ledge. We could see smaller trout finning along figured we would have some good fishing. We hit the pool and had limited success on smaller fish. The rain had started up again and our slight drizzle soon turned into a downpour. Both Paul and I looked at each other hoping the other would cry uncle and so we could get out of the rain and the cold. Neither of us would budge so we worked the area hard but did not catch anything worth taking a picture of. 5PM hit and the weather was only getting worse so we tucked our tails between our legs and headed back to the truck. As I was about to cross the highway an extremely humorous event happened. I had stepped over the guard rail and unbeknownst to me my net had caught on one of the supports. I started my run across the road only to be stopped in my tracks by the lanyard on my net. I was mid lane when the lanyard stopped me and Paul thought I was going to be stopped dead by my entangled net and lanyard and then hit by a semi that was coming up the road. Luckily the lanyard broke and I was able to get out of the way and not become roadkill. We laughed about it, took our gear off and headed down the road. We came across a most unusual sight that beckoned us to stop.
This picture was from a later day but this is the sign that stopped us in our tracks:
After sampling the local talent, quite a few shots and beers we headed back to my Moms. The talent at this establishment was top notch and we befriended the lovely ladies. Our plan after this night was to turn this into a stop for us after fishing the Gallatin.
We woke the next morning to weather in the 40's and one hell of a hangover. It was decided that we would spend some quality time with my Mom and see Bozeman. It was a great little mountain town with flyshops on every corner. We stopped at almost every flyshop and saw the other sights. We had a great lunch with a famous concert pianist that had taught my brother german in high school. He was currently touring the US and was playing with the Bozeman symphony that weekend. His name was John Nakamatsu and he had won the prestigious Van Cliburn award for being one of the worlds best concert pianists. After lunch Paul and I headed down to the East Gallatin to do a little scouting. The river was small and off color because of the rain but looked like it would be a great place to fish if the conditions had been different. We made our plans that night to fish the mighty Madison.
Once again we woke early and headed out to fish the Madison. The madison valley is one of the most amazing places I have ever been. The mountains framing the plains and the vistas we saw on our drive were breathtaking. When looking at it is was plain why they called this area big sky country.
The river was big water and we were a little intimidated by it at first. We waded out to an area that looked good and started to throw crayfish imitations that the fly shop had recommended. My third cast and on the drift my line comes to a grinding halt. I set the hook and can feel some strong headshakes. I yelled out and started to fight the fish. I then had the feeling that makes one sick to their stomach. My line when slack and I could tell the fish was no longer dancing on the end of my line. I knew then I had probably lost the fish of the trip. I summoned what pride I had left and started casting again. We worked the river across from one bank to the other which was no easy feat as it was big fast water, though it was never more than waist deep it was tough wading. A couple more small browns and rainbows came to hand but once again none was worth taking pictures of. My buddy Paul had a misstep at one point and took a spill in the river, he banged his knee pretty well and had a really tough time regaining his footing in the river. The only casualties of his fall was hurt pride and his digital camera. Luckily we were able to pull the images off his memory card and I had mine to finish taking pictures with.
The mighty Madison:
We moved to a couple different spots and worked our way down river. We caught numerous small browns with the occasional rainbow thrown in. We also met some colorful characters on the river from the friendly guides to one local who only had a few teeth left but was one of the nicest strangers I have ever met. We fished some of the grassbeds as the day wore on. The wind had picked up and we were both undergunned fishing a 4 wt and a 5 wt. The casting was difficult but luckily the fish were within our range. I was starting to lose my faith in my fishing ability as I had hooked and lost more fish than I had landed. We were working our way back down the grass bed to the truck when my fly was swirled on by a flash of gold and red spots. I did a quick strip set on the large brown and my heart started to race. I had my chance again to catch a big brown. I fought the fish into the slower water and could just see it when it shook its head, started to run and broke free. Our ways parted and I fell again into the abyss of failure. I knew with the conditions the way they were and our waning daylight that I had lost my chance again for a big fish on the Madison. We made it back to the truck and decided to head back up to the 60 hole in hopes the wind was quiet there and that we might get lucky for an evening hatch. We made quick time to the section and were dismayed with what we saw. The river had turned from gin clear to a milky white from the runoff. We figured we would make do with the conditions and work the area hard. We could see fish rising but they wanted nothing to do with the flies I had. Perfect drift after perfect drift with numerous dries only turned to refusals from the trout. Paul on the other hand worked nymphs and was rewarded with a nice 12 inch rainbow.
Parting shot down the Gallatin river valley:
We called it a day and headed back to Buffalo Junction to toast to an awesome day of fishing with some spirits and women.......
The next day was to be a quality day spent sightseeing Yellowstone with my Mom and her husband. I had never been to Yellowstone and it is hands down the most beautiful place on earth I have ever been. I felt like I was in Jurassic park with the steam rising from the thermal features, the vast open ranges, incredible geological formations and the amazing wildlife. Paul and I had hoped to sneak our fly rods into the car and fish the Yellowstone but my Mom would have none of it. We now have a reason to go back to fish the famous Yellowstone river for its famous cutthroats.
We entered through the north gate and proceeded first to Mammoth Springs. We had picked the right time to come to the park as crowds were extremely light and it was a beautiful day. As I exited the car I was greeted by the sound of a bull elk bugling. It is a sound that epitomizes the wild and will send chills down the spine of all but the most wild of men. Mammoth Springs was an amazing area and it was a spectacle to behold.
We worked our way around the park slowly staring at the herds of bison and the vistas that took your breath away.
We came upon a lone sentry of Yellowstone that finally made way of the road so we could continue our journey.
The entire drive we were taunted by images of the Yellowstone river and Paul and I could only look on with awe at how beautiful and amazing the river looked.
Tower Falls was our next destination. It was an amazing view from Artists point as thousands of gallons of water cascaded over the falls. We hiked Uncle Tom's trail to the base of the falls for a better view.
Myself, my Mom and my buddy Paul:
We went to various areas and saw places called the Dragon hole, mud pots and places with other strange names that seemed so fitting for a place so strange and magnificent.
We went from mud pots and the stench of sulfur to beautiful aquamarine pools of steaming water. We saw a unique formation made by a hot water well that came up next to the lake. It was so hot that back in the past people would catch fish and drop them into the "pot" and it would cook your fish. The water was about 165F.
Yellowstone Lake in the background:
Fishpot:
What trip to Yellowstone could be called complete without a trip to see the legendary Old Faithful. We checked the time and true to its word Old Faithful came alive as hundreds of tourists along with myself were held in awe by the magnificent sight of water and steam being forced high into the air.
We ended our trip through Yellowstone stopping by the Paint Pots area and saw some smaller but no less impressive geysers and wideopen landscapes....
I slept soundly that night with visions of the wonders I had seen painting my dreams.
We awoke the next morning early knowing that this was our last chance to fish before having to fly out in the early evening. We decided to explore and headed out to the Gallatin Forks area, where the Gallatin and East Gallatin converge. We were finally blessed with good weather and light wind. We arrived to the river and quickly started working the pools and riffles. The water was looking good and there was a hatch of what looked like blue dunns again that was swarming the river though there were no rises to be seen. After some short bites we started to move up river. We found this amazingly deep hole and drifted it with nymphs scouring the bottom for our quarry. A few small fish were brought to hand and let to swim free. I was then rudely awakened on a drift as what had to have been at least 18 inches of silver fury came leaping out of the water as my fly line came tight. He pulled line from me as he ran straight downstream and into a tangle of logs and debris. It was heartwrenching when I could feel him tangled up and try as I might there was no way I was going to get him out. Once again the fish of Montana had gotten the best of me. I worked upstream while Paul went back downstream. A wise decision for me, and a poor one for Paul. I found an area where the trout could be seen finning on the bottom and lazily sipping insects from the surface. I worked some nymphs at first but could not get any fish to bite. I then started fishing dry flies. I couldn't believe it was about to happen, the conditions were perfect and I was going to finally be able to throw dry flies in Montana. I was giddy as this is what I had come here to do. No more dredging rivers with nymphs California style. This was to be true purist dry fly fishing at its finest. After throwing almost every dry in my box and thinking that I may be outsmarted again as the fish refused every offering I threw at them. I retied as I was looking at the clock, this was the 11th hour as we had to head back and then to the airport. It was 2 outs bottom of the ninth, fourth down with 2 seconds left at the goal line. Could I pull through? My first cast sent the creation of feathers, metal and thread towards the seam. The fly landed lightly and then it was rudely interrupted from its drift by a small yet spunky rainbow. I gently let him go the cast again. Strip strike and fish on again! This one was a little bit bigger. This proceeded for another 15 minutes as I caught more 8-10 inch rainbows. I once again blew my chance for a picture with a good fish when I lost a nice 12-14 inch fish at the net. On my last cast I caught a little spunky 8-10 inch brown. Since it was my first dry flown brown in Montana I had to take a picture of it.
I looked at my watch calculated our time and knew we were on an extremely tight schedule if we were to make our plane. I found Paul and he had not had any luck. He was not ready to leave and I heard, one more cast, just one more cast repeatedly. Finally he reeled in his fly line muttering about how the river had gotten the better of him.
Last cast:
One more last cast:
We made it back to my Moms, finished packing and said our farewells and talked of our plans on coming back. We barely made the flight but we soon were winging our way across the skies. I said farewell to my friend Paul in Salt Lake airport as our paths diverged, one to San Jose and one back to LA.
The trip was one of the most memorable of my life. The fishing was ok but it was the memories of all that I had seen that made it an amazing adventure.
I will be going back soon as there are some big fish that owe me a picture.....................
My Mom's new house will be open as a bed and breakfast next summer if all goes well. If you are interested in staying there please feel free to contact me and I can put you in touch with her.
Marcus