Testament of a Fisherman: Robert Traver

I fish because I love to; because I love the environs where trout are found, which are invariably beautiful and I hate the environs where crowds of people are found, which are invariably ugly; because of all the television commercials, cocktail parties, and assorted social posturing I thus escape; because, in a world where most men seem to spend their lives doing things they hate, my fishing is at once an endless source of delight and an act of small rebellion; because trout do not lie or cheat and cannot be bought or bribed or impressed by power, but respond only to quietude and humility and endless patience; because I suspect that men are going along this way for the last time, and I for one don't want to waste the trip; because only in the woods can I find solitude without loneliness; because bourbon out of an old tin cup always tastes better out there; because maybe one day I will catch a mermaid; and, finally, not because I regard fishing as being so terribly important but because I suspect that so many of the other concerns of men are equally unimportant - and not nearly so much fun...Robert Traver, Trout Magic

For as long as I can recall little cricks such as the one above and the wild trout that live there have provided us countless hours of fun, solitude and, perhaps most important, our way to escape the  madness everyday life in the 21st century demands. Lately though even in the woods it seems finding anything like solitude is fast disappearing. For instance yesterday as we rigged up to fish vehicle after vehicle--trucks, cars, dirt bikes, you name it--sped past (most by the way in a cloud of dust, as if the race was on to see who could get to wherever first), this on a forest road where until a year or so ago we seldom saw anyone, except for maybe a holiday weekend and of course once big game season kicked in.

Today at least we had the crick to ourselves for a couple hours anyway then...As we fished our way back  Gale spotted a riser and began carefully stalking into casting range we heard the unmistakable growl of a diesel pickup slow to stop, backup and...you guessed it... park.

Gale said, "Did that truck just park next to ours?"

"Sounds like it..." 

Whoee baby, with miles of empty crick to fish, these four a_____s apparently thought we needed/wanted company...And well with that I guess better end the rant, don't want to risk a total meltdown ya know...

Fly Fishing: Not All About Catching Fish

About all that remains of what I assume was a homestead, situated in the trees beside a big meadow in the East Pioneer Mountains is this carefully crafted outhouse and wood stove. From what I can tell the house probably was destroyed by fire, although not much is really left to prove it--a few charred logs scattered here and there and what appears to be an old iron gate half buried in a nearby hole--what that is all about is more than I know? Regardless it is little mysteries such as these that for us are part of the lure and charm of fly fishing the Montana backcountry. No we will not likely ever solve such puzzles but it sure is interesting poking around puzzling just what brought these early pioneers to places which must have been back in the day way far off the beaten path. In this case there is no sign of mining, although there was a big mine just a few miles from the site. But since there is no longer any sign of a road in or out why would a miner set up housekeeping so far from the work place when there was housing and a town built right at the mine? Perhaps the answer is a simple as just wanting a little privacy and that need far outweighed the inconvenience of traveling to work--sort of like I suppose those who choose to live in the subburbs and travel to work in the big city feel today? Who knows...

But I do know for Gale and me part of the reason we spend so much time casting flies in the woods, away from the big famous trout streams is discovering the many imponderables the Forest holds--if we manage to fool a couple of trout (we did this day, exactly two as I recall) along the way--well that just puts us in bonus territory.

Montana Backroads: Always An Adventure

In late November 2008 I bought a used truck with about 44,000 miles on the odometer; a few days ago it turned over 75,000 miles. While I can't prove it at least half (and probably more) of those 30-some thousand miles came at the expense of bouncing and rattling down the many backroads literally line Montana end to end...North south east west you want to get in on the sort of action trips our triggers--fish, hunt, shoot wildlife and outdoor scenic pix, hike, camp whatever--amid a cloud of dust and the sound of grinding gravel sooner rather than later a backroad will be in the cards...and don't be at all surprised for in most cases eventually even the gravel ends and the dreaded "gumbo" begins. Trust me when I say trying to latch onto a greased pig can be far easier than steering a rig down one those gumbo tracks--oh, and by the way, not many are so advertised as the one above...