The "Last Best River In the Last Best Place" Is Today Even Better...

thanks to Montana's Future Fisheries program. Since 2006 more than 32 miles of the Big Hole River and tributary streams—including Bryant, Swamp, LaMarche, Rock, Big Lake, South Fork Big Swamp, Fishtrap, Berry and Deep creeks—have been or will be restored or protected by the projects.

Projects have included riparian fencing to protect stream banks, stream-channel restoration, and the restoration of riparian areas by planting native grasses and shrubs. In addition, restoration workers installed fish ladders to allow fish passage and constructed additional pools in the river to improve grayling habitat, fashioned hardened cattle crossings, laid pipelines, installed water-measuring devices, and built solar paneled stock-water wells and stock-watering areas. The new stock-watering areas are designed to encourage grazing away from the stream to protect stream-side vegetation and to improve late-summer flows critical for fish survival.

Most of the work is taking place on lands owned by ranchers participating in the nation's largest federally approved Conservation Candidate Agreement with Assurances program. Approved by FWP and the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Services in 2006, the Big Hole River CCAA includes 32 local landowners with 152,139 acres of private land and 6,030 acres of state land enrolled.

For the rest of the story, work that is ongoing all across the state go to http://fwp.mt.gov/habitat/futureFisheries/

Fly Fishing: Highlights...Part 6

Man, what my trusty ol' Water Skeeter might a done for our luck way back when...

A brief stint in the Adirondacks led to an Associate Degree in Forestry and Land Surveying, more importantly led to a sort of advanced degree in the art of casting flies to pond dwelling brookies; prior the only fly fishing I knew (maybe even thought existed) was in moving water. Now separated from the so-called "blue line" which defined trout pond rich 2-million acre Adirondack Park by the Oswegatchie River. At first I didn't know much about the Park but the river was like an old friend, thanks to Ray Bergman's magnum opus, "Trout," which much to mother's dismay, had by then, for me, replaced the "Holy Bible." 

As luck would have it roomy, Larry, and next door neighbor, Lem, did know and, better still, were willing to share not only necessary tactics but lead the way to all their secret spots.

Some ponds were fishable from the bank. But most were better fished off shore--from a canoe or boat would have been ideal but due to severe time restraints--you know attending classes and mandatory study halls 6 days a week--we were forced to travel light and fast. So we built rafts--crude log affairs nailed and/or roped together--and took turns poling as best we could.

Rules of the game were simple--catch a trout, you were then expected to pole like hell to the bank, next guy's turn. OK, not so pretty but we did catch trout. The downside, if you could call it that, was the ponds all had a legendary past of routinely giving up brookies measured in pounds not inches. By the early 60s acid rain had not yet totally devastated the once great fishery but had begun to take its terrible toll. So while all of us dreamed catching monsters the reality size-wise anyway didn't quite measure up...Oh well, who needs big ol' slimy brookies anyway...  

Interesting But Tough...

One need look no further than the past couple days fishing the Big Hole River. Day 1 dawned cloudy, pretty chilly and as I recall thinking "A welcome change from the recent string of too hot for comfort days." Expecting the chilly start would make for slow fishing I was surprised when Harry hooked up just a few oar strokes below the launch ramp. When Erik hooked and I netted a pretty brown trout a little ways down river I thought, "Surprise, surprise not only are we in for a good day it's ramping up way more quickly than I at first imagined but...

Then it died and I mean really died. From there to the take out many miles and an entire day later the fishing sucked, big time. 

Yesterday, again barely out the gate Jim hooks up. The hot bite continues this time to around noon when we stop for lunch just below Maiden Rock but... After lunch pretty much same deal, maybe not so dramatic this time around but still pretty slow. 

The why in both cases is of course more than I know. Further reassuring the mysterious activity we call "fishing" is in no danger of being re-named "catching" at least not anytime soon.  

Or as Huck Finn might have put it: Interesting but tough.   

Big Brookies in the Big Hole

Over the past few days I enjoyed a couple guide trips on the Big Hole with some of my favorite clients--Doug (above) a Coloradan went both trips while Rocky a Texan and Steve a Californian did one each. Both days we caught a surprising number of fatter than average brookies. The first day Doug and Rocky experienced several hours of non-stop dry fly action--cripples, PMDs, Black Magic, Purple Haze and such. Next day Doug stuck to dries and did okay but the hatch (pmd) never materialized. But Steve went in pitching streamers and stuck with them all day...His reward: hooking more fat brookies in single day than any day I can recall. Both days the fishing was interrupted as a series of ferocious storms swept through in the afternoons. Yesterday the wind roared down river and blew the damn drift boat right up into the grass. Steve recovered quickest, remarking, "Chuck, gotta hand it to you that's certainly a unique way to stop the boat."

Montana Fishing Season Is Now Official

Opening Day in Montana essentially means you can now fish for trout in all those "other" cricks which aren't open year around. Traditionally the "season" opens third Saturday in May (couple days ago) and closes December 1. Lakes and at least large portions of most rivers are, for the most part, open year around. Be sure to check first though since there are numerous exceptions.

Anyway over the course of a typical fishing season I get to see and handle a lot of pretty wild trout. Big wild trout. Little wild trout and every size in between. Few however can top the rainbow Pennsylvania pal, Paul Antolosky fooled last fall. As I recall we guesstimated it an inch or two beyond 20 inches. Regardless the actual size, the best thing is he caught it on a size 24 BWO--psuedocloen for you nitpickers--dry. Doesn't get much better, eh?

Beaverhead Trout: Chunky Colorful Clark Canyon Cuttbow

Clark Canyon continues to give up some really handsome trout and this chunky colorful cuttbow appears to fit the description. Sort of a first for me since I can't ever recall catching a cuttbow in CCR although every now and then one shows up in the upper Beav. A pink-head black jig was the ticket yesterday fooling the cuttbow and several equally colorful and fat rainbows. Briefly I tried stripping a couple midge patterns and the usually reliable Sheep Creek but to no avail. All the trout ate the black jig hung 5 or 6 feet below a bobber. I changed top flies several times just because but the trout weren't interested.

Judging yesterday's crowd at the dam this spring's hot bite is far from secret. But since there are plenty of other mostly empty hotspots scattered about the lake makes you wonder what's so special about the dam area. Bigger trout? I doubt it but who knows maybe the crowd knows something I don't? Regardless I'll continue to seek out the empty spot, take the leavings so to speak. I'll take trout such as this one any day. And if there's not another soul around to show it off, well hell, such is life, eh? 

Blue-winged Olives Relish Lousy Weather, the Lousier the Better.

The blue-winged olive is one of the surest signs of spring I know. True, bwos, as they are sometimes called, hatch more or less throughout the season; especially in March and April and again in the fall.

The best hatches occur on cloudy days, usually from mid-day through late afternoon. The very best seem to occur just when you'd least expect them; dull, damp and dreary certainly but I've experienced some of the blue-wing fishing during the nastiest weather imaginable. Days when my fingers wouldn't work and my toes went numb, during driving snowstorms and all out downpours. Times when it was really difficult to tell a rise form from a snowflake splat and raindrops were the only things dimpling the surface.

My theory for all of this nasty weather business is the nastier, colder it gets the more time it takes for the tiny mayfly's wings to dry, the longer the bugs sit on the runway so to speak the denser the blanket becomes and the more tasty the smorgasbord looks to almost always hungry trout.

Blue-wings come in several sizes, depending on time of the year. The bug above is about a size 18 and landed on my fly pole in mid-April. Last fall on the upper Beav, Paul and I fished a hatch that was at least size 24 and may have been 26s...I tend to start losing faith once the bugs drop much below a size 20, regardless of pedigree. But Paul seems just the opposite, the smaller the bugs the more trout end up in the net. Although that could just be my imagination...OK call it envy...

Blue-winged Olive patterns are so varied and numerous I sometimes wonder what the creator sees that I don't. But one thing sure, the closer my fly is to the real deal and the more I fiddle with my leader to insure getting as close a drag-free drift as possible the better...This is one hatch where I seldom have luck pitching something really off the wall and one of the best hatches I know to reel up with the acrid taste of skunk hanging heavy in the air.

Opening Day Late This Year

We arrived at the Silver Springs Fishing Access on the Ruby River shortly after noon. Despite the relatively balmy(for late February)43 degrees thanks to a north breeze and cloudy skies it seemed a whole chillier--especially so with just a skimpy worn ball cap covering a really bald cranium. Gale, however, was gracious enough to lend me a spare beanie and we deemed the minor crisis ended.

With piles of deer and moose droppings everywhere obviously the willow jungle guards the Ruby is a preferred hangout. Judging the muddy critter tracks the nearly constant sound of geese hronking, ringneck roosters crowing, ducks quacking and owls hooting a lot of other wildlife finds the living conditions to their liking as well.

Wildlife aside we came here to fish, or rather I came to fish, Gale mostly for the fresh air and the chance to shoot a few action fishing photos--key words action fishing photos--plural. Alas didn't quite happen.

I started out with what is normally a deadly go-to winter rig: size 16 orange/pink egg trailing a size 20 midge (Zebra, string,brassie),mostly the midge is no never mind since enough trout to satisfy my by now well-watered expectations usually whack the egg. Not today. So I began cycling: worm/same midge; worm/different midge; more weight/less weight; deeper drop/less deep drop; and so forth.

Three hours or so later still fishless--just one quick tug all afternoon and that on about the second or third drift--I thought to try a bugger a time or two and for better or worse call it good but...No buggers in the two small fly boxes stuffed inside my wader pockets. But there were couple soft hackles, one a size 10 peacock/sage hen hackle and a size 18 red ass...

Starting in at the top of fast run ended in a wide still pool, I swung the pair down and across several times covering the faster water and allowing the flies to hang in the soft water below for several seconds before slowly stripping them back, picking up and recasting. Six or so drifts with the same dismal results I thought one last cast and we're outta here.

Stripping the tandem ever so slowly just as I was about to end it--BAM!--moments later Gale shot the above photo: a handsome though really skinny, really cold (judging the lack of fight) 14-15-inch brown.

Revved why not try a few more swings--right? Alas, first cast, half-way down the flies hung up--too deep to wade naturally I broke them off and called it good to go. Not exactly the sort of opening (I usually get out once or twice in January and come February sometimes several times a week but for reasons escape me not this time around)hoped for, but as Gale put it--sure beats heck out what we've been doin'...I'll drink to that.

Thinkin' Spring

The other day I started my monthly piece for the March issue Big Sky Outdoor News and Adventure tentatively titled "The Hunt for the Mysterious Skwala." To be sure one of the first and a real harbinger of spring, but that's not what I want to talk about today.

What pulling up the skwalas did was got me to thinkin' about spring. Not so much the coming of warmer temperatures--we all know all too well how cruel and stingy Ma Nature can be and too often is about doling out springtime warmth in the weeks and even months following the solstice.

No, what I'm looking forward to are the sights and sounds of spring.

The sounds of running water, returning colorful songbirds trilling it seems behind every bush. The Exalted Ruler's heated crescendo reverberating loud and clear from a nearby river bottom. The spreading rings of slurping trout in a neighborhood spring creek. Ducks squealing and geese hronking anywhere there's open water. The sagebrush sea featuring once again the odd, unmistakeable sounds (to me much the same as the sound of Pap's old John Deere struggling to get going)and the inimitable show a small army strutting sage hen cocks bedecked in their finest trying their damnedest to entice the ladies. And all about the soothing whisper of a spring dawn wind which no matter how cold the air temperature somehow seems to have lost its nasty winter bite.

Spring for us is indeed a busy time.

Of course there's fishing and sage hen viewing, renewing acquaintances with old feathered friends and hopefully meeting a few new ones. All the while trying desperately to capture it all on film. Perhaps this will be the spring to at last discover a new turkey spot--as Gale says do you suppose one a little closer to home (our traditional spot lands us way out east near Ekalaka). Or maybe this will be the spring we elect to take on nothing more adventurous than just floating more ofen our beloved Big Hole.

Well, like I like to say you just never know but one thing sure there's always somethin'...Later.

Flies...

...dries,emergers, nymphs, midges, leeches, buggers, streamers,salmon, steelhead, eggs, flesh, trout, bass, pike,spey, saltwater, carp, shad and I'm not so naieve as to think these are it--but you must admit such a long is certainly a good start. How many styles and patterns are out there? Hell, I couldn't even begin to guess. In the mid-90s Charley Waterman made a stab and guessed at least 20,000 commercial patterns and probably double that number concoctions never made it much past the inventors' door. Right on or way off one thing sure in the 15 years since both numbers would have swollen exponentially as no season I know ever passes without boucoup new patterns hitting the streets. If I were to make a wild guess at updating Charley's commercial guesstimate...well, what?...30,000...40...OK, lets just say one hell of a bunch and get on with it...Really what's the point anyway since no mortal fly flinger can even begin to collect or, more to the point, tote 'em all to the crick anyway.

But that doesn't mean some of us can't try. A PA pal claims his "western trout" boxes hold somewhere in the neighborhood 4000 dozen...Yes, it's true, each summer he brings with "as near as I can figure" 48,000 flies give or take a few dozen of course. While I can't prove it one way or the other, having seen the collection up close and personal can't/won't argue either. And remember we're talkin' here only "western flies." I've never seen his "eastern trout" boxes and then too he also fishes saltwater and occasionally steelhead and salmon so...How many fly patterns in the TOTAL COLLECTION...Again I really can't say and no I ain't gonna ask... some things being...you know...just too personal to pry.

Oh, by the way, for what it's worth the above fly box represents my personal stillwater ( for trout living in lakes, ponds, etc.)fly collection in its entirety...admittedly pretty damn skimpy but what can I say.

Bugger-men KNOW... Do You?

Woolly Bugger

In 1967, seeking to imitate a hellgrammite (dobson fly larva) Pennsylvania fly-tier, Russell Blessing, added a marabou tail to a Woolly Worm; a simple act, but one quickly spawned a cult-following. A cult whose mantra, “when in doubt pitch a bugger,” caught on quickly and soon became gospel to fly flingers around the world. I personally know anglers so far gone their fly boxes contain little else. And make no mistake Buggers do catch fish and not just trout either. Bugger-men routinely catch a wide variety species including bass, pike, carp, steelhead and, well, the list is long and no doubt growing even as we speak.

Like the Adams and the PT nymph the variations are endless—bead-head Bugger, Crystal Bugger, cone-head Bugger, lead-eye Bugger, Electric Bugger and on and on. It seems every season a hot-new must-have model graces the catalogs and fills bins of the local fly-shops. Still, as new buggers come and go the idea any bugger works so long as its black lives on.

The best thing about buggers is you can hardly fish them wrong: dead-drift; down and across swing, wet-fly style; add a jigging motion to the retrieve; pitch it quartering or straight up; strip it fast, moderate or slow. The trick, if you can call it one, is to just keep it wet, since sooner or later any method works. Popular thinking dictates “buggers work best in low light, murky water, etc.” True to a point but since bugger fishing is after all fishing; probably a really bad idea is to bet the entire farm.

Like a Timex the PT Nymph Just Keeps on Tickin'

Pheasant-tail Nymph

Of hundreds of mayfly nymphs it seems the large majority are some shade of brown; little wonder then the PT nymph gets such high marks from both anglers and trout. Unlike the all-American Adams, an Englishman, Frank Sawyer, spawned the PT. In his 1958 book, ‘Nymphs and Trout’ Sawyer revealed its unique construction. Using fine copper wire instead of traditional thread and cock pheasant tail-fibers, he spun the two together and wound them on the hook forming the abdomen and thorax as well as the wing case—no legs. As fly patterns go about as quick and easy as it gets.

Apparently too easy, for in no time flat, American-tiers unveiled a new “improved” version. Same pheasant-tail abdomen and wing case but instead thread-wrapped, featuring wire-ribbing and legs (usually omitted in smaller sizes, say, sub-16), but the biggest change was a thorax concocted of peacock herl. Style aside, like the Adams dry, in no time flat the PT-nymph became standard fare in angler fly boxes anywhere trout swim.

While the Sawyer style is far from dead the American version is by far the most popular. But with flash-backs, half-backs, epoxy-backs, copper-versions, brass and tungsten bead-heads in gold, silver, copper and black—soft hackles and what not it sometimes takes a vivid imagination to impart a PT origin. And with new versions seeming to drop from the vice almost before the head cement dries on the last “latest greatest, recognition isn’t about to get easier anytime soon.

The Only Dry You'll Ever Need

Novelist and sporting writer, Thomas McGuane, described it as “gray and funky and a great salesman.” Gray? Certainly. Funky? Perhaps. But as a salesman—considering its number one ranking among commercial dry fly patterns now stands at an unprecedented 87 years and counting—albeit these days the parachute style is all the rage. But style aside, day in day out, as dry flies go, the Adams has few peers.

Asked to explain its origins, Michigan fly-tier, Len Halladay, wrote: The first Adams I made (1922) was handed to Mr. Adams, who was fishing a small pond in front of my house, to try on the Boardman (River) that evening. When he came back next morning, he wanted to know what I called it. He said it was a “knock-out” and I said we would call it the Adams, since he made the first good catch on it. The rest is, as they say, history.

Most anglers I think would agree the best thing about the Adams in a pinch it mimics a wide range of insects—close enough anyway. A trait that makes it one of the best searching patterns out there. Adams himself is said to have thought it best imitated an ant. Almost magically it becomes a caddis, a midge, a pmd, a baetis and well, just about whatever. In the backcountry it just may be the only dry fly you’ll ever need. Asked to name his three favorite hatches, Art Bivens, veteran Montana guide, replied with a sly grin, “Baetis, golden stone and Adams.”

A River Runs Through It

In our family there was no clear line between religion and fly fishing. We lived at the junction of great trout rivers in Western Montana, and our father was a Presbyterian minister and a fly fisherman who tied his own flies and taught others. He told us about Christ's disciples being fishermen, and we were left to assume, as my brother and I did, that all first-class fishermen on the Sea of Galilee were fly fishermen and that John, the favorite, was a dry-fly fisherman.

Thus begins the book that would become a blockbuster movie that would forever change the sport of fly fishing...Good or bad remains of course open for debate and a discourse I for one have a strong opinion--but since no one will listen anyway and not withstanding anything I say will not change things one iota, I will leave it go and just say that the book is among my all time favorites and if...if you haven't yet, trust me you are as they say missin' it big time. Besides a great story line the book is filled with wonderful passages:

Poets talk about spots of time but it is really the fishermen who experience eternity compressed into a moment. No can tell what a spot of time is until suddenly the whole world is a fish and the fish is gone. I shall remember that son of a bitch forever.

Eventually all things merge into one and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world's great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are words, and some of the words are theirs. I am haunted by waters.

See what I mean.