Fly Fishing: Winter

I began fly fishing in winter a long time ago. So long ago I forget just when and have no clue why, other than I liked to fish, it was legal and it pretty much beat the alternatives such as staring down a hole in the ice, watching Lombardi's Packers kick the snot out yet another NFL patsy and of course grouse season was over so...Why not?

Trout streams back then were only crowded in April and early May or until the stock trucks quit running so I can't use that as an excuse but if I were just starting out today, solitude would indeed rank high. Granted tossing flies in a snowstorm is more popluar today and some spots draw a crowd of sorts anytime, especially when the sun shines but still, here in Montana I can't recall ever seeing the kind of mayhem summer routinely features.

I don't fish as much in any season as I once did--too old, too lazy, too whatever--but weather seldom plays a role in my decisions one way or the other. Though I do often look out the window find the wind howling, hurricane force and decide to run the dog instead so wind being weather I guess you could say I do wimp out now and then.

In the old days I think the relative handful of participants probably did it more to impress than anything but I don't remember ever actually putting it that way. Some of my adventures certainly raised a few eyebrows. Such as the Christmas morning I awoke to a couple feet of new snow, temps way below zero--if I told you how low you would not believe me anyway so--and the limestone spring creek out front (which only froze a couple times in the 20 odd years we lived there) frozen solid except for slim rent about 2-feet wide by maybe 15-yards long. After shoveling out I decided to tie flies--what you might call a sane move, eh?. But all morning as I tied could not keep my eyes off or mind from thinking do you suppose.

Finally around noon, the time predicted to be the day's high, still way below zero (in case you wondered) I replaced the bobbin with the already strung up rod, announced to the wife "
Goin' fishin' be back in awhile," (sorry you don't need to know Gale's lurid remarks) plowed through thigh deep drifts, out on the ice, pulled a short length of line from the reel, dropped the pair of nymphs at the head of the "run" and a couple drifts later hauled a very cold acting (looking) brookie onto the ice. But not before neighbors Art and Larry drove by, stopped, rolled the window down and one of the them said something to the effect,  "Thought I'd seen it all but you my friend are flat out friggin' INSANE! tooted the horn and drove away shaking heads and laughing. Near hypothermic would be the more accurate assessment  (please don't spread it around) I slipped the hook and booted the hapless brookie back and called it good.

One of the victims from yesterday's excursion at Poindexter; hoping for a midge and/or bwo event instead greeted by hurricane force wind, no bugs...nada...and the highlight of being mired in muck such that at one point I thought might need to call in search and rescue...true story. Anyway the hot fly, and I use the term loosely, was this conehead woolly; which of course I lost just when it seemed the trout were really getting into it; and of course did not have another woolly on me so...Oh well,  crick all to my ownself, at least until I was about to quit, watched a pair of courting red-tails, got more than a fair share fresh air, did manage to haul a few trout anyways all in all a fun way to spend winter afternoon.

Fly Fishing: Poindexter, Opening Day...At Last.

For a lot of reasons I'd just as soon forget January got away from me and for the first time in long time failed to catch a trout to kick start the year--hell, I did not even go, not even once. Though I did think about going just about every day since flipping the calendar to a new year not until a couple days ago did I finally say the hell with it and...

...now I'm standing in the parking lot at Poindexter Slough, hopping about beside the truck, one foot in waders when the kid arrives, little yappy dog in tow, Zebco in hand, nods...

For reasons still escape me, I mumble something I've learned the hard way is generally a bad idea...How's the fishin'?

Forty-five. But you gotta get it down, bring it back real slow, right on the bottom. Ain't about to come up for it..no way.

Sounds like you had yourself some kind a fun, eh?

Apparently just the opening he'd been waiting, moves in close and cuts right to the chase. Mister, I only been fishin' here for about 20 years, I oughta know how ta ketch 'em by now.

Spying the partially rigged fly rod leaning against the truck mirror adds, Don't wanna bust your chops mister but ain't seen one raise all day.

Really.

I remember thinking, kid you really can't be much more than 20...must a got an early start...eh?

If I was you, mister, I'd put on a big, whatyacallit, ah-h, streamer, lots a weight and try and get 'er down, right on the bottom. Ain't about to come up even an inch, no way, and bring it in real slow...slower the better.

Sounds like a plan. Thanks for the hot tip.

That's when he spied Gale strapping on her Nikon.

Ma'am, you wanna awesome picture, follow me.

Tossing the Zebco in the back of his pickup he all but grabbed her by the arm and hustled her toward the frozen cattail pond in front the truck.

C'mon out here, ma'am, ain't that the most awesome beaver dam ya ever saw, make a really good picture, but ya gotta get out here past the bushes, he said, sliding his way on out toward the middle.

I took that as my opening to get the hell outta Dodge. I'll be up in the meadow, get on out there and...

If looks could kill...

Under the bridge I stop to finish rigging, naturally keeping one eye peeled...you know should the kid decide further tutoring is in order...And naturally I tied on a bugger instead of a the midge I'd planned on...After all, the kid did mention 45 trout; 20-years a practice; and besides, not a raise all day...Right.

PS Gale eventually did catch up. And I did think to ask about the awesome picture. And she did--I think--OK I'm almost certain...she muttered a nasty word...and maybe that's all I need say about that, eh?

Montana Outdoors: Dry and Warm Winter

...so far; makes for easy sleddin' and a few surprises along the way.

Apparently this beaver is enjoying the string of 40 degree plus afternoons as much as we are; you know sort a like munching lunch on the deck and catchin a few rays in the bargain...Now if wind the gods would just take a break...

Wonder if this young mule deer buck realizes by now he'd more than likely be belly deep in snow...belly deep in grass, end a January...c'mon.

OK, no secret bald eagles go to housekeeping early but January...no way...like Gale says, probably not settin' just restin'...I'll buy that...

Might be near 50 above in the p.m but as you can see in the a.m. at least up Browne's Bridge on the Big Hole still a might chilly...

Ice and a bit a snow in the shady spots along Moose Creek in the Humbug Spires but out where the sun shines...I rest my case.

Fly Fishing: Fly Friday

Ruby River

Hard for me to get the ol' bald noggin' round the idea but no denying 2011 is all but ancient history. Where the year went has me more than a little baffled. But no use bawlin over spilt milk, right, time a move on, so...Of late I started once again workin' on my bucket list--you know the must do stuff afore roastin' in the big fahr...Alas, much like my must-do-chores list it too just keeps getting longer and, knowing me as I so well do, not much hope of ever running out of stuff I could/should do but in all likelihood won't so...no surprise there, eh?

The somewhat doctored up photo above is of course your irresponsible reporter doing what he used to do often--e.g. fool enough to stand all day in ice water waving a stick in hopes of fooling a foolish, half-frozen trout to bite, knowing full well frozen fingers are so far gone removing the hook is a joke and breaking it off...well, as we all know, only works when you least want it too...Anyway, for reasons now escape me, "do more winter fishing" is right up there just below "hunt more birds" and right above, "tie more flies." If I were to guess I'd say two of the three ain't got much chance but then as they say, "dealin' with an addled soul you just never know"...OK I forget who but someone must a said it, right? Right.     

Fly Fishing: Why God Made Bourbon...

...spring creeks and tailwaters may not be the Montana's only game in town but to me trumps chopping holes in the ice...period, end of discussion...even if getting around in the snow can and often is a wee bit too much like trying to navigate on stilts...

Chucking bugs in a blizzard is certainly nothing new...your intrepid reporter has been card carrying participant for oh, say three decades and counting. Nor is really all that tough. With today's gear--breathable waders, cushy winter friendly under armor, rubber soled wading shoes (no more felt thank you), windproof fleece, neoprene fishing gloves and such--why hell, most days the toughest part is knockin' little ice from the guides every now and then. Especially if you have the luxury of living close to open trout water and can pick and choose when and when not to go.

Once you get past the idea of freezing your butt, losing fingers, toes and/or the end of your nose to frostbite
or worse, perish the thought, eating skunk you just might find winter fly fishing...dare I say it...kick ass fun. Don't spread it around but trout--especially those lucky enough to live the Life of Reilly immersed in water never freezes; not all that different temperature-wise than early spring or late fall--do eat, most days anyway; better still eat pretty much the same stuff you might try feeding in say July--true story, really. Oh the bugs might be a wee bit smaller than standard fare--#22 midge instead of #18 bwo; you might better slow down the bugger retrieve a little...but in the end winter operations aren't much different than any other season...just a wee bit chillier is all...And that folks is precisely Why God Made Bourbon...here's to ya...

Feels Like Fall Today...

...As the temperature barely made it out the 30s...And while I would not bet the farm on such a fickle sister as Montana weather I am pretty sure we've seen the last of Indian Summer...The leaves, really colorful just a day or so ago have suddenly tinted toward brown and in the backyard already a couple aspens are bare. Won't be long until all the leaves are gone and we all know what that means...Yikes, hard to imagine another winter lies just around the corner...

While we haven't seen the last of the honey bees no doubt their visits will be few and far between in the upcoming weeks...

From the sound of it the last of the sandhill cranes boogied this morning...Already a week or so ago we noticed their numbers out on the East Bench (staging area) had thinned considerably...Always sort of sad to see these beautiful birds go but then again if they stayed around all winter what would we have to look forward to come early spring...

Tis a shame we don't have bracken fern here in southwest Montana to color up the fall woods; always makes me a little envious of the folks in northwest Montana...but on second thought we got way more trout and way fewer folks so...Ah, forget it...

How's this for proof the fall so far has been warmer than usual...this poppy bloomed next to deck two days ago and last night Jack Frost killed it but still...

On another way more serious track Annie is still hurtin'. And today especially has not been one of her best...she was putting weight on her foot yesterday but since this morning has been reluctant to put any weight on it. Plus the bruising and discoloration is all the way up her leg and looks much more sore than it did a couple days ago...Add to that the dead skin is starting to slough (something we all hoped would not happen) and...Well, I'm afraid she is in for not only a long painful haul but a serious one besides...Yeah, we got our fingers and toes crossed on this one and trust me, I would gladly eat all the crow the healing gods care to serve up...

Spring Has At Last Sprung...

...So Sayeth The Brave Order of Virtuous Weathermen...And if you believe that one just take a gander out yonder window... 

Ok, so depite that the official solstice is still three weeks down the road, most of us do consider March, April and May spring months. And as a bona fide- true-blue-carded-fly-pole-toter spring, the official sort or otherwise, tis indeed time I typically get off the proverbial pot and get at it but...for a variety reasons, some of which escape me at the moment, the bug as they say has yet to bite this ol' boy's butt. 

Could be the drive to Butte yesterday: snow drifting the highway, the icy wind howling, oh say, 30-miles plus, to say nothing the stark white iced-over Big Hole broken only here and there by skinny ribbons black, really black open water or...

...the past week's widespread reports of negative 30s and worse in all the right places (read rivers), like someone once noted we all have our limits...right.

Or it just might be that after 50 days or so gamboling about the desert  bedecked out for the most part in tee-shirt and shorts (OK I lie but) I just can't bear the idea a dealin' with a mostly froze-up crick, freezin' butt whilst wavin a silly ol' stick and maybe...just maybe...snaggin' a silly ol' trout or...

Worse...findin a by God Montana bone a tuggin on the line...

Perish the thought, eh?

Instead me thinks tis high time to toss nother log on the fahr, splash a dash a bourbon in the glass, kick back and when the bluebirds start to singin' up ta lemonade springs well... Be sure and call me, ya hear...over and out...    

Trash talk aside, the mountain whitefish has saved many us iced-up bug dunkers from tastin' dreaded skunk...true story.  

Severe Winter Is Taking A Toll

Bobwhite Quail

Upland birds and tough winters do not mix well. Especially deadly are deep, crusted snow combined with lengthy periods of severe cold--the sort of conditions eastern Montana has been experiencing nearly non-stop since mid-November. The bad news is things can and often do get worse in late winter and early spring. Typically late winter and early spring produce some of the season's heaviest snow falls; toss in ice storms, sleet and hail and what you have is a deadly brew only the hardiest birds lucky enough to live in the very best habitat can survive.

Crusted snow restricts birds’ ability to forage. Prolonged cold increases daily nutritional requirements and over time consumes fat reserves necessary to weather such harsh conditions. Birds able to concentrate around hay stacks, tree rows and farm yards usually fare best. In some popular pheasant hunting spots, such as Plentywood and Froid, locals carry on extensive winter feeding programs—screenings gleaned from grain elevators and such. So long as the feed doesn’t run out and predator sinks don’t develop such feeding probably helps but lacking habitat can be like putting a band-aid on a bleeding artery.

Other wildlife, such as, antelope, mule and whitetail deer, suffer as well.

The National Weather Service in Glasgow, MT. reported thru January: Wibaux had accumulated 39.9 inches of snow, Glendive 26.2, Bloomfield 38.0 and Sidney 42 inches. Snow accumulation throughout eastern Montana is above normal and snow is predicted to continue with no-end in sight.

Biologists expect severe impacts to upland game bird populations in some locations. On the heels of the tough winter last year all this doesn’t bode well for upcoming season’s overall hunting prospects. Especially in light of last season, one many of us ranked among the worst in years.

As for the photo: No Mr. Bobwhite does not own a Montana Zip Code. Just thought a nice pix might help keep the dreaded shack nasties somewhat at bay anyways...over and out...

Pondering Winter and...

...this morning Al officially declared the Big Hole River trout fishing DIW. Hard to argue given it snowed all day Saturday and since Friday the high temperature in this neck of woods has yet to reach double digits even though both Saturday and Sunday the weather gurus promised highs in the low 20s. Sorry not on my porch anyway. Three mornings in a row now bottomed out below zero, -10 Saturday, -8 Sunday and -4 this morning.  OK, for southwest Montana such readings are no big deal and far from what Old Man Winter is capable of dishing out but...Single digit highs and that the wind is almost never still this time of year do make it damn chilly and while I don't know if the Big Hole is yet starting to ice over you can bet the farm should the forecasted lows for the next few days--negative 20 something in town Wednesday who the hell wants to know what up Wisdom way--the ice gods will damn sure be wearing a big grin anways.

Signs of winter have been around for awhile now, most days barely reaching the freezing mark, snow piling up almost daily in the mountains, rumors of big elk herds migrating down from the high country (near Lima several road closings in the past few days to protect one big herd from yet another potential slaughter  (hooray, tis about time, eh?) otherwise. Ducks and geese abandoning now frozen over potholes and showing up in great numbers wherrever open water exists by the thousands. Up near Stevensville at the Lee Metcalf NWR thousands of geese showed up the other day to say nothing of the many thousands ducks accompanying the big migration and on and on...

For my dogs sake and OK for our sanity I hope the Ol' Boy reconsiders at least long enough for us to make a few more swings before heading south. As come mid-December we plan to head to southwest Idaho, then on to Nevada, Death Valley and eventually to chase quail about the deserts of Arizona. And yes, winter-like or not, we can still, no doubt will still hunt but...Well you know, wimpy geezers and all, what can I say.

Global Warming? What Global Warming...

On the heels of one of the wimpiest, at least snow-wise, winters ever this spring is fast becoming one to "really" remember. Ever since winter was declared "officially" dead it seems every time you turn around more snow, yet another winter storm warning, is in the forecast. Two days ago it snowed here in Dillon where it hardly ever snows much more than a dusting, ALL DAY!!! True here in the valley the white stuff melted almost as fast as it hit the ground but it came down hard and the storm hung around just about dawn to dark.

Now today here we go again. Another winter storm warning, this time forecast to stay mostly in the mountains but it's been raining since daylight and the temperature is hovering in the mid-30s and...And well, like I said, here we go again...at least the potential is out there for another snow day.

I shot these mountain blue bells (I think?) up on Badger Pass yesterday afternoon where there was still a few inches left over from the storm day before. Yes, it sure is pretty all that snow hanging on the trees and spring wildflowers and green grass poking thru the white blanket here and there but enough, it is after all nearly the end of May and high time to get on with it... 

Best Not Put Away The Snowshoes Yet...

Hard to believe but here in southwest Montana signs that spring is indeed sprung are everywhere. Many geese are already paired, super hardy Eurasian doves are building nests, some local ponds are completely ice free, the other day I spied two sandhill cranes cruising the river bottoms south of town...the earliest arrivals ever so far as I can recall...according to Gale's calendar about two weeks early...

In the valley there is zero snow and not all that much in the surrounding hills, although the mountains still remain winter white...no surprise there. The mud season is already off to a grand start...We tried to take the dogs up Ermont to look for sage hens and nearly didn't get turned around and back down was like steering a greased pig. It took about 5 bucks worth quarters at the car wash to even make a dent.

But it ain't over yet, ice is still wall to wall on Clark Canyon Reservoir (above photo), just the faintest sign of open water around the edges and then only in a few places. On the other hand we spotted a fair number of fishermen on the river, especially for a Monday afternoon in early March. A local guide I know was floating, working or just playing is more than I know. And over the weekend we saw that the Big Hole at least below Divide is mostly open and there were a couple rigs at Browne's Bridge.

So no doubt Ol' Man Winter will rear his ugly head a bunch more in the coming weeks spring is now official and that of course means summer is just around the corner...OK maybe not JUST around the corner but...well, you know.

How-To Photograph Flying Upland Gamebirds in Winter

Recipe: To (2) bird-crazed German Wirehaired Pointer(aka Deutzche Drahthaar aka GWP) Sisters, Add (1)snowy sagebrush sea. Stir in one to several sage hens. Allow Sisters to Cover as much of the sagebrush sea as necessary in order to uncover the sage hen(s)and establish staunch points and/or a single staunch point with classy back. With SLR camera in hand, armed with 200mm lens and ready to fire, stride quickly into position and upon flushing bird(s) fire away...naturally at will since the more you shoot the better your odds of getting at least one passable shot. It should go without saying but should you fail at first by all means send the Sisters, try and try again. Good luck!!!

And yes the winter is indeed already starting to get a little old...not a crisis mind you just a bit irksome.

Local Waterfowl Habitat Shrinking Fast

These days open water is a scarce item around this neck of prairie

With the onset of winter local waterfowl are faced with either jumping ship for warmer, more user friendly climes or toughing it out in a habitat that grows increasingly smaller with each passing cold front. Those that stay are forced into larger and larger concentrations, huge flocks swarming whatever limited food resources and open water with an urgency that defines the idea of survival of the fittest. The draw of course is that around here most of the grain fields remain snow free or close enough and many of the ducks and geese currently living in the area are no doubt refugees from harsher landscapes. Yesterday one pivot contained so countless mallards and just about as many geese. The geese were sort of spread out in bunches but the mallards packed in such they looked almost connected.

It's deja vue all over again.

In a couple days we plan to hit the road again, hopefully gather a few more shots such as above Gale shot a couple seasons back. A day that dawned calm and sunny in downtown Malta--thankgoodness since the bank thermometer hovered at minus 28 as the gal on the radio issued dire warnings of imminent frostbite and should you dare to poke nose outside the afternoon high figured to top out around minus 10.

You sure know how to pick 'em, Gale smirked, while munching down a scrambled egg, bacon and cheese breakfast sandwich in the toasty dining room of the Great Northern Hotel.

You mean my choice breakfast spots or my brilliant idea of chasing rooster chickens about a landscape might make the Arctic tundra blush?

Have another snort of coffee, dear, it might very well be your last!!!

And so it went; as turned out not such a bad hunt after all though, don't spread it around, but I did vow afterward, if ever so softly, never, ever again. But as Yogi would say, It's deja vue all over again.