Matty's Montana Journal - Part 1

[MattyFlavor]

I have to start the story by prefacing it all with the fact that our camera took a dip in a small Montana stream and so far we have only been able to recoup a few of the pictures from the memory card, so unfortunately, this will be a primarily text-based account of the trip. What's funny is that before the trip Sped thoroughly investigated waterproof cameras... oh well, such is the way I suppose!

Friday June 30
4:35AM
Dan managed to fish each of his 8 days in Oregon before we left on the trip, spending some quality time with the McKenzie (where he somehow got skunked on not one, but two occasions), several waters on the Willamette system (CF, NFMF and MFW), and the North Santiam, so when we pulled off I-5 to pick up my pontoon from Bruce at WaterReady he was familiar with the area, and in fact pointed out where I missed my turn. This was just the beginning of a less than graceful first leg of the trip. We loaded the pontoon frame to the roof rack, threw the bags and accessories in the van and Bruce topped off my coffee. He bid us farewell at around 6:45.

Over the course of the next 16 hours we'd make three stops for gas - two voluntary and one forced... you see, heading over Lolo pass, about a mile short of the Lochsa Lodge, the engine gasped for fuel and we had nothing to offer. Dan pulled off to the side of the road and we were fortunate to flag the first car. A nice man with his three daughters said he'd go up to the nearest station and send help back to us. Turned out the next station was quite close and he brought us back a can of gas himself - for this, we'll be forever grateful. It could have been much uglier.

We proceeded to the lodge, filled up the gas tank and faced our first real conundrum of the trip… to fish, or not to fish. We were still in Idaho, and with waning daylight it was a matter of choosing to buy 2 one-day licenses (to fish that evening and the following morning) so we could fish roughly 6 hours in real time, or to just continue onward. We decided on the latter and over Lolo Pass we went.

Now, of course we know what happens to the best laid plans of mice and men... so we'll just skip right to Rock Cr. our first destination. Driving down the Rock Cr. Road from I-90 out of Missoula was less dramatic than we had been warned, but with darkness setting in and not really having too much of a handle on where we were in relation to where we wanted to be put us at a distinct disadvantage logistically. We pulled into the Norton Campground, the first along Rock Cr. Rd., around 10:30 with full darkness having just settled upon the forest. The tents were constructed with sluggish road-weary enthusiasm, and we went into and out of the van far too many times, slapping at the mosquitoes all the while.

Saturday July 1
5:20AM
I opened my eyes with first light, rolled over and pulled my sleeping bag up and then it started… the birds chirped from the trees on all sides of me, and my internal dialogue began, “What are you here for? Get up, it’s time to fish! You’re not here to sleep, you’re here to fish… get up!”

Begrudgingly, I pulled myself from the warmth of my sleeping bag and, having placed my waders next to my bedroll the night before, dressed quickly. I pulled my new 6 weight rod (from The Longest Cast and SantiamFlyGuy) and Bailey reel from the van and rigged up a PMD on 5X tippet, figuring it was a safe bet for the early morning. A warm Coke took the place of coffee, as it would too many mornings this trip, and down to the river I went. The path from the campground dropped me at a lovely pool between riffles. I paused and watched the river for a few moments as the first rays of sunlight hit the hills high above me.

(to be continued...)

[bigamefisher2]

Where's Part II, come on now, don't keep us waiting like this, you'll kill us all that way.......

[BigSkyHunter]

Gees, you guys were in my backyard and didn't even say hi. The lochsa lodge is a great place to stay and fish. I have stayed there overnight twice. I am surprised you guys didn't take the shorter route over lookout pass to get to the fishin', though lolo pass is a windy single lane road it is wonderful scenery. Look forward to reading the rest of the story.

[MattyFlavor]

July 1, 2006
Rock Creek, Montana
shortly before 7:00AM
“Work close to the bank,” I thought. “Don’t splash in like an elephant! Be patient!” These and a host of other thoughts raced through my head as I began casting and watching my fly drift down the run. Within a half dozen casts, I found myself with my first hang up of the morning. I tried to get too much line out and caught me a tree-fish on the back cast. “Typical…” I muttered to myself, “slow down ya big dummy… you’ve got ten days!”

In my defense, I have to say that it was a joy to start laying out casts with my new rod and triangle-taper Wulff line. It seemed effortless to pitch 25- then 30- then 35-feet of line with the flick of my wrist.

I inched my way into the creek and began working my way into the downstream riffle. With each cast I would strip a bit more line and mend softly so as to extend the drift. I drank in the early morning scene; the air was crisp and fragrant with pine trees and wildflowers, the sun climbed higher and dappled the water with sparkling glory and I was alone on the river.

After about half an hour, having not seen a rise, nor any evidence of a rise, I figured it might be time to tie on a dropper and see what happens. No sooner than I had a nymph tied to the tippet, “splash!”… across the stream at about 1 o’clock, I looked up to see a flash of gold. I left the nymph and tippet in my fly box and began working to the pocket water where the rise had been; Having listened to Trapper Badonivac’s presentation at my fly club’s meeting some months back, I cast far above the strike zone and let my fly coast along the surface at the river’s pace.

Now, the visual and auditory sensations that happen when there’s a take are so subtle, so distinct and so sublime that the whole thing really defies description in text, add to that the excitement of the first take on the trip and of course it’s a “had to be there” moment. I am figuring most of us have been “there.”

With this first little fish, and it was little… maybe a 7” brown trout, a whole host of emotions took over me for a few minutes. Sure it was the first fish of the trip, but more importantly, it was the first fish I had caught since my grandfather passed away, a few days earlier. Gramps was the one that taught me how to fish and this little brown trout was very much like the first fish I caught with him some 25 years ago.

With this trip locked in on the calendar and the services for Gramps being back in Massachusetts, I couldn’t get back to be there in person, but with this little fish I was with Gramps in a spiritual way that probably would have made the old codger cuss me out like a longshoreman (he was never much for the touchy-feely-spiritual stuff). I raised my eyes to the sky and gave Gramps a smile and a wink, just like he used to give to us kids when he was proud of us.

I slipped the trout back into the stream and watched it bolt for the riffle downstream. A few minutes later, I caught another brown trout, this one a bit more respectable in terms of size, about 9-10”, and got a little aerial show from it as well. Jumping fish and barbless hooks make me nervous, but I managed to bring the fish to hand and marvel at the color and how solid this fish was… it’s a little hard to describe I guess, but this fish was solid… I mean, it seemed exceptionally dense… heavy for its size… the only thing I can equate it to is that I used to be a catcher back when I played baseball and some pitchers threw a “heavy ball.” It may not have been overpowering in speed, but when it hit the mitt it felt like a shot-put. That’s kind of what this fish felt like in my hand… thick, solid, heavy even, and certainly strong.

With the sun now hanging fully above the canyon and the rumbling in my belly being a little too much to ignore, I called it good for this morning session. On my way back to camp, I happened upon Dan making his way out to the river. I told him how I’d gotten the skunk off, PMDs seemed to be coming off and told him I’d get breakfast started and he could come back anytime he was ready.

(Author's note: I will be posting this story as I get it together... partly to add suspense and a bit of drama to it all... partly because I have small windows of opportunity to get it all down from my notes into full text... your patience and continued interest are appreciated!)

[MattyFlavor]

July 1, 2006
Rock Creek, Montana
9:00AM to 7:45PM
“I almost stepped on a deer!” Dan said, as he ambled back into camp. His eyes were wide and he laughed as he recounted the story of how he and the deer scared the bejeezus out of each other. Dan had found a few little browns and a decent sized cutt upstream from camp just as I had below, and from there we started to plan the rest of the day.
“Well, to the best of my knowledge we’ve got 50 miles of this water upstream from here,” I said. “Everything I have heard is that the higher we go, the better the fishing will be.”
“Sounds pretty good to me,” Dan said. We cleaned up camp after a quick and unsophisticated breakfast and left the tents all but empty, holding our campsite for the night. After a quick jaunt down to the store, a couple bags of ice for the cooler, and a cup of coffee for me, we were headed upstream. With each turn on the road and view of the river, we kept looking for promising runs and nearby parking spots. What we discovered over the next several hours of bumpy gravel road were a few things: There were several primitive camp sites we could have (and should have) occupied along the way, but alas our tents were set up at Norton; It seemed the entire length of Rock Creek is about 18-24 inches deep and finding deeper pockets and runs were few and far between. Of course we did okay, finding a few decent runs – some fished better than others – and thoroughly enjoyed the day as morning turned to afternoon. We busted out the Road Trip Grill and cooked up a tasty lunch along the river before finding the run of the day.

Best I can figure, we were about 30-35 miles up when we spied a long and promising-looking run with some deep flat water, a gurgling riffle above and below and easy access all along this stretch of the river. As seemed to quickly become the custom for the trip, Dan headed upstream and I headed down. Before long, I was on a fish – now using the 2 weight rod Dan had built for me, the little browns I kept finding sporadically throughout the day, seemed a bit bigger and a bit more feisty. I really enjoyed playing these fish into my net and watching them dart from my hand as I released them back into the river.

I was slowly making way right down the middle of Rock Cr., casting left and right and picking up a fish here and there, when suddenly my rod arched fast and hard. I set the hook and took in the slack on my reel. I saw a bright silvery-white flash and knew almost instantly that this was a bigger fish than any I had seen throughout the rest of the day… when the fish all of a sudden stopped fighting back, I knew just as quickly that I had a whitefish on… not the glamorous big Montana trout I had come to find, but this was a pretty big fish nonetheless. I was drifting terrestrials behind a big hopper and this “bugle mouth,” was the first to go for the hopper and not the ant. When I scooped him up his tail was almost completely outside the confines of my net and I had to untangle the dropper that had spun around and gotten hooked on the net.

I still had to smile wide as I let the whitey go… “that’s a darn nice fish on a 2 weight,” I thought to myself. I continued to work through this run and picked up 2 more browns and one more brute whitey, when I turned back and saw Dan packing his rod into the back of the van. "My arm is about to fall off, man," he said. We had quite a ride left to get back to camp and even though it was getting to be prime time on the river, I was pretty well cooked from fishing for more than 14 hours this day. Darkness fell and we again slid into the tents in the quiet of the night, fatigued but satisfied with a good day fishing, under beautiful sunny skies in one of the world’s most picturesque canyons.

(to be continued...)

[lovdasnow]

ok, where is the "rest of the story?"

[metoliusmatt]

hmm...sounds like you caught a lot of fish...