Home Sweet Stone

I returned to my home river this past weekend for a whitewater/fishing float from my hometown of Gardiner.  My good friend Zach Jerla was generous enough to offer his raft so my wife and I, along with Zach and his fiance', hit the mighty Yellowstone at about 3 p.m.  The weather was not as hot as we would have liked and the temps hovered in the high 7o's with overcast skies for the majority of the day.  The "town stretch" thru Gardiner out the McConnell fishing access is the main whitewater on the Stone.  The rapids were at prime flows and we tackled some pretty intense rapids ending with the grand finale, Sleeping Giant Rapid.  The Giant wasn't sleepy at all, wide awake with fury and power.  

By the end of the whitewater, the beers cracked open and out came the florid.  I casted streamers most of the day and was able to hook one decent brown.  I fished on top a little but was only rewarded by the enthusiasm of undersized and over eager trout.  The float was great and we pulled out right at dark.  The fishing was mediocre to say the least and as you can tell from my wife's netting skills, what we really caught the most of was a good buzz.

The next day I walked Noah down to Chapman's beach and we continued our summer quest to catch Noah his first fish on a fly rod.  He is coming so close!  He makes the cast, mends the slack and has even had a fish on, we just haven't been able to land the fish yet.  The trout were still keyed on large dries due to the recent invasion and passing of the legendary salmonfly hatch.  I was able to stick a nice yellowstone cutty on a big orange simulator.  I let Noah play the fish to hand and snapped a nice pic.

I love the Yellowstone.  It is filled with memories and makes me long for my youth again.  Noah has also fell in love with the river.  Every-time we drive into the Paradise Valley and spot the epic estuary Noah says, "There's our river Dad."  It is wear it all began for him...and I.

East Gallatin

Everyone has a river they call their own. We develop a bond to waters that are always there for us in time of need. For some it may be a pond in the middle of town. Regardless of the quality of the fishery, it is always great to have a spot that you can go to on 5 minutes notice. You learn the intimate details about the water and it becomes your campanion.

The East Gallatin River near Bozeman is my river. Often referred to as the "locals" river, it is wonderful fishery that wanderes through the Gallatin Valley from its head waters near Bozeman to its conflunce with the West Gallatin near Manhattan. The stream is filled with fish and on average produces larger fish than it more popular sister river. Much of the river is fed by spring creeks. This helps the river maintain its flows through most of the winter. Stories of a 13 lb brown being surveyed by FWP linger in the back of your mind everytime you swing a streamer through a deep dark hole.

I like to explore the river as much as I can, but more often than not I ended up at the bridge crossing 5 minutes from my house.  I then usually head down stream and start working the runs, riffles and undercuts that have become as familiar to me as a good friend.  Some times I show up at dusk to fish the evening rise for an hour.  Other times I am there at dawn.  Many trips are just quick trips, and serve more or less as a means to "get it out of my system" so i can focus on other things.  I often lay in bed at night and think about the deep undercut outside corner bends, mangled with roots and fallen trees.  I imagine a goliath that in my mind inevitability stalks these waters. I have already named this fish actually, even though I have no evidence of its existence.  I refer to this obsession as my quest to catch "The Beast of the East."

Now don't get me wrong.  I am not exclusively a big fish person and the East Gallatin is not the river for anyone who is.  It has its share of over-eager under-sized trout and on a slow freezing day in January you are very thankful for them.  The fish you catch consistently are on  average about 14 inches, with a few larger ones on good days.

Noah and my two daughters accompany me to the river at times.  I think its great that instead of watching a bobber at the Bozeman Pond, my kids stalk wild trout on wild rivers.  Noah catches 18 inch browns out of freestone streams, why go worm fishing for 6 inch blue gills.(We do do that sometimes when we have to).

Noah and I had a great day yesterday.  We hiked about a mile down river and started fishing a good run at about 3:30 p.m.  On my 3rd drift a good fish hammered my pheasant tail nymph.  This fish hit so hard I would not have needed an indicator, I felt it big time.  The fish gave me a pretty good fight.  He took some line and had my rod tip bent hard.  It turned out to be a healthy 16 inch rainbow, but he fought bigger than his size.  So I released the fish and let Noah have a go.  He had just bought a brand new gold Thomas Cyclone with his own money that day.  He pitched the spoon across the head of the run and slowly began reeling across the current.  About mid way his rod bent and he landed a beautiful healthy brown. We spent a few hours at this one spot and pulled several more fish out of it.  The rise was on and I switched to an elk hair caddis.  I couldn't get much action but I missed a good fish.  I saw the brown role and miss the fly.  I would guess this fish was 18-20".  I never got him to rise again.  The fish were more keyed on small PMD's and a size 16 parachute adams did the trick nicely.

So why do I deserve to call the East Gallatin "my spot?"  Why do I deserve to get pist and cuss a little when I see cars parked by "my" section of river.  Well I don't probably.  But I guarantee the majority of the people fishing in "my river" have not payed their dues.  I fished the east gallatin all but one weekend through the winter (completely frozen over)  I have spent hours in 10 degree weather trying to dead drift miniscule nymphs through a 3 foot opening in the ice.  I have lost countless streamers and crayfish patterns trying to lure  "The Beast" from his fortress.  I have skated mouse patterns along deep undercuts at midnight.  I was skunked the first 5 times I fished the river and I kept coming back.  I have dove into a deep pool to retrieve my stupid cell phone!  Yes, I would like to say that I have at least earned a share in the wonderful stream named the East Gallatin.

Fairy Lake Trek

So on a whim one Saturday I packed up all 3 of my kids and headed up Bridger Canyon. I of course loaded the rods and tackle. I had it in my mind to go check out Fairy Lake. Fairy Lake is a easily assessable local lake nestle high in the Bridger Mountains at about about 7600 ft above sea level. My family has camped there a few times in mid summer. The lake is crystal clear and is as far as fishing is concerned is noted for its highly visible and ever so picky cutthroat trout population. On one visit I literally sat and watched as pods of cutthroat past within 10 ft of the shore. They just do laps around the lake. I never could catch them. Some of these fish push 20 inches.

So the plan was to fish this lake earlier in the year with hopes that the long winter would have bolstered the trouts appetites. To our dismay the road to the lake was closed about 3.5 miles from the destination. I don't know what I was thinking, but I lightened my gear and, a 3 year old, 6 year old and a 10 year old and myself started hiking.

Now its a moderate pull up to the lake and the road was covered in many places with huge snow drifts (hence the road closure). We literally stopped to rest every quarter mile, but some how through pure persistence my little buggers made the climb.

We descended down a snow covered trail into fairly lake. The lake was still 95% iced over. I was a little surprised. It was the 2nd week in June and only a few patches of shoreline water was exposed. The water was gin clear so we sat and watched hoping to spot some hungry trout emerging from their winter prison. No such luck. The ice must have just broke in the past day or two at most. We only stayed 45 minutes and then made the descent another 3.5 miles back to the car. It took us a little over an hour to climb back down the trail that took us 2.5 hours to come up. The kids were bushed and they all passed out on the drive back to Bozeman. I was proud of them. 7 miles is a pretty good day for anybody, let alone a 3 year old!

May in Review

May was a busy month. The kids were busy finishing school and I (as a teacher) was doing the same. The rivers began to rise and we did not fish much. Let me rephrase that...we did not catch much. The trouble with this blog is that I feel pressure to catch fish. You can only post so many entries with words in the title like..."skunked" and "fishless" before you start to reveal yourself as a bad fisherman. A perfect example of that was an all-day excursion Noah and I took in mid May.

As I usually do, I had it all planned out. I had made calls, checked weather, and read fishing reports. Noah and I woke up early on a Sunday, loaded the truck, packed lunches and headed out of dodge. (Not before a quick stop for cream filled donuts of course.)

We headed up the Madison River. We drove through the picturesque town of Ennis and up into the beautiful Upper Madison Valley. What a beautiful drive. I had called the day before and the ice had just come all the way off Cliff and Wade Lakes. Now anybody who has even browsed through the Montana angling records has probably heard the name Wade Lake. Can you say 29 lb brown trout!! We had to check these out. We fished Cliff first and had no luck. We watched as a few float tubers landed some 14 inchers, but we couldn't find the magic.

No big deal, we still had another mountain gem to fish only a half mile back up the road. We fished Wade hard. I tried everything. I stripped buggers, I twitched buggers, I fished chromonids, san juans, copper johns, scuds, leaches, crayfish...and nothing. Noah threw spinners while keeping an eye on his bobber suspending his gob of nighcrawlers. Not a single strike. Wade Lake was filled with crayfish. Noah caught one damn near as big as a lobster! We even rigged those bad boys on a hook for him...but it was not to be. So we left after a lunch.

We then made tracks for Hebgen Lake. I was optimistic to say the least. I had heard the lake was on fire as the ice was just starting to recede from the shore. I was just worried about crowds. To my suprise and joy we found a stretch of shore with no one in sight. The ice was off the shore line about 30 feet. I just knew we were going to nail them. It was late afternoon by now. We tried all of my limited stillwater tricks and could not catch a single fish. Seriously! We were like 8 hours into this and had not even touched a fish. We fished into early evening and finally our hungry bellies lured us to West Yellowstone for some McDonalds. We were tired and a bit down. Noah fell asleep ten minutes after he finished his cheesburger.

We drove home down the Gallatin Canyon. The sun was sinking low and the canyon was on fire with light. It was unbelivable. What a beautiful day. 2 or 3 fish would have made it perfect but I was in awe of the country and waters that we had passed in a single day. Then I had a thought. Imagine this trip. You would need about 10 days. Make it early September.

Day 1: Leave Bozeman. Float Bear Trap Canyon. Chuck Streamers. Camp on Ennis Lake.

Day 2: Fish Ennis Lake. Float Tube or boat

Day 3: Fish the Upper Madison Chuck Streamers, Hoppers.

Day 4: Fish Wade and Cliff Lake. Float Tube or Boat. Camp on the Lake

Day 5: Morning Fish Quake Lake: Float Tube or Boat/ Evening Wade the Madison between Hebgen and Quake...Chuck Streamers. Camp at Hebgen

Day 6: Fish Hebgen:

Day 7: Head down Gallatin Canyon. Fish Gallatin River...River Runs Through It style.

Day 8-10: Hike into Golden Trout Lakes. Camp. Catch Golden Trout

Day 10: Return Home. Sleep.


It is thoughts like these that ease the pain of paying rent in Bozeman MT!

Big Water, Big Fish

Well, there are some sure signs it's spring in Montana.  It must be Mother Nature is moody as hell lately.  Earlier last week the temperatures topped 80 degrees.  As you can imagine this really got the snow melting which in turned stained all of our rivers brown.  It is not impossible to catch fish under these conditions but why try when we are blessed with great spring still-water fishing.  Spring is a great time to fish lakes.  The ice is off and the fish are prowling the shallows where a fly caster can present them with deceivingly tasty morsels.  When you throw rainbow trout into this equation you complicate things.  Although they should be hungary from a long winter, but they have spawning on the brain and some take some convincing to eat.  I guess I understand this...would you be thinking about a cheeseburger if a pretty lady wanted to spawn with you?

So Noah and I mounted up in the old Dodge Ram and headed out of Bozeman toward Canyon Ferry.  Part of Noah's love for these little trips is the special diet he gets when fishing.  I generally throw out all the rules and let him have stuff that is otherwise contraband.  He grabbed a root beer and some powdered sugar donuts for the 1 hour drive to the lake.

When we pulled up to the lake shore I was surprised to see no other fisherman in sight.  Canyon Ferry is one of the hardest fished waterbodys in Montana so this was amazing.  Then I realized why.  It was about 35 degrees and the wind was howling.  The lake was covered in white caps and some waves reached 3 feet.  It was going to be a tough day, but as I told Noah, "We are tough men!"  

I bundled Noah in full on ski gear, snow pants, boots, hat, gloves the works.  I brought two rods for Noah.  One rigged for throwing lures and the other for bobber fishing with night crawlers. (I know, but you have to catch the boy some fish if its that darned cold!)

I rigged the fly rod with a red blood work tied to a 9 foot leader.  From the lead fly I trailed a egg pattern about 12 inches behind.  I placed a strike indicator about 5 feet above the first fly and prepared to do battle with the gale.

Things started pretty slow.  On a calm day a person could sight fish for these rainbows, but with the rough seas, this was impossible.  Its hard not to get discouraged.  Canyon Ferry is immense in size and it seems like scratching a lottery ticket.  Its daunting to think that somehow a fish is going to find your tiny little fly in that amount of water.  But they did.  

We found a small bay protected from the wind somewhat.  I was able to cast 30 to 40 feet of line.  Then it was simply a game of patience and concentration.  I would strip in a few feet at a time and then just let the indicator bob in the surf.  I was moving slowly down the shore line, kind of trolling my fly 20 feet off shore when the first fish hit.  What I sensation!  These were heavy fish.  No they did not take off screaming to the middle of the lake, but the sheer power of these things was great.  The fish had taken the red blood worm, which in my opinion imitates a chronomid.  Noah was jacked, and immediately asked me to fish in my spot.  The fish was beautiful.  A classic colored rainbow with a disproportionate sized tail.  I did not have a tape with me but she had to have been close to 20 inches.  But it was not the length of these fish that made them big, it was there linebacker like physiques.  They were so thick!  That first fish must have weighed 4 to 5 pounds.

Unfortunately (and surprisingly) The old bait and lure thing never paid off for Noah.  He had a short period of jealousy and frustration, but I reminded him that we were a team and when either of us caught fish it was a victory.  His spirits eventually lifted and he finally stopped fishing and began watching me and waiting for the next highlight.  

In the grand scheme of things the fishing was not exactly red hot.  We only caught 3 fish in 5 hours but it was more than worth it.  This fish took the fly hard and were a thrill to catch.  As I set the hook on the final fish and it thrashed the surface near shore, Noah shouted, "Dad! You are awesome!"  That is the best part of children...their naive minds.  I am certainly not an awesome fly fisherman, but to Noah I am, and thats all that matters.

Happy Easter Noah

After we got home from the trip to the ranch, we loaded the rest of the family up and turned around and headed south to Gardiner to spend easter with Brenda's family.  After being away and fishing for the past two days I left the rods at home. (What?!!)

We spent a nice easter morning being with family, hunting for easter eggs and eating.  As evening approached, I began to get the itch.  Noah did to apparently because he began to working on his Grandpa to go fishing that evening.  It turned into a guys night out.  Noah and I, my brother and laws Jason and Kenneth and Grandpa Gary took a short drive 5 miles north and got on the Yellowstone to do some spin fishing.  Remember, we left the fly rods at home.   I remember thinking to myself, "I guess its ok if I cheat just once and fish with shiny metal and treble hooks.  I anticipated hot and fast action and honestly was kind of excited after making about 500 casts to catch 2 fish earlier that week in central Montana.  I deserved it.

After fishing for a good 45 minute only one of us even had a fish on.  Ken has hooked a small fish that got off near the shore.  Noah was going to work.  He was not happy to stand in one spot and cast.  He was working the water, making bomb like cast over half way across the river.  I was about 100 yards from him when I heard the splash.  A large fish was thrashing the surface near the center of the river.  Attached to this fish was a fishing line, followed by a pole which was held by a 6 year old boys intensely working his reel.  He maneuvered his rod to keep the tension on the fish.  The whole time he hadn't said a word.  The fish was on the bank by the time I got to him.  He turned and looked at me with a smile on his face and said rather calmly "biggest fish of my life."  It certainly was.  He had landed a beautiful brown trout.  I pulled a tape measure on it and it measured just over 17 inches.  The fish was in great shape, thick and heathy with beautiful red speckling against his chrome flanks.  

Grandpa caught a small cutthroat later that evening and I managed land a 6 incher.  Noah was the king and he was very proud.  The fish of his young lifetime.  When we got back he showed everyone the picture, told everyone the story and asked me to make a few phone calls to tell some other people of his epic accomplishment.  I could not imagine a better easter present for a boy.

Central Montana

  With a 4 day weekend at hand, I decided to go visit my dads ranch in central Montana.  Gracee actually hitched a ride up on Wednesday and Noah and I followed her Thursday after school.  We spent some time at the ranch and helped with a few ranch chores.  One great bonus to this trip was the somewhat unknown brown trout fishery only minutes from my dads front door.

This steam is technically a river but is very small in size.  It is much like the East Gallatin near Bozeman.  It is a winding water, characterized by riffles, run and undercut banks.  At first glance one would never guess that lurking in these waters are big brown trout.  The standard FWP info claims that fish average 10 inches in this river.  But an inside source who had fished the river last spring said that it was more like 16-18 inches.  Others report fish in the 5 pound range being caught frequently.  When fish are getting this big it is not unlikely that there are some 30 inch fish in this thing!

Noah and I set out with much excitement and anticipation.  We first arrived on the river at mid day.  Noah was casting lures and I began swinging streamers.  4 hours later, Noah and I trudged home...fishless.

The water was fairly muddy, and the day was very warm and bright.  These were also brown trout and they are not known for feeding out in the open on a bright sunny day.  Noah was pretty much over it.  The stream was hard for him to fish.  It was narrow and brushy and he snagged up quite often.  He did give it a valiant  try and I am always impressed with the diligence that he displays for being so young.

He was tired so I drove him back to the house.  It was now almost 6 p.m and I did not want to end it that way.  I figured the evening would be better anyway.  I drove back down to the river and began working the banks with big streamers.  A lot of casts went by before finally a got  a hook up.  The fish fought hard and it was defiantly larger than any of the fish I had caught so far this year.  I landed the fish and pulled a quick tape on it.  It was just a touch over 15 inches.  Not a big fish by any means but after so many fish-less hours I was feeling like a just caught a steelhead.  This fish did create one milestone for me.  It was the first fish I have caught on a fly that I tied myself, a black and green woolly bugger.  I released the fish a fished on with a little more adrenaline in my veins.

It took another 2 hours to strike pay dirt again.  By now the excitement of the last fish had worn off and I was beginning to tire.  The sun was beginning to sink low in the sky.  I had no more luck on the self tied wooly bugger so I went bigger and brighter.  I tied on a natural and yellow double bunny and went to work with it.  I spotted a deep undercut bank and casted across and slightly upstream.  I mended once to let the fly sink and then let it swing into the deep water adjacent to the opposite bank.  I suddenly felt a jolt unlike anything I had felt in a long time.  This fish had my rod bent double and made a quick run that took about 30 feet of line.   I actually had to strain to keep the rod tip up.  I finally landed the fish.  It was by far the biggest fish I had caught on my fly rod in a number of years.  I taped it at 19 inches.  Once again, not a trophy trout, but under the difficult circumstances I was thrilled.  I released the fish and being a little caught up in the moment, looked toward the beautiful evening sky and spoke out loud..."Thank you."