Yellowstone -Day One

Fresh off the excitement of fishing the Big Horn River we loaded into the rental car and it was off to our new home for the next five nights just outside the Northeastern entrance to Yellowstone.  The three hour drive from Fort Smith to Yellowstone was capped off by our journey over the Bear Tooth Pass.  This stretch of road was like none I had been on before.  The elevation goes from 5500 in the city of Red Lodge to nearly 11,000 feet.  The views from the top of the mountain are reminiscent of the deep valleys carved in the Alps.  The Smoky Mountains have been worn by the elements and time and while our lush green mountains burst forth with life, it is easy to see that life along this portion of the Bear Tooth Pass is difficult, and yet some animals thrive here.  We topped the mountain to find a beautiful herd of snow white mountain goats grazing. A wise man once said “the will to live is a powerful thing.”  I am certain he is right.

            We passed through Cooke City and made our way to Silver Gate to check into our cabin.  I would estimate Silver Gate to be a town of roughly 15 buildings if cabins were not included.  Upon check in we were greeted by Doug.  Doug wasn’t exactly mister personality and seemed to be to be a curmudgeon of sorts.  His answers were short and to the point and we had only just met before his deep raspy voice uttered a warning “There is a bull Bison feeding on the grass in front of your cabin and he commands the utmost respect.”  While I appreciated the warning, the three of us had no plans to slap it on the butt and run, but Doug’s warning did serve as a reminder that this wonderful place is full of beautiful and dangerous animals and they all must be respected.

            We unloaded our gear and settled in for the night.  When morning came we packed a lunch and head out.  We decided to start the day off by fishing the confluence of the Lamar River and Slough Creek.  We parked the car and headed out across a field and over some bluffs to where we anticipated the river to be.  I scanned the horizon for wildlife and more specifically bear, but found nothing stirring.  We made our way down a steep bank to an entry point and the beautiful and fabled Lamar River lay in front of us.  I once again scanned the horizon to make sure we were alone and we began to fish.  This portion of the river was rocky and the large boulders offered perfect pools for the trout to thrive.  Our plan was to work our way up the Slough Creek, but we noticed some other anglers down stream that appeared to be heading there as well, so we decided to remain on the Lamar.  We stopped to fish a couple of spots and with lightening speed the other anglers bolted past us and settled in to the area Garret had intended to fish.   Let me take brief moment to explain proper etiquette in this situation.  Since most fly fishermen work their way upstream the proper thing to have done would be to by pass us as we fished and allow at least a couple hundred yards between us.  We surmised that one of the individuals was a guide and I suppose when you are fishing for your rent etiquette goes out the window.  Needless to say the fishing was slow because the anglers ahead of us were either catching the fish from the prime spots or spooking the fish that were there.  Jim and Garret both managed to catch a few fish but not in numbers any of us expected from such a legendary river.

            We reached a location that seemed like an ideal spot to stop for a protein bar and some water.  In front of us was a large pool that seemed the perfect location to hold large Cutthroat Trout.  We noticed that the guide and his two followers had exited the water and were heading towards the car as the sun began to hang low.  I was fishing a small pool about 100 years ahead of our resting spot when I noticed a gathering of insects in the air.  They appeared to be Caddis, so I quickly tied on a Caddis fly and cast into the seams I assumed the trout would be. I had only cast a few times when Garret and Jim called for me to come back.  As quickly as possible I made my way back to the large pool they were working. Garret yelled to me “Switch to a Blue Wing Olive.”  I made it back to where they were fishing to see the water alive with feeding trout.  I looked through my fly box but I didn’t have any Blue Wing Olives.  This was my best opportunity to catch my first Cutthroat Trout and I didn’t even have the fly they were feeding on. 

I suppose my excitement showed through because it was then that Jim’s nature as a true gentleman showed through.  “I have a Blue Wing Olive you can have and I already have one tied on, here, take my pole and I will tie one on your line while you fish my pole.”  This simple act tells you all you need to know about Jim.  I took Jim’s pole and waded into a good casting location.  The fly hit the water, the line went tight, and the fight began.  I netted the fish and was surprised to see a Rainbow Trout instead of the revered Cutthroat.  At this point Jim had tied the Blue Wing Olive on my line so I gave his pole back and continued to fish with my pole.  I cast into the feeding frenzy again and within the third or fourth cast I had another fish on.  This fish was larger than the Rainbow I had just netted but I wasn’t sure of the species.  I fought the fish and after it weaved from one side of the pool to the next he grew tired and was ready for the calm of my net.  I had traveled nearly 1900 to be here and at dusk on the fifth day of this wonderful adventure I finally netted my first Cutthroat Trout.  It was a large and beautiful fish and I was as excited as a school boy with my catch, but there was little time to celebrate because the fish were still feeding.  I took a few pictures, watched as my first Cutthroat swam from the grips of my hand back into the pool and with that I was ready for more.  We continued to fish the pool until the hatch ended and we all had success. 

The sun broke the horizon greeting a day full of promise.  The three anglers in front of us, and the disappointment of reeling in no fish during the morning and mid day hours was now gone.  I took five fish from the pool we were in and witnessed the type of hatch and feeding I had previously only read about.  As the sun relinquished its grip on the day and began to set, a Wolf stood over a bluff and looked down on us as though he were the gate keeper for this beautiful land.  The land around us changed colors as the sun made its retreat and the page was closed on the most exciting day of fly fishing I’ve ever had.

            Later that evening as Garret and Jim sat around the table sorting and arranging their flies in each box like a miser counting his riches, my mind was still on the water recapping the extraordinary day.  It was now easy for me to see why Garret and Jim make a fly fishing trip each year.  This year marks the ninth trip for them.  Breathe taking scenery, prolific hatches, and pulling several fish from one hole have been a normal part of the adventure.  I had many people ask me prior to the trip if I would grow weary of fishing everyday and spending eight days with the same two guys.  I can’t speak for Garret and Jim, but for me it was a nice reprieve from the real world.  This trip wasn’t about Old Faithful and the other tourist spots Yellowstone has to offer.  Fishing with two guys allowed me and at time forced me to step outside my comfort zone and experience the park.  A majority of the visitors never get more than 100 yards away from their car and call this “seeing” the park.  Today I was lucky enough to be part of the park and it’s a day I will not soon forget.   

The Big Horn River

I have flown across the country from Tennessee to various cities on the west coast several times.  Like many people I have found myself looking out the window of a plane wondering, “What’s down there?”  On September 6^th, I found at least a portion of the answer.  There is unsettled land as far as the eye can see, majestic mountains and valleys, and people who live lives a little less rushed than the one I have come accustomed to.  The other thing I found is some trout waters worthy of the lore that has been written about them.

The plane landed in Billings, Montana and as night fall set in we made our way to our home for the next three nights in Fort Smith. On day four we would make our way to Yellowstone for another five nights, but the first three nights belonged to Fort Smith and the Big Horn River. This trip was planned for two purposes only; it was intended to offer three guys an opportunity to fly fish and relax.    We arrived late, unpacked, and settled in for our first night.  Day light and a glance out the window offered us the first opportunity to get some fishing information to start our day.  A fellow angler, Bill, was already in the gravel parking lot cleaning his fly line and preparing for his morning.  Garret approached, made introductions, and Bill was quickly willing to offer any knowledge of locations to fish as well as flies and the set up that seemed to be working.  The Trico hatch has been fairly consistent each morning so we headed out to the three mile marker to explore and fish. 

The Big Horn is a large and wide river that lends itself best to fishing from a drift boat but today we didn’t have a drift boat so we walked the bank passing by several fish feeding until we settled into an area we could wade in.  I tied on an Adam’s dry fly with a Bead Head Pheasant Tail as a dropper.  On my second cast my line went tight, the reel began to zing, and just like that I yelled “fish on.”  I could feel that this was a nice fish but I wasn’t sure of the size or type.  The fight lasted a few more minutes before I found a nice Rainbow safely in my net.  I would estimate this fish to be 16-18”.  I had only released my fish a few moments before I saw Garret’s pole bend and within 10 minutes of wading into the water we had hooked two fish.  I looked upstream at Jim, but he had seen no action thus far.  I was starting to think this could be a day in which my arm would be tired of reeling, but little did I know this day would be more like Jim’s morning with little action.  Within 30 minutes of wading into the water the hatch had apparently ended and like a light switch the fish turned off and the rises stopped.   

We fished several more stops with limited luck before heading back to the cabin for some rest.  The next day we rented a drift boat and had 12 miles of river to fish in a 12 hour period.  Garret took the helm and with oars in hand we headed down stream to find a premium fishing location.  We anchored the boat on shore and found a spot where the fish seemed to be feeding.  The Trico hatch had just begun and there were plenty of eager fish rising to feed.  I’ve often heard it said that when fish are feeding they will take most flies, I can tell you with confidence now that this saying is wrong.  Garret was able to land two fish and Jim had a few hits with no takers.  In spite of trying almost every fly in my box I couldn’t get a Trout to consider any of my offerings.  We had a long day ahead of us so we loaded back in the boat and headed down stream.  At around the 8 miles mark both Garret and Jim had caught fish and I was being skunked.  At this point I was behind the oars and to say rowing a drift boat didn’t come natural to me would be an understatement.  We came to a fork in the river and I decided go right down a smaller stretch instead of left where the main body of the river flowed.  We stopped the boat and decided to fish the area.  Jim cast into a swift run of water and began taking fish.  None were going to break any size records, but they were full of fight.  Garret and I soon joined the action and the three of us were pulling fish from this seam of water.  Jim had a difficult fish on so I leaned my pole against the boat and waded out to help net him.  A few minutes of wrestling and the fish went from my net to Jim’s hand.  I turned to grab my pole and didn’t see it where I had placed it.  It wasn’t in the boat nor submerged under the water.  We searched before Garret used his pole to do a reenactment and sure enough as soon as I set my pole down against the boat the water lifted the reel from the bottom and slowly tugged until the entire pole was in the main current and only a memory.  I’m certain it settled into one of the deep pools further downstream but for me my first fly rod was gone.  Luckily I had brought my 3 weight rod as a backup but it wasn’t made for this size water and this size fish.  There was nothing to do but load the boat and press on.

The oars were still in my hands and we were only seconds into our launch back into the water before I realized there wasn’t enough time or water to steer and we were at the mercy of the current.  The right oar crashed against the shore and Jim grabbed it before it was left behind.  The current pushed us against the bank and we all ducked as not to be hit by the low hanging tree.  We cleared the tree but the boat had turned sideways and the ripples of water we were in were swift but no deep.  The boat came to rest on a shoal with a load thud as it smashed into the underlying rocks.  We didn’t notice any water coming in so Jim pushed us back out and we finally made it back to the main body of the water and the peaceful calm of the Big Horn.

The stop had resulted in some pretty rough boating and the loss of my first fly rod, but it had yielded dinner as several of the Rainbow and Brown Trout we caught were kept for the evening dinner.  We left the boat where we were instructed and drove back to the cabin.  I was fully satisfied with the five fish I had managed on the day.  Jim and Garret caught more, but I didn’t mind.  The fish I caught won’t be remembered nearly as much as the four miles I served as a drift boat rower.  Jim stayed at the cabin to prepare the fish and Garret and I decided to try and catch the Caddis hatch that evening.  Like clockwork the Caddis hatch began and the fish began to feed.  I had a Caddis fly on and although I made repeated casts to feeding fish I couldn’t get any to take.  I wasn’t surprised; the hatch was like none I had ever seen.  The Caddis were so heavy in the air they were crawling all over me and everything else in the area, the chances of a Trout taking my fly when there were thousands of Caddis in the water was unlikely.  On the way out there was yet another reminded that I was no longer in Tennessee.  Darkness had set in and I noticed movement ahead on the trail.  I wasn’t certain what the animal was at first but after putting a light on the animal in the tree to my right Garret and I agree it was our first sighting of a wild porcupine.  We returned the morning with Trico Spinner flies in hand all were able to catch fish before heading to across the Bear Tooth Highway to Yellowstone.

Fort Smith Montana is little more than a couple fly shops and some rental cabins, but this town and the Big Horn River were exactly what I expected.  The terrain looks like the wide open spaces you see in the old western movies with bluffs overlooking prairies and the meandering Big Horn River slowing flowing to make the backdrop such that words can’t describe.  It’s certainly understandable why this is the big sky state and yet this was only the first couple days, Yellowstone awaits us and as we made our way out of Fort Smith for Billings  I was eager to see Yellowstone.