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.