The Annual Montana Flyfishing Trip

[Al Agnew]

My buddy Tom M. and I have been going to Montana every year for a dozen years now. It started out not long after I met him--we had discovered we were kin dred spirits when it came to fishing, even though I was more a baitcasting smallmouth angler and he was a diehard flyfisherman for trout. The first year, we booked five days at the Yellowstone Valley Ranch on the Yellowstone in Paradise Valley south of Livingston, along with Tom's friend Smith. There, we met a couple of guides, Tom C. and Dennis A., who would become friends. I was more or less a novice flyfisherman back then, but I watched Tom M. and Tom C., who was our guide (Dennis was Smith's). Tom M. had requested a guide who was willing to work with anglers who were more interested in fishing than in the rather luxurious amenities of the Ranch, and the first day we went to Sixteenmile Creek, more than an hour's drive from the lodge. At noon, Tom C. mentioned lunch. Tom M. and I kept fishing. At 2PM he asked again if we wanted lunch. We kept fishing. About 3PM we grabbed the sandwiches, wolfed them down, and continued fishing. At 4:30 Tom C. said we'd have to leave now to make it back to the Ranch in time for dinner. We said we'd rather keep fishing. When Tom C. said it was fine with him, we knew we'd found a keeper!

That was in early July of the first year of the back to back record Yellowstone River flood years, and the river, which should have been in good fishing condition, was still high and muddy the whole time. We knew we'd have to come back to fish the Yellowstone. The next year, Tom C. had branched out into guiding on his own, and we set up a trip a week later, staying at the historic Murray Hotel in Livingston and having Tom guide us again. I don't remember who else came with us that year, but Dennis was again their guide. But the Yellowstone had suffered even greater floods, and wasn't fishable again...until the last couple of days of our week-long trip. When we finally got on it, we fell in love with it.

Tom C. told us we had to come out in late April, before the snowmelt started, to hopefully fish the Mother's Day caddis hatch, so we did. For the next few years we hit the hatch a few times and missed it a few times, experienced early run-off that forced us to other streams, and had great experiences in weather that could be snowing one day and 70 degrees the next. We fished the entire Yellowstone from Gardiner to Big Timber (except for Yankee Jim Canyon). We fished the lower Madison, the Shields, the Boulder, the Stillwater, Taylors Fork. We made the three hour drive to the Bighorn several times. We fished the famous spring creeks, Armstrong's, De Puy's, and Nelson's. We fished some private lakes. Thanks in large part to Tom and Tom, I became a reasonably proficient and knowledgeable flyfisherman.\

Tom C. became a fast friend. He came to Missouri to fish with us. He became a member of our little organization, Mystic Fish of the Meramec. We were there for his marriage, the birth of his daughter, and the birth of his business shaping and rehabilitating trout stream habitat. He mostly quit the guiding, but still guided us, rowing us down many miles of water in all weather conditions, staying out late...one time on the Bighorn, he asked us if we wanted to do the the 3.5 mile float or the 10 mile float, and then, before we could answer (our answer was always that we would let the guide be our guide) he said, why not do the whole 13.5 mile stretch. We got off the river that night two hours after dark.

A whole cast of other characters accompanied us at various times, but it was always Tom and Tom and me. There was one time on the Bighorn when we had Tom C., Dennis, and another guide, and 6 Missouri anglers. We were lined up at a great riffle corner, stretched out over 100 yards of gravel bar, all of us having a ball catching fish, and we said that we'd just transported Maramec Spring to Montana.

Some of my fondest memories of fishing and big fish revolve around those annual trips to Montana. There was the huge brown, that looked as thick as my thigh, which took a streamer in the middle of fast water on the lower Madison. It was too fast to slow or stop the driftboat, and the big fish drove for the middle of the river and then just held in the current as we drifted further and further away, down into my backing, through the backing, and then the leader popped. There was the time on Armstrong's Spring Creek, where the fish are supposedly ultra-sophisticated and you have to use tiny flies and gossamer tippet. But I discovered that the big browns that roamed the flats were suckers for a Woolybugger on a windy day. I'd already had a good morning, catching 20 or so rainbows and browns on tiny nymphs, but when the wind came up I started fishing that flat and caught more than 30 browns from 14-19 inches that afternoon.

There was the monster brown that took a baetis imitation that Tom was using, while I watched from the high bank above. He didn't get that one, either.

And that Mother's Day caddis hatch? It's a tricky thing. The average date that it happens is right around the very last of April. The water temps on the river have to be up around 50 degrees. However, on many years, if the water temps on the Yellowstone in the Livingston area are that warm, chances are the snowmelt up in Yellowstone Park has started and the river gets blown out. So ideally you have to have warm, sunny weather down around Livingston but cool weather up in the park for everything to come together. But when it does...

One year it was perfect. We were on the river just above Livingston when it started. The morning was cool and cloudy, the water was murky but fishable, and the fish that morning, as if already knowing something was going to happen, were active. It was one of the best mornings of streamer fishing I've ever had, with 16-22 inch browns striking streamers with wild abandon. The streamer fishing was so good that when the hatch started we were reluctant to switch over to dry flies. But soon the bugs were thick and the rises were many. This hatch is the first big hatch of the year, and the fish are hungry after a long winter, so they really eat caddis. And boy, are there a lot of caddis. They got so thick that at any one time, you couldn't find a square inch on your body that didn't have caddis clinging to it, except the parts that were underwater when wading. And those parts became totally covered with the sticky, lime-green egg cases of the caddis as they went about procreating. Soon there mats of caddis floating down the river. At first the mats were small and we were calling them caddis cookies. But soon they got so big we started calling them caddis pizzas.

You'd think that it would be almost impossible for a rising trout to pick out your fly amongst all the caddis. But the trick seemed to be to use a fly that was about one size bigger than the actual bugs. Often YOU couldn't tell your fly from the real ones, but you'd watch where you thought it would be, see a rise in the vicinity, set the hook, and more often than not you'd have a fish. It was unreal, and it went on the whole afternoon.

The next day the hatch continued unabated, but the trout were getting full. Rises were less frequent, and tricking the fish into taking your fly was more difficult. Still, at any other time you'd be happy with number of fish we caught that second day. After that, however, the hatch trailed off in the succeeding days and the fishing got tough.

There was also the time on the Boulder River--we parked at a bridge, and as Tom and Tom waded upstream, I stopped at the first little run above the bridge to try it. The run was very nondescript, a zone of moving current only about 3 feet deep, below a gentle riffle, with a few good sized boulders, only about 30 feet long by 10 feet wide.

When Tom and Tom came back down to see what had happened to me three hours later, I was still in that run, catching fish on a Hare's Ear nymph. I must have caught at least 30 browns and rainbows out of that one run, along with even more whitefish.

There was the time on the Boulder when I was separated from the others. I was wading up a long straight stretch about waist deep when I heard a crashing in the brush on the right bank, and then this huge black bear launched itself off the bank into the water with a tremendous splash, and went bulldozing across the river not 30 feet in front of me, up the other bank, and into the brush. I have no idea where that bear was going, but I almost needed to go to bank to empty my waders!

All things change, but not always for the worse. Two years ago, Tom C. called us and suggested something different--a horseback pack trip into the Yellowstone back-country, going up Slough Creek to the "third meadow" to fish for native Yellowstone cutthroats. Tom C.'s wife and daughter went, along with my wife Mary and Tom M. It was a tremendous trip with MANY big cutthroats caught.

Last year things REALLY changed. Mary and I had been going to the area in the autumn for several years to spend time photographing wildlife in Yellowstone, and she fell in love with the area. It was she who suggested we start looking for a place in or around Livingston to spend part of the year. Tom C.'s wife Teresa is a real estate agent in Livingston, and Mary called her and told her to start looking for us. In May we flew to Montana to look at some prospects, and ended up buying a half-finished cabin on 20 acres in Paradise Valley. In June Mary's brother drove out to finish the cabin, with Mary and I helping. In July Tom M. came out for a week for the annual trip, and stayed in the cabin with us for a couple of days. We had our usual great time and good fishing with Tom C., although the river was very low and warm from the continuing drought and hot weather and it was closed to fishing each day after 2 PM. We spent a couple of days over on the Stillwater and had terrific hopper fishing. At the end of Tom M.'s time, Tom C. said that this would be his last guiding trip, that from now on he didn't feel comfortable charging us money, but would still fish with us--and actually FISH, rather than just rowing the boat and netting our fish! He said we'd have to learn to row a driftboat. Mary and I stayed after Tom M. left, and I went on one trip with Tom C. and did some rowing. But he suggested that we needed to go in together and buy a raft, which would be more versatile than the driftboat.

So that brings us to this year. We all decided that we'd go back to the late April/early May period for the annual get-together. The raft was bought and rigged. The timing should have been right for the caddis hatch. But the day that Tom M., Mary, and I got to Livingston it was snowing. The next day Tom C. had to do some work, so Tom M. and I waded the river in a thick snowstorm, catching some fish, but really working to clamber over snow-covered boulders. The second full day, two of our Missouri friends arrived, and while Tom C. still had to work, Tom M. and I took the raft, along with Dennis and our Missouri buddies in his driftboat, and floated the river. Again, it snowed most of the day, and in the afternoon the wind came up to 30 mph gusts, certainly a learning experience for paddling the raft. The last mile of the float the wind was howling upstream, Tom was rowing with his back to wind to get downstream against it, and I was standing up in the "front" of the raft, facing the wind and blowing snow to guide him because he couldn't turn around to see where he was going. Fish were caught, but nothing special.

The third day the 6 of us did another Yellowstone float, and it was a pleasant enough day. Tom M and I did a lot of the rowing in the raft, while Tom C. finally got to actually do a lot of fishing. But the fishing was again mediocre for everybody, although Tom M caught a beautiful 22 inch brown on a red Copper John.

The next day we were doing a float on the rive below town, and it was a warm, sunny day...but the wind was monstrous. At least it was blowing downstream, but it was at least 45-50 mph. Fishing was exceedingly tough (or at least casting was tough), but we all caught fish. Still, the hatch showed no signs of starting.

The day after that was gorgeous. Tom C. had done all the rowing in the wind the day before because of his experience, so on this day Tom M. and I told him he would do NO rowing. This was the day I really learned how to row the raft. The hatch should have been starting, but...no bugs. Fishing was really tough. It seemed the river was simply dead. Tom M. pulled it out with a nice 20 inch rainbow, but there were no other notable fish caught.

Our Missouri buddies left after that day, and the next day we just KNEW the hatch would start. The water temps had risen into the 50s. The air temps were in the high 70s. The fish were active. I caught a nice brown on a streamer, while Tom and Tom caught plenty of fish on nymphs. But...no bugs.

By this time, I'm getting a little worn out, and Mary had been going up into the park to photograph and seeing a lot of animals, so I decided to go into the park with her, while Tom M spent the day on De Puy's Spring Creek. We got a lot of good photos, and Tom caught at least 70 fish and had De Puy's to himself...in another snowstorm and 35 degree temps!

Thursday Tom, Tom, and I were going to do another Yellowstone float, but the warm weather had started the snowmelt up in the park and the river was getting muddy. So we spent a day together on De Puy's. The fishing was excellent again, and I had a great day. I discovered that the browns were still suckers for the Woolybugger. There was one backwater where fish were rising constantly to a tiny midge, and after catching a couple and snapping a couple off and watching hundreds of casts go fishless, I decided to see if THOSE fish would eat a streamer. Yep. I'd make a cast and fish would charge it from five feet away, leaving a wake like a smallmouth in shallow water. It was tremendous fun.

That was our last day of fishing. Friday was spent mainly resting and visiting and working a bit on the cabin, and we flew home Saturday.

[Terrapin Station]

Let's see Al...you are your own boss, can work from anywhere in the world, spend a hundred days on the stream a year, have a wife who loves the outdoors and urges YOU to buy a cabin on 20 acres in Montana. Some would say you have reached the level of enlightenment, a fisherman's Nirvana!

Have you taken your Dad there yet?

[Al Agnew]

And if you don't think I thank my lucky stars every day...amazing what a bit of talent, a bit of work ethic, and a very smart wife will get you!

Although, I only average about 65-70 days of fishing per year.

Nope, haven't taken Dad there yet. He's never fished for trout in his life, but I think he'd like the place! I hope to, one of these days.

[Danoinark]

Stellar report Al. Thanks for sharing the experience.

Dano

[Forsythian]

Great reading Al, thanks for posting.

Ken

[ColdWaterFshr]

What Turtle said!