It's the journey.. no matter what the destination.

Last night with nary a cloud in the sky for the first time, the sun was still setting on the horizon at 10:30. Behind me and over the willows that blow and carry the hundreds of insects along the Madison to the trout, the Waxing moon was at half, lighting the Madison Valley range towards Big Sky and making me wish it was a new moon tonight so the stars could get all the glory.

So there I sat, full from grilling  and smoking a nice 16” Brown in the willow, alder and drift wood of the fire pit. A glass of Merlot in my left hand and a Robusto in my right,  The smoke and aroma  of it all were an offering of worship for a beautiful day into the night.

In the night sky the stars seemed to double every half hour as the temps dropped much colder than expected. With no blanket of clouds to keep the heat in I should have known better and put on the thermal layers while it still was a bit warm.

With bear spray on the side of my chair next to a Rugar .357  I grabbed a horse blanket out of my tent that one of my brothers used to use for his Shepherds to sleep on years ago and I pulled it up over me and stared at Ursa Major and a million other starts and began to think of the day and fall asleep when my eyes could not look at stars any longer.

I lay there thinking of and thanking Drew the college age son of a coffee shop owner in Ennis who told me  in the morning where to walk along the Madison to a new hole today where he’s fished many times.  He was right. 

There was a dangerous climb over barbed wire and down the side of this bridge to get to the familiar narrow paths along the rivers the fly fishermen travel by.  These paths go along the banks of all trout rivers where you can stop and sight trout or enter or exit.  They will often take long treks away from the river.  A thankful reminder that the river is not walkable until you come back around somewhere down the path.  And then there will be those 90 degree turns every so often to let you know where others have gone and safely entered the rivers until the path returns to the edge. 

And it’s funny how you walk much faster on your way to fish, then on the way back. Yet you walk and remind yourself to slow down and observe what’s around.  In the trees, air, on the bushes and under rocks. They reveal the clues as to what to tie on your fly rod that might trick the trout today.. They are amazingly smart about what’s cooking in the river for food. 

Whoa, It’s midnight, I’m staring here at  the stars and two satellites cross paths going in opposite directions  right at  the tail of the big dipper.  I’ve never seen that before. Tonight i count many, but three is the most at any one time, and the moon is a bit bright to see more than a few shooting stars. I pull our my iPhone Star Map and realize it’s all a blur without my glasses locked back in the truck. Ok, crap, back to thinking about fishing. Squirrel :)

Now Drew had said he pulls streamers through the deeper holes so I wasn’t to concerned about the hatches going on since I was gonna throw a big #8 hares ear tinsel rapped nymph with a trailing smaller #14 bead head prince nymph through those deeper holes. 

I hike a mile or so. Much of is along an old barbed wire cattle fence lined with trees and a narrow path where through the grass you can not see the ground so you walk slow, carry your rod straight in from to you like a saber so it doesn’t get caught in the trees and so if you trip you can fall away from the fence and drop the rod without going to the hospital for stitches.  in the heat  near 90 today I’m sweating good. Heart rates up to 122 and I’m thankful for the full liter of water hidden in the hydro in my pack behind me.

I’ve come around and back now to a place on the river down stream (you always want to fish up stream behind the swimming trout so they can’t see you…).  I see ti now. There is the hole I want to fish today. I have a month to fish, so today all I want is my dinner but I have to cross the river now in a shallow place so I can get into casting position for this run. Ok, for those who’ve never been here, the Madison River is known for the slickest rocks to fall on. You just have no Idea how slippery until you walk out there in felt soles and land on your back. (Been there). Well  I’m in my first season with Patagonia boots lined with 4 solid soft aluminum bars for cutting the slime and holding fast to the rocks as you try to walk and fish that river. Amazing they are. I’m so thankful, I never even pulled out my wading staff to cross today. 

 I sit now on an island covered in willow and lined with tall grass. I sit down on the edge,  putting on a fly and waiting for the fish to relax after hearing me cross river.  Suddenly I see fly line and another fisherman walking 50 yards downstream from behind the island and  he’s making his way to throw into this hole Ive walked a mile and got into position to fish.  Crap, I say to myself, he doesn’t see me. Well  maybe I’ll learn something, He might show me a different seam in the water and angle of attack from above the hole. Hey the waters free and you don’t get reservations here so I tell myself to relax.

I’ll wait my chance and look to the skies. Hmmmm, no clouds.  

Cloud cover is good for fishing. So is a little breeze to hide your shadow from the fish. So on Sunny days without wind, it’s longer leaders and smaller flies unless it a rippled pool. 

So clouds? That reminds me, you must have good rain jacket in your pack because rain in the mountains can come in one minute. Out of no where in the 70 to 100 degree heat you will feel a cold gust of wind and friend that is God whispering “get your rain jacket on in the river right now”. You only have to get soaked and cold and scared once like that to learn to listen better to God’s natural voice.  You forget with mountains around  that you can’t see whats just over the hill a minute away.   And now there is the voice of the guy fishing my hole. 

He’s seen me and stopped fishing and made his way by me with a few words of advice on other holes and riffs up ahead as a peace offering.

3pm and I finally begin throwing line. My only desire today was to catch one nice fish big enough to feed my partner and I tonight for our first Montana Trout dinner.

In the old days, I would only have a week to come to Montana and for all those years it was, off the plane get the SUV and race to the river to set up camp, sleep and fish sunrise to sunset for 3 days then pack up and head back. How beautiful to make the time in places you love to stay long enough to slow down and relax. 

So I’m laying down here under the stars about to fade off, and I remember the first rainbow I caught in that pool today. It came off my hook as I bend down to net him. On many of my flies, I take a hemostat  and bend down the barbs on the hooks to save on the jaws of catch and release fish like “Cutthroat”. In fact it’s mandatory on many rivers here. But me,  when i’m catching to eat, I don’t bend them down unless they already are.  Well that fly was barbless and away went that nice 14” rainbow.   I tie on a different trailer fly and 30 min. later I land a nice 16” brown with spring colors. Not to fat but plenty of fight in the current.

I lift up my rod tip to set the hook and my oldest Able #1 reel falls off my rod and into the river with fish running. I’m laughing and my family knows what I was saying at the moment. “Are you kidding me!”. I reach into the river and pull up the reel and put it in my pocket as I’m fighting the fish with my right and my finger on the line held to the rod fly fishing style. Getting him to the bank and netting him I realize I have no creel.. What “are you kidding me?” I have no plastic bag or nylon for a stringer, “Really, are you kidding me?

So there on my back pack is a pouch for a water bottle or a rod tube holder. It has an upper latch clip as well to hold a rod tube tight to the pack. 

Well that’s it. Only fished an hour, walked and hour. Put that fish head down into the water bottle holder and clipped the tail in tight to the backpack for the hike back to the truck. 

I’m smiling as nod off to sleep now in a chair outside covered in a horse blanket with thermals on and a stocking cap from last winter and a good jacket.  It’s now two AM.

Wait, there is thrashing behind the willows in the river. I grab my bear spray in one hand and my .357 in the other. Turn on my head lamp and point it through the opening in the trees that leads 60ft to the river. More thrashing.  I’m a bit un-nerved now. It’s either a 30” brown trying to get a mouse at the shore or a bear or a moose. Either way there is no sense in walking that path to the river to invite trouble. If they come down my path to the camp I’ll spray first and only use a gun if i run out of spray they keep advancing.  I’ve rehearsed this 1,000 times in my sleep  and that’s exactly what I did. One sip of Knob Creek from my vest pack and i climbed into my tent bag and said my Montana prayer. Lord, protect me. But if a bear comes while I’m sleeping, please make it be one swipe of the hand not a slow 5 course meal - Amen.

Till next time I come to town for ice and espresso...   

Do what you love, love what you do -

It's priceless.