Montana Sporting Journal

Bighorn River Report

2012-01-25T16:28:00.000-08:00

It may come as a surprise, but solitude can be found on the Bighorn River. The tailwater trout fishery is world famous, and rightly so, but all of the attention it receives during the summer months does tend to detract from the overall experience. Fortunately there is an off-season. November through March finds the river largely void of anglers, anglers who are missing out on the joys of cold fingers, iced rod guides, and productive fishing for large, hungry trout.

On Monday and Tuesday of this week a couple of fishing buddies and I found ourselves floating prime trout water below Yellowtail Dam. Despite the unseasonably warm weather, over the course of two days we saw only a couple of other boats. The fishing was very productive, with both nymphs and streamers taking scores of fish. The streamer bite was particularly strong, with a variety of colors and sizes taking fish from late morning through evening. 200-grain sink-tip lines were generally relied upon to pull fish from winter holding water. Nymph rigs consisting of soft hackle sow bugs and midge pupa drifted deep accounted for many fish, particularly earlier in the day before the streamer bite really picked up. Midges - and even a few baetis - were hatching, but there were very few fish consistently coming to the surface.

We were fortunate enough to share some time on the water on Tuesday with Mike Faris, a guide for Bighorn Trout Shop. To say that Mike's knowledge of the river was helpful would be a drastic understatement; I'm always amazed by how much I learn when in the presence of a veteran guide. For up to date river reports throughout the off-season (and a guide if you'd like), the folks at Bighorn Trout Shop are your best resource.

Looking For Ice

2012-01-14T19:08:00.000-08:00

Typically in early January it is easier to find ice in Montana than to avoid it. In fact, on many lakes by this time of year fishermen are brave enough (or foolish) to drive one-ton trucks across 12-18 inches of hard water.

2012 has been an oddity thus far. As of today, Fort Peck reservoir is still void of ice on most of its expanse. Canyon Ferry has some ice, but it also has some areas that are not safe for an angler on foot. By this date last year on my January ice-fishing trips, we were driving on roads that were carved out of snowbanks and drilling through 20 inches of solid ice.

On this first trip north, we changed up our normal routine somewhat. Instead of driving on the ice, Laura and I pulled our gear with ice skates. We made it to our destination in a matter of minutes and were fishing as soon as the holes were drilled. To save weight, we carried a hand auger instead of a gas unit, which wasn't an issue considering the ice was only ten inches thick.

While the fishing was less than stellar, it was nice to be back on the ice with nothing to worry about except keeping your fingers warm and your bait fresh. While there is a lot of technology available to ice fishermen these days, the simplicity of staring at a hole in the ice, waiting for a subtle tap on your line, is a refreshing change of pace. We only brought home enough perch and walleye for one meal and since it was months removed the last taste of fresh fish, it was a welcome treat. As was being back on Montana ice.

The Final Hunt

2011-12-31T16:33:00.000-08:00

I really didn't have time to hunt today. I had bags packed, bags containing clothing for Big Sky skiing, clothes for the beautiful people. And it was windy as heck. Steady winds 25-30 mph, gusts more than that.

But, I had to hunt. The Montana upland season was coming to an end. And there was no snow on the ground, no other excuses to stay indoors this late December. This hunt was more for the dogs than me. My old girl Tess, would be nine by next season and at that age in a dog's life, there are no guarantees. When I grabbed my gun and orange vest, they confirmed how much they wanted to hunt. Jumping, dancing and whining. Thanking me and begging me.

Since I only had about three hours to make hay, I had to hunt close to town. Average habitat, but good enough. The dogs were intense, I was intense. When they got the least bit birdy, I got prepared, held my gun slightly tighter than I did earlier in the season. I walked fast, wanting to cover as much ground as I could, without snow, the birds could be anywhere. They weren't just forced to seek refuge in the heavier winter cover.

When we complete our first hike, about a three mile walk through fairly good grass, close to grain stubble, we never saw a bird. I had seen pheasant tracks in the ice on the creek bottom and had seen a number of Hun roosts on the higher ground. But, no birds seen.

Despite being nearly out of time and having a four hour drive ahead of me once back in town, I couldn't end the season on a somewhat sour note. The dogs had hunted hard, but with very little reward. So, I crossed the highway and tried one more spot, a long shot, but with this mild December weather, the birds could be there.

And they were. Tess pointed three sharptail that took flight from a higher elevation. I shot quickly, hitting the bird, but decided to take a 2nd shot, to confirm that it was dead and a prize for the little setters. It might sound like fiction, the quest for the perfect ending, but it was. I was almost to the truck, when Abby pointed and Tess backed her. I took one step and a small covey of eight birds rose up. I emptied both barrels, dropping a Hun for each dog to bring back to me. I nearly had tears in my eyes, noting how perfect of a finish it was.

Bonus Time

2011-12-18T19:37:00.000-08:00

In Montana and other states such as the Dakotas, some autumns our upland seasons end early, occasionally as early as Halloween. Snow can fill the grasslands completely, often icing over, creating a crust that is unfriendly to both dogs and birds. Sure, the birds are still out there, but often they congregate in farm yards, making them off-limits and just as well, if they are subject to five months of winter survival.

Thus far, 2011 has been a wingshooter’s blessing. There has been only one significant snowfall to date and the bulk of that has melted. Pheasants are still seeking refuge in tall CRP and Hungarian partridge are spending their time, well, where you find them. I am still seeing coveys in stubble fields and the shorter grasses, and on sunny hillsides. All of a sudden I am making up for lost time, days that were taken up by work, big game hunting and other necessities of life.

Despite the obvious added hunting opportunities for hunters and our beloved gun dogs, perhaps the biggest benefactor is the birds themselves. They are still enjoying the good life, having plenty of access to food and continuing to put on fat reserves to survive the winter ahead. Fortunately, we are already down to just three months of it.

Time To Come Clean

2011-11-29T20:29:00.000-08:00

My name is Jay and I am a bird hunter.

That is my only explanation after finishing my 2nd big game season in a row without shooting an elk, antelope or deer. I guess I just shoot birds. Not the worst habit to have, but is it better to be a specialist or be mediocre at a handful of pursuits?

Granted, I passed on a cow elk, two miles downhill from the truck, the day after Thanksgiving. On the final day of Montana's big game season, I also chose not to shoot a decent muley buck, after watching him through my scope for a few minutes. I was after a whitetail this year. And, I haven't drawn an antelope tag in two years. But, I live in the middle of Montana, so no excuses will suffice.

But, if you find yourself racing home from deer hunting at 9AM on the final day of the rifle season, to pick up your bird dogs and go hunt pheasants somewhere, you might be a bird hunter. The pheasants came easy this Sunday, the dogs had a great time and I hunted in a t-shirt in late November. To heck with deer and elk.

Sure am glad that Dad shared some of his elk meat, though.

Finishing In The Sage

2011-11-12T08:37:00.000-08:00

Upon returning to Montana from a trip to MN, where ruffed grouse and woodcock were on the menu, I added a couple of days to hunt pheasants once I crossed the border. Needless to say, shooting a big October rooster seemed like child's play, after fighting to get shots at crafty ruffs and diminutive woodcock in the North Woods.
Eventually I had to return to my email, voicemail and old school mail.
However, as I was nearing my home in central Montana, it dawned on me that the sage grouse season was about to close November 1st. Since I hadn't hunted sage grouse in a couple of years or so and I was in the midst of prime sage grouse country, I pulled over. The dogs were 7 days into a fairly intense road trip, but when their dog box opened, they still showed the same excitement they did a week earlier.
I grabbed just enough water for the dogs with about an hour hunt in mind. I headed for a large sage flat on public land where I had seen birds a few years ago. It was a case of deja vu, as the dogs became birdy on the same knob, pointing the same flock of sage grouse, which flushed in the same direction as years before. Obviously the birds were a newer generation, but everything else was a repeat. I only shot one big male sage grouse, not needing to shoot another majestic, native bird that is struggling in some parts. I headed back to the truck, but not before the dogs also found two coveys of Huns, which added to my mixed bag of birds very nicely, putting an exclamation point on my 2011 upland odyssey.

A Drop in the Bucket

2011-10-29T07:24:00.000-07:00

Fish mortality associated with irrigation ditches is a problem throughout the West. In Montana alone it is probable that hundreds of thousands, if not millions of fish (not all are trout) perish in irrigation ditches on an annual basis.

Trout Unlimited is working to raise funding for, and install screening on irrigation ditch headgates, but progress is slow. Additionally, many regional TU chapters are hosting events in cooperation with landowners to rescue fish stranded in irrigation ditches.

A fishing buddy and I recently held our own unsanctioned fish rescue on the irrigation ditch that runs by my house. This ditch diverts water from the Gallatin River, and likely claims the lives of thousands of fish every year. In about two hours of work with a boat net, a bucket and a sheet of window screening we managed to rescue nearly 100 fish. Many of them were fingerling whitefish, but a number of them were fine brown trout that belong in the river.

Our efforts were just a drop in the bucket, but every bit helps. Contact your local TU chapter to learn more about opportunities to get involved.

Pleasant Pheasant Surprise

2011-10-10T19:20:00.000-07:00

Most of us Montana bird hunters headed into the 2011 pheasant season with lowered expectations. Winter was pretty brutal, as it started early and lasted until April, without a lot of reprieve throughout. When spring did arrive, the state was saturated, with above average rainfall and a fair amount of lowland flooding. It was an unfortunate “perfect storm” scenario.

However, thirty minutes into the opener, I commented to Ryan that there were enough birds to hunt this fall, despite the negative outlook by wildlife biologists, farmers and hunters. By ten o’clock, when we had our limit of six roosters, I upgraded my description from “enough” to “average numbers". In one field alone, we moved probably 50 birds in a mile-long walk. However, there were areas that were fairly void of birds, but typically have held pheasants in the past. Over the course of the weekend, we did put on a few fruitless miles too. But, overall, there was plenty of action and good dog work.

The trade off for more birds than expected, was the quality of the birds. According to Ryan’s dad, who is a rancher and spends a good amount of time on the land, many pheasants had an unsuccessful first hatch, but managed a very successful second hatch, due to the lush grass that developed. Since many of the late hatches occurred around August 1st, the evidence was present this opener. We saw pheasants that would cackle like a rooster, but had no coloring whatsoever. One flock of pheasants were the size of Hungarian partridge. We vowed to select only the mature roosters over points by the dogs, but despite the attempt, we still ended up with a few young birds.

It was a pleasant surprise to see what Mother Nature can giveth after she taketh away so much during winter and spring. It should make for some decent hunting longer into the season. Let’s hope that winter doesn’t arrive early this autumn.

Good Year For The Blues

2011-09-18T18:10:00.000-07:00

Most of Montana had a wet, extremely wet, spring. As a bird hunter, we worry about the spring hatch as much as we worry about getting water in our basement. One thing I am learning is that the spring weather on the low ground, the stuff that adversely effects grouse, partridge and pheasants, may not be as detrimental to the mountain grouse populations.

In fact, we have seen some very nice broods this fall and a lot of them. It doesn't seem to matter what mountain range we hunt, what the weather is that day or what our horoscopes say; this is shaping up to be one of the best falls for chasing blue grouse up high.

But, there is one caveat to keep in mind before grabbing the shotgun and heading up in the hills: You will need to hunt hard and hunt high. Most of our birds have been above 7,000 feet and our daily jaunts have been pushing 10-12 miles.

As a result of the good fortunes up high, I have delayed most of my trips locally to look for Huns and sharptail. Those birds can wait, however. By late September, planning any trips to hunt blue grouse can get dicey. Snow comes early to the high country, making travel and hiking more difficult, if not impossible. Then, it is prairie birds or nothing. Let's hope they had a better-than-expected hatch too.

Birds and Dogs On The Front

2011-09-06T19:48:00.000-07:00

Since I wasn't as fortunate as some of the bird hunters I know, I didn't get to hunt the opener on September 1st. But, thanks to an invite from Shoco Ranch, I was hunting Saturday morning in some of the most beautiful country around.

Shoco is located just outside of Augusta, along the Rocky Mountain Front.Shoco is an oasis amidst mostly dry cattle country, with good bird habitat along a gem of a little trout stream. The fourth-generation owner of the ranch, Sally Shortridge, now manages the ranch for birds and also releases pheasants and chukars. Not truly wild birds, but you wouldn't know as you never see a pen of caged birds on the place and they fly as strongly as any game bird I have hunted.

Sally was a good host, as we hunted over both her German shorthair and my setters. (Guess which dogs required an hour of combing and grooming that evening) The dog work was good, the shooting decent and we finished the evening at a campfire at one of the three rustic, secluded cabins along the creek.

The next day Laura and I decided to trade the shotguns for fly rods and did a little fishing. The early September day was prime hopper time and Laura landed her first brown on a Joe's hopper. The creek held good numbers of fish and there were more deep runs than we could get to in a weekend. I really couldn't think of a place I would rather have been.

Trout Up High

2011-08-21T08:32:00.000-07:00

If you read Montana Sporting Journal, you know that we often tout Montana's great mountain lake fishing. The season is very short, the list of potential lakes to fish, so lengthy. While I am one the folks bragging up these little-fished resources, I hadn't yet been up in the mountains this summer to hike and fish.

That finally changed this weekend. Laura and I didn't have much time, just two days and one night to work with. Regardless, it was ample time to grab a pack, lightweight camping gear, and just the essentials out of my fly vest and head for the hills.

Upon arrival, the trailhead near Red Lodge was bustling with activity, which is always unexpected. Vehicles from five states, horse trailers and a couple of large vans, probably hauling groups of people were all present. However, there is no need to fret, as it is never crowded once you are a few miles into to bush. In fact, 1/3 of the people were within the first three miles of the trailhead and the horse trailers were for hauling mules to work on rebuilding parts of the trail.

The most difficult decision was to decide which lake to fish. Laura and I had six lakes to choose from, all around 10,000 feet, some of which held cutthroat, the others had brookies. We picked a lake that held both, but lacked a well-marked trail from the "base camp". The extra work would pay off, as we had the lake and its afterpool to ourselves. The fish were smaller than I had hoped, but with many of these mountain lakes, it is all about the timing of the stocking and growth rates. Two years from now, the fish in this alpine gem will be beauties.

We fished until mid-afternoon, packed three gutted trout into a Nalgene bottle packed with snow, and headed back downhill.

Once again, the time in the mountains was rejuvenating. It is always remarkable how you can be at snow level at noon and be back in Billings a few hours later where the temperature is pushing 90 degrees (Friday night in camp, water in the dog dish froze). The scenery never gets old and with a little bit of effort, you are rewarded with a little bit of heaven.

Finally Fishable

2011-07-22T18:59:00.000-07:00

July 4th was my guess. Today is July 22nd. A couple of months ago, during "the flood", we all took bets on when our local creek would be clear enough to wet a line. This evening, there was finally enough clarity to commence the 2011 fly fishing season on Spring Creek. Was it crystal clear? No. Good enough to make you feel like you had a chance at a trout that hadn't seen anything man-made for 9 months? Yes.

It has been an amazing year in Montana. Fly shops were selling more coffee to locals than flies and t-shirts to clients. The major tailwaters, the only options for weeks, were beaten to a froth with fly casters, but still awfully productive. This week we finally heard of some near normal conditions on the Big Hole, Upper Madison and other rivers. A lot of time has been lost this year. Bitterroot Skawla frenzy? Brief. Mother's Day Caddis hatch on the Upper Yellowstone? Skipped. Hoppers on the lower Yellowstone? Let's hope so. That big girl is still running high.

My fishing tonight was decent. Not a banner evening, but not too bad. The grass along the banks was waist high, the mosquitoes were running eight or so to the pound. These are the results of a wet spring. When the creek was sprawled out this spring, covering acres of ground and flooding basements, I couldn't help but wonder about the trout. Are they eating more? Are they not feeding at all, just dodging sticks and garbage, sitting on the bottom? Well, they are still there, acting like trout, fighting like trout and occasionally frustrating me like trout. Regardless, it is nice to have our old friend back.

For those of you that have been emailing, wondering if it was worth a drive up here to fish and buy me supper (Will, Spartas, Bryan Attwell, et al), come on up. It is time.

Friends, Fishing and the Fourth

2011-07-05T21:09:00.000-07:00

Typically in late June, early July, I am usually still chasing walleyes on Montana reservoirs, but this summer, with the lack of fishable trout water, makes it nearly a necessity. Granted, the boat ramp was completely under water and part of the campground was also damp, but our Fourth of July plan sounded like a good one.

While I expected a good walleye bite, I didn't expect to see eight species that were all on the feed this holiday weekend. Between the four of us, we netted walleye, northern pike, smallmouth bass, crappie, perch, sauger, and the less desirable, drum and goldeye. We each had our personal glory over the course of three days. Mike landed his biggest walleye to date, a feisty five pound fish that came out of six feet of water. Scott pulled in a smallmouth that topped four pounds. Laura finessed the most walleyes, some of which provided a nice fish fry Saturday night. And I led the group in song and played my guitar as we enjoyed the fire. Actually, we just enjoyed the fire.

Once again, I made the drive home, reflecting on how fortunate I was to live in this great state. The fishing pressure was light, despite it occurring during a busy weekend, the weather was spectacular and the fish, a true smorgasbord of riches, cooperated. What a great Fourth of July, what a great country and what a great state.

PS. Don't judge Scott by his hat. He is actually fairly sophisticated and worldly, but after two days of sun, he was desperate for shade.

Peak Flows

2011-06-24T08:02:00.000-07:00

The Gallatin River at 7,000 cfs on June 24, 2011

It's June 24th, and most of Montana's freestone rivers are still far from fishable. In fact many rivers recorded their highest flows of the year last night!

This is a year with the potential to set records, both in terms of maximum discharge and late dates for peak flow.

A couple of untamed rivers in southwest Montana are perfect examples: the Yellowstone and the Gallatin. The Yellowstone near Livingston went over 30,000 cfs last night and is still climbing. The river hasn't recorded flows that high since 1997 when it measured 38,000 cfs on June 6th - a peak flow nearly three weeks earlier than what the river is experiencing this year... assuming today's flows are the peak. The Gallatin River near Gateway touched 7,000 cfs last night, it hasn't seen those levels since - you guessed it - 1997 when it hit 9,160 cfs on June 2nd. Those high flow events in 1997 were the highest measured discharge (at said location) on record for each river.

Only once in over 100 years of recorded data has the Gallatin River peaked as late as July - an event that occurred on July 4, 1975. Similarly the Yellowstone River's latest recorded date for peak flow came on July 6, 1975. The calendar is creeping toward those dates and considering the abundant snowpack remaining at high elevations, some of Montana's rivers could come awfully close to setting 100 year records for the latest date of peak flow.

This late runoff is a frustrating prospect for anglers, but with the bigger picture in mind these extended flushing flows are great for the fisheries. For those who just have to fish, most of the tailwater rivers (ie: Bighorn, Missouri, Beaverhead, etc.) are fishing pretty well. The Big Hole is dropping and clearing just in time for the salmon fly hatch. Countless headwater streams are an option, as are numerous spring creeks and a myriad of mid- to high-elevation lakes.

Belated Father's Day

2011-06-21T21:05:00.000-07:00

Traditionally on Father's Day, my Dad and I make plans to go fishing somewhere locally. Often it is fishing walleyes, occasionally trout fishing. The routine is only fitting since he introduced me to the sport many years ago.

Once again, the Dismal Spring of 2011, hampered any plans to recreate this past Sunday. In fact, my boat hadn't moved from its parking spot since last fall, when it was officially cast aside for hunting season.

Since the weather finally perked up today, very fitting on this first day of summer, Dad and I hooked up the Lund and headed to a local reservoir after work. There aren't many options of any kind right now, as the streams are still raging mad from snow melt and consistent rains.

In my haste to leave town at 5PM sharp, I neglected to grab my fly rod. While I had spinning gear in the boat-an assortment of mostly warmwater gear for fish that don't rise to tiny insects-I wasn't too pleased with myself.

For what ever reason, maybe out of sympathy, Dad wasn't using his fly rod, instead throwing a variety of small spinners toward shore. Well, someone might as well put the 5-weight to work, so I helped myself. Eventually, we found some fish, near the face of the dam that were occasionally rising. There wasn't a lot of surface action, but it helped our morale, just seeing some rainbows near the boat. With the help of a small indicator, I moved a couple of fish that liked my beadhead prince.

It was finally the summer evening that we had been waiting a long time for. A fitting end to a Father's Day that came a couple of days late.

Thanks for sharing it Dad. The sport, the day and the fly rod.

On The Water Again

2011-05-31T06:10:00.000-07:00

For some of the purist fly anglers that subscribe to MSJ or only follow this blog, I realize you are probably very indifferent, or perhaps even disgusted, by my walleye and other warmwater activities. Fishing out of a motorized boat, using live bait, often nightcrawlers, may turn your stomach.

Well, right now I am glad I am fairly diverse angler. While I enjoy fly fishing and appreciate the intricacies and the simplicity of the form(see other May blog entries), I grew up fishing walleyes, panfish and pike. The spring fishing season and its preparation, was as much of an event as the first day of pheasant or deer season.

Nostalgia aside, fishing the big reservoirs for 'eyes is practical right now. While the majority of the states' rivers are running high, muddy and some, dangerous, the "lakes" of central and eastern Montana are fishable. Water temps are a little behind schedule, but they are creeping up slowly.

Getting that first bite of the spring is just like a child riding the bike he received from Santa. Despite not experiencing the slight tug of a walleye on our minnow/jig offering for six, seven months, we know exactly what to do. And we are just as excited to feel that sensation as we were last spring, and the spring before that.

Granted, the weather wasn't kind this holiday weekend and I only had one day to fish. With adequate rain gear and good sports along side of me, we made the best of it. And we caught fish.

The Opener

2011-05-23T20:01:00.001-07:00

Josh and Boges admire a solid Yellowstone cutt.

The MSJ fly fishing columnist, Josh Bergan, and I got out for the MT general fishing season opener on Saturday. We fished Notellum Creek for the large, migratory cutthroat trout that are rumored to be found in the stream. Prior to this trip I'd fished the creek on three separate occasions over the course of two years, not once catching a cutt - I was beginning to think it was all a myth.

Despite the forecast for heavy rain, the long drive, the grizzly warnings and the potential to arrive only to find a muddy creek - Josh and I went through with the trip. We were confident that we had our timing right for this trip - and timing is everything on this stream - but what concerned us was that we were completely at the mercy of whimsical Ma Nature. Fortunately a cold front moved through the state last week, slowing runoff and rendering Notellum Creek fishable, with 2-3 feet of visibility for opening day.

A big cutt, a small stream and the stuff of dreams.

We worked the water thoroughly, employing various nymph rigs and covering a lot of water with gaudy streamers. The first couple of hours didn't turn up any cutts, but I'd spooked what I was sure was a big trout and Josh saw another one break the surface. Josh was the first to hook-up, a solid 18-20" cutt chased down his sculpin imitation - unfortunately an overexcited pup rushed into the water, severely spooking the fish which came unhooked. Fortunately Josh got another shot later in the day, catching two 20 inch cutts in quick succession. I was a little slow to get in on the action, but a few gorgeous grayling helped ease my anxiety throughout the day. Eventually I managed to connect with a very healthy cutthroat, a fish that was the culmination of two years of dreaming and scheming about such a moment on Notellum Creek.

The Lodge at Eagle Rock

2011-05-15T20:27:00.000-07:00

I hadn't planned to spend back-to-back weekends on the Missouri River, but when the invitation was offered by a lodge to check out their digs and fish for for a day, I jumped at the chance.

The Lodge at Eagle Rock, located on the river in the beautiful Mid-Canyon section of the river is officially open for business after an extensive revitalization. The owners have done things right and started with an excellent management team and staff. Jen Newmack, of Great Falls, is the general manager and her energetic attitude will be a great fit. The fishing side of the business is also in good hands, those of her husband, Jason Newmack of 45 Degrees North Outfitters.

Our trip started with Laura and me meeting Jason for a day of fishing at the boat ramp at 8:30AM. After being rigged with nymphing rigs, we were fishing by 9:30. It was a great day to be on the water and it wasn't long before Laura had the first fish of the day, a decent brown, which Jason said was a bit rare for this stretch of the Missouri. That info would be deemed plausible as it would be the only brown of the day. The rainbows were numerous, however. And healthy. Jason had us into numbers of quality fish throughout the day. Fortunately for me, I don't mind being outfished by my female companion. And I was. I did make sure Laura knew that she had a very significant advantage by being in front of the boat.

We wrapped up our day on the water, anticipating our evening at the lodge. After a quick tour, we kicked back and enjoyed appetizers which were the creation of chef Geoff Langell. That was later followed by a wonderful four course meal, accompanied by great conversation, and a few fish stories. Laura would later comment that I was in my element, as we were enjoying some hockey on television, mixed in with some ping pong and shuffleboard, after a great meal and a great day of fishing. She was right. Thanks a million, Jen, Jason, Geoff and The Lodge at Eagle Rock! - Jay

The Mighty Mo and Mom's Day

2011-05-08T19:52:00.000-07:00

After weeks of reading Will's fishing reports and waiting in vain for good turkey calling weather, I had to make my own music. I didn't want my first blog entry in ~~weeks~~ months to be about watching playoff hockey or creating better Feng shui in my home.

So, Dave and I met up at the epicenter of the Missouri River- Craig, MT- and pitched camp for the weekend. Sources advised us that we should probably be looking at the Yellowstone and the pending caddis hatch instead. But, we liked the idea of an overlooked Missouri instead this weekend and spending time in Craig is always a nice break. The cell phone reception is just poor enough that you feel like you truly are off the grid. Then again, an excellent dinner and more playoff hockey at Izaak's, kills that argument.

Saturday the fishing was slow to fair; I have yet to have a banner day on the stretch from Holter Dam to the Wolf Creek bridge, and that rut continues. As we drifted closer to Craig, the fishing improved. We were forced to nymph the entire float with only a handful of rises seen all day. While the quantity was average, the quality was great. One 22" bruiser fought like a steelhead and I am still amazed that it was eventually brought to the boat. After a nap, an early supper, Dave and I headed downstream toward the Dearborn, fishing on foot, looking for some rising fish. There were a decent number of baetis appearing at dusk, but nothing to write home about.

Sunday morning we swallowed our pride and went and saw Mark and the guys at Headhunters. Dave was nice enough to offer up my debit card ("oops, I left my wallet in my waders") and asked them to hook us up. They did, gave us a discount for being great guys ("industry stiffs") and Dave was tying on new midge patterns before I had signed my receipt.

It was a beautiful morning and we only shared the river with geese and goslings. The fishing below Craig was looking promising as Dave caught a decent 'bow right off the bat. He credited Headhunters, but I think it was partly due to my excellent boat control and the suggestion to remove the gigantic orange strike indicator for a more subtle black bobber. Regardless, it was a great, albeit short float. Our Sunday morning ride on the Missouri was only three hours long, but then again, I had to get home to see Mom.

Gallatin River on Borrowed Time

2011-05-05T21:28:00.000-07:00

Fish each day like it's your last.

That's been the mantra in Montana over the past week... runoff is overdue.With runoff will come weeks, months even, of excruciating non-fishing activities.

Saturday, Tuesday and Thursday found me on the Gallatin River, reveling in the good fortune of fishing in May. Mid-day hatches of March browns have been excellent, baetis are coming off in good numbers on overcast afternoons and there are even a few lingering skwala stoneflies. The streamer bite has been productive in late afternoon, and nymphing has been consistent all day.

The river has picked up some color in recent days, but still has 3+ feet of visibility. One only has to glance at the snow laden mountains looming over the river valley to realize that we're fishing on borrowed time - enjoy it while it lasts.

A Day on the Yellowstone

2011-04-19T10:20:00.000-07:00

After working all weekend I decided that I needed a day off on Monday. It just so happened that a couple of my fishing buddies also had Monday off, and so plans were made to float the Yellowstone River near Livingston, from Pine Creek to Carters. The forecast was favorable, in the sense that they (NOAA) were calling for relatively calm wind out of the SW, to go along with a strong chance of precipitation.

The river had been warming into the upper 40's consistently every afternoon, and reports of good streamer fishing sounded promising. We launched at Pine Creek Bridge late in the morning under overcast skies. Right out of the gate our double nymph rigs were working well - although much of the catch consisted of whitefish. We caught trout on a variety of patterns, including stonefly nymphs (girdle bugs, etc.) and smaller trailers such as soft hackle pheasant tails, SJ worms, and caddis larva (green rock worm, etc.)

We stopped to wade fish at a location where the river split into multiple channels, and it was here that we felt the first powerful wind gusts blast us from the north. A couple of eddies along the channels produced numerous fish, many of which were rainbows that aggressively chased a streamer.

We continued our float downriver, stopping at a few likely looking runs where we caught some sizable browns and rainbows on the soft inside corners of riffles - and in the riffles themselves. But the weather was becoming a concern. The wind was blowing hard out of the north, posing less of a problem for fishing than for rowing - a brutal headwind isn't much fun in an oar powered boat. Despite the wind, the fishing remained good - although we had to push through lots of great looking water in order to get off the river by dark. Baetis hatched throughout the afternoon, and a few March browns were spotted.

The Yellowstone still has a brief window of opportunity for good fishing over the next couple of weeks. It was already a bit off color, particularly below town. The nymph and streamer fishing should remain very good until runoff hits - and with any luck we'll see the caddis hatch while conditions are still favorable.

Talking Turkey

2011-04-08T08:08:00.000-07:00

Spring turkey season opens tomorrow, 4/9, in Montana. Old man winter is back for an encore - a couple of inches of fresh snow fell overnight in the Gallatin Valley. If the winter conditions persist into tomorrow, it should make for a productive morning of turkey hunting.

The gobblers are responding to calling, and the cold conditions are keeping them in their tree top roosts late into the morning. I watched a sizable flock this morning from first light until about 7:30am - the majority of the birds didn't hit the ground until well after 7:00am - a full half hour later than usual.

For those getting out tomorrow: best of luck and enjoy the time afield.

It's In The Air

2011-03-15T10:19:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I awoke early to stormy skies and a brisk wind, not the best of conditions for a planned day of fly fishing. But by the time I loaded my gear in the truck and had filled the Thermos with coffee, the wind had abated.

Our crew met up at a buddy's house, which is conveniently located within ten minutes of what would be our fishing destination on this day. Breakfast was sizzling on the stove top when I arrived, and talk of trout filled the room.

With bellies full of pancakes, eggs and coffee, we headed downstream from the county bridge spanning the river. A couple of us were hell bent on throwing streamers, while the more practical among us employed a tandem nymph rig. Despite the recent warm-up, the streamer bite was non-existent. After working several great looking areas of winter holding water without a single chase or flash, I clipped off the streamer and affixed an indicator, hare's ear nymph, San Juan worm and two BB's to my leader... I never had to change from that set-up the remainder of the day.

We were into fish consistently with nymphs, in hole after hole. Ninety percent of the catch consisted of rainbows in prime, pre-spawn condition. The average trout stretched the tape to 15 inches or so, and the largest went 19 inches - pretty impressive for a freestone stream in late winter.

We couldn't have asked for nicer weather, after a few brief bouts of rain and sleet in the morning, the clouds parted. Wildlife was abundant throughout the day. Large flocks of ducks and geese filled the sky, roosters flushed across the river, bald eagles soared overhead and whitetail deer fed in riverside fields. All in all it was a memorable day of winter fishing in Montana.

Feeding The Home Covey

2011-02-28T21:28:00.000-08:00

After record low temperatures last week and officially having snow cover in Central Montana for the 4th full month, I couldn't take it any longer. I had to check on the local partridge covey. They aren't birds I hunt, but birds that my dogs get to find, point, and sometimes chase, throughout the spring, summer and fall. Huns are often predictable in their favorite haunts and they were here again, midday on a windy, wintry day.
Unfortunately, the covey of 11 Huns in November, numbered only 7 this day in February. Different covey? Possibly, but doubtful. They flushed to their usual refuge, a patch of buck brush, just over the ridge. They sounded the same, flew the same, but I felt sorry for them. When the landscape is nothing but white, crusted snow, I really wonder what they eat. I feel less sorry for pheasants, as they are bigger, can eat foods such as Russian olives and can scratch through some snow. Sharptail and sage grouse, I don't worry much about, as they are more native than we are.
Folks like myself that hunt, often tout that the hatch is more important than winter mortality numbers. Sure, the hatch can make or break a hunting season. However, if the birds are dead in a March blizzard, their nests in May don't exist.
So, I completed the mission on this long, lunch-break from work. I carried the Home Covey a bag of food and spread it on the only bare knob on which they like to sit and scratch grit from. It may be without benefit, it probably wouldn't sit will with Montana Fish and Game. Feeding wildlife is frowned upon, but I had to do something. Let's hope there are 7 Huns remaining when this long winter finally comes to an end.

Not Done With Winter Yet

2011-02-20T19:50:00.001-08:00

After having a number of schedule conflicts in January, my ice-fishing jaunts were severely in jeopardy of being cancelled until next winter. Work, combined with a week of temps in the 50s and early runoff entering some of the rivers, made me look toward spending time in the boat, not sitting in an ice shanty.

Hold the phone. With one simple Alberta Clipper, Montana had another visit from ol' man winter, and I was packing up ice fishing rods, fish houses, heaters and plenty of warm clothing.

Arriving at the lake, I was surprised that it was deserted. Then again, with the combination of earlier reports of ice deterioration and now with expected high temperatures in single digits, there were a number of reasons why people wouldn't risk a trip to the outback of Montana.

As typical of post cold-front fishing, the walleyes were a bit sluggish. Most of the 1-2 pound "eaters", were caught in the twilight hours. Northern pike were active during the day, giving us problems trying to land the toothy, aggressive fish on lighter walleye and perch tackle. We did get a few of them up onto the ice, Andy bringing in one around 18lbs, that he released.

But, as is usually the case, the fishing trip was only partly about the fishing. Scott treated us to a meal of elk burgers Saturday night, mule deer surrounded us the entire weekend, with coyotes howling in every direction. And when my diesel truck wouldn't start Sunday morning at 15 degrees below, I was quickly reminded that we have plenty of winter remaining. Maybe too much.

HB 309

2011-02-12T09:34:00.000-08:00

Montana's stream access law is under siege by HB 309. With its supposed intention of "Clarifying the prohibition of recreational use of water diverted from a natural water body...", HB 309 seems innocent enough, but a closer inspection of the bill's language reveals its inherent evil.

The bill was introduced by Jeffrey Wellburn (R-Dillon) and was supported by an alarming number of our elected officials as the bill made its way through the House of Representatives this week.

The analysis' of HB 309 from trustworthy organizations that have our interests at heart: Montana Trout Unlimited (TU) and Fishing Outfitters Assoc. of MT (FOAM) reveal that the bill is a serious threat to the status quo of stream access in Montana. You can read a thorough dissection of the bill on the websites of those organizations, but the gist of it is that the bill aims to do more than simply clarify the law as it pertains to irrigation ditches. Rather, the bill would broadly define an irrigation ditch as, "Any waterway created at least in part by waters diverted from a natural water body where the diverted water is the principal source of water in the water body."

There's a lot of gray area in that type of language, it could be interpreted in a number of ways. In a worst case scenario the bill's passing would prohibit public fishing on a lengthy list of the state's best water - from small streams to mainstem rivers.

There are scores of water bodies throughout the state that suffer from low flows during late summer. This situation is exacerbated by - and in some cases rooted in - irrigation out flows. I'll never forget one August day a few years ago when I stopped at Selkirk FAS on the Musselshell - the river was a collection of pools connected by a mere trickle; yet the irrigation ditch paralleling the river was plum full. That is an extreme example, but it's certainly possible that - during periods of low flow - the primary source of in-stream flows on numerous waterways is the return flow from irrigation ditches. HB 309 would define a free flowing river or stream as a "ditch" in such instances.

Looking at the bill from a pragmatic and simple minded angler's perspective, it's completely unnecessary. Assuming that the bill's true intention is to clarify the prohibition of recreation on irrigation ditches, the current stream access law already has that covered. And what's more, who wants to fish a ditch anyway? I can't imagine it really being an issue for landowners.

The bill - and our collective fate - now rests in the hands of the state senate. Whether you live in Montana or not, contact your senator... any MT senator... a republican senator. Should the bill pass the senate, our last line of defense against HB 309 lies in a veto from Governor Brian Schweitzer, but let's not allow it to get that far.

If you don't think this is a big deal, think again - and if you need a second opinion just ask any Utah angler.

Going Back

2011-01-29T19:39:00.000-08:00

It happened to my Dad quite a few years ago, in the north woods of Minnesota. Dale Spartas, fantastic photog and well, decent friend, also speaks passionately about it happening to him. During my college years, it happened to me, before I even knew how serious it was. For sportsmen, it is one of the most despicable acts known. I don’t have a name for it, but simply, as Dale calls it, “Going Back.”
Going back is when you show a so-called friend, one of your hard-earned hunting or fishing honey holes and they make it their own. It can be an inconspicuous stretch of stream that holds larger-than-average trout. Maybe it is a hidden drainage that offers up more big bull elk than normal. For some reason , the classless act seems to torment bird hunters more than most. Maybe it is our need for elbow room, the onset of dwindling access or maybe we are just solitary folks. Regardless, many of us serious bird hunters are very careful who we hunt with. We will often hunt alone, before we hunt with some we don’t know or trust.
I won’t defend any guy that “goes back”, but for some, they are just ignorant. When it happened to my dad, the scofflaw had the gall to brag to my Dad about a recent hunt he just had in the very grouse and woodcock covert that was previously shown to him. I caught my college friend red-handed, just as he and his dad were returning to their truck, exiting the pheasant bonanza that I had driven him to the weekend before. Needless to say, I didn’t stop to chat.
Poaching another man's spot isn't always black and white. How about on private land, if the landowner says you are both invited back, when it was you that introduced the two? Can your buddy go back when he pleases or only with you? Same question applies to Block Management. It appears in a public pamphlet, but you did the groundwork to determine good from bad Block Management? Bottom line, if in doubt, don’t go back.
So, Dale, don’t you think after all of these years, we can finally hunt together in Montana? Let's hunt your Hun stuff first.....

Legends

2011-01-23T09:14:00.000-08:00

Tim Tollett of Dillon, MT

It's the dead of winter here in Montana. Sporting opportunities are slim to none, unless you're into ice fishing or predator hunting. Most of us are in a state of semi-hibernation, spending long hours watching football, tying flies and reloading.

This weekend a local fly shop gave guys - and even a few gals - a good excuse to get out of the house for a couple of hours. Montana Troutfitters, a Bozeman fly shop, has recently started up their annual "weekends with the legends" series on Saturday's. To those of you who aren't into fly fishing, this may sound like a mundane outing. To those of us who are passionate about the sport of fly fishing and the art of fly tying, it was very interesting.

This weekend's presenter was Tim Tollett of Dillon, MT. Before listening to Tim speak I knew him as the owner and operator of Frontier Anglers, but to be completely honest I had no idea just how legendary he is in the world of fly fishing.

His knowledge seemed infinite, his story telling was top notch and his tying tutorials were educational. All in all it was a fairly humbling experience, making me realize just how much I still have to learn about fly fishing.

Those flashback nymphs that we've all relied upon at times over the years - yeah - Tim is responsible for bringing those onto the scene in the states. He told stories about fishing with the likes of Al Troth and Lee Wulff, famous anglers and innovators from a bygone era. He dispensed more knowledge in the two hours that I was in attendance than many anglers learn in a lifetime of fishing.

Check out the line-up of legends that will be presenting at Troutfitters over the next several weeks and make it to the shop if you can, there's a wealth of knowledge to be had.

Yellowstone Wolf Documentary

2011-01-12T09:20:00.000-08:00

While drinking my coffee this morning I visited Dan "Rooster" Leavens blog, Rooster's Ramblings. Here I found a video trailer for an upcoming documentary about the Yellowstone wolf reintroduction's impact on wildlife and hunting in SW Montana. The name of the documentary is, "Yellowstone is Dead" - you can probably deduce the viewpoint of the film makers from that. The video includes an appearance by Don Laubach of ELK Inc. - living in Gardiner, MT Don has witnessed the downfall of the Northern Yellowstone Elk Herd over the past 15 years. The full length documentary promises to be interesting.

The Final Bird Hunt

2010-12-31T09:03:00.000-08:00

The Christmas and New Year's holidays are always bittersweet for us bird hunters. At the same time that we are celebrating with family, enjoying a few days off from work, we are also trying to fit in a final couple of days hunting. Often, these final days afield are cold and miserable, providing plenty of excuses to stay home, if needed.

My final hunt in 2010, was on Christmas Day, just a few miles from town. It wasn't meant to be an all day hunt, just a quick walk to exercise the dogs and give myself a bit of breathing room between excessive bouts of eating. In fact, I didn't don my usual hunting vest and just threw five shells in my pocket.

The morning was only offering temperatures in the single digits, but without any wind, it was a nice day to be following dogs, carrying a shotgun. As soon as we crossed the first wind-swept ridge, the dogs were rigid, both looking downhill and upwind. Just as I spotted a flock of sharptail on the ground, the birds took flight, giving me a long shot at one bird, but to no avail. A few minutes later, Abby was locked up again, this time with a covey of Huns in front of her. I managed to drop two of the birds, one of which was retrieved by Abby, the other one I picked up, after the fact.

I continued my walk, encountering more sharptail, but not needing to pull the trigger. I had all I needed in my brief walk: fresh air, good dog work and one day closer to the 2011 upland bird season.

Augers and Bird Doggers?

2010-12-18T13:51:00.000-08:00

Lame title, I know, but Cast and Blast didn't fit since there isn't any casting involved with ice-fishing. There wasn't a lot of blasting either, but we did see plenty of birds.

Scott, Ryan and I met up in northern Montana, to do some early season, warm-water (species, definitely not the water) ice-fishing, combined with late season pheasant hunting. It was an "in-between" proposition, as there wasn't an abundance of ice, but almost too much snow for decent bird hunting.

We were able to get on the ice with a four-wheeler, a machine that is quite handy for towing the abundance of gear required for comfortable fishing when the temperatures are below zero. But, with only six to eight inches of ice, we weren't overly confident driving around soft spots or cracks that would heave when driven over. The fishing was decent; the pike and perch were almost a nuisance, although some of each made their way into the bucket, to be cleaned at home once they thawed. The walleyes were harder to come by, although Scott had a good flurry of action when Ryan and I were chasing birds.

Chasing we did. The birds that have survived the past two months of the upland season in Montana are wary ones. We had decent dog work with Ryan's Griffon and my two setters. It was mostly hens that sat tightly, but we did kill four roosters the first day. We had our best luck in heavy cattails, cattails that were misery to walk through after being socked full of knee-deep snow. The second morning we had a strong wind and a temperature at a nice, round number of zero. Needless to say, we couldn't put up with that more than a couple of hours. It was also tough to compete with the sanctuary of a nearby farm yard that was absolutely loaded with birds.

But, we had enough success to feel good about our winter cast and blast. Two days later, when the fish finally thawed and the roosters were cleaned, a meal of flaky, white fillets and tender pheasant breasts was enjoyed immensely.

(I apologize for the lack of good photos. My Nikon is in the repair shop)

The Mercer Bull

2010-12-16T12:53:00.000-08:00

While doing research for an upcoming article in MSJ I came across an Outdoor Life article written by Fred Mercer in 1960. The article was also reprinted in RMEF's Bugle magazine in 1993. The article is an account of Mr. Mercer's 1958 Montana elk hunt, on which he harvested a bull that to this day is the #1 typical bull elk harvested in MT. Click here to view the article (you'll need a Google account to view).

Ed Bangs Interview

2010-12-09T18:52:00.001-08:00

The current issue of Montana Sporting Journal features an excellent interview with Ed Bangs - the Wolf Recovery Coordinator for the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service since the beginning of the gray wolf reintroduction in 1995. For those of you who haven't had an opportunity to pick-up a copy of the current issue, and are interested in the topic of wolves in Montana, the full interview is free to read by clicking here.

Here's an excerpt from a response that Ed Bangs provided in the interview:

"We predicted the wolf population would grow about 22% a year and it did. But I am surprised that we now have over 1,700 wolves. I believed (and still do) that the Northern Rocky Mountains will not be able to sustain that many wolves long-term."

Muley Camp - Days 5&6

2010-11-19T05:55:00.000-08:00

The pressure was on for Friday, we had three tags to fill and this was the last full day to hunt. We kicked things off with a strong pot of coffee and a big breakfast comprised of biscuits and gravy, eggs and canned peaches. My Dad and I planned to penetrate a couple of miles into a roadless area today. We had a bit of a drive ahead of us to get to the trailhead, but made good time and found ourselves alone at the trailhead at first light.

Things looked promising early on, with several does quickly spotted. Unfortunately we couldn't find a buck. Our bad luck held out as we worked deeper into the roadless area, seeing does, but no bucks. When we finally did see a buck, things still weren't going our way. We'd stopped at a great vantage point to glass a big drainage. We'd been sitting there for a good 5-10 minutes when suddenly a buck and doe bolted out from the bluff underneath us - they'd been bedded no more than 30 yards below us that entire time! The buck, a 3x3, stopped briefly at a hundred yards, but my Dad's rifle was just out of reach.

We saw upwards of fifty elk in the morning, including some good bulls. Deer numbers just didn't seem as high in this area - perhaps due to the higher elk densities, perhaps not. Regardless, we decided to abandon the roadless area in favor of some country closer to camp where we'd been seeing excellent numbers of deer throughout the hunt.

Sure enough, as soon as we'd driven into the general area that we wanted to hunt for the afternoon, I spotted a herd of deer about a mile away, far down a deep drainage. Through my binoculars I could see that one of the deer was big bodied, a mature buck no doubt. Upon taking a look through the spotting scope my suspicion was confirmed and we set out after the buck.

We made good time dropping down to the herd's last known location and the wind was in our favor. We had plenty of time, a solid hour of shooting light remained, so we crept in, glassing thoroughly in an effort to relocate the herd. When we slowly peeked over the top of the drainage that they'd likely fed into, sure enough, there were deer. Two does. I glassed the drainage quickly, but thoroughly (or so I thought) and concluded that these were different deer, as no buck was in sight and there were fewer does. We were dejected, but still had some light remaining and decided to hunt our way back to the truck. We moved down the backside of the ridge a couple of hundred yards before I decided to peek back over at the does...just in case. I chose a terrible spot to peek over - I had nothing for cover. As I peered over the ridge I immediately new I'd screwed up, directly across the drainage was a big bodied deer - bringing up my binoculars revealed a solid buck - a buck that had seen my big head bobbing on the bare ridgeline. I dropped back out of sight and instructed my Dad to get ready for a shot, that the buck was moving up the opposite ridge and would be coming into our line of sight quickly. Within seconds a pogo-sticking buck could be seen on the top of the opposite ridge - 200 yards away. The buck stopped for a few brief seconds to look back, I instructed my Dad to take him if he could - but he hadn't had quite enough time to get set-up and the buck vanished over the ridge unscathed.

While there was still a half day, morning hunt on the horizon for Saturday - in all reality the sun had set on this hunt. It was a great hunt, and any hunt that I get to share with my Dad these days is a special one. For him it was all about the experience, seeing new country and enjoying the time afield and in camp, pulling the trigger wasn't paramount.

Back at camp that evening we learned that Matt had found success - looking to fill the freezer, he'd harvested a "meat buck" in the morning. They saw a monster buck late in the afternoon and managed to close the distance, but by the time they were set-up for a shot the bedded buck had blended into the surrounding sage in the low light. Dave made the ethical choice and chose not to shoot.

With our tags filled, Matt and I had the luxury of sleeping in on Saturday morning, while our fathers hunted together for a few hours. By the time they'd returned from their morning hunt we had camp torn down for the most part and had even found time to wet a line in the reservoir.

With any luck this hunt, with these guys will become something of an annual tradition.

Muley Camp - Day 4

2010-11-18T05:52:00.000-08:00

On Thursday morning we loaded our packs for a full day afield, rarely do we return to camp for lunch and this day would be no exception. We hiked into an area where we'd seen some deer, and a good buck, early in the week. Right off the bat I spotted a lone buck feeding over a ridge. I only got a quick look at the buck, but he appeared large enough to warrant further investigation. We gave chase, but never saw the buck again...he was probably moving quickly, covering country in search of does.

We continued covering country ourselves, doing a good deal of detailed glassing along the way. We spotted a few more does throughout the morning, but no bucks. Interestingly, throughout the week we'd been seeing a lot of elk sign nearly everywhere we hunted - yet we hadn't seen hair nor hide of an elk. The Missouri River Breaks is famous for its big bull elk (and sheep, and deer). The chance of drawing a license here is very slim, hovering around 3% in most years. This morning we finally saw elk on the hoof - my Dad glassed up two cows in heavy cover on a north facing slope...it was neat to see them.

As it turned out, this was to be quite a day for elk sightings. About an hour later, as we worked our way across the bottom of a coulee, I happened to glance to my right to see a big 6x6 bull elk bedded fifty yards away. Amazingly he was bedded in a little cutbank crevice - right out in the open sage! And then later in the day we got to see a group of 6 bulls move by us at little more than a hundred yards. These bulls were all amazing, with some in the 300-320 class, but nothing truly huge. That is until I spotted a bull moving parallel to us along an open slope late in the day...he was a ways off, but he was the type of bull that The Breaks is famous for - an enormous 6x6.

While elk were the story of the day, we did have an opportunity to put a stalk on a big 3x3 mule deer buck (yes, the bar had been lowered a bit) in the afternoon. The buck was about a half mile away when we spotted him, he was solo, and moving in our direction at a steady clip - cruising for does no doubt. When he moved out of our line of sight we scrambled to ambush him. Unbeknownst to us, during the few minutes that it took us to hike to the adjacent ridge the buck had veered to the north - a ninety degree turn that put us out of position. The buck was now 400+ yards away - out of range as far as we're concerned. We gave chase, but as luck would have it the aforementioned herd of 6 bull elk crashed the party - they'd been pushed our way by other hunters and blew right by the buck, who was nowhere to be found once the dust settled.

As we hiked back to the truck in the fading light we glassed up several does, but none were in the company of a buck. For the first time all week we beat Matt and Dave back to camp in the evening, they'd embarked on an ambitious loop hike into some roadless country...in fact it turned out that they were the hunters who'd bumped the elk in our direction. They'd seen deer as well, with Matt coming across a buck and doe. According to Matt the buck was a big one, and provided him with a brief window for a shot opportunity. Dropping into a prone position and using his pack as a rest, Matt took the shot - with no reaction from the buck. Upon closer investigation he found no sign of having hit the buck, what he found instead explained the miss: a tree sporting a substantial gash from his bullet.

After another great dinner and night cap, we set the alarm for 4:30am - we had just one full day left to hunt and we were eager to make the most of it.

Muley Camp - Day 3

2010-11-17T06:50:00.000-08:00

The thermometer outside the wall tent registered 16 degrees when we awoke on the morning of day 3. After a hearty breakfast of eggs, sausage, tortillas, canned peaches and coffee, we loaded into the trucks to head out for the day. Matt and Dave motored west, while my Dad and I drove as close as we could to the kill site of my buck. With the cold weather we were in no huge rush to get to the quarters that we'd left in the field. We worked our way in slowly, hunting all the way in an effort to fill my Dad's tag.

We weren't a half mile from the truck when we started seeing deer, and lots of them. The first bunch consisted of 7 or 8 does and a lovestruck 3x3. Moving on, we quickly glassed up another herd...by the time we arrived at the kill site a couple of hours later we'd probably glassed about 50 deer, including 4 bucks - but nothing large enough to pull the trigger.

The quarters were hanging right where I'd left them - nothing had disturbed them overnight. I skinned out the skull and we loaded up the Eberlestock pack with meat and antlers for the hike out.

On the hike back to the truck I picked up a nice 6 point elk shed, it wasn't 200 yards off the road! We arrived back at camp and got the quarters into a cooler before enjoying a leisurely lunch and completing a few camp chores. For the afternoon hunt we decided to drive into some new country to the west and do a bit of glassing. On the drive in we passed by Matt and Dave's rig parked above some good looking country - we later learned that they saw many deer in the area, including a nice 3x3 that Matt couldn't quite talk himself into taking at this point in the hunt.

The afternoon was bone chilling, with a bitter wind blowing out of the north. Prolonged glassing sessions were miserable, but we did see several does on distant ridges as the sun set.

At the end of day 3 our camp was 1 for 4 on mule deer. With my Dad having come all the way from Arizona for the hunt, I really wanted to be sure that he had an opportunity to fill his tag. In fact, I'd practically begged him to shoot the buck that I ended up harvesting, but he wouldn't hear it. I'd spotted the buck he'd said, it was mine to take. We had two full days of hunting left, I was confident that we'd get him a buck.

Muley Camp - Day 2

2010-11-16T08:48:00.000-08:00

We awoke on Day 2 (our first full day) to find that it had rained overnight, a scenario that every Missouri River Breaks hunter fears, for with precipitation comes mud. Now Breaks mud isn't just any mud, but a special blend that sticks to everything that comes into contact with it. With the exception of the main gravel road, vehicular travel was severely restricted by slick, sloppy roads. Rather than sleeping in and waiting for the roads to dry out as I suspect many other hunters did, we made the most of it and hiked into the country surrounding camp.

My Dad and I headed east along the shore of the reservoir until we'd put some distance between us and camp. We quickly got into deer, including some pretty nice bucks, but nothing with the 4x4 configuration that we were looking for.

By late morning we'd slogged our way through the mud, and into a series of drainages containing good security cover on north facing slopes and good browse on the southern exposures. In one of these drainages we bumped into a bedded buck and doe - the buck was big - a deeply forked 4x4 with great height and mass. The buck split from the doe and never looked back, escaping unscathed. I was feeling dejected about botching that opportunity. The buck and doe had been bedded in some sparse cedars at the bottom of the ridge - had we simply approached from the north we probably could have spotted them before they bolted. I suppose I could've taken a quick shot at the buck at about 80 yards on a dead run, but I wasn't confident in my ability to make a clean shot in that situation.

At this point it was after noon, the wind was howling and the deer were all bedded. We climbed to a high vantage point on the lee side of a ridge and settled in for a long lunch and rest break. On a cold day in the backcountry, there's nothing quite like breaking out the Pocket Rocket for a Mountain House and cup of Starbuck's VIA. The fuel, stove, water pan and food weigh next to nothing, but provide a hot, fast and delicious meal.

Fat, happy and cozy in the down jackets that we pulled from our packs, it was difficult to keep from dozing off. By mid-afternoon we started seeing a few does up and feeding, signaling us to get back on our feet as well. At about 3 o'clock I spotted a lone buck standing in heavy cover nearly a mile away. A quick look through the spotting scope revealed that this was a buck worthy of closer inspection. We devised a stalk, which included provisions for some does feeding between us and the buck - does that could easily throw a wrench in things if they spooked in the direction of the buck.

The stalk went off without a hitch, until we were approaching the final ascent to the saddle that would serve as the planned shot site. Working through the deep coulee bottom I glanced up at the ridge line to the west and saw a small army of blaze orange heading in the direction of the buck! These were the first hunters we'd seen all day and they were about to become a major problem for us. They weren't aware of the buck's presence - their frequent stops to glass in the opposite direction made that evident. I quickly made myself highly visible to them, hoping it would be enough to deter them from their course, which was a beeline for the buck's location. It didn't work, they continued to the ridge top, stopping directly above the now bedded buck. They were no more than 70 or 80 yards above the buck as they stood and glassed back to the west.

As we scrambled up the last hundred feet or so to the saddle, I was muttering under my breath - something about this not being my day. I thought that the buck would surely break from his bed with the presence of the other hunters. Upon gaining the saddle I slowly peeked over the top to glass the buck's last known location and wouldn't you know it, there he was, still bedded with an ear cocked to the hunters standing just uphill from him. It was a classic scenario, a wise old buck bedded just out of sight of the oblivious hunters, waiting them out, secure and confident in his chosen location.

I now had a dilemma on my hands. A dandy 4x4 buck was bedded less than 200 yards from me, broadside. I could have easily shot the buck where he lay, but with hunters just above and behind his location I felt that it wasn't a morally sound shot to take. I was now confident that the buck wouldn't bolt from his bed, unless the hunters pushed down through the cover he was in. After waiting for an excruciating 10 or 15 minutes, the hunters finally dropped off the ridge, giving me a safe shot at the buck. With shooting light fading, I steadied my Blaser R8 chambered in .30-06 and took the shot. Hit hard, the buck quickly expired a few feet from his bed.

We made our way down to the buck, a mature 4x4 that I'd venture to guess was 3 1/2 or 4 1/2 years old. We made quick work of quartering him for the pack out. I was very pleased with the performance of my new knife, a SCKW No. 6. I loaded up my pack with two quarters and hung the remainder in trees - out of the reach of coyotes. We'd return the next morning to retrieve the rest of the meat, along with the antlers.

With the aid of headlamps we covered the two miles back to camp, arriving late and tired. In the comfort of a warm wall tent we re-fueled on elk burgers and Gatorade as we shared the details of our day with Matt and Dave.

Muley Camp - Day 1

2010-11-15T06:55:00.000-08:00

Fresh off a fantastic, 6 day mule deer hunt in Montana's Missouri River Breaks, I'm unpacking gear, butchering venison and looking over photos from the trip.

Over the next few days I'll be sharing some of our experiences from the hunt here, on the MSJ blog.

Day 1

On Sunday night I motored east to Billings to meet my Dad, who had flown in from Arizona for the hunt. This was to be his first big game hunt in Montana. We left my sister's house early Monday morning, stopping briefly in Grass Range for burgers, coffee and to top off the gas tank. My Dad soon got his first look at The Breaks as we descended into the river valley and crossed the mighty Mo via Fred Robinson Bridge. My old man liked the looks of the country: rough, scenic, and moderately timbered - perfect for hiking and glassing...the style of hunting that he enjoys most.

Our destination was Fourchette Bay on the north shore of Fort Peck Reservoir, this remote outpost would serve as our base camp for the hunt. After turning off the highway we navigated fifty miles of good dirt roads into Fourchette, driving through a seemingly endless sea of unspoiled Montana prairie in the process.

The plan was to meet my buddy Matt and his Dad at camp, they'd arrived the day prior and set up the wall tent - and perhaps even done a little hunting by now. As the road dropped to the campground and turned the corner, I was pleasantly surprised to see that the number of camps wasn't overwhelming (it can be a tent/trailer city here at times).

Although Matt and his Dad were out hunting, we quickly spotted camp and unloaded our gear. With a few hours of shooting light remaining, we decided to get out and have a look around. We drove a few miles from camp, parked and hiked along a large ridge with numerous finger ridges descending into deep creek bottoms on either side. Deer sign was everywhere and we soon got a look at our first muley of the trip - a young buck. Just before last light we spotted a sizable herd of deer feeding on an open slope just a couple of hundred yards from us. A good size buck was with the bunch, but in the low light we had trouble determining just how big he was and neither of us were itching to pull the trigger this early in the hunt.

It was an encouraging afternoon that indicated we could expect to see some rutting behavior from the bucks. As we pulled back into camp in the dark, the wall tent was glowing from lantern light and smoke was billowing from the chimney. Matt and Dave welcomed us and had a hearty meal of spaghetti in the works. After dinner we enjoyed a few libations as rain drops began to fall on the tent, leaving us wondering what tomorrow would bring.

Killin' Roosters

2010-11-02T19:28:00.000-07:00

I have always said I am a hunter, but I don't necessarily like killing. The bigger the animal, the more compassion I seem to have. Shooting a bear doesn't excite me much. Elk hunting is my game due to the challenge of it on public land, but I still want to make a quick, clean kill more than anything.
Many "genteel" sportsmen and women who enjoy tweed and fly fishing, hunt birds, but pass on big game blood sports. Birds are, I guess, perceived more as targets, they not being mammals running around on four legs. I get that, although I still have a lot of love for the native birds and Hungarian Partridge. Who wouldn't love any little covey bird that huddles up to survive the wicked blizzards of the prairie? I hunt all of the above, but with great reverence.
Pheasants are different. I like to shoot them dead. Especially the late season, running devils that they are. Hunting in November and December is often most productive with a couple of guys pushing birds and a couple more doing some blocking. Mix in a few dogs, doing what they do, and you can get the buggers to eventually flush. I have never said pheasant shooting is difficult, but getting them to fly can be.
The pheasant hunting I cherish the most occurs in tall native grasses or CRP. One hunter, one dog and one wily rooster. It may require multiple points by the dog and a brisk pace by the hunter, but if you are taking baby steps or expecting your dog to not relocate, you lose, the rooster wins. When it comes to pheasants, I like to win. I assume the dogs do also.

Excuses

2010-10-25T08:28:00.000-07:00

I'm back in front of the computer on this stormy Monday morning, working, following an abbreviated elk hunt. I returned to Bozeman - on the afternoon of day 2 of what was supposed to be a 4 day hunt - with nothing but excuses.

Things were going according to plan as I arrived in camp on Friday afternoon, a warm wall tent and a cold beer awaiting me. The alarm went off at 4am opening morning and after a hot breakfast we hit the trail, climbing high into some great elk country. We got to the top a half hour before first light and split up, making plans to reconvene at noon to compare notes. Over the course of the morning I covered a lot of country, making a brutal loop that took me up and down ridge after ridge. I was into elk, but passed up a very marginal shot opportunity at some cows nervously milling around in heavy timber after I sneaked into their bedding area.

On the way back to our pre-determined rendezvous point, I bumped a lone spike bedded at the upper end of some north facing timber. He made the foolish mistake of running over the top of the ridge and onto a big open slope, where he dodged no less than a dozen bullets lobbed from obscene distances by other hunters.

There was blaze orange everywhere, particularly along my ill conceived route near the western border of the National Forest, where unbeknownst to me, hunters were easily accessing the area from private land. I'd never been to this location on opening morning...and probably never will again - it was a circus.

When I met back up with my comrades, I learned that although they too got into elk that morning, their plan didn't work out quite as intended. Prior to the hunt they'd scouted a herd which was making use of a high saddle for two straight days prior to opening morning. Their plan was to ambush the herd at that saddle. Well, long story short they bit off more than they could chew with the hike to the saddle, and weren't there at first light. Other hunters beat them to it, downing a couple of elk at the saddle just minutes into the season...those guys had it dialed.

After lunch I elected to stay up high for the remainder of the day, too stubborn (or smart?) to give up my hard earned elevation. I was pretty worn out from my ambitious morning hike and decided to sit and watch an old burn for the evening hunt...nothing materialized. I arrived back in camp long after my hunting buddies, and they had good news and bad.

The good news: when we parted ways after lunch, they dropped off the divide into a rugged drainage where one of them harvested a nice mule deer buck. The bad news: a Forest Service employee had just stopped by camp and informed them that we had to tear down our camp and be out of there by Monday morning at the latest! I was livid.

We were aware of the fact that there was heavy machinery and new culvert material located a couple of miles down the access road. What we weren't aware of was the fact that the contractor had dropped the ball and didn't get the project done over the summer as planned, and he had the audacity to think he should commence the project (which would require shutting down this dead-end access road) during the general hunting season! But as much angst as I have for the contractor, I'm even more upset with the Forest Service. After the ranger stopped by camp on Saturday evening, we decided to hunt close to camp on Sunday morning and pull out that afternoon - we had little choice in the matter. No sooner had we torn down the wall tent and loaded up the trucks, a different FS ranger stopped by camp. His update on the road closure status was bittersweet. Apparently the agency had come to their senses overnight, postponing the project until next summer.

So here we were, Sunday evening with camp completely packed up and a cold, heavy rain socked in. I would have been all for erecting camp again, in the rain, and staying for two more days, but no one else even seemed willing to consider that option.

It was a disappointing way to begin the '10 hunting season, but fortunately there's plenty of time remaining.

The Countdown

2010-10-20T07:56:00.000-07:00

I can see the light at the end of the tunnel.

After a couple weeks of working some very long hours to get the next issue of Montana Sporting Journal off to the printer, we're nearly there. We're proofing article layouts, making final edits and waiting on artwork from a couple of advertisers. Our art director, Rebecca Reinker, has done a great job on layout for us yet again. Her behind the scenes work, attention to detail and eye for design are particularly impressive this issue.

We've had our challenges with this issue, Rebecca's Mac computer self destructed less than a month ago, leaving us scrambling to pick up the pieces and get this issue completed, but we're nearly there.

I'm increasingly having a difficult time keeping my mind on work...Montana's general deer and elk season opens this Saturday. I've been looking forward to that day for a long time and now there are just under 72 hours to go before shooting light on opening morning. Our rifles are tuned up, backpacks are full of gear and anticipation levels are high. This weekend I'll be focusing on public land elk, hunting out of a traditional elk camp in the mountains of SW Montana.

Good luck to everyone getting out this weekend!

Hanging On

2010-10-08T07:26:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I fished hoppers on a MT trout river close to my home. I hadn't expected to have the opportunity to fish the big terrestrials, considering that it was October 7th. In fact I was pretty much resigned to nymphing deep on this bright, sunny fall day. A funny thing happened as I walked the path to the river, dozens of hoppers scattered in the grasses ahead of my feet! At the river's edge I tied on a big, yellow, Morrish hopper - a pattern that had produced nicely for me throughout August and September.

The ensuing action wasn't off the charts, and in fact most fish took the beadhead pheasant tail that was suspended below the hopper. Yet there was a window of time, perhaps two hours in length during mid-afternoon when the fish were taking the dry fly. Several small rainbows, along with a couple of nice browns, seemed to know - as I did - that hopper season was waning. They took the hopper with reckless abandon, reveling in their good fortune of an Indian Summer.

Looking out the window this morning, it is cloudy and gloomy...a baetis day, but certainly not a hopper day. Looking at the extended forecast, it appears that a frost isn't in the cards tonight and that Saturday and Sunday will again be warm and sunny. This weekend will, more likely than not, be the last opportunity to effectively fish hoppers for a while in Montana. In fact, by my count we're looking at nine, long, hopperless months...you can probably guess what will be on the end of my line this weekend.

Dog Dangers

2010-09-23T19:47:00.000-07:00

For those of us that love our dogs like children, we treat the animals as such. We cringe when we are forced to leave them overnight in a kennel, would prefer that they never are transported in a dusty dog trailer and definitely wouldn't let them ride around in the back of an open pickup bed.
No matter how hard we try, there are still risks out there. On a recent hunt in central MT, it was full of bizarre events, causing me to question if I was crazy for hunting the Montana prairie. I made it home after a couple of close calls, either of which could have been tragic.
The first oddity was a coyote that was as brave as any I have seen. Maybe it was young and naive, maybe it had rabies. Regardless, it was a predator that was fixated on my two, white, setter girls, oblivious to the fact that a human was with them, giving them water, as it slowly creeped closer. At 40 yards, my partner said, "You'd better shoot", so I did. That finally averted the coyote, but then the dogs were confused, taking off in pursuit of the wounded predator. Moments of chaos followed, with my dogs finally at my side, fortunate that the coyote didn't put up a fight in its last stand.
Later that day, with blue skies and a temperature near 65, I was enjoying myself, watching the dogs work the edge of a stubble field for Huns. Perfect weather for hunting and as I found out, a perfect day for rattlesnakes. Typically, one hears a rattlesnake before he sees it. In this case. the rattler was coiled like a cobra, slightly taller than the grain stubble, catching my eye just as Tess and Abby both neared it from opposite sides. Instinctively, I cut it in two with a shot from my 20 gauge, the dogs not realizing what the commotion was for.
Throw in a porcupine that could have presented more of a hassle than a danger and a deep, open well, there was plenty of excitement to be had. No, I don't shoot everything I see when afield. The porcupine was spared, in case you are wondering. But, when events unfold in just seconds, as in the case of a fearless coyote or an angered snake, one has to react quickly.
One more reason why I like my dogs to hunt closer than some. I would take a bit of uncovered ground over a dog that has to brave the dangers alone.

Northern Hospitality

2010-09-12T19:16:00.000-07:00

For most of us do-it-yourself hunters, we are quite accustomed to fixing our own meals afield, making shelter for a night or two of sleep and most importantly, finding a quality place to hunt. This weekend was a nice change for me.
I was the guest of Jacob and Sarah Dusek, proprietors of Sage Safaris, north of Havre, MT. I told them not to fuss for my visit, but upon arrival, I was shown my deluxe wall tent, with the wood stove already stoked, the lanterns already lit. I wish my elk camp was that comfortable.
The next day, Sarah had a superb breakfast ready at 8 o'clock, as we watched antelope bucks in rut, chase each other across the sage. We literally began hunting as we stepped away from the camp, Jacob directing me toward areas which often held Hungarian partridge and sharptail. The dogs' first point of the day nearly fooled me, as the Hun-sized birds were actually young pheasants. I quickly put my gun down and thanked Tess for doing her best anyway.
In the course of the morning, we did see sharptail and Huns, along with a bunch of pheasants, including some mature birds that had the audacity to squawk at us, seemingly knowing that they were safe until the October pheasant opener. My shooting was a little rusty, but good enough to make the day a success. The dogs did well, despite the day warming quite rapidly.
Being five miles from the Canadian border, the Duseks do see their share of winter. Jacob explained that they had a moderate winterkill in 2009-2010, with deep snow that lasted from December until March. Seeing as many birds as we did, was a pleasant surprise. Jacob has also done some upland improvement on his family farm, planting various food plots and limiting the grazing of certain vital winter habitats.
My mind was on lunch as we hunted our way back to the camp and as expected, Sarah's midday meal, didn't disappoint. Stuffed pork loin, fresh vegetables and some very tasty banoffe (google it), was as good as any big city restaurant. Being pampered isn't a bad thing. However, I did draw the line at Jacob's offer to clean my birds. Some things hunters must do themselves.

My only complaint of the entire trip was noisy neighbors. At about 3:00AM, I awoke to the loud discussion between three different groups of coyotes. One group was so close to camp, I had to yell at them to knock it off. Upon hearing a human scolding, they did stop their starlight serenades. I will take coyotes over big-city sirens and car horns, any day.
Thanks for the great time Sarah and Jacob.

The Golden Trout Timeline

2010-08-29T18:18:00.000-07:00

7:00AM-Alarm-last minute packing. Rain gear? Of course. Tuna-Helper or Ramen? Both.
8:00AM-Big breakfast-today I will burn it off and it won't be at the gym
9:00AM-Depart for mountains-that snow looks so far away.
11:00AM-Begin hike from trailhead-already 80 degrees.
2:00PM-Realize we missed the lake's turn. Walked 5.5 miles instead of 4.
3:15PM-Too stubborn to do a 180. We are going cross-country.
5:00PM-Going cross-country was dumb. We went up 2,000' and then back down.Out of water.
5:30PM-Laura's first dirty look. Almost there. Promise. Happy B-Day by the way.....
6:30PM-Found a place to camp near water. Small victory. But, I would have preferred to sleep near trout.
Midnight-Decent storm. Do we really need three dogs in the tent?
7:00AM-Oatmeal for breakfast. Pack light for final ascent. Surprisingly, blisters didn't heal overnight.
9:30AM-Finally fishing, at snow level. Why do goldens have to be so picky?
10:30AM-First Golden. A beauty, 18"er. Orange scud. Pictures. Release. Too pretty to eat.
11:00AM-Laura's first fish. She doesn't realize that she just joined an exclusive club.
12:30PM-Head back to camp. Pack up.Downhill most of the way, but still steep.
5:00PM-Back at the truck. Tired. Sore. One of the best trips ever.

Look for the complete story in the Summer 2011 issue of Montana Sporting Journal.

Fishing, But Mostly Floating

2010-08-17T20:55:00.000-07:00

Since I had to eat my Smith River permit this spring (the river would have been at an ideal flow those days), I attempted to get a bit of that missed opportunity back by a recent float on the Longest Un-Dammed River in the US. I was hearing reports of good hopper fishing, the river was just right for floating, and I found a raft to rent.

As bad luck would have it, Saturday morning was cool with light rain. Not a great time to throw camping gear and a dog into a raft and push off downstream. And, definitely not an ideal time to expect great hopper fishing. So, we took our time in Livingston and spent some money on fancy coffee and a few necessities at Dan Bailey's.

Fortunately, the rain eventually broke and Saturday afternoon and Sunday were quite enjoyable. I had envisioned a great hatch at dusk Saturday night near our island-based campsite, but the wind killed that too.

Sunday was a sun-day, forcing Laura and me to change from wind-breakers to beach-wear. The fishing was only slightly more productive, with a fish or two on a Dave's Hopper, a fish or two on an ant dropper, and a fish on a streamer. Just nothing to get too excited about.

Fishing aside, it was an enjoyable trip. There aren't many rivers which allow you to float 30 miles in two days, camp on an island of public land, and fish without having to alter your course due to other vessels. We saw our share of wildlife, had beautiful sunrises and had views of three mountain ranges. Not too bad for a weekend trip that came together on Thursday evening.

Full Of It

2010-07-26T19:24:00.000-07:00

If you have fished or boated on many of the reservoirs in Montana the past decade, you have seen a prolonged period of drought and low water levels. However, decent mountain snowpack and moderate spring moisture have changed that. As of now, Fort Peck and nearly all of the major reservoirs on the Missouri River watershed are full. A few are even spilling into their flood pool.
It is truly a great sight to see people using the entire length of Fort Peck "lake". Boats can now travel from Crooked Creek all the way to the dam, a good haul of roughly 80 miles. Compared to fishing on some Midwestern lakes, Fort Peck fishing just went from quiet to desolate.
On a recent trip, Laura and I took the Lund into a weedy bay that we had to ourselves, roughly 10 miles from camp. We started fishing along the edge of young cottonwood trees, trees that were now nearly submerged from the lake's rapid rise. The first fish was a strong one, a fish that peeled off line like a northern pike. A pike it wasn't, as it was a meaty 32" walleye that was feeding in seven feet of water. I rarely had experienced good walleye fishing by casting crankbaits, but in this case, it was what the doctor ordered.
Deeper in the bay, we caught gold eye, sauger, catfish and even crappies on cranks. While it was remarkable to see the lake rise nearly 20 feet in two springs, it was even more remarkable to catch fish in strange places by methods I don't typically use. The big question is how the fish react this winter and next spring.

Legend & Lore

2010-07-06T18:55:00.000-07:00

I don't remember just when or where I first learned of the creek. Maybe it was at Bud Lilly's in West Yellowstone as I eavesdropped on a hushed conversation while perusing the fly bins. Or perhaps it came from loose lips over a frosty pint at the Silver Dollar in Ennis. Truth be told I probably couldn't trace my fascination with this particular fishery back to any single source. Bit by bit over the past couple of years I've accumulated a pittance of knowledge about the place...never enough to really go by, but just enough to keep me intrigued.

Legend has it that the creek hosts a mysterious, almost ghostly run of very large cutthroat trout. What's more, the rumor of this run is substantiated by sound, but antiquated, stream survey data compiled by fisheries biologists. My own trips to fish the creek have done little to sort out fact from fiction. Were it not for an occassional rare, unabashed report from fellow anglers, I'd probably have given up on the place long ago.

Last Friday marked my third trip to fish the creek in search of its phantom cutthroat trout. The two previous trips had resulted in few if any trout caught and those that were caught certainly weren't of mythical proportions. This trip proved to be no different, nary a trout was brought to hand despite the fact that an able angling comrade and I spent eight hours methodically prospecting some excellent looking water along various portions of the stream.

Fortunately the creek offers more than a long shot at hooking up with migratory cutthroat trout. The watershed harbors a remnant population of a rare, wild fish native to Montana - the arctic grayling. I've caught the species in some mountain lakes throughout Montana - and even as far south as Arizona - but this particular population is special. They are one of the few remaining fluvial/adfluvial populations of grayling occupying native habitat in Montana - the only state in the lower 48 where the species still occurs naturally.

I'll always look forward to returning to this mountain valley for its unspoiled beauty and for the grayling, yet I'll always be hoping for something more. Should I ever find myself tight to a big cutthroat on this stream I'll thank my lucky stars. In the meantime I'll enjoy the legend and lore that the creek is enshrouded in, and the process of unraveling the mystery.

Cliff and Wade

2010-06-23T08:33:00.000-07:00

This past weekend I found myself in the region that is often called "The trout heart of America", which is of course West Yellowstone, Montana. As I was en route from Bozeman to W. Yellowstone I was kicking myself for not departing early enough to leave time for some fishing. The Gallatin River looked incredible above the Taylor Fork, flowing clear - and no doubt cold. And then there were the enticing glimpses I got of Grayling Creek, but again, I had people to meet and places to be. I was no less torn as I drove over Duck Creek and the Madison River above Hebgen Lake.

I did eventually find time to wet a line on the Madison River between the lakes on Friday evening. I fished above the Cabin Creek confluence, and had excellent fishing on a variety of subsurface fly patterns ranging from stonefly nymphs to midges. The catch consisted largely of rainbows, along with whitefish.

As the light began to fade I motored west, toward Cliff and Wade Lakes, where I had more business to attend to on Saturday. I pulled up to Wade Lake in time to witness an incredible sunset over the lake. I awoke Saturday morning to my first daylight view of Wade Lake. I could hardly believe my eyes...I'd seen pictures and had heard about the lake's beauty, but seeing it for myself was really something. Both Cliff and Wade Lakes are spring fed and have incredible clarity. Under the right lighting conditions the lakes have a beautiful emerald green hue to them.

I spent most of the morning photographing the lakes and visiting with a local lodge owner. Around noon a prolific callibaetis hatch emerged over Wade Lake, enticing its finned residents to the surface. The dry fly fishing would no doubt have been exceptional, but again, I had places to be.

I'm looking forward to getting back to Cliff and Wade Lakes this summer when I have ample time to fish. I learned much about the fisheries while visiting with the locals and I look forward to applying that new found knowledge.

Montana Sporting Journal's regular fly fishing columnist, Josh Bergan, will be educating readers about these unique trout lakes through a full length feature article in the upcoming summer issue of MSJ...stay tuned.

Walleye Cheeks

2010-06-08T20:54:00.000-07:00

On a recent fishing weekend at Ft. Peck Reservoir, I was given an impromptu invitation to sit down with my neighbors at their trailer and eat a lakeside dinner. As the sun was setting above the water's glass-like surface, I was told the source of the main entree; it was a ten pound walleye caught the day before. I was even given a walleye "cheek", a scallop-sized morsel behind the eye of the large fish. It is rarity, given the fact that any fish under 4-5 pounds is too small to make the trimming of the cheek worthwhile.

I was immediately perplexed. Really? We are eating a trophy fish? A fish that I have always preached should either be released to spawn again next spring or sent to the taxidermist, so the behemoth could be celebrated for eternity? The walleye was battered and deep fried and tasted darn good, despite the pre-existing sour taste in my mouth. I kept my thoughts to myself. Who can argue with people nice enough to invite one to dinner?

I enjoyed my share of the bounty, along with a smattering of salads and other spectacular dishes. I thanked my gracious neighbors and went back to my chores and preparation for tomorrow's fishing.

It wasn't until the next day that I nearly walked back over to my neighbors to apologize-an apology for my narrow-minded thoughts and holier-than-thou beliefs that every big fish should be released. A fish that would be released back into a reservoir in which very little natural reproduction occurs. Sure, the fish could be caught again if released, but maybe it wouldn't have survived anyway.

This was my neighbor's first ten pound walleye in 40+ years of fishing. She had a right to keep that fish and enjoy it anyway she pleased. My neighbor chose to enjoy the walleye by hosting her neighbors for dinner. Sorry Marian. And thanks for the great dinner.

Hold Your Fire

2010-05-22T08:05:00.000-07:00

Here's a snapshot of my Friday evening:

3:00pm - Matt calls, wanting to know if I'll join him on an evening bear hunt...we'd leave in an hour.
3:05pm - I work feverishly to put the finishing touches on an advertising proposal.
3:45pm - I'm frantically pulling mothballed camo out of the closet, and loading my Mystery Ranch Crew Cab with a few essentials.
4:00pm - A quick stop at the post office to fire off the proposal.
4:15pm - I arrive at Matt's, late as usual. We hop in his rig and hit the road.
5:45pm - We arrive at the trailhead and with my naked eye I can see a herd of elk in a distant meadow. This is new country to me, and it looks great! Heavy timber interspersed with grassy parks and a lush creek bottom look like ideal bear habitat.
6:15pm - We're glassing from a great ridgetop vantage point with a commanding view of several meadows. There are elk in nearly every meadow, including a couple of sizable herds and some bulls sporting a bit of antler growth.
7:00pm - Getting antsy now, we're still at the same vantage point and despite abundant wildlife, no bears have shown. Matt hunted this location the evening before, but was much further down the drainage. At 7:30 lastnight he had spotted a big bear in one of the meadows we were now overlooking, but he couldn't cut the distance in time. Tonight we're in good position and hoping for a habitual routine from the bear.
7:15pm - We decide to start working our way down to the bottom of the drainage, to getter a better view of the creek bottom meadow directly below us.
7:30pm - We come to a slight break in the timber as we head downslope...enough to glass the meadow and - right on schedule - Matt spots a bear. With the creek covering our noise and the wind in our face, we make a beeline for the meadow.
7:45pm - We creep to the edge of the meadow and there is the bear, unaware of our presence. Matt is pretty calm and collected considering the circumstances, and is getting into position for a clear shot. Being the ethical hunter that he is he takes one last look around and wouldn't you know it - this big, jet black bear is a momma.
8:15pm - We've been watching this sow and her two cubs for about a half hour from a hundred yards, the cubs are pretty entertaining, wrestling with each other, scurrying around the meadow, climbing trees... and generally causing mischief.
8:30pm - We spend the last half hour of shooting light hiking along the creek bottom, seeing bear sign, and loads of elk and deer, but no more bears.
9:00pm - In the twilight we hoof it up a thousand feet out of the drainage and back to the truck. I'm out of shape.
11:00pm - We roll back into Bozeman, tired, but happy with our evening hunt. We'd lucked out and found a bear, perhaps the same bear that Matt had seen the prior evening. Above all else we felt fortunate that Matt had spotted the cubs before pulling the trigger, which would have effectively ended the lives of three bears. In the heat of the moment it would have been all too easy to assume the bear was alone, since the cubs were well concealed in the timber at the edge of the meadow.

The moral of the story? Hold your fire.

Smith River Trip

2010-05-03T13:14:00.001-07:00

What doesn't kill you makes you stronger. Right? After a challenging Smith River trip, I'd like to believe that is the case. After a few days of indecisiveness leading up to the launch date, due to river conditions and a member of our party canceling, we decided to go ahead and float the Smith River anyway. I really had my heart set on spending my 30th birthday on the Smith and with a forecast calling for cool temperatures, we were hopeful that the river would be dropping and clearing throughout our trip.

On the morning of Tuesday, the 27th, we launched our canoe at Camp Baker with beautiful weather and pretty good river conditions (2' of visibility). Most folks do the Smith over 4 nights and 5 days, we opted to extend the trip by a night and a day to ensure that we'd have ample time to fish over the course of this 59 mile float.

The first day and a half of the trip went off without a hitch and we stopped frequently to wade fish the more productive looking water. The first flies out of my box were a JJ Special and a San Juan...I never had to deviate from that tandem setup. The fish were all over both flies on the drift, and a few took the JJ on the swing. Lots of heavy browns up to 17" and quite a few solid rainbows came to hand those first couple of days on the water. Best of all, the 70-80% chance of rain on Tuesday night and Wednesday didn't materialize...things were going great!

But then things took a turn for the worse late on Wednesday. Long story short, we dumped the canoe in a pushy cliffside sweeper that we approached much too casually. That debacle cost us dearly, we lost a paddle, a rod, an axe and 3/4s of our beer! Fortunately we were less than a mile from our boat camp and the clouds never opened up that night, giving us a chance to quickly build a warming fire and dry ourselves out. Hypothermia avoided, we settled into our respective tents for the night, looking forward to more fishing and paddling in the morning.

It wasn't to be, at dawn on Thursday morning I awoke to the sound of quiet, but persistent spattering on my tent walls...a light drizzle I assumed. As I peered out of the vestibule I was surprised to find a wintry scene with snow falling hard and accumulating quickly; this hadn't been in the forecast! By the time I'd finished my first cup of coffee the storm had intensified greatly, with heavy snow blowing in sideways on a fierce, sustained wind. This wasn't a day to be on the river in a canoe. We got a hot fire going and fed it steadily as the snow piled up in the canyon. We hunkered down and waited out the storm, spending three nights and two full days at the Canyon Depth boat camp as more than 2' of snow fell over a 36 hour period.

The storm broke late on Friday and we covered the final 40 miles or so of river in short order, putting in a 30 mile day on Saturday and a 10 miler on Sunday. We were pushing to get off the river and didn't fish much over the final two days and when we did it was unproductive. The trip was challenging and offered up the worst weather conditions I've ever experienced on an extended, self-supported backcountry trip of any nature. But we survived it, learned a few things along the way and gained some valuable experience. I like to think I'm stronger for it.

That Urge

2010-04-22T20:52:00.000-07:00

After a weekend of hockey in Missoula, I was too stiff and sore to get out of the car and do any wade fishing on the route back home. I did get out and take a peek at one of my favorite little streams, mostly to take a break from the highway. Laura and I could see some fish in a deep pool, but couldn't tell what they were. But, we soon identified them, when fish would leave the deep water sanctuary and scoot their way up stream, in just inches of water, into a smaller side channel. They were beautiful rainbows, doing their best to get upstream and spawn. Within minutes, I was back at the car, fly rod in hand.

The 'bows had a barrier upstream which wasn't man-made, but instead made by some crafty beavers. Below the dam, 30 or more trout were stacked in the small waterfall's eddies. Every few minutes, you could hear and see the commotion of a stubborn rainbow attempting to clear the 3' dam. It was an incredible sight. Laura tried to capture a leaping spawner on camera, which proved to be more difficult than anticipated. I walked downstream a bit, hoping to land one of the healthy fish. The fish refused both surface presentation and a variety of nymphs. I put on a big, flashy Zonker and had a fish chase it right away. I then lost a big male that came out of the water like a steelhead I had hooked years earlier in Canada. Finally, I landed a nice 19" male and released him into the water, to continue his mission. I decided that I best leave the creatures alone after just 20 minutes of fishing. Something didn't seem right, interrupting their calling to head upstream, their behavior like sailors on leave. One fish was enough. I felt like I had been fortunate enough to experience one of nature's great performances.

Hunting Again

2010-04-13T19:33:00.000-07:00

I am never prepared for the first turkey outing of the year, despite having an entire winter to prepare. The night before the opener, I am digging out the camo clothing I haven't worn since last spring and give the mouth call one annual, sorry attempt. I throw the box call in the backpack instead and decide if I need warm clothes or really warm clothes. The forecast called for a low of 17 degrees, so I chose the latter.

Dad showed up without a hefty outer layer, so the plan would be to run and gun, hiking and calling until we had a response from an interested or perhaps agitated gobbler. Unfortunately, we had no response. While he had seen some birds wandering through the area a few days earlier and this quiet, calm morning was ideal, the birds obviously continued wandering. In fact, we didn't see any sign of large birds in the woods the entire morning. But, any day in the woods in spring is a nice change of scenery and I did find one nice six point elk shed.

Of course on the drive home, we saw birds crossing the road, giving us one last reminder that we had a mediocre morning. But, despite the lack of success this first morning, at least now I have my turkey gear ready to go. And, best of all, there are four weeks remaining in the Montana spring turkey season.

On Thin Ice

2010-03-29T18:03:00.000-07:00

Most folks living in Missoula or Billings would assume the entire Great Plains would be ice and snow free, since their balmy weather has greened up the grass and muddied up the rivers the past few weeks. But, on Montana's northern-most reservoirs, there was still enough ice recently to partake in a final ice fishing outing.

I typically enjoy "late" ice better than those days in December, when a lot of anglers are excited to try their new gear or are perhaps just bored with sitting inside. I am typically still running the dogs on wary birds and can't make time for fishing. But, in late March, I enjoy curing cabin fever by sitting in a lawn chair, jigging for perch and walleye. The days are longer, the sun brighter and the fish often are cooperative.

This final trip was hot and cold; the perch bite was slow throughout the day, but the walleyes turned on very nicely during the fade to dusk. We caught only the smaller-sized male 'eyes, which was fine with us. They are better eating than the larger females, females that have important business to tend to in the next month or so.

Upon arrival at home, my gear went directly into storage. Now I am truly ready to trade the auger for a boat, warm boots for flip-flops.

Sometimes It All Comes Together

2010-03-15T10:22:00.000-07:00

Some people seem to have luck on their side when it comes to fishing. My friend Matt is one such person. Now that's not to say that he isn't a skilled angler, for he is, but he just seems to have a little extra river karma going for him. He's caught some very nice fish in my presence over the past year, none more so than the rainbow he landed on the Missouri River last week.

Unfortunately we didn't have a tape measure along, but there is no doubt that it was somewhere in the 23-25" range. As impressive as its length was, the girth of this fish is what really set it apart, it was massive!

In other news, I fished Big Spring Creek on Thursday afternoon following a morning business meeting in Lewistown. While the creek looked great to me, the locals were complaining about it being off color from low elevation snow melt. There was 3-4' of visibility, which turned out to be plenty. I fished above town and caught good numbers of rainbows, and an occasional brown, up to 14". Most fish were taken on a shop vac/pheasant tail variation, but a couple fell for a small partridge and pink soft hackle. I also saw my first blue winged olives of the year...there weren't many and the trout weren't really looking for them, but it was great to see - spring is definitely in the air.

The weekend found me in Kalispell for the Great Rockies Show and although I brought my fishing gear, it wasn't until the drive home on Sunday afternoon that I had a chance to fish. The young lady that accompanied me - and who was essentially my guide for the afternoon - put me onto some great looking water along the upper Blackfoot. Karen was even gracious enough to leave her rod behind so that I could fish more, what more could a guy ask for? But it was to no avail, the water was cold and the fish were a bit lethargic. I did have one take in the last run we fished, but I must have been distracted...my hook set was poor and the trout slipped off. Even so, I can't remember a better couple of hours spent on the water in quite a while. It all came together on this day with beautiful weather and great company on the river.

No Spring Fever Yet

2010-02-26T10:15:00.000-08:00

While Will and his cohorts are fishing the big rivers like the Bighorn and the Missouri, cussing the ice on their rods, there are still some of us that are embracing frozen water.

I have always enjoyed introducing newcomers to ice-fishing. Most folks envision the activity as sitting by a hole in the ice, being bored to tears, shivering in the frigid temperatures. But, with some planning (and a lot of gear, i.e. auger, shanty and heater), fishing through the ice for trout, walleye, pike or perch, can be a lot of fun and is a nice winter break.

I had first put Laura on some perch on a local reservoir and she quickly picked up the knack of hooking the tasty little fish, as they nibbled on the waxworm/ teardrop jig presentation. We enjoyed a thermos of a warm beverage and listened to the local radio station, as we jigged next to the propane heater in the canvas shack. She was hooked.

The next adventure was a hunt for big trout-fishing that would provide less action and require more finesse in trying to get the feisty rainbows onto the ice. The adventure started out ugly; we drilled holes by hand in blizzard, white-out conditions. But, once inside the shack, the heater was on, and so was the action. The clear water allowed us to watch the occasional fish cruise by, with Laura quickly landing a nice 20" fish, with very little advice from the "know-it-all". Spring fishing can wait for a few more weeks. Some of us are still catching fish through eight inch holes drilled in the ice.

Off to a Fine Start

2010-02-11T09:52:00.000-08:00

February is a slow time of year for sportsmen in Montana. Waterfowl season has closed, we're still two months from spring turkey season and an ice auger is needed for most fishing endeavors. I've been spending a good deal of time tying flies in anticipation of spring, but all this tying and talk of fishing makes my cabin fever even worse.

Going against my better judgment, I've been out fly fishing a bit recently. It's difficult to be self-motivated about getting out on the river at this time of year. Fortunately a couple of my friends have no qualms about bundling up and wading icy rivers in an attempt to shake the winter doldrums.

A recent afternoon outing on the Gallatin River with my buddy Matt was an exercise in futility. Much to our surprise, by the time we fished our way downstream to the run that was our destination, we found a couple of anglers had beaten us to it! This on a weekday in February...must be the economy. As the smell of skunk intensified over the course of the afternoon, we lowered ourselves to sight fishing for whitefish...with no luck. But it was a beautiful afternoon with snow flurries mingling with shafts of sunlight.

Last Friday I got out for a few hours of fly fishing on the Lower Madison River, a local tailwater. On this trip I was accompanied by Josh, the fly fishing columnist for MSJ and his friend Brady. Brady was into fish almost immediately and continued putting on a clinic throughout the day. I was a little slower to catch on, landing a couple of rainbows on an egg pattern early on before hitting a serious dry spell. Fortunately Brady eventually took pity on me and furnished a fly he calls, the "Lower Madison Special". As it did on this day, it never ceases to amaze me when the fishing goes from ho-hum to great after simply changing fly patterns.

Winter fly fishing...it's not all bad.

On a separate note...a quick reminder to get your Smith River permit applications into MTFWP by Feb 16.

Indoor Season

2010-01-29T11:40:00.000-08:00

The outdoor, fishing, hunting, RV, guns, knives, etc., show season has definitely hit its stride.

Will just returned from SHOT in Las Vegas, where every firearms, shooting and hunting manufacturer was present. From the attendance and excitement at SHOT, you would never know this country went through a recession in 2009.

Montana has its own quality outdoor shows. Bill Reier, Jr. has done a great job of finding good venues in Montana's biggest markets, with a nice mix of outdoor vendors and good traffic. Here the schedule for the Great Rockies Sport Shows:

Billings: January 15-17 at MetraPark

Bozeman: January 29-31 at the Gallatin Country Fairgrounds

Great Falls: February 5-7 at the Montana ExpoPark

Kalispell/Whitefish March 12-14 at the Flathead Country Fairgrounds.

Check out the shows and stop by the Montana Sporting Journal booth and say Hi. And yes, Bob Jacklin is holding a spincast rod in the picture. His fly fishing instruction is still legendary.

Precious Partridge, Running Roosters

2009-12-29T19:49:00.000-08:00

Staying at home in Montana over the Christmas holiday has its advantages. I am always well-fed and if the weather is not too frightful, bird season is still open.

Christmas day was just what I had asked from Santa: hunting with Dad and our dogs with December weather that was nearing 20 degrees and no wind.

Never mind that the snow had a icy crust on it, allowing the roosters to run a football field's length ahead of the dogs. The Huns, they were jumpy after a season of being bothered by man and companion, with a dozen or so sets of eyes to stand guard in each covey.

But, like anything, if you work hard enough, eventually a pheasant holds tight and Huns sit long enough for the dogs and the hunters to get into position.

In late December, you don't expect to shoot limits nor do you need to. You are walking the big spaces of Montana with cold hands and chapped faces, knowing that it is a long wait until next September. A day in the field in December is simply a great Christmas gift.

Don't Believe What I Write

2009-12-15T18:14:00.000-08:00

More than once, both in print and in conversation, I have stated how any avid blue grouse hunter, best be in the mountains in September. The rationale is two-fold; it is usually too hot to hunt down low in early September and by mid-October, the snow makes hunting blues impractical at the higher elevations.
However, I was recently persuaded into giving it a shot and it turns out I was wrong.
Good friend Ryan Young was in my neck of the woods and had never shot a blue grouse, despite being a bird hunting fool of late. He was determined to give it a go, but I made him no promises. I warned him that blues are just as likely to spend their winter months perched in trees instead of wandering on the ground, so the attempt could simply be a walk with guns, uphill and through deep snow.
Once again, I was wrong. The snow wasn't deep enough to be a factor. And since we waited until mid-morning before making our ascent, the birds were on the ground, enjoying the warm morning sun. The dogs did their part, and we made out shots count. Ryan, who has spent his whole life in eastern MT, was in heaven. I wouldn't want to open an outfitting business guiding folks to blue grouse in November and December, but for now, I was glad to be wrong.

A Good Boot, Made Better

After having owned both the Danner Sharptail and now the Sharptail II, I can say that the improvement on the latter was significant. As promised in the Sept/Oct issue of Montana Sporting Journal, here is a follow-up on the durability of the Danner boot after a season(40 days) of hunting in the boot:
While the boot does indicate some normal wear, it definitely is still fit enough to hunt in and will carry me into next season. The Sharptail II endured the Minnesota north woods swamps, cactus and sage of eastern Montana and many miles of looking for the big bull during elk season. In the past, a season of many hard miles hunting birds in tall grass and thick brush, would nearly make my hunting boots "one and done". It will be nice having a proven boot ready to roll into 2010.

Success

2009-11-29T12:47:00.000-08:00

A cold turkey sandwich and lukewarm thermos coffee comprised my Thanksgiving day meal. The menu was meager compared to the gluttonous spread of Thanksgiving day delicacies that millions of American's were indulging in. Yet deep in the Lee Metcalf Wilderness with an unfilled elk license in my pocket, there was nowhere I'd rather have been.

As I was growing up and learning to hunt alongside my Dad, hunting on Thanksgiving became something of a tradition. It was, and still is, an extended weekend at the tail end of hunting season that provides a few days respite from the responsibilities of work and school.

Unfortunately my Dad couldn't be with me on this Thanksgiving day, but it was a particularly memorable holiday spent far from the comforts of sweet potatoes, pumpkin pie and college football. Throughout the day I was into elk, spotting a sizable herd at first light as they fed high above my location on a grassy, south facing slope. The herd slipped into dark timber long before I was able to cut the distance, but it was an encouraging sighting. By the time I set foot on the drainage divide where the herd had been, my GPS indicated that I'd climbed 2,000 vertical feet from the trailhead, over the course of about 2.5 miles. There was no way I was giving up that hard earned elevation so I spent the mid-day hours nearby, still hunting timbered slopes littered with elk sign. As the shadows lengthened, my attention turned to the transitional fringes of timber and the open, sage slopes where the herd had been feeding that morning.

Finally, at last light I spotted a small group of cow elk grazing just a hundred yards away, unaware of my presence. Using my pack as a rest I settled into a prone position and steadied the crosshairs. My 300 Weatherby roared and the Accubond found its mark. Working long into the night I took care of the meat, carrying out what I could in my NICE Crewcab and returning early the next morning with a sled and two friends whose willingness to put strong backs and legs to work was greatly appreciated.

I didn't harvest a mature bull elk as I'd hoped to this season, but in the end it doesn't really matter. I cleanly killed a public land elk and earned every pound of the meat that will fill my freezer, for that I give thanks.

Name That Elk Country

2009-11-15T08:05:00.000-08:00

I've always enjoyed RMEF's "Name That Elk Country" feature in Bugle magazine. Some of you may know just where the photo above was taken. It was my first time to this particular area and we really had to work to get up there. Had I known there would be two feet of snow on top, I'd have packed the snowshoes along! Since this photo was taken, the Bozeman area has had another major winter storm that dumped 18" - 24" in town!

No elk were harvested on this day, but it was a great hunt, in superb elk habitat. The elk have migrated off this high elevation divide for this year, but I look forward to hunting this very place early next fall.

Mr. Lupus and company had been in the area very recently. The photo above was one of the larger sets of tracks in the pack. For reference, that's a .375 H&H Magnum cartridge.

There are still two weeks left in the Montana general deer and elk seasons, good luck to those who still have tags to fill.

The Task At Hand

2009-10-28T21:33:00.000-07:00

While the original intent was to hunt while the Montana antelope season overlapped with the start of the deer season, the plan was more one-dimensional than expected. Maybe it was due to the fact that we had good success on muley bucks last fall or simply that I did not devote enough time the previous autumn to hunt antelope. Regardless, once afield in eastern Montana, cousin Brian and I were definitely focused on pronghorns (his expensive nonresident license was probably the biggest factor).
Obviously, antelope and mule deer don't necessarily occupy the same habitat. But, if you hunt full days in the area we set up camp, you will see both species. We even saw some whitetails that ran off into the sage country, something that we are witnessing more of each year.
However, we did avoid our "classic" muley haunts, "The cedars", "Hells Kitchen" and "The Bedroom". The mule deer we did come across or glass at a distance, we ignored. Sure, if we had seen something that was out of the ordinary, we may have traded our antelope loads for something slightly heavier.
As it turned out, it was a good antelope hunt. Now I can get back to the bird dogs and give them the attention they deserve. There may even be time to hit those muley locations later.

New Water

2009-10-08T07:04:00.000-07:00

On Friday of last week a friend and I made the journey to explore a far away and somewhat unlikely trout fishing destination here in Montana. It's the type of place that you hear very little about, it's a long way from anywhere. To get to this water you have to pass by other rivers, fisheries far more famous. The prodigious number of MT fly fishing guidebooks on the market provide little, if any, useful information on this river. There are no shuttle services, guides or fly shops on this river, we were on our own to figure out the nuances of the fishery. That said, we did stop in at the Big R Fly Shop en route, where we loaded up on quality streamers without breaking the bank. These guys probably fish our intended destination more than anyone and provided some first hand knowledge.

We got our first glimpse of the river a few hours after departure. The water looked good, albeit it looked like more of a warm water river than a trout river - deep and slow. It was early enough in the day that we had time for a quick float to test the waters. At the put-in we could hardly get rigged up fast enough as a heavy caddis hatch had the river boiling with rising fish. Several casts later our X2 caddis only produced whitefish. As we floated downriver we were starting to wonder if there were any trout in this river. We continued to pick up quite a few whitefish (up to 19") on both dries and nymphs, but no trout. Finally after the sun dipped below the western horizon we connected with our first trout of the trip, a healthy 15" rainbow that drilled a flashy streamer in fast water. We were highly stoked to get that first trout out of the way, now we could get down to business.

Over the next two days we fished long and hard, floating and wading, stripping streamers, drifting nymphs and on occasion doing a little head hunting. We had good success for trout, although that success was concentrated to a few select locations on the river and came only after rotating through numerous fly patterns. By Sunday afternoon we'd learned a thing or two about this river and its trout, yet it hadn't been quite what we'd hoped...

That is until we decided to fish one last hole on the way home, a big run that we'd not yet fished. In that final hour of the trip and on what were essentially the proverbial last casts we found what we had come for...big browns. Look for a more in depth piece on this trip in a coming issue of Montana Sporting Journal.

Summer's Last Dance

2009-09-30T20:35:00.000-07:00

The Indian summer held out as long as it could, but Ma Nature has finally hit us with a dose of reality, the snow is flying in SW Montana today and the highs are half of what they were just a day or two ago. Personally I feel that the shift in weather couldn't have come at a better time. I'd been hoping for a break from the steady pattern of bright, warm days. I'm leaving for an exploratory trout fishing trip to a remote portion of MT this weekend and welcome an assist from the weather.

That said, I'm glad I got in one last blast of summer fishing before the sudden transition hit. A few days ago I had a chance to spend some time on the Yellowstone River under bright, blue skies fishing terrestrial and attractor dries. For all intents and purposes that was the last chance to do so for a good 10 months, unless a trip to the southern hemisphere is in the cards.

I longed to hike into the Black Canyon of the Yellowstone, and the Gardner River looked awfully tempting as I made my way to and from a soak in the Boiling River, but I was too cheap to buy a fishing license for the park this year. I got as close as possible, starting my day's fishing just outside of the national park on a nice little stretch of water below the mouth of the Gardner River. Here I found good numbers of rainbows in the 10- to 14-inch range, fish that rocketed from deep runs and holes to slam PMX and Grand Hopper patterns. I had opportunities at larger fish, but apparently they'd become connoisseurs of foam flies over the course of the summer, rudely refusing my offerings on this day. Had I been willing to send a tandem of nymphs deep into the river I would likely have found her larger denizens, but there are plenty of long months ahead to use such tactics; this day was all about the rise.

Over the course of the day I worked my way down river, sight-fishing for a couple of nice cutts along the rocky edges of Yankee Jim Canyon, getting skunked at Emigrant and finally picking up a few rainbows above Pine Creek. I couldn't have scripted a better way to close out a great summer season on an amazing freestone river.

Gettin' Birdy

2009-09-21T19:50:00.000-07:00

With the daytime temperatures of 90 degrees in the rear view mirror, it is finally fit for man and man's best friend afield. September in Montana has been more like August. In fact, I have only been out carrying a shotgun (and a lot of water) a handful of times. And as of this typing, the bird-chasing days have yet to extend much past noon, due to the balmy weather. I can pace myself, but unfortunately, the dogs do not, so I play it safe.
But, now it is time to get serious. The cool, damp mornings are good for scenting, good for keeping dogs and hunters fresh. The young, smallish Huns of September 1st, are now three weeks older and sportier. Farmers that were patient about letting their grain mature into September, are now expediting their harvesting operations.
It is also time for the upland enthusiast to make hay. As we get into October, anything can happen with the weather. A foot of snow can accumulate before the Trick and Treaters are out and about. For those of us that like to put some meat in the freezer, we know that big game hunting seasons will also take time away from the bird dogs, who dread rifle seasons, excursions that leave them at home. Those same dogs are now a year older than they were last season and a year for a dog in its prime is beyond priceless.
I think I need to hunt tomorrow morning.

Indian Summer

2009-09-14T10:54:00.000-07:00

At this time of year when chill morning air and shortening days signify a transition from summer to fall, I find myself caught between seasons. On one hand I'd like to be roaming the high country, flushing blue grouse and learning the haunts of wapiti. On the other hand there is some fine fishing to be had right now. I've managed to do a bit of both, but the fishing has been winning out of late.

Over the past week or so I've had some incredible fishing in SW Montana. The upper Madison (wade section) was particularly kind to me. In fact one fish from that stretch of water is still haunting me. It started out no differently than the other half dozen trout I'd landed over the previous hour, my indicator hesitated and I set the hook, but this one felt different. The fish immediately gave a couple of head shakes and then held tight in the current, wouldn't budge, it made no play, no run. I suspected that this was a big fish, I pressed my luck and perhaps unwisely put the pressure on it to make an upstream run (vs. downstream) and wouldn't you know it, the size 18 serendipity popped out, I nearly cried.

Since then I've been fishing the Gallatin, my home water now that I'm living in Bozeman. I'm still learning the river, but have had some good days over the past week. I've worked some great looking runs up in the canyon recently with varying success both on top and drifting nymphs deep. Terrestrials are still in play here and along with caddis and mayflies have the fish looking up. Of course going deep will pad your numbers a bit and will bump up the average size of your catch. Double bead stoneflies trailed by a small shop vac or pheasant tail have been doing the trick.

As I drive to and from fishing destinations, passing the trailheads leading into the high country, I'm torn. The day will come soon when I bid adieu to summer, leaving the rivers behind and journeying into the mountains in which they are born.

Time For The Blues

2009-09-02T20:38:00.000-07:00

I don't claim to be on top of all pop culture, but since I was headed to an upcoming Modest Mouse show in Billings this week, I had been listening to more of their stuff of late. One of their more well-known offerings is called Fire It Up. I am not hip enough to know the lyrics or the song's meaning, but the catchy chorus was in my head all week previous to the MT upland opener. It was simply time to fire it up.
Dad still calls the shots when it comes to central Montana hunts, so I simply had to pack my lunch, grab the dogs and gun and be ready to roll Tuesday morning. The hunt started with a two mile ascent. In fact, there was no need to even throw the 20 gauge shut, until about two hours after leaving the truck-quite a bit of work, just to start hunting. (Right now would be a good time to name names, guys my age that wouldn't be able to hang with my Dad, in his 60s, but I won't do that to them)
The day was more fruitful than what I deserved; I had multiple easy shots at blues, over points. While the day was warm and dry, the balmy weather also put more birds on the ground, instead of perched in trees. We probably moved 20 blue grouse in our three hours of actual hunting time. The day was complete when Abby found a blue that had died after coasting farther downhill than we had guessed. This is why I still listen to Dad; his hunches for successful days are often correct. If the weather cools, maybe sharptail and sage grouse this weekend in eastern Montana. It is definitely time to fire it up.

Summer Simplicity

2009-08-30T07:55:00.000-07:00

Sometimes a guy just needs to get back to the basics.

Small streams and fly fishing. Summer sun and mountain air. Wild trout and solitude. Wading sandals and shorts. Attractor dries and terrestrials. Reminiscence and realization.

Summer and simplicity.

Seeley Sampler

2009-08-24T07:34:00.000-07:00

For nearly a year I'd been looking forward to my family's long planned vacation to Seeley Lake, MT. Last week all that anticipation came to fruition as we traded in the hustle and bustle of every day life for the beauty and serenity of the Seeley-Swan Valley. We stayed at the comfortable Seeley Cabin of Tamaracks Resort, nestled amongst the pines right on the banks of Seeley Lake, just a stones throw from the water. As I always tend to do with such trips, I had envisioned our cabin serving as a base camp for 5 glorious days of fly fishing, dawn to dusk. Had it been up to me, that's probably what we'd have done. For better or worse the majority of my family doesn't suffer from the angling addiction that has afflicted me. In particular my 1 year old niece and 3 year old nephew reminded me that there's more to life than chasing fins.

Thankfully though, we did find time to sample some of the fisheries in the area, of which there seemed no end. Hands down, the best fishing of the trip was on what I'll just call the North Fork (I can't give away all the secrets). Here we found a beautiful stream, full of healthy native westslope cutthroat that averaged 15-17 inches, with fish up to 22" caught...on dries no less. Big, big bull trout lurked in the deepest pools and harassed the cutts thrashing on the end of our lines.

We plied the waters of Seeley Lake itself on many evenings, working the channels, lilly pads and ledges...hooking fair numbers of northern pike up to about 30". We worked hard for bass, hoping there were still some holdouts - and surely there are - but to no avail. Seeley Lake is fed by the Clearwater River, a rather small, slow, meandering stream. My sister and nephew floated a few miles of the river with me in a canoe, some of the deep (10'+) holes surely held a few fish, but we saw just one trout and some small perch on our float. I wouldn't go out of my way to fish the Clearwater again any time soon.

I would however go out of my way to fish the Blackfoot River. The time we spent fishing the river was productive and relaxing, with lots of cutts, rainbows and the occasional juvenile bull caught. We even had a few exciting episodes of giant bull trout rushing our catch. We had good dry fly fishing at times, but picked up more fish when we conceded to dredging the runs with stonefly nymphs, pheasant tails, copper johns and such. We also spent some time poking around a tributary or two of the Blackfoot, and did pretty well for mostly native cutthroat (some surprisingly large) on these cold, clear streams.

That may sound like a lot of fishing to you, but it only wet my appetite for the regions ample opportunities. As we sailed right on by the Swan River and the Middle Fork of the Flathead River without so much as wetting a line en route to Glacier National Park, there was little I could do but grin and bear it. And then there were the high country lakes that we missed out on, and the myraid of big name fisheries within an hours drive such as the Clark Fork, Bitterroot, Rock, Rattlesnake, Jocko...so much fishing to do and so little time.

The Reservoir

2009-08-10T15:09:00.000-07:00

This was what I'd come for, I thought to myself as I released a 22" stud of a rainbow trout back into the calm, early morning water. My blissful thoughts were quickly interrupted by my fishing partner and guide for the day, Russ Kipp, who called my catch, "peanuts". I was insulted, that was one of the largest rainbows I'd ever tied into on a fly rod and I was beaming as I caressed that beauty. Of course Russ has fished and guided on this lake countless times and has seen countless more 22" trout pulled from its waters. I enjoyed the stories he told throughout the day, tales of truly monstrous rainbows and browns that prowl the reservoir known as Clark Canyon. Throughout the day those stories were interrupted by the ever so subtle dip of an indicator, followed by a bent rod and screaming reel. The chironomid sipping rainbows and browns typically ran 19" to 23", but that doesn't take into account the ones that got away. The hot rainbow that peeled out backing and never looked back, the BIG brown that smashed a bugger only to disappear into a jungle of submerged willows...those were the fish that Russ had come for and that I'll be back for.

The reservoirs of Montana are often overshadowed by the state's famous blue ribbon trout rivers. Russ has found that getting clients to fish Clark Canyon instead of the nearby Beaverhead or Big Hole is often a hard sell, the first time around. Once they get a taste of those big wild browns and hard fighting rainbows (quite a few of which are also wild fish) they're eager for more. There is definitely a local contingent of anglers that takes advantage of the reservoir's proximity to Dillon, but it's a big lake with plenty of room to spread out and explore the many productive inlets and channels.

Next time you find yourself in SW MT with a fly rod, give Clark Canyon a shot and give Russ Kipp a shout (406-834-3469, www.mhct.com), tell him we sent you.

Staying Home

2009-08-01T15:03:00.000-07:00

Maybe it's the fact that I put over 2,500 miles on my truck in May and June, or maybe I am just getting older, wiser, or just lazier, but lately it has been nice to stay home. Not at home on the couch, but at home, fishing locally.
From my home in central Montana, it is a half day's drive to a lot of the bigger, marquee rivers of western or southwestern Montana. While I cannot get a drift boat on the local creeks, good wade fishing for respectable trout or fishing on reservoirs via boat or float tube are options.
This past week I was able to get out a couple of times, with Scott Nelson. On Monday, we took the boat to a local "lake" and awaited the evening hatch, targeting rainbows cruising the shoreline. It was a beautiful evening and a nice reward after we both spent the day in our respective offices. Wednesday night, Scott's final night in town, I introduced him to some water on the spring creek that he hadn't fished before. We didn't hook any big browns on hoppers like I had hoped, but we did land some smaller rainbows as they went on a caddis feeding frenzy before we lost our remaining daylight.
My hope is to always have some hunting or fishing at hand, no matter where I live. The quick, simple little getaways add a lot to the quality of life quotient. Road trips are great, but sometimes just staying home, is pretty good too.

The Perfect Gear

2009-07-22T17:14:00.001-07:00

I thought I'd follow up on Jay's recent post about our Smith River trip. As Jay said, the trip went very well, the fishing was great, the scenery was spectacular and the company couldn't have been better. It was some of the best attractor dry fly fishing for good size trout that I've experienced in MT.

As Jay also eluded to, we were fortunate to have quality gear along to help make this trip run as smoothly as it did. There were two pieces of gear in particular on this trip that really stood out. If we'd brought inferior products along, the outcome of the trip may have been much different.

1) Our Yeti Tundra Series Coolers really shined, keeping our food and beverages cold, and in some cases frozen, through high temps and relentless sun for 4 days; a fact that was certainly appreciated at the cocktail hour. Our ice retention techniques were fair, yet could have been improved upon some, even so the items remaining in our coolers were still cold at the end of the trip.

The Smith River is black bear country and many of the campsites are frequented by bears seeking food. In addition to Yeti's superior insulation and ice retention the Tundra series carries a recently acquired "grizzly-proof" (bear resistant) certification from the Interagency Grizzly Bear Comittee, a board overseen by the U.S. Forest Service. We didn't have to worry about grizzlies on this trip, but if a Yeti will keep a grizzly out (see photo), it will certainly hold its own against a black bear, we rested a little better at night knowing that.

2) The SOAR 16' inflatable canoe that we brought on this trip was an agile, quick, portable, weight carrying vessel that made a huge difference in the trip. We loaded the SOAR up with both coolers, two dry boxes, a large dry bag, firewood, two men and miscellaneous gear. Early on in the trip we were certainly approaching the boats 1,000 lb weight capacity rating and you'd have never known by the way it handled. The front passenger in the canoe was able to comfortably and stably fish from a seated position while the rear passenger easily maneuvered the canoe with a single paddle, even through fast boulder strewn runs and tight turns. When the paddler did make an error and hit a rock, the tough inflatable canoe shrugged it off in a very forgiving manner, a quality that a hard sided boat doesn't have. In low water such as that encountered on the Smith at this time of year, the SOAR really showed its worth - floating through water just inches deep. This was my second extended, low water river trip in the SOAR and I can now honestly say I'd be comfortable running most rivers of approx. 150 cfs and up with a moderate to heavy load in this canoe. That opens up a lot of possibilities.

The Perfect Trip

2009-07-19T10:26:00.000-07:00

We have all had fishing or hunting trips that didn't turn out like we had anticipated. Bad weather, faulty or forgotten gear, or just plain poor attitudes, can turn a great trip into a dreadful one. However, once in a while, everything goes according to plan, causing one to look forward to the repeat adventure, even before the current unpacking is completed.
This recent trip to the Smith River was the latter. We had four days of perfect weather for floating and camping along a picturesque Montana river. Flows were adequate for safe floating, but not too high to muddy the water or dampen the fishing. The feisty rainbows and chunky browns were cooperative, feeding on the surface on a variety of patterns.
Lastly, the company was great. Brian, Emily, Will, Andre and I, all seemed to complement each other nicely and the time in camp, as well as in the boats, was memorable. We were all able to leave our stressful daily lives behind us and pretend we were just kids again- swimming, rafting, joking, telling stories by the campfire and just simply enjoying life. The meals were excellent, the laughter seemed endless. Never has four days gone by so quickly.
As soon as I finish unpacking, I need to get out the calendar and start planning next year's trip.

Shirking Work

2009-07-10T07:50:00.000-07:00

I've recently moved to Bozeman from Billings. The move was inspired by many factors, with improved big game hunting and trout fishing opportunities ranking high on the list. I unloaded the U-haul about a month ago, right smack dab during the middle of run-off, poor timing on my part. After being out of state for two weeks, I've returned this week to find the area freestone rivers dropping and clearing. I also returned to find unanswered emails, voice mails and a heavy load of work waiting for me upon my return. Despite that, or maybe because of it, I've had a tough time staying focussed in the office this week. I've tried to do the responsible thing and stick it out until 5 each day, but admittedly I cut out a little early on one or two occassions. I hate to brag, or rub it in the face of those less fortunate, but I've wet a line every evening this week and on one lunch break. You can't pull that off in just any town and there are few others where you can do it on such high quality water. And the fishing, well it's been great. Stoneflies are hatching, caddis are thick, pmds are in full swing and I witnessed my first full blown brown drake hatch on Wednesday. Streamers are finding their mark, this is really prime time for chucking big ugly sculpin patterns along river banks. Nymphs are still the most consistent producers on most rivers, but the fish are increasingly starting to look up, making a dry-dropper combo very effective. Basically any method you want to use is producing fish right now.

Here's to what is shaping up to be a fine summer of fly fishing in Montana and to making the most of it.

Time for Trout

2009-06-16T11:36:00.000-07:00

For some folks, "Walleye Now, Trout Later" may be the mantra of the day; with a good walleye bite occurring on the state's reservoirs (see MSJ Editor Jay Hanson's recent blog post). But for many anglers, myself included, the time for trout is now. Sure, runoff presents an obstacle, but it's a surmountable one. While freestone rivers like the Yellowstone, Gallatin and Clark Fork may have a ways to go before they clear up, there are plenty of other options right now. The Madison River, both the upper and lower, is very fishable. An afternoon float from Warm Springs to Black's Ford this past weekend found some nice fish rising along the banks and in slack water amidst a great caddis hatch. The Big Hole River and Rock Creek are dropping and clearing, with salmon flies and golden stones hatching. Of course there are always the tailwater options and spring creeks throughout the state that remain fishable throughout runoff. And don't forget about the lakes. The high alpine lakes aren't accessible or ice-free just yet, but anything below about 8,000' is a pretty safe bet. I was up at Hyalite Lake last night and had some good fishing for chunky cutts. Perhaps the true gems at this time of year are the tributary streams running cold and clear. This weekend I was out on a Bozeman area creek which feeds a well known river, I had the stream and it's feisty wild rainbows all to myself. The trout in these feeder streams are generally small, but every once in a while you might be surprised by what turns up. A couple of 14" rainbows took my caddis pupa on this recent outing, but perhaps more surprising was the elk antler I found submerged in the stream (see photo) and while it was broken below the sword tine, it had great mass and good brow tines, a big bull no doubt.

Those of you looking to get out and do a little trout fishing right now have plenty of options throughout Montana...and some good deals can be had on lodging and guiding services. Perhaps the best deal going that I'm aware of is the offer that Russ Kipp at Montana High Country in SW MT has going. Russ is offering free lodging for anyone who books a multiple day guided fly fishing trip. That's a tough deal to pass up, particularly considering that the Beaverhead River, Big Hole River and Clark Canyon Reservoir are nearby.

Walleyes Now, Trout Later

2009-06-08T19:18:00.000-07:00

People questioned my sanity and probably my priorities, as I headed over to Fort Peck for the fourth weekend in a row. My only reply was that it was prime time on the sprawling reservoir for big walleyes-and it wouldn't last all summer.
The past few weeks on the water have been good, for both eating-sized 'eyes and trophy fish up to 31". Fortunately, we have seen fish in all sizes, which isn't always the case in this fishery. All of the fish over three pounds were released, except my fishing partner Mike Upgren, kept a pair of brutes that he wanted to mount together-probably fitting since they were caught just minutes apart.
While some fly fishermen wouldn't think of using bait (minnows, leeches, nightcrawlers) and some walleye anglers view fly fishermen as pretentious folks that all dress alike, I guess enjoy both pursuits equally. By mid-July, the walleye fishing on Peck will begin to slow and our rivers and creeks will begin to run clear, offering up some of the country's best trout fishing. For now, the walleye fishing is too good to pass up.

Feels Like Summer

2009-05-19T20:38:00.000-07:00

After a long winter of walking on frozen ice, it was finally nice to be driving a boat across the liquid form. There is something ceremonial and refreshing about having the boat on the water for the first time each spring. Granted, there is always the hectic preparation before that first trip: replacing dead boat batteries(they seem to last about two seasons), checking the trailer lights (they are like Christmas lights, there is always one bad bulb) and organizing the terminal tackle.
But, once on the water, all the worries disappear. Spring offers so much in eastern Montana. Seeing newborn antelope fawns that can barely walk, watching sharptail perform on their annual dancing grounds and hearing rooster pheasants crowing in every direction, not only is therapy for the present, it provides hope for the upcoming fall hunting season.
The walleye fishing was not quite as productive as Dad and I had hoped for. But, the reservoir water was only 45 degrees, so the best is yet to come. For now, just being on the water is good enough.

Mother's Day

2009-05-12T05:30:00.000-07:00

Mother's Day is a highly anticipated point on the calendar for Montana anglers...it marks one of the major early season hatches in the state. This year it worked out that we were able to spend Sunday with the women and mothers in our lives, since the hatch arrived in full force a day late. Reports around SW Montana on Monday were of good to great caddis hatches and rivers that were largely fishable (water clarity is day to day). The Yellowstone River above the 89 bridge looked good yesterday with a couple feet of visibility, below that the Shields was dumping in mud, as was the Boulder and several other tributaries. Guys pulling boats out at the 89 bridge were all smiles after a day of fishing caddis and drake imitations. Somewhat surprisingly, a quick stop at the the lower Stillwater yesterday afternoon found the river in fantastic shape with plenty of visibility and of course lots of bugs on the water. Hopefully this pre-runoff window of hatches and fishable rivers will stay open just a little longer.

Hunters Welcome

2009-04-27T20:07:00.000-07:00

With the ongoing debate over land access, to both private and public lands, it was refreshing to be wanted. Wanted by ranchers who were seeking hunters to help thin out their turkey flocks. While the problem isn't statewide, there are a number of folks in the southeastern part of the state who are tired of having 50-100 birds on their haystacks all winter.
When Ryan Y. had arranged for us to hunt on a few large "spreads", I was a little pessimistic, assuming we would be directed on where to hunt, probably asked to shoot our birds as they entered the farm yard for their nightly feed. While a bird is a bird, I would rather try to lure the bird in with a call and a decoy.
Fortunately, I was dead wrong. We were set loose on a 20,000-acre ranch, with rolling hills and timbered draws. It was definitely turkey country that was made for the foot hunter wanting to cover some ground. Our only limitation this trip was weather. A bird was tagged each of the first two days and the third day was a "snow day". We had three inches of wet snow and we didn't want to rut up the wet, greasy roads, possibly ruining our good relationship with the rancher. Hopefully, we will be welcome again next year.

Passion Afield

2009-04-21T07:54:00.001-07:00

I will always be convinced that my father was the best fly fisherman I’ve had the pleasure to share a river with, and he was no slouch when it came to wing shooting either. I have an image in my mind that fly fishing his favorite spots on the Boulder River, in Yellowstone Park, or on the many lakes in the Cooke City country were his one true passion.

But as he aged I found out that fishing was neither his passion in later life nor in his younger years. He just loved to fish and was very, very good at it.

But when you talk about passion and hunting and fishing you have to look no further than the guys at Montana Sporting Journal. This blog space isn’t designed to sing the praises of the magazine nor to build up those who bring it to you. Still, if I’m a fan of something I like to see all sides of it.

Though there are a number of people who make this publication go around, I’m going to single out two of them: advertising director Will Jordan and editor Jay Hanson. When we talk about a passion for hunting and fishing, it goes beyond for these two guys.

They don’t just live the lifestyle of hunters and fishermen, it truly is their passion. These are the guys who work on their elk bugling in the summer, who tie flies all winter, who hunt and fish every possible opportunity that presents itself, and then spend their work weeks promoting a magazine that promotes such passion.

I’ll always think I’m passable as a fisherman and have been privileged to fish many more spots in this great state than most people you’ll come across. I also consider myself a darn good waterfowler.

But I can only tie a few flies, and my goose calling never gets better.

As readers, you can be grateful that Will and Jay are this passionate because it shows you the dedication that they put into every page of the magazine. When you read through each issue or peruse the advertisements, you are taking in a little of the passion that they are sharing with you.

Business & Pleasure

2009-04-14T18:54:00.000-07:00

It's about this time of year, when the rivers in MT become increasingly fishable, that my job as a traveling ad salesman takes on a whole new appeal. As the days lengthen and there is daylight both before and after business hours, it's easy to mix business and pleasure. Here's an example of my work/play schedule the past few days...if I'm lucky the lines between the two really blur.

4/11 - Hit the Stillwater River with Bruce Whittenberg, owner of MT Troutfitters in Bozeman and an advertiser in MSJ. We found the river off color with little more than a foot of visibility, but as Bruce said, "It is what it is" and so we fished. We even managed to catch a few trout on a variety of flashy streamers, nymphs and even dries. Some nice BWO and March brown hatches were coming off, but rises were practically non-existent in the stained water.

4/12 - Got up early, packed my fishing gear and business attire and made the drive north to Lewistown where I met up with Jay for an MSJ photo shoot for the Cooper Rifle review in our upcoming issue...what a beautiful and accurate rifle! Big Spring Creek was high and off, but fortunately there is yet another substantial spring creek nearby, this one flowing clean and clear. We both caught a few rainbows on dries amidst some decent hatches. We were both frustrated by a couple of good size rainbows that eluded us.

4/13 - Had a meeting in the morning in Lewistown and then was on my way to Livingston. Midway, at Harlow, I decided to detour west and fish the Mussellshell...it's always intrigued me. The river was very off color, with less than a foot of visibility. For various reasons I stayed and fished anyway. After working my way through my streamer box I finally found the ticket and landed a couple of nice browns. I'll be interested to check out this stretch of river this summer and see how it fares once irrigation outflows begin. After my "lunch break" on the river I was back on the road with a stop in Livingston and then onto Chico Hot Springs. After business was taken care of I fished the last hour of daylight on the Yellowstone below a brilliantly lit Emigrant Peak, there was nowhere I'd rather have been...except maybe soaking in the hot springs back at the historic lodge.

4/14 - Awoke early to find a couple of inches of snow on the lawn outside Chico and steady snowfall. Knowing that I had to negotiate the pass en route to appointments in Bozeman that morning I quickly got dressed and on the road. I had hoped to wet a line briefly in the morning around the mouths of the PV spring creeks and again on the way home that evening on the Boulder, but the winter weather suggested otherwise. It was all about business today.

Spring Training

2009-04-01T21:23:00.000-07:00

When the calendar turns from March to April, I yank the dogs off the couch and give them the fresh air they deserve. While I have stayed in perfect physical condition over the course of the winter(ok, I may have slipped a little bit),the dogs have definitely put on a few pounds. When I grab their hunting collars off the shelf, their excitement screams, "Its about time, buddy!"
In this latitude, I prefer to wait until April 1st to run the girls. Since I chase grouse, Huns and pheasants until the very bitter end of the season, I cut the birds some slack by not pestering them until I know the worst of winter is behind us. While we received snow AGAIN last night, it melts quite rapidly from this point on. April is actually a fairly important month from my perspective. Once the middle of May rolls around, the dogs are kept on leashes since nesting season is approaching. While I don't pass judgement on those running their dogs all winter, especially in regions where the snow doesn't pile up, I am adamant about staying out of the uplands when there are eggs and chicks on the ground.
It was great to see the prairie mostly unchanged from when I last walked it in December. However, the grass was a little flattened from snows and the ditches still held some hard-packed snow drifts. And the Huns the dogs pointed were mating pairs, instead of coveys. But, when a rooster squawked at me from the same brushy draw as one did in November, I felt like I hadn't missed a thing.

Fishing With Heroes

2009-03-22T20:47:00.000-07:00

While too much of the magazine business involves business, this past weekend was a very humbling and rewarding outing. It made me more appreciative of our state, our country and the veterans that sacrifice so much, to give us our freedoms.
Sales Director Will Jordan and I met up with Libby-based Camp Patriot and their director, Micah Clark on the Kootenai River. We had the privilege of fishing with two disabled veterans who had accepted the invitation to try fly fishing on one of Montana's famed rivers. We were all the guests of Dave and Tammy Blackburn at the Kootenai Angler. Fishing was fair, considering it was still March, the water running cold and clear.
But, it wasn't about the fishing. It was about the veterans-young men who were injured serving our country. The Camp Patriot slogan is "Giving back to those who have given". Hopefully, the trip to northwest Montana did give back and provided the veterans with a new look at the life ahead of them - a life that can offer new challenges such as catching wild trout on a majestic Montana River. They deserve it, they are truly heroes that we can all be proud of.

EDITOR'S NOTE: Look for an article on the Kootenai trip and Camp Patriot in the May/June issue of Montana Sporting Journal.

No Love For Lake Trout

2009-03-15T19:45:00.001-07:00

For some folks, lake trout are on a list of the most despised creatures, to some, only trailing wolves and Bernie Madoff. Lakers, Mackinaw, Macks-whatever the moniker - are labeled by a few as voracious , non-native bullies, that deserve to be treated as an invasive species. In Yellowstone Lake, where they were illegally introduced, they are being netted and poisoned as fast as possible to protect native cutthroat species. On Flathead Lake, fishing tournaments are held throughout the year, with the hope of culling a booming population of smallish lakers.
Lake trout are an aggressive fish. Aggressive sport fish on light to medium tackle, can provide wicked fun. And when those fish start reaching the 15 pound barrier, landing one through an 8" hole in the ice is harder than it sounds. A recent outing provided just that: fish from 10-15lbs that would just about rip the small rod out of your hand. Once hooked, they shook their heads like a marlin in mid-air.
Lake trout do have a place in some of our Montana reservoirs. And they don't belong in others, especially when introduced by a self-serving bucket biologist. But, for those that seek big, strong fish, lakers are one of Montana's best.

A New Adventure

2009-03-09T09:07:00.000-07:00

After reading in a number of publications about the rebirth of rabbit hunting, I thought I’d give it a try. Wind has been keeping me off the rivers and a hunting itch is really starting to scratch again. Besides, I’d just seen an episode of "Iron Chef" where these world-renowned cooks made amazing meals from rabbit.

Of course rabbits aren’t exactly a rarity in Yellowstone County and I knew a trip out to the farm would likely get me some shooting. And I know those rabbits aren’t any little Peter Cotton Tails, there are some serious Boone and Crocket bunnies out in the boonies.

I’ve never shot a rabbit and not sure exactly what sort of ethics of fair chase or the preferred weapon of choice would be. To tell the truth, I wasn’t exactly sure how to pose for a picture with a rabbit either, do I crouch down to show his ear spread or do I hoist him up to show his whole body. Finally, I’m not sure I have enough block and tackle set-ups to account for the half dozen hares I hoped to bring home!

I pondered all this as I made my way to the hills with a small arsenal of weapons, the least of which was my Daisy slingshot. As I got closer to the bluffs I still hadn’t decided what hunting method to use. Why doesn’t anyone hire out as a bunny guide to tell me these things?

As I opened the gate I noticed three coyotes working toward the coulees and in about ten minutes I was close enough to get two pretty easy shots on them. I dragged them back up the hill and loaded them into the back end of the truck and drove home and watched Bugs Bunny cartoons with my nephews.

I never knew rabbit hunting was so perplexing. . .

Got Neoprene?

2009-03-01T15:08:00.000-08:00

My cabin fever has been running high throughout the month of February. While we could certainly stand to be building on our mountain snowpack, I won't complain about Ma Nature providing us with a reprieve from winter over the past week or so. On a sunny afternoon last weekend I worked the banks of the Stillwater River with a fly rod and low expectations in tow, I did the same yesterday. On days such as these when I'm grateful just to get out, feeling a tug on the end of my line is a bonus. It turned out that the fishing was pretty good considering it was still February. I managed to pick off a few rainbows, which were colored up nicely and were most likely early runners out of the Yellowstone. I arrived at the river mid-day yesterday to find slush ice from bank to bank, reminding me that it's still winter - thankfully it melted off within an hour of my arrival. Sporadic midge hatches occurred throughout the afternoon, but no fish were rising in the icy water. The Montana license year expired yesterday, it was great to be able to squeeze one last day of fishing out of it...the trick will be remembering to buy myself a new annual license before my next outing.

Think snow.

Catch a Fish, Thoreau it Back

2009-02-16T10:05:00.000-08:00

Henry David Thoreau once said, “Many go fishing all their lives without knowing that it is not fish they are after." Following a sub-par fishing weekend, that thought is comforting to say the least.

While I’m sure that a fly fishing weekend is not exactly how my new wife envisioned her first married Valentine’s Day, I’m sure she expected it to happen at some time. Fortunately the comfort of the River's Bend Lodge was some consolation. But as we stood cold on the icy banks of the Yellowstone at the trailing midge patterns through beautiful, yet tough to access, riffles, I think she understood my passion just a little bit more.

We stood staring up at Emigrant Peak with both of us wondering why we were still out trying. I questioned my fly choice, my drift, and my method. She no doubt questioned some of her choices as well.

Finally a sympathetic Brown trout, maybe a three pounder, took the edge off and took the Midge. As I started to bring the fighter in closer, I noticed a little icy build-up on my wife’s eyelash. This was one cold woman and one foolish man.

The Brown readily gave in and I returned the favor by smoothly returning him to the depths, thankful that I’d taken the time to bend the barbs on the flies. My wife, seeing her husband satisfied with his catch knew the cold day was over.

As we walked back to the Rivers Bend Lodge I think we both knew a little bit more about what Thoreau was trying to say.

Sometimes The Killing Is Hard To Accept

2009-02-03T20:17:00.000-08:00

As we approached the area of the lake that we had fished the evening before, I could see something on the ice that wasn't there previously. Could it be a coat we had left, maybe a tumbleweed, maybe a coyote eating our dead minnows? The four of us approached slowly and without words. We were all hunters, but seeing this young mule deer that had died in the past eight hours, still struck a nerve with us.
It was obviously a violent, gruesome death, nothing I could publish in MSJ. The coyotes had killed the deer, on the ice, a place where deer are very vulnerable. Blood was pooled in a couple of different areas, patches of hide were drifting with the wind across the frozen lake. The coyotes probably numbered at least three from the number of tracks leading away from the kill site, possibly more.
I couldn't help but feel some sympathy for the mule deer. I tried to lessen the animal's struggle, thinking maybe it was sick, injured or was just dragged on the ice, already dead. Doubtful, I knew. Even as a hunter, someone who is also at the top of the food chain, I wish I didn't have to visualize what took place on the ice that night.
One of my companions was more at peace with the event. His rationale was fair and factual- sure one deer died, but that pack of coyotes, coyotes that struggle day after day to find food to stay alive, succeeded and earned another week or two on this earth. Survivors. Hunters. Just like us.

A Rather Blustery Day

2009-01-29T08:09:00.000-08:00

I grew up in a house where you fished in the spring and summer, hunted in the fall, and spent the winter hoping that spring would hurry again. Consequently my days fishing in the colder months of year have been few and far between. So when the opportunity arose this week to combine a work day with an hour or so of fishing the Bighorn, I had to jump at the chance.

The weather finally climbed back into the upper 30s, but wind has a way of ruining drift and makes casting a practice in futility. And dare I say that changing leader and tippet in the middle of a gust is not the most pleasant experience, though it begs the question, "should I keep my gloves on and have no dexterity in this delicate maneuver or take them off and watch my wind-chilled hands struggle to grasp leaders and flies?" On a day like this, even mending the line in the drift produced interesting developments. I kept looking for a remote control to turn the wind down just long enough to make my adjustments.

Though we caught a few fish, my actual fishing time probably lasted about 45 minutes, and my partner soon grew weary of battling the elements. The sandwiches back in the truck tasted so good and even the lukewarm sports drink went down smoothly. With the wind now locked outside the vehicle and the Ford heading back up the road past fields filled with thousands and thousands of geese, we lamented the fact that we’d had the day cut short.

Then we laughed at ourselves, remembering that we were fishing in January in Montana—that very thought filled with wonder: wonder that anyone would dare fish in the coldest month of the year, and wonder that we live in such a place that such irrational behavior is, in fact, quite logical.

The Survivor

2009-01-21T18:07:00.000-08:00

When I interviewed Don Laubach, a businessman and seasoned big game hunter from Gardiner, MT, I asked him what his dream hunt was. He matter-of-factly replied, "My next coyote hunt". And, I guess I see why.
Coyotes in Montana can be found nearly everywhere, from the brushy river bottoms to the rugged mountain ridges. They are active, always looking for their next meal. Often referred to as "surviviors", they are as sporting as hunting gets.
This past coyote hunt, we had better luck than one can usually expect hunting coyotes. Four different animals came into the wounded jackrabbit call and only one left, now an older and wiser creature. They used all of their senses coming into the calls, pausing at times to listen, positioning themselves downwind, and watching for any unusual movement. I have been told that if you can kill one out of four coyotes that respond to your calls, you have been fortunate. So, I know our luck will run out. When it does, another survivor will be created.

Partners in Crime

2009-01-12T11:01:00.000-08:00

Good hunting and fishing partners are tough to find. In addition to sharing similar hunting or fishing ethics such as whether you’ll fully endorse catch and release policies, your beliefs on the use of mechanized waterfowl decoys, and whether you like steak or ground beef in your pasties, this has to be a guy you can fully trust and with whom you can enjoy spending time.

I feel fortunate to have a number of good hunting and fishing pals. Two of them are brothers, and they are as different as night and day. Without a doubt I can say that if I were lost in the woods and our very survival depended on my partner, I would choose Kevin 7 days a week and twice on Sunday. But if our rescue was only a matter of time or nonexistent, I’d sit there on a log and listen to Pauly all day long.

Pauly is the entertainer; I’ve watched him fly headfirst out of boats trying to help a fisherman net a big fish, he has the best stories in the duck blind, and the ride to the hunt and back are full of jokes, stories, and comical musings. I floated part of the Smith River with Pauly and between our hitting rocks and missing fish I was constantly in the company of a great sportsman.

Kevin is the survivalist; as a high school senior he wanted a water purifier for Christmas and when stranded on a river island during a January goose hunt, he simply stripped down and swam across the ice-filled river channel to retrieve the errant canoe. And it was Kevin who patched the raft the day after Pauly and I bounced down the Smith.

Life is too short to hunt and fish with guys you feel lukewarm about. And by the way, I like my pasties with ground beef.

Cold Duck

2009-01-08T20:45:00.000-08:00

This is the only time of the year I get somewhat serious about waterfowl. Owning wimpy pointing dogs limits your hunting to mostly upland birds. Which is fine. But, I always enjoy getting out this time of the year; the waterfowl season extends into January, the winter wonderland is beautiful, and I enjoy the taste of mallard.
But, would it have to be this cold? Especially when I am my own retriever and my old neoprene waders seem to have lost a battle with a barbed-wire fence at some point.
The game is completely different from the one I played all autumn with my setters. Instead of the dogs finding the birds, the birds have to find me and my meager spread of two decoys. All fall, I watch my dogs, now I watch the sky. I even put my little 20 gauge into the safe and break out the 12 gauge pump.
I will never claim to be a waterfowling expert. But, I sure enjoy the little taste of it I get each January.

One Last Hunt

2009-01-01T19:39:00.000-08:00

It is with two tired dogs and a heavy heart, that I write this as the sun just set on another Montana bird season. There is so much to be thankful for this past season: a couple of great blue grouse hunts in September, where we shared the high-country with no one but the elk and mule deer. While the pheasants, sharptail and Huns were down slightly in central Montana, the birds seemed to be thicker in some of my haunts in northern and eastern Montana. Dad fully recovered from his previous ailments and can still outwalk anybody I know. Tess and Abby are no longer projects, but both cherished hunting parters in the field.
Regardless of the positives, I still hate the thought of putting away my bird vest and shotgun for another eight months. So, while I hesitated to leave the house this New Year's Day, I knew I had to. Icy roads, deep snow in the field and my concern for the birds themselves (who are now in winter survival mode with 12+ inches of snow on the ground), were overshadowed by my need for one more try. One more day for the dogs to see their orange collars and jump up and down in the kitchen. One last day of a watching my girls work the grass and thickets, doing what they love to do-doing what never lasts forever, for any dog. Tonight they sleep, waiting for their next, first day.

Success

2008-12-26T11:33:00.001-08:00

I have no idea how many birds I’ve shot in my life. When I was a youngster I thought I’d always keep a count, but that ended 15 or more years ago. What I know is that the number is insignificant.

I love to hunt, but more than my passion for waterfowling is my passion for teaching people to enjoy this bit of my life. As we were out on the river today I recounted with my hunting partner just how many people I’d been with when they had their first successful hunt on the river. I remembered the excitement that each one showed with the first goose that fell from the sky.
Today I hunted with a guy I coached in high school football just a few years ago. He tagged along with our hunting parties a few times, and last year purchased his own Remington 870 with Christmas money. But aside from a day of shooting trap and maybe a grouse or two that crossed his path, Mikey hadn’t had a chance at the first goose.

But today it all changed. With more geese on our stretch of the Yellowstone than I’ve seen in my life we got into some great shooting. The birds came willingly and after a few missed opportunities on both of our parts, Mikey dropped his first Canada goose. The bird pitched into us and gave as that full front shot that we all love to have. Mikey converted the shot and was soon celebrating his first success of many to come.

And on the way home he said the same thing that all those other first time goose thumpers have told me in the past. . .and it’s that statement that makes the number I shoot completely insignificant. After talking about the shot, the weather, and everything else associated with the hunt, he turned and said, "Coach, I’m hooked on this."

And in taking all these guys on their first hunts I’ve created for myself a lifetime of great hunting partners.

Elk Resolutions

2008-12-24T06:15:00.000-08:00

Montana is blessed with a liberal elk hunting season that typically extends for about five weeks and allows resident hunters to pursue bulls across much of the state with nothing more than an over-the-counter license. You would think that such generous regulations would result in a relatively easy hunt, but you’d be wrong. The truth of the matter is that in many elk hunting districts older age class bulls are few and far between and further complicating matters are the issues of access, weather, and etc., which I’ll refrain from belly-aching about.

I took some pride in toughing out the recent, and ongoing, frigid winter conditions during the final days of the ‘08 extended elk season, but I also realized there was little reason I should have been out there. Had I been better prepared and done my homework prior to the season’s start I could have been at home comfortably watching the snow fall outside, instead of getting distant glimpses at the odd cow and calf. Instead, I spent a couple of frostbitten days bundling up, snowshoeing in past closed forest service gates, and prying my frozen eyelashes apart.

The onus is on me, no excuses. Looking ahead to the New Year and reflecting on changes I’d like to make, I resolve to spend some time scouting for elk.

Calm Before The Storm

2008-12-13T14:14:00.000-08:00

12/12/08 While a major winter storm forecasted altered my plans to take a hunting trip east this weekend, Dad and I sneaked out for a day of bird chasing. We had decided to hunt some remote parcels, coverts that might be difficult to access once the snow begins to drift on the prairie.
The day started out poorly, as we had a rancher (or rancher's hired man), slam a door in our face, when we were just trying to get his take on a public land boundary, near his ranch. We didn't want to take any chances with a crackpot like that, so we vowed to come back another day. As a result, no Christmas card for him and our Hun plan changed to a pheasant one. (It also made me log on to the PLWA website and make a donation when I got home. These guys are an outspoken group that does a lot of good work. Check them out.)
The birds and the dog work saved the day. There is some sentiment from a few birddoggers that pheasants are the devil and can ruin pointing dogs with their propensity to run. Sure, they love to run-especially in December, on ground that has been hunted by many. But, the birds can't run forever. Dad and I shot 5 roosters, over points. The shooting is the easy part, sort of a necessary evil to reward the dogs for scenting, pointing, relocating, pointing, relocating........I am amazed at how dogs can handle Huns, ruffed grouse, blue grouse, pheasants, sage grouse, sharptail and woodcock, all in a span of three months. They all reside in slightly different habitats and respond differently to dogs and hunters.
And yes, the storm came. Hope those birds find cover.

Not Time For Sunday Football Yet

2008-12-07T21:37:00.000-08:00

12/7/08 After chinook winds warmed the temperature in central MT from 10 degrees to 40 degrees overnight, I called Dad and talked him into a brief pheasant hunt. I had to skip a 1/2 day of office time and he had to skip a 1/2 day of retirement. Easy sell.
Unless I make a trip out of state to hunt chukars or quail, my bird hunting window of opportunity is closing rapidly. For the most part, our season here closes January 1. Any hunting in December is usually a bonus, as snow conditions can make hunting tough and life on the birds even tougher. For now, easy going. And after a very busy season of hunting deer, antelope and elk, the dogs were left at home more than I prefer.
With the benefit of chinook winds warming the air across the prairie, comes the wind itself. Abby and Tess did fine considering they were chasing running roosters in tall CRP that was swaying in the strong breeze. The sharptail were jumpy too, but instead of using their legs to avoid hunter and canine, they just flushed earlier than normal. No complaints-plenty of birds, good dog work and after all, it is December.

From Deer Camp to Elk Camp

2008-12-01T11:33:00.000-08:00

11/23/08 Left deer camp, skinned and butchered deer, repacked gear, grabbed additional provisions and slept like a baby. Deer camp was good, shot decent deer, but elk camp always trumps deer camp.

11/24/08 Arrived at camp around 11AM. Sent Blair out to scout while Brian and I set up camp. We caught up to Blair just before dark, as he glassed ridges we planned to hike to the next day. Saw plenty of tracks-both humans and elk.
11/25/08 Blair went north, Brian and I hiked west, putting on some serious miles. They all seemed up hill.....I made a drive up a ravine for Brian, but the only thing I moved his way was a lion. Heard a shot, just before dark, had to be Blair. As we awaited his story in camp, he arrived, late and disappointed. He took a shot at a cow, through the timber, but missed. Not an easy shot, he felt, but a makeable one.
11/26 Blair's last morning-he went west, on some large, fresh tracks. The trail went beyond the forest service boundary, onto private land. Smart bull. Brian and I wandered dark timber all day. I found fresh tracks and scat, eventually leading me to a glimpse of a fleeting elk. A big, lonely bull? I will never know.
11/27 Will arrived in the morning darkness. He hiked high and far. Will was rewarded for his efforts, seeing elk, eventually being surrounded by barking cows and a few spikes. Nothing worth shooting at this point. Brian and I wandered familiar country, looking for fresh sign.
11/28 Day 5 and still no fresh snow. Brian and I went north out of camp, glassing some meadows at daybreak. The elk have gone nocturnal, not showing themselves in the open at all. We rushed back to camp at lunch, eating in minutes and heading out in a new direction. Our final hunt was in a scenic bowl that elk seemed to have used since the last snow. Not today, however. Will returned to camp again late, with only good stories of elk spotted. He would see a nice bull on his final day, but never get a shot.

Our elk camp wrapped up with a few close calls, a lot of good meals in the wall tent and of wishes for fresh snow next time. Luckily, half of the fun of elk camp, is camp.