Hold Your Fire

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.