We spent the entire winter planning a 3 1/2-week trip out West. Our travels would include visiting sites we had never seen before and fishing waters we had dreamed of. Montana was calling- and we were ready!
We left on the 4th of July, amazingly the traffic wasn't bad, and we were treated to many fireworks displays along the way. Our truck was jam packed with fishing gear, waders, rods, reels, fly tying materials, more than the average human would need in a lifetime. Nothing would stop us from catching the elusive trout we would encounter along the way.
As we were moseying our way across country, we visited the Badlands, Black Hills, Mount Rushmore, and then spent the night in Spearsfish Canyon, right on the border of South Dakota and Wyoming. Our hineys were tired by the time we got out of the car. Luckily, we were within walking distance of an old garage renovated into a restaurant. We were a bit leery until we walked into the place. The food smelled divine and this place proved to be the best dinery we encountered the entire trip.
The next day we went through Yellowstone, then into Montana and did our first fishing. Finally we could cast into those pristine streams and rivers we had only read about in magazines.
Our first two days we fished Rock Creek, just east of Missoula. As I was putting on my waders and gearing up, I was in awe at our surroundings. Right out of a travel brochure, this proved to be one of the most beautiful scenarios I could imagine. I filled my fly box with flys, I was sure I would slay'em and headed for the creek. It was so beautiful and there were so many convergences, that it was hard to decide where to park myself to fish. My favorite spot on the entire creek was along a bluff where the water fell into a steep incline. As the current was swift, I had to work to maintain my footing. I fished for quite a while and it felt great to have my favorite fly rod in my hand once again. Cast after cast, I waited patiently for my indicator to alert me that there was a trophy on the end of my line. Alas, I ended the day with one small bull trout and a small brownie. Day two was a repeat of the first, again, just two small trout. BUT, I did sacrifice myself to the river by totally wiping out-straight down into the water- but hey, that's what wade fishing is all about, isn't it? I must admit, I immediately looked around to check and see if anyone else had witnessed my less than graceful submergence.
One day, we crossed Lolo Pass and dropped into Idaho. We followed the Locksaw all the way down to the Clearwater National Forest. I had a plan to go on dirt roads into Montana. This was after we had spent about 7 hours on the road already. Well, we headed into Pierce, Idaho and entered the forest there, knowing it could lead us to Hoodoo Pass after going through the Black Canyon, giving us views of the Clearwater River that were unsurpassable. After 60 miles of dirt roads, we hit a roadblock - ROAD CLOSED -CONSTRUCTION- TURN BACK! Rats! This meant totally backtracking and making for a very long day of traveling. But again, the scenery was so breathtaking our disappointment didn't last long.
About 9:00 we got back into Montana and headed straight for the Bitterroot River to get some fishing in before dark. Luckily, days are longer in this part of the country. When we arrived at our destination, there was a hatch that was so thick we were inhaling the little buggers, but we refused to give up our long awaited fishing for the day. The fish were so active we knew we were in the right spot. I caught one after the other, but they were not trout! They were Whitefish, looked like carp to me. No matter what I would fish with, it was always the same. I ended up sticking with my favorite pink micro jig and just partied with it. At least I wasn't getting skunked as some of the others in the area. As usual, Jim caught one trout after another. When it got too dark to switch flies and I was fried from swatting the bugs away, we left for the evening.
We had many fishing adventures while we were gone. But I will say that after all the hype we had instilled in ourselves, we were surprised to hear ourselves saying on the way home- there's no place like Arkansas for trout fishing. Granted, every place is different, but we are spoiled to catching sometimes 50-60 fish a day, that we were happy to return to our home waters. And.... our own bed!
