There's a certain comfort that comes with writing these familiar yearly installments of our Spring Break trips to Montana. Of course variety is the spice of life, but there is also something to be said for the appreciated familiar. For the past couple of years, our trips have been slightly abbreviated for one reason or another related to either Shaun's or my job, but this year, we were both able to secure the full week off for our adventure. For me, it happened to coincide with leaving my job of the last five and a half years. Without going into too much boring detail, it had become an albatross of a job, dragging me down physically and emotionally, and I had the opportunity to leave it behind for another opportunity, so I jumped. We were both really looking forward to this time away, so much so that we were basically completely packed by Thursday night. Our plan was to leave very early Saturday morning, drive all the way to the West Yellowstone area and have a few hours to fish the Madison that evening. The alarms sounded at 2 am, and though we were both exhausted, we were up and out before three. Birch, confused why he was not getting breakfast, loaded into the car and slept soundly till we reached Ellensburg, where we fed him, and he promptly fell back asleep till we reached Bonner where Shaun and I were grabbing lunch. My stomach was feeling uneasy from a combination of stress, stress release, and lack of sleep, so I opted for some crackers and peanuts, which is not my standard fare, but at the moment, nothing sounded good aside from more napping.
We made shockingly efficient time, and we reached the Madison river around 3:00. There were a few people out fishing as the weather was mid 50's with the typical Rocky Mountain breeze, but it was by no means crowded. We quickly strung up our rods and crossed a shallow channel to a small island and started fishing. I think I hooked three fish within the first ten minutes, but couldn't get any to the net. It didn't matter because it was just so great to be out. I finally got a couple to hand including a brown trout that would reign as my best fish of the trip for at least few more days. A couple of the fish I lost were quite large, and Shaun had similar experiences though he managed to land a few more successfully than I. Regardless, I started to get the feeling this was going to be a fishy trip, even a big fishy trip. After fishing so successfully early, fatigue and hunger started to speak a little more forcefully, so we headed into West Yellowstone to grab a few groceries for the next three days. My stomach, still not feeling 100%, I opted for something light and didn't make it long before I fell fast asleep and slept for nearly 10 hours straight.
The next morning, we had a tasty, leisurely breakfast of oatmeal, bacon, and some homemade sourdough bread with strawberry jam as mornings in Montana are still really cold, so there's no need to rush to the river. We left around 9 am for the 45 minute drive to our starting point for the day. We started at the same place we finished the day prior, and while we had some action, it was not near as hot as the day prior. After hauling in a couple of whitefish, I was ready to move to a new spot. We had lunch by the truck and then headed to another spot we had fished last summer that seemed it would fish better at lower flows. We stepped over fresh moose poop, keeping our eyes and ears peeled but never saw a moose or anything other than osprey, eagles, and some field mice. We fished quite successfully through that spot, making a couple of passes through, each catching multiple fish and missing a few more, including the big ones. We headed up to Three Dollar where there were more people on the opposite side of the bank. We always joke about having fish caught in front of us, and while it's cool to see people catch fish, you always get a big dose of FOMO or imposter syndrome or whatever insecurity makes its way to the front of your thoughts. Shaun said to me, "go ahead and rip a big brown out of there in front of those people," which I did! It was maybe my 10th cast into the run. I played the fish over toward the bank among some big boulders where Shaun netted it for me in some tricky wading. We took a couple of photos and watched the people across from us call it a day. I stepped out of the run, feeling really good about our day and content to watch Shaun fish for a while as I snapped some pics of the scenery, which was really just mostly pics of Birch. After a few minutes, Shaun looked back at me and said, "let's be done." I was fine with that as we both were still tired, and we wanted to make time to just enjoy being not busy. We intended to get some steaks or something to cook on the grill, but once we reached the store, we were both starving and not in the mood to prep or clean, so a rotisserie chicken and some microwave sides was what we chose. We tore that thing up in a minute, and it was so good after being out fishing all day, and then it was early to bed, ready to do it all again the next day.
Frying up the rest of our bacon, we enjoyed more oatmeal and sourdough with jam and headed out to our planned spot. It was a little slower than the day prior, but my goodness the fish were thick. We fished a couple of other spots, but the winds picked up, and it became really tough to cast and even tougher to enjoy. We had gone hard for the day and a half prior, and I think the exhaustion was starting to hit us. We left a bit earlier, intent to try for some steaks, but once again, the siren song of the rotisserie chicken was too much, and we smashed another before some celebratory Chestnut Farms bourbon as we watched the National Championship for men's basketball.
On getaway day, we decided to head back to our early morning spot for about 3 hours, going earlier than the days before, before heading through Big Sky and onward to Gardiner for our bridge night and park day. It was a day of more choker fish. We each had a really big fish get away but still caught some above average size trout. We also watched an eagle make repeated passes overhead. As people started to show up, we headed out, ready to enjoy some of our favorite pizza at Pinky G's in Big Sky. We enjoyed a scenic drive through the park before finding a shaded spot in Big Sky to leave Birch to have his lunch while we went inside to do the same. We grabbed some gas before driving north, checking in to our cabin right at 4:00 pm after grabbing a few groceries. We thought about taking a rest as we knew the next morning would be an early one as we wanted to be in Lamar Valley before sunrise, but the urgency got the best of us, and by 5:15, we were on our way into the park. I had read about a carcass over near Soda Butte where some bears and wolves had been spotted, so we headed there but saw no action. We made our way back to Lamar Valley just to sit and listen. We saw the typical fare- bison, deer, elk, pronghorn. Decided to pack it in, we reversed out of the parking area and started back toward Gardiner, when I immediately saw a moose right on the side of the road. We stopped for a few pictures before she crossed the road and ambled her way up the hillside going toward Slough Creek area. We had never seen moose in that area of the park, so we felt validated by our decision to forgo rest.
The next morning, we rose with a little grumbling and loaded up our gear before heading into the park. We paused at a few locations in Lamar Valley, stopping the truck and rolling down the windows to listen for wolves or coyotes howling. Hearing nothing, we headed to the carcass where there was an RV and two cars pulled over, so no room for us to park the truck. Initially annoyed, Shaun was kind enough to drop me off and park in a more distant spot where he could use his scope to scour the hillside. I was initially grumpy about the arrangement of cars, muttering under my breath as I tend to do, and after this guy called me out on it, I apologized and affirmed he was right to give it back to me, and we ended up having a great conversation with the retired couple from Australia and a photographer from England. Despite our high hopes for a bear, we made do with five coyotes and tons of ravens. Not the high dollar attractions, but I appreciate them all the same. We stayed for a couple of hours, and as one group left, Shaun was able to pull the truck in, and we watched for several more minutes, even spotting a fox in the distance, its orange coat contrasting sharply against the melting snow. A few bison made their way down the road, and after it cleared, we decided to drive to Cooke City to see if we could find a place to let Birch out to run a little bit since he's not allowed to be off pavement in the park. Along the drive, we spotted another moose walking straight down the middle of the road. We stopped the truck, and though she kept walking straight at us, she eventually dashed up the embankment and skirted around us. Once in Cooke City, we let Birch do some business, and then we headed back toward Gardiner, pausing at the black bear den to watch for a few minutes (saw some feet and a nose). We had a windy lunch before driving to Livingston for a stop at the fly shop for some spring creek flies. Thankfully we were able to check into our last place a couple of hours early and get settled. We all three grabbed a nap before Shaun headed to the store, and I took Birch for a walkie. We had some tasty burgers with enough leftovers for the next two nights- the rotisserie chickens would be spared!
The next morning, we got an early start, checking into the Spring Creek promptly at 8 am. Over the years we have learned the creek pretty well and have a pretty good idea of where to find fish. This year we started in a familiar spot but elected to move downstream a bit to find a bit more current and cover for the fish to help increase our chances of success. A lot of the creek can be sight-fishing, and it's always a good strategy to target fish you see, but sometimes, you have to fish to where you know fish should be. We usually employ a little bit of each tactic. Spring creek fishing is tough and technical. I always consider catching 3 fish a day to be a success. These fish are smart, and the shallow water is gin clear. They hide under moss, cutbanks, and the occasional small boulder which are few and far between. Walking along the banks, if you aren't careful or paying attention to the shadow you cast, fish will dart across the creek to the other bank or into the refuge of the moss, and there goes your chance to catch that fish. A slow, stealthy approach is key. Gentle casts with a drag-free drift and realistic presentation are essential. As if that's not enough, it's usually windy, however, on this day, there was minimal wind and not a cloud in the sky, so the fish see even better. So, considering the above factors, we knew we were up against some challenges. However, within the first 15 minutes, I caught a fish, nothing special, a twelve incher, probably the smallest fish I caught all trip. Shaun stepped in, caught a fish. We repeated this cycle several times, although a few fish did wriggle off the barbless, size 20 hooks. Still, by lunch we had already hooked into seven or eight fish between the two of us. Honestly, it's not about how many end up in the net anyway. It's the whole process- being outside in a glorious setting, finding the productive water, selecting the right fly, and executing the cast despite the elements. The fact that it ever comes together feels like an impossible scenario. Hooking and battling the fish is usually good enough, though it is nice to get some to hand and be able to get a good look at them, the variations from fish to fish, the markings, the teeth, all of it. We were all set to cook up some creekside chicken quesadillas and crack open a river beer, when we realized we forgot our grill. The fishing had been so productive, we were reluctant to run back to the rental house and retrieve the grill, even though it was only a 10 minute drive. Surveying our snacks, we figured we had enough to get through the day, so we ate adult lunchables and took in our surroundings before heading back out to fish. We tried a different but familiar spot only to find the bank had eroded and changed the whole structure of what was typically a long and productive run. We poked around the outlet of one of the lakes when the wind went bonkers, rendering the fishing quite challenging. We decided to head back to our morning spot as we reached late afternoon, hoping to take advantage of the dropping sun providing more cover for us. As we crossed the bridge that denoted transition from lake to creek, we saw fish rising consistently. Though not on the menu, we saw tons of caddis fluttering around. I couldn't resist trying. We often refer to these transition areas as "Fool's Gold" with tons of fish moving from lake to stream and vice versa. They seem to never take flies, just laugh and taunt the hopeful angler who is too dumb to know any better. I initially tied on a Missing Link Caddis, just a super successful pattern over the years. Nothing. There was one rainbow in particular that kept rising aggressively in the center of a swirling current which was difficult to get a good drift into. I decided to change flies to a small tan caddis, size 18, and started my cast while saying to Shaun "this bastard keeps rising right in front of me." The fly landed just perfectly, and boom! That exact fish smashed my caddis. It was a nice fish, but more than anything, it was such a cool moment. Everything came together perfectly. I felt accomplished and proud of my decision making and execution. The fish made a bit of a mess of the run, spooking the other fish, so Shaun's efforts to fish through went unfulfilled this time.
The next morning we were able to skip check-in, which allowed us to get on the water right at 8:00. We were super grateful for our success the day prior and certainly did not expect to duplicate that, and we didn't. We exceeded it. Within the first 30 minutes, I had caught three fish, and Shaun had caught three fish. We hooked a few more and lost a few more in the hours until we stopped for lunch. This day was warmer than prior but had a few more low lying clouds and very little wind before midday came and the clouds had moved out, leaving less than ideal conditions. Remembering our grill this day, we parked the trunk along the banks of the Yellowstone, put out our camp chairs and enjoyed beers, quesadillas, and some leftover Girl Scout cookies. We watched an eagle chase a Canada goose, flying at breakneck speeds and enjoyed a peaceful lull in the excitement. Grabbing a couple of cinnamon bears for good luck (it's science), we head back to the lake but found a lot of moss to have entered the area making fishing prospects less than ideal. We worked back toward the area where I fooled the rainbow with a caddis the day before, intent to work down the ditch even further. We walked past a section where I said aloud, "there has to be a fish in there," and Shaun said, "cast in there." First cast, boom. Another nice rainbow who twisted and ran and blew the pool, but it was worth it. Having your intuition rewarded is incredibly validating. Even though I've been fishing for about eight years now, I still find I need a lot of reassurance and struggle with confidence at times, so moments like this are incredibly meaningful. Not a lot of action after that in the ditch, so we headed back to our money hole.
We continued to hook fish after fish, with much greater landing success than the day prior. I caught a rainbow with talon marks and an injured jaw. We didn't even try to remove the hook, just cut it off and allow the fish to work it out on its own, which it will. It's always sad to see that, and even though the hook was barbless, the longer that fish was in the net for us to remove the hook, the more stressed it was, decreasing its chance of survival and spawning in the future. It's easy to replace a fly, even if it was a lucky one. My next fish was a monster rainbow, so much for the lucky fly theory, in much the same place as I caught the big brown the day before. It was my 7th catch of the day, 10th hookup. It felt right to be done as truth be told, sometimes I just like to sit and watch everything around me, including Shaun fishing. He wanted one more chance at a brown, so as the wind began to howl, a harbinger of some bad weather moving in the next day, he persistently put cast after cast into the tailout just ahead of a fork in the stream and a small rapid. Finally, he got it, a pretty brown to bring his total to seven fish caught, 10 hooked. Twenty fish. We hooked into twenty fish on a tough spring creek. That just doesn't happen here, or maybe it does, but it has never happened to us. We could have fished for a couple of more hours, and I have no doubt we would have caught more fish, but we were so content and just wanted to head back to the house for some champagne, chess, and reflection on an amazing, trouty week that both exhausted and utterly restored us.
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