Spring in Montana

 Every year for Shaun's spring break, we head east, to "the West", taking advantage of a drastically shrinking shoulder season to enjoy Montana, Idaho, and Wyoming before the tourist crowds descend.  This year, however, we would be bringing our raft along, intent on floating the Henry's Fork, as well as wade fishing the Madison, and hitting up a spring creek in the Livingston, MT area.  We rented a cozy but comfortable two bedroom cabin in West Yellowstone that looked to be a perfect base camp location for all of our activities except the spring creek in Livingston, but we were willing to sacrifice some driving distance for the coveted scenery of the West Yellowstone area.  

Big Sky Brewery hang

As I've mentioned in prior posts, we've developed a penchant recently for taking our time on the drive out, knowing if we exhaust ourselves early, we'll suffer for it on the tail end of our travels.  We stopped over for a night in Missoula and had our customary Cracker Barrel dinner before making our way eastward to West Yellowstone the following morning.  Because we couldn't check in until after 4:00, we decided to fish for a few hours in Rock Creek, despite knowing the water was high and not exactly ideal clarity.  After striking out in a few places, we decided to head toward the Madison despite the fact the weather was calling for wind gusts in the 40's.  If you've spent any amount of time in Montana, you know the best way to check the weather is to go outside, so spurning the advice of the weather report, we aimed to fish the late afternoon on the famed section of river just outside of Cameron.  Being Easter Sunday, we weren't sure what to expect in terms of crowds, but we at least knew the water would be in good shape.  We pulled up to the access site at Raynold's, which is usually crawling with cars and a real breakfast club cast of anglers- the local, the cliche, the originals, and the newbies.  We were taken aback by two things: one, there were only two other cars, neither appeared to belong to anyone fishing, and two, the weather was amazing.  A few breezy gusts came and went but nothing like what was predicted, and the later afternoon sun cast warming glow across just the right spots in the river.  We agreed we'd fish as long as the weather held or until our stomachs betrayed us, whichever came first.  

We moved to a familiar run we have fished many times in the past, still in disbelief over our fortunes.  It wasn't long before I had a solid and forceful take on a black zebra midge.  I could feel it was a decent fish, and when I finally coaxed it into the net, I was not disappointed.  A brightly colored buck of a rainbow was my first foray into Montana fishing for the week.  Other fish came soon after, and after catching a few each, our rumbling stomachs let us know it was indeed time to grab a pizza to go and head for the cabin. 

Heading to the spot

Fishing dog

Never trust the weather forecast

Beautiful fish on the Madison

Beautiful scenery as well

Ready for the next day

The weather looked bleak for Monday, but we elected to go out and explore some unfamiliar sections of river in hopes of finding some other promising water.  Driving across a bridge and along some national forest land, we found a nice run that was a little past my wade grade, but worked fine for Shaun.  He almost instantly hooked up with a screamer of a trout that unfortunately wriggled its way off the hook and back into the riffle downstream.  Losing a large fish is bad, but following it by catching a whitefish of any size is salt in the wound.  The weather continued to deteriorate, dropping into the low 30's, the rain now snow, and we elected to head out mid afternoon so we could warm up, rest up, and prepare for the long drive the next morning to Livingston and the spring creek.  

Making the best of the weather

Eye candy

Over it

Neighborhood full of Aspen trees

Welcome

Resting Birch face

We woke early to several unexpected inches of snow on the truck and on the roads, making an already long drive even longer.  We battled some traffic but arrived at the creek just after check in time.  This spring creek is an adjacent tributary of the mighty Yellowstone River and sits on private property.  You pay the landowner a rod fee and can fish all day on their property.  This particular creek offered 3 miles of fishing, capped at 16 people for the whole day.  We hardly saw any of the other people fishing, as the creek was broken up nicely to give each group plenty of space to explore, and most people come to a spring creek for some solitude anyhow (at least this time of year- during tourist season, I doubt that is the case, more on that in a future post).  The snow had since stopped, but it was still cool with a breeze, and while that seems less than optimal, the conditions were actually quite prime.  We found a few pools containing pods of cruising fish but couldn't get any takes on our flies.  We moved around the river a bit, hiking to some water with more current and structure where we each caught a small trout- on the board, but not exactly what we came here for, so we kept moving.  We found a stretch of water that looked intriguing, though neither of us knew what to expect.  Shaun fished through part of the run first, and then it was my turn.  Just off a riffle and into a small eddy, I drifted my wet fly and hooked a nice sized rainbow, which I was able to get to the net.  Then another, and another, and another.  Sight fishing to big cruisers with wet flies.  Beautiful blue cheeked browns and chunky red sided rainbows.  I even saw a trio of Sandhill Cranes on their migration across Montana.  Seemingly elegant, they shatter that illusion with every maddening squawk.  We fished until dusk when the wary whitetail started to emerge and the bald eagles perched high in the trees.  The weather, having done a full 180 blessed us with a stunning golden hour and sunset.  

The Yellowstone is just over the bank from the spring creek

Shaun getting on the board

Watch that first step

Dropped all his flies, now in recovery mode

Fine scenery

First larger fish, looks to have tangled with a bird of prey or two

Big brown

Another colorful rainbow

This dog will sleep anywhere

Finally a brown for me

Sandhill cranes

More naps

Some blue skies peeking over the Yellowstone

Late in the day

Took a few minutes to really absorb the scenery

Geese swimming toward the horizon

Spectacular day

We woke the next morning to frost, again, but thankfully no new snow.  We readied the raft and headed toward our launch point on the Henry's Fork, near Warm River.  We had read reports the boat ramp was cleared of snow, and it was, until it had snowed almost every day for a week, requiring us to improvise and fully realize the wonderful versatility of the Flycraft.  Scooting it across the snow, we easily slipped down the ramp, and we were off.  Only one other boat had launched, and they were anchored up fishing the first visible run.  We floated downstream, also anchored up, and had an immediate frenzy of action.  One massive fish took off on a mammoth run downstream before breaking off the fly, one crossed us up and broke off the fly on one of the oars, and of course, the one we landed was a foul hooked whitefish.  Sizable but still a disappointment when we knew the others were trout.  We continued on to another run where we could anchor the boat and both get out and fish.  Shaun hooked into a nice rainbow, and I grabbed the net from the boat and headed downstream to help him land it.  Lunging forward, I felt my boot slip on a rock and not catch footing, so down I went, water into my waders, all the way down to my feet.  I netted the fish in water up to my neck- I was not going to let that fish go after Shaun has been rowing my ass downriver for a couple of miles already.  I handed him the net and tried to compose myself, all the while thinking, it's 45 degrees, and I'm soaking wet.  Stripping down to undergarments, I dried myself with the boat towel and then put on my light synthetic insulation layer (with no shirt underneath- grosss!) paired with the gym shorts Shaun wears over his insulated tights.  I was making quite the statement, but coupled with the warm winter sun, this patchwork ensemble would keep me dry enough.  We caught a few more fish and then hit a less active portion of the river.  We saw plenty of fish but couldn't really figure out what strategy to employ.  It was an enjoyable float nonetheless, and we saw numerous eagles, osprey, and signs of moose.  

Very on brand for Idaho... you're on your own (not a bad thing)

Birch refused sled dog duty

Those peaceful moments before I fell in and flooded my waders

Birch has to inspect each fish

I'll allow it

Had solitude the whole day

Nap mode

Pulling over to fish another run

The sunshine was a welcome treat

I'm shirtless under that jacket- literally so uncomfortable with wet skin under a puffer

Juvenile bald eagle eavesdropping

Top notch shuttle service from Yellow Sally Girls

Flooding my waders wasn't the only consequence of falling in

A welcome sight after a long day

Cute little forest friend

Later that evening while relaxing in the living room, a curious fox made its way on to the property, and I was able to watch it for a few minutes from the window before it hastily retreated out of our sight.  

The next day we fished the Madison at Three Dollar Bridge until a full on hail and snow storm ran us off the water but not before we landed several quality rainbows in just about one of the most picturesque settings you could imagine.  This is where Birch's unquenchable curiosity for trout really blossomed.  Because we were the only ones around, he was able to roam off leash, always staying close to us, even when the river zoomies kicked in.  Each time we landed a fish, he was right there to stick his speckled nose in the net to investigate.  Splashing through shallow pools, climbing up on slippery rocks, and hopping from bank to boulder, he was so interested in the squirmy, slimy creature that captivated the attention of his humans to this degree.  

Fishing with my boys

The only time to fish here anymore is when it's too cold for everyone else

Still great fish  to be had

Birch going in for a closer look

Spectacular views of the Madison Range

Always a Birch lurking over my shoulder

Camera shy

Scenery on the drive home (taken with 600 mm zoom lens and from the truck)

Tired boy

Reluctantly, we packed up and headed out the next morning.  Our original intent was to return the way we came, but as we were so close, we decided to spend the last day and a half of our vacation in one of my favorite places- Jackson, WY.  We rented a small cabin in town and spent the day driving around viewing moose, bison, deer, basically all critters except for bears.  As customary, we got pizza from Pinky G's and made plans to finally watch the sunrise from Mormon Row, a place I've always wanted to photograph but never wanted to deal with the annoying photography brigade.  Nine degree temperatures do wonders for crowd control.  We had total solitude for the near duration of the sunrise, aside from the coyote choir and one lone tourist who also braved the frigid temps for a few sunrise shots.  The sunrise was nothing special, but it was memorable.

Mountain blue bird

Influencer in training?

Blue hour

Freezing but pretty

Another juvenile eagle

Grazing moose

Burger stand puppy bacon

We pulled out of town, trudged up Teton Pass and said goodbye to a place we love, bound for a place we tolerate- reality.  

Not Yellowstone

I am more than eagerly awaiting long walks in the Wyoming alpine!  We had been in the van a little over two weeks now and had endured countless challenges and frustrations as we adapted to life in a GMC Savana, but now, here on the other side of Yellowstone National Park and away from the selfie nabbing, wildlife harassing tourists, it finally felt the way I had longed for this whole time.  We met a congenial older man and his Border Collie, camping adjacent to us.  He was friendly and affable, a perfect combination of inviting and minding his own business.  We chatted with him awhile and learned that he came to this campground every year for the past 20 years or so and stayed the maximum allowable days, which was 21.  He had long passed his prime, but relayed he had hiked most if not all of the trails in the area, and though he couldn't put as many miles on his arthritic legs and back as he used to, he still made a point to feel the dirt under his feet and get figuratively lost in an area he knew better than most.  

A strong, positive night before omen

Rousing early from our cozy nest in the van, we pulled on our hiking clothes and boots, loaded up our backpacks, and set out just after blue hour as the sun began its ascent from obscurity, the mosquitoes starting to stir as plentiful, though undersized, brook trout leapt enthusiastically from the lake near our campground to feast on early morning mayflies.  The starting elevation for our hike this day was somewhere in the neighborhood of 9,000’.   We followed an official trail for about 4.5 miles, then used GPS and our own senses for the final mile to a seldomly visited lake rumored to be brimming with Yellowstone Cutthroat trout. Along the way we waded through frigid alpine inlets, scrambled up and around small faces, and even saw some grizzly prints while making plenty of noise to ensure all we saw were prints.  Once at the lake we were mobbed by the largest, most aggressive blood-thirsty mosquitoes outside of Alaska. We fished for a couple of hours, battling the wind and the constant mosquito bites while landing several beautiful fish, which we released for another ambitious angler to enjoy one day.  Polishing off our snacks of beef jerky and trail mix, we decided it was time to make our return to camp and the traditional and glorious post-hike feast- steaks over the fire and s'mores.  

Picturesque early morning views

Wildflower framing

Still on the maintained trail, we passed several tarns and smaller lakes

Ready to go up and over, I think

We saw one person camped at a high point near this lake.  I don't know how he withstood the mosquitoes, but I am sure the night sky was worth it.  

The formal trail ended at this lake for us

We traversed around the lake, hopping boulders and pausing to take in the scenery (aka to catch our breath)

Some of the boulders we negotiated

The wildflowers were in full force

After one of two outlet crossings

At this point, we switched to a low profile water shoe since we likely had more crossings to negotiate and also because we were getting closer to the final push

Finally!  Almost around the lake

Reflection game was strong

Part of the final push, just after we saw grizzly prints

Overlooking one of the larger lakes, where we saw the lone backpacker

Finally fishing, but you can never let your guard down- bear spray always at the ready

So many flowers

Looking for trout among the boulder structure

This is what we came for

Yellowstone Cutthroat

One last glance before descent

Rather than return via our original path, we instead opted to follow the lake drainage down a couple of miles before intersecting with another trail that would return us to our campground.  Passing a few groups as the weekend commenced, everyone was friendly and polite.  We also found a man’s wallet on the trail and were lucky enough to find him patrolling our campground trying to retrace his steps in hopes of finding it. He was immensely grateful, and I remember thinking it was just a great ending to a great day as I inhaled some peanut butter pretzels which I chased with some Milk Duds.

When in doubt, just follow the drainage.  It's bound to lead to a trail

It was a more direct route that was probably slightly faster, but definitely drier... or was it?  More on that to come

Not quite cliffed out, but it did require a sporty scramble

Where you see the trail is where our route intersected with the established path

Sometimes it's easier just to get your feet wet rather than spend extra time trying to find a dry route

We ended up making a nice lollipop loop and enjoyed the new to us scenery

Marshmallows and milk duds, a winning post-hike combo

Places I take myself when I don't want to be here...

 There are places I can go anytime I like.  They're not just any ordinary places.  They're places where the world's headaches cannot inflict their pain, places where the voices of doubt, chaos, and inadequacy that whisper and sometimes scream in my head are replaced by the sound of a harmless late summer breeze carried across a high alpine lake, breaking the glassy surface and replacing it with clever ripples, ripples that will disguise my presence from the wary, wild trout that patrol these pristine waters.  

  One of these places lies high in the mountains of Wyoming, off the beaten path.  After hiking over six miles into the backcountry, the last obstacle involves scaling a steep pitch while skirting a multi-tiered waterfall. There, you reach an altitude of just over 11,000 feet where an expanse of alpine lakes greets you, connected by small channels covering a seemingly infinite distance toward the horizon, the only sounds the rustling of the high country shrubs, the babbling of the inlet and outlet streams, and the ever present, ever threatening buzz of alpine mosquitoes.  Despite the warm weather, long sleeves are a must, and the shorts I convinced myself to wear instead of pants now seem like a terrible idea.  After countless bites, you figure the mosquitoes have sampled every inch of exposed skin, so you start to ignore them.  They continue to feast anyhow.  

  I stop to survey the landscape, learning over the years that it behooves me to pause.  This is true in fishing and in life, though one remains a work in progress.  Watch the water, look for areas of cover, watch for rising noses to break the uninterrupted surface and sip an unsuspecting insect.  In a rebuke of a what's good for the goose is good for the gander moment, the pause does not benefit the insect.  Slurp, and then it's back to the cool depths of the shimmering, emerald lake.  Watching the behavior of these trout, it is evident they have not seen many people, as any clumsy movement I make (likely swatting mosquitoes), they retreat from the prospect of a meal to ensure their safety.  Another pause.  

  Moving away from the water to set up my gear, I can still see the shadows darting along the bottom for this lake is much more shallow than the ones to follow.  Fishing the outlet streams is typically more productive but after striking out there or only seeing very tiny fish who need time to grow, I resign to the idea of sight fishing for spooky Golden Trout.  Truthfully, coming up empty would not have been a disappointment, the 7+ mile walk in and up would have felt just like the gift it was, but it sure would be nice to land a few Goldens.  As fate would have it, I was fortunate enough to land one fairly quickly despite the less than ideal conditions as the breeze was long gone, leaving a still, polished surface once again.  

  The brilliance of the gold is almost unfathomable, matched in grandeur by the punch colored stripe along the lateral belly and the underside of the trout from mouth to tail.  Not huge in size, but serviceable considering the conditions these fish inhabit- long, harsh winters with food scarcity due to brief yet unpredictable summers.  

  Satisfied with a few fish from the first spot, I move over the ridge, across another inlet to a much more expansive, much deeper lake, cupped within a cirque of peaks reaching well over 12,000 feet, some climbing over 13k.  As the water is much deeper, the lake bottom concealed many feet below, I am able to wade in and cool my mosquito bites in the frigid alpine water.  The fish here are bigger but equally if not more crafty.  I land a few here as well but cannot get "the big one" to hand.  As quickly as it was on, it was off, but I remember the much more robust tug.  

  Late summer in the alpine is always unpredictable in terms of weather, so as the once harmless clouds begin to turn more ominous and the threat of adverse weather becomes more likely, it is time to pack up and head back down to camp.  Nature decided I wasn't to see the remainder of the chain of lakes that day, but what I did see was enough to sustain me, now more than two years later in times of distress and despair but also to ignite that flicker in me to want, to need to get back there one day, to see what I, for now, can only dream.