To paraphrase the Moose Jockey’s from up North who run LoFiFly… Every now and then your blog and blogging efforts go to shit. Sometimes it’s a little drawn out.
Sorry we’re not sorry. We were busy. Hunting season went from Sept 1st till Jan 15th. That’s a long time and it’s also a lot of work. But we now have an apartment with skulls on the wall and meat in the freezer. So it was worth it.
But we are back. Because we need it…And apparently enough of you want it to bug us about it non-stop… So here it is.
We will have posts about the fall and winter fishing and all of our clusters of hunting outings.
Just give us time. Rome wasn’t built in a day.
This is a fish someone caught.
That’s right LoFi. We called you out. Only because we love you.
We missed you guys.
Thumbs up for SALMONFLIES.
It’s already Monday?
It rained the entire weekend here in Missoula. We didn’t see blue sky until Monday afternoon. However the fishing was great. We found some fish and some bugs. The streamer bite wasn’t too shabby either.
We all caught some nice fish and saw some big orange hummingbird sized bugs flying around. It was exciting to watch those huge bugs crash land on the water.
Big Bug Eater.
Bigger fish eater… Lesson learned. Never throw streamers with 3x. You never know what you might hook into.
The Zen nympher gettin it done.
Bugs are here and more are on their way. The fish are starting to look up and the days are still getting longer. Floating tomorrow. Life is good.
It seem like it happens every year… Oh wait.
As I have mentioned, it’s already here and it’s already taking trees down the river. Is this true run off? Who knows. Your guess is probably better than mine.
Either way our normal fishing routines are thrown out and we have to improvise. It seems like a real bummer but it keeps fly fisher people on their toes. It also give us the opportunity to target fish that we wouldn’t normally see.
Turkey and Bear season are also underway. So while the rivers may be blown out and the trout are put on hold we get the chance to mix it up a little bit. It seems to be a pain in the ass right now, but maybe run off isn’t so bad. Like Sean and I once decided… Run off is like the first intermission of a hockey game. You get a short break and fresh ice to skate when it’s over.
Here are a few photos from our run off remedies.
They beat us to ’em.
Anthony and I put down 11 miles in search of bears. We managed to find two. One very blonde bear we jumped in some timber 60 yards away and couldn’t get a clear shot. And one pitch black bear that we couldn’t seem to catch up with. We will be back.
A throwback from Alaska. Big fish and big animals.
Last weekend the FCFT crew headed over to the Mighty Mo’ with visions of catching the biggest, baddest fish in the river. There were lows, cold temperatures and unrelenting winds were constant. There were highs, Zach filming Caleb’s first fish on a dry fly might be right at the top. In the end, the truth is that no one landed a true giant. What that trip lacked in trophy fish it made up for in new friends met and memories made. I learned that the biggest fish don’t always carry the most meaning.
We spent the first evening in a campground on the outskirts of Craig Montana. Don’t feel ashamed if you’ve never heard of it, neither had I two years ago. The campground community consisted of seven guys that had all ended up in the same place for the same reasons. We were from New York, North Dakota, Georgia, Oregon, Oklahoma, Pennsylvania, and California. How is that for diversity?
Firewood was piled on as the guys traded fish stories and passed around the Whiskey. The night grew colder and I inched closer to the warmth of the fire. I was entranced by the flames and the passion in their voices as I listened to the stories being told all around me. It was then that I tried to come up with a definitive reason for why we do what we do . Is it the adventure? Or do we do it for the big fish, the challenge, and the camaraderie? I haven’t stopped thinking about it since then and I still don’t have the perfect answer.
As one grows older and evolves an outdoorsman their ambitions and ideals change. As for me I have always been a very motivated, goal orientated person. I have to go further and push harder than the day before or I’m not satisfied. People give me a hard time and ask if I ever enjoy my time spent on the water. The answer is yes, but there are times that I’ve pushed over the next hill only to miss the beauty right at my feet.
This was not one of those days. Once in a while the stars align and everything just clicks. By noon I had landed enough fish that heading back to the truck and relaxing for a little while sounded like a good idea. Those who fish with me know this happens about once a year. As I sat there eating a sandwich and warming up my frozen toes I noticed a father and son fishing by the boat launch. It was cold and they were bundled up like the Michelin man. The dad would spend five minutes tying on a setup only to have the boy lose it on the third cast. After the feeling in my feet came back I grabbed my rod and headed back to the water. I entered the river upstream of them and picked my way through the uneven bottom to a submerged boulder. From my little island I could watch the two fish and still reach the seam in front of me. The longer I watched them the more I was reminded of my own childhood and the times I had shared with my father. It was obvious that they weren’t made of money, I could relate. I had an extremely modest upbringing and my father couldn’t afford to take me anywhere exotic. But he still managed to take us fishing almost every weekend in the summer. Once there my brother and I would test his patience by fighting, being too hot, too cold, thirsty, and/or hungry. I can still remember throwing my pole over the side of the boat into thirty feet of water.
It was a
perfect lucky drift. I made a cast upstream, threw in a huge mend then started stripping out line as my in indicator worked its way down. About sixty feet downstream it shot under. I set back and to my surprise the line stayed tight, I fought the fish from my little perch and after a short battle I managed to bring the beautiful rainbow to the net. He was just shy of matching the 22″ handle. As the fish slid out of my hand and back into the current I looked up and met eyes with the father. He told me that I had landed quite the fish and did a hell of a job bringing him in. I thanked him and went back to fishing. I couldn’t help but think about how lucky I was to have a father that showed the kind of patience with me that this man was showing with his son. I wondered to myself if I would be able to teach my children to love the outdoors the way my father had with me. At that point my emotions got the best of me, I broke down in tears on that boulder. I headed back to the truck to call my dad, when he answered I told him about the little boy. I told him of that fathers patience and how because of it the boy might just grow up to be a big bad fly fisherman. I told him that one day when that little boy grows up he might call his dad just to tell him how grateful he is. I told him I loved him and hung up the phone. Again, failing to fight back the tears.
This story is dedicated to all the mothers and fathers who have impacted their childrens lives in more ways than they know.