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It was mid week and supper was finished. The
fourth of July holiday weekend was now past and
the longer evenings would still afford several
hours of good Montana dry fly action. The business concerns
of the day had been put to rest and my wife of over
forty years was already expecting me to gather my
fishing things and head for the garage. She was
prepared to relax the remainer of the day with a
new mystery novel. Only my Black Lab Ellie showed
signs of excitement by prancing between me and the
garage door, fully expecting to be invited along.
While I would probably have preferred to be alone,
how could any human being turn down those big brown
longing eyes? With a nod of my head and a verbal
"okay," Ellie was at the door before I was.
Her place is in the second seat of our super-cab
pickup. Both the dog and I were properly trained
by my wife, who has made clear that the front seat
is to be kept clean and free of dog hair, mud and
leftover tidbits. Toward that end, Ellie must wait
for a command before leaping up onto her place.
After having been fishing and she is really sopping
wet, I may take the time to wipe her down with a
towel I carry along.
With my equipment already loaded I gave her the
"okay", and like an uncoiled spring she went from
the garage floor to her seat in one leap. My
interpretation of the look on her face was,
"Okay, I'm ready, let's get this show on the road!"
About 45 minutes later I was slowing down along
the northern portion of the Big Hole River near
Dewey, Montana. Ellie sensed the slowing down and
picked herself up from her nap and appeared to be
determining where we were going to fish. I pulled
off the road and headed toward the river which was
about fifty yards from the road. The shadows that
fell from the cottonwoods that lined the river
provided a good place to stop and park. A black
tail was in the back seat waving at a speed that
might equal that of the prop on a military helicopter.
It might take me a while to get ready, but Ellie was
ready NOW! With her door open and that same look
on her face as when at the garage door, it was "okay"
and out she flew. Within a time span that could be
called microseconds, she had smelled everything with
in a twenty yard circle and peed at least three times.
I would not have to worry about her as I began to
prepare my equipment. She would go to the river,
have a few more smells to check out and wait for me.
As I opened my rod case and started taking out
the sections of my nine-foot fly rod, I glanced
upstream and into the shadows of the trees,
hoping to see signs of a hatch. Caddis are
usually still in abundance early in July. There
were some, but other insects, not as large were
also flying about. By the time I had started to
put the reel on my rod, I had already swatted at
least three mosquitoes that were trying to sup on
my heavily medicated blood. "Oh, that's what the
other bugs are that are flying among the caddis,"
I said to myself. Experience taught me to stop
what I was doing and apply some repellant, and
to do it now!
I had already donned my vest and hip boots and
laid my rod across the hood of the pickup so
I could get my repellant out of one of the vest
pockets. As I pulled it from the upper right hand
pocket, I noticed that it was a little lightweight.
Even more alarming was the fact that the cap was
not in place and the contents had obviously leaked
out since the last use. Frantically, I tried to
drain out what few drops I could onto the back
of my hand. It wasn't looking good. There wasn't
enough to smear onto my face and ears and the message
had already gotten out to all the other mosquitoes
that were living within a hundred miles of the river.
Well, after all the mosquitoes I had encountered
in Korea decades ago, these were not going to stop
me from fishing this evening. With rod in hand and
a fresh #12 Elk hair caddis tied on to my leader,
I stepped a few feet into the river and started to
feed out some line from my reel. Ellie was now at
my side and when I commanded her to be still,
opening my mouth resulted in one or two mosquitoes
entering and adding to my daily protein intake. I
may have managed to spit one out. Ellie was rubbing
her face on the side of my hip boots. I saw why at
once. Those hungry "flying Pirahanas" were swarming
around her eyes and head. I bent down to shoo them
away and heard a splash a few feet out in the river
and discovered that a trout had taken my dragging
Caddis Fly. Some "presentation," I thought. I brought
the fish in quickly and stepped back onto the bank to
release the fish. As I reached down I noticed that the
mosquitoes were on the back of my hand, on the only
spot where I had applied any repellant! Things were
not looking very good.
What little wind that was blowing around six o'clock
had now diminished. Trout and Whitefish were rising
madly. This could easily prove to be one of those
times when fishing dry flies would last in my memory
forever, I thought to myself as I sucked in another
mosquito, through my left nostril this time. Ellie
was beginning to emit squealing sounds. At first I
wasn't sure it was her because the high pitch sound
already being emitted by the swarming mosquitoes now
forming a shroud about my head. Ellie made a few moves
toward the bank, then back to me and back to the bank
again. It was obvious she was being overwhelmed by
the pests and wanted to go home.
Feeling guilty, I made another cast toward the sounds
of rising fish. The mosquitoes were now between my
glasses and eyes and by sticking my finger there to
shoo them out, found me touching my eye, causing it
to water. So, I was casting to the sounds because I
couldn't see through the blur of tears. It was
impossible to see the fly now, and the mosquitoes
were getting worse. Ellie was still squeaking and
I was getting more miserable fighting off the
relentless attacks of blood suckers. "To Hell With IT!
Lets go home Ellie!" We both dashed to the truck
and hurried to get in the protection of the metal
cab. I didn't bother taking off my boots or vest,
I let Ellie jump in without wiping her off, started
the engine and headed home. A few bugs managed to
enter with us so I opened the windows when reaching
highway speed to suck them out.
It was just getting dark as I pulled up on the
driveway. I parked outside of the garage to unload
my fishing things. I removed my hip boots and vest
and as I picked up my rod case, I noticed it was
empty! A cold flash surged through my body. In my
haste to get in the truck and away from the voracious
mosquitoes, I propped my fly-rod against one of the
cottonwoods and never brought it into the truck.
After a few bursts of profanity, I told my wife
what had happened and that I had to return to the
river to get my rod (if it was still there.) Before
I left the house, I found another container of
repellent and gave myself a good dose. I also
searched and found a flashlight to take along.
Driving fast at night is not only against the law
in Montana, it's stupid. Several times I have
encountered a variety of animals on the road. A
squirrel, or rabbit present no harm. But hitting
a moose or a big black angus can do more than
just damage to your vehicle, it's "permanent
lights out!" Furthermore, headlights attract a
variety of bugs. The faster you drive, the greater
the mess of smashed flying critters spread across
your windshield, and the further it impairs your
ability to see at night.
The trip back to my fishing spot seemed to take
an eternity. Would my four hundred plus dollar
investment in rod and reel still be there? I would
never hear the end of it if it was not. The smell
of insect repellant was still stinging the inside
of my nose as I pulled into the spot where I had
parked earlier. There were no other cars in the area,
so that was a good sign. That didn't mean anything
because someone could have pulled in for a while,
tried to fish and got run off by mosquitoes like
I did, and found my rod on the way out. I grabbed
my flashlight and headed to the river. Before getting
to the big cottonwood I noticed at once that no bugs
attacked me. Must be the repellant I thought. Yet,
not even Caddis were attracted to my flashlight.
Maybe I should have toughed it out and stayed
longer, I thought.
There it was, still propped against the tree as I
had left it. Now I could relax. SPLASH! and splash
again. As I got closer to the river I could hear
fish rising in a frenzy. I stepped closer to the
water and found a rock to stand on. Even though I
wouldn't be able to see my fly once it was cast on
the water, I just had to try a cast or two. I let
out some line and judged what would be enough without
getting my back cast caught in the cottonwoods behind
me. I let the Caddis land somewhere up stream and by
habit, mended some line to get a drag-free drift. I
couldn't tell if the splashing sounds in the river
in front of me were rises to my fly, until the line
in my left hand went tight and was pulled from me,
reel screaming. I couldn't see the fish but knew if
I horsed it at all it would be gone. It took line
downstream at first. Then when I though it had come
off, it had actually turned upstream so that there
was some slack in my line. It took a while before I
realized it was still on. It was only when I was
reeling in what I thought to be a line with no fish
on the other end that I felt the rod throb. What do
I do now? I asked myself. With no hip boots it was
foolish to try and follow the fish, especially in
the dark. The fish hunkered down and I couldn't
move it. My imagination visualized a Brown of three
to four pounds, twenty-plus incher. Fish continued
to splash all around me. Then, a sudden surge, and
my line was slack again. This time, when I reeled
in my line, the fly was gone. After another string
of profanity, I figured that since the fish were still
going crazy, I'd use my flashlight and tie on another
elk hair caddis. The only problem was that my vest
was now comfortably hanging on a hook at home, thirty
miles away! No profanity this time, only tears. And
they didn't come from me putting a finger on my eyes.
The trout continued to feed and the mosquitoes appeared
to have had their fill and left me alone. It was midnight
when I returned home. Ellie was comfortably curled next
to the bed, my wife was half way through her mystery
novel, and I was searching through the medicine cabinet
trying to find something to put on the hundreds of bites
on my face, neck, and hands.
Yes, it was indeed a memorable evening of dry fly action.
~ Don Cianca
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