It’s Spring, and here in Montana a young man’s fancy
turns not to love but to trout fishing. During a trip
to the local pub you will not overhear talk of sports,
or work, or the opposite sex, but of river flow and
insect hatches. We take our fishing seriously here.
And that is why it is important to get out and shake
the winter cobwebs off of the casting arm and catch a
few trout. This isn’t to just open the season but to
confirm that such a thing is even possible, because
fooling a trout with a little fluff of fur bound to a
tiny hook seems so improbable after a long winter’s
lay-off that doing so last year might have been some
kind of hallucination.
It is with these things in mind that I load up the Volkswagen
bus and head to Rock Creek for the first outing of the year.
I have younger friends with more energy and drive than I have,
and they have fished throughout the winter, braving weather
that would keep the postman home. Not me. Part of it is at
my age I prefer to be warm rather than cold; part of it is,
as an old New England striped bass fisher, I am used to my
season not starting until late May, so a hiatus of three
months seems nothing compared to the six months I usually
brave. It’s all relative.
Rock Creek is about 25 miles from Missoula, but that is only
half way, mileage wise, one tenth of the way, travel wise.
To get where I want to go requires a twenty-plus-mile drive
down a dirt road that can’t be much less cratered than the
road to Fallujah. Don’t get me wrong, I believe the harder
you work for something the greater the reward, and such a
ride keeps the weak-willed at home, but I’m also driving a
40 year-old Volkswagen bus and after one arduous weekend of
transversing this road, I opened the driver’s side door and
it fell off, the hinge bolts having been rattled loose by
the jarring bumps. Still, it is a pleasant drive if you don’t
mind a little traffic big horned sheep and mountain goats that
occasionally block the road. I always chuckle when I pass the
entrepreneur who advertises “firewood for sale,” as he is either
the worst businessman or the greatest optimist in the world selling
firewood here would be like selling sand in the desert.
The creek (pronounced “crick” out here, by the way) is a jewel,
sandwiched within the Sapphire mountain range, and there are
some spots that see very little daylight. On this day ice
and snow garnish the banks, and the creek itself is a bit
high but clear. I’m not much of a fresh-water fisher, but
I recall the best fishing advice I had ever received from a
wary old trout angler who begrudgingly confirmed “they’re
right where they’re supposed to be.” With the creek running
fast, I think the trout are supposed to be in the slower
waters, the side channels formed by mid-stream islands that
divert and slow the flow. And though I recently read that
researchers at MIT and Harvard have found that trout, by
curving their bodies, are able to hold in the flow much
like a sailor can sail into the wind using the Bernoulli
principle, my instincts are right. I find the trout right
where they are supposed to be, and fishing a bead head
prince on a wet fly swing, I surprise myself and catch
some beautiful fish.
The sun passes overhead and begins to slide behind the
mountains on the western side of Rock Creek. I’ve been
fishing for about six hours, but we all know that minutes
and hours, even days, just don’t apply to fly fishing.
Still, it’s time to go. Off the top of my head I’d say
it was my best opening day ever, but I say that every
year. It is the first time I’ve started the season by
fishing a pristine trout stream in Montana, and that has
to count for something.
On the way out of Rock Creek I pass a cowboy grave. It
is strangely moving, and I always pause there for a moment.
It’s a poignant reminder that this wonderful life is fleeting,
and days such as this are gifts to be cherished. And I do
cherish all of it; the crick, the trout, the sheep, hell,
even the bumpy road.
~ Dave
About Dave:
Until recently Dave Micus lived in Ipswich, Massachusetts.
He just moved to Missoula, Montana. He is an
avid striped bass fly fisherman, writer and instructor.
He wrote a fly fishing column for the Port City Planet
newspaper of Newburyport, MA (home of Plum Island and Joppa Flats)
and taught a fly fishing course at Boston University.
Originally published April 9th, 2007 on Fly Anglers Online by Dave Micus.