Come along on our 4,238-mile adventure in search of Big Sky trout. We departed Oklahoma on Tuesday (8 Sep) for the 2-day drive to Missoula. Our planned route would take us north into Kansas then west to Colorado, and north again to Wyoming, where we would spend the night in Casper. While the weather forecast for our time in MT looked great, getting there would provide a challenge. A “winter storm” was expected for the Denver/Cheyenne/Casper area, with 3 to 6 inches of snow, ice, and morning temperatures in the upper 20s even though the calendar showed there were still 13 days of summer left. After a few hours on the road, I took over the driving and Scott put his B-52 and E-3 navigator experience to work mapping out a new route of travel. He used his iPad to check the weather and my old-school atlas to quickly develop Plan B. Instead of turning west on I-70 at Salina, we blew north through Kansas, into Nebraska, where we had heavy rain, then continued north to South Dakota where we picked up I-90. This took us north of the storm and only added about 90 minutes of driving to our day. We did see a light dusting of snow on the highest areas as we passed through the Black Hills, but safely arrived in Spearfish, where we spent the night. Some Chinese takeout from Jade Palace and a good night’s sleep had us ready for the second day.
We clipped the northeast corner of Wyoming then headed west through the grassland of eastern Montana on U.S. Hwy 212. We saw a lot of cattle, but what surprised me were all the bee hives we saw. It seemed as though every ranch had some hives and I wondered what these bees were feeding on? We planned a non-fishing stop at the Little Bighorn Battlefield. While the site was open; unfortunately, the visitor center was closed, which they failed to tell you at the entrance. We weren’t able to view whatever artifacts they have on display. Places like this usually have a very good introductory video too, which gives a general overview of what you will see. There was no organized tour or even anyone to answer your questions. We drove around and stopped to read some of the displays and pay our respects to the warriors from both sides who made the ultimate sacrifice.
We picked up I-90 that turned left at Hardin, stopped for lunch at Pickle Barrel in Billings, then continued west, passing Livingston, Bozeman, Three Forks, and Butte. Traffic was light and the sky was clear.
We arrived in Missoula and found the 2-bedroom house we rented through airbnb, not far from the airport. We had 2 bathrooms, a full kitchen, a washer/dryer, wi/fi, and easy access to I-90. There was a small charcoal grill on the deck out back, but we already had 6 dinners prepped for when we returned from fishing each day. This would be our base camp for the next 6 days as we fished numerous Missoula-area streams. I had the following rods to pick from: 8.5’ Heddon Model 17 (1 3/4F), 9’ Heddon Model 10 (2F), 8.5’ Phillipson Peerless Dry Fly Special, 7.5’ Granger Special 7633, and 8’ Orvis Battenkill (4 3/8 oz). I could fish a 4-weight through a 7-weight line and hoped to fish some dry flies and soft hackled flies, as well as our usual assortment of nymphs.
We choose the well-known Rock Creek as our first stop for catching MT trout. It’s located an easy drive east of Missoula; there is even a Rock Creek exit off I-90. After 10 miles, the paved road that parallels the stream gives way to gravel. Right after these appeared, we saw a sign warning us about Big Horn Sheep.
I wasn’t sure if the guy who puts up the signs was confused or if the goats wandered into sheep territory. We saw signs that we were in Bull trout country and bear country. Unfortunately, we didn’t see any Bull trout; fortunately—we didn’t see any bears either. There is plenty of public access, so just continue driving upstream and park at a campground or pull-off where the water looks good to you.
I chose a coffee/black, beadhead Pat’s rubber leg stonefly nymph paired with a red San Juan worm and a pheasant tail nymph. It took less than 5 minutes to land my 1st MT trout, a 10-inch Brown on the pheasant tail. Scott quickly landed 2 larger Browns from the deep water at the head of the pool with his spinning rod. We worked our way upstream and decided this stream should be re-named Slippery Rock Creek! We didn’t see any insects hatching or signs of fish feeding on emerging insects, but picked up a few Browns and Rainbows and some Whitefish too. Scott found this fish in the riffles and it slammed his smaller beadhead woolley bugger.
After lunch, we walked downstream and then fished back toward the truck. I tried a Chubby Chernobyl and a Stimulator in a few pools hoping they would bring a fish or two to the surface, but I didn’t even get a look. Went back to the nymphs and picked up a few more fish. I certainly felt the rustiness of not having fished even 1 day in the previous 9 months. My best fish of the day was this nicely-colored Rainbow who made a few goods runs up and down the pool.
I give high marks to the new Fishpond mid-length (37 inch) net I was using for the 1st time. It would come in handy in the days ahead too, especially trying to net fish in faster water. It does take some getting used to when you walk because it hangs down lower and hits against the back of your legs. We returned again the next day and drove 4-5 miles farther up the road before pulling off in a turnout. Having fished the Heddon # 17 yesterday, today, I chose the Phillipson DFS paired with a J. W. Young Beaudex and a DT-6. The big stonefly nymph was the top producer again, although I also took a few on various soft hackles. The best fish of the day was this yellow-finned Brown that was holding in a knee-deep riffle.
I also lost the 1st really nice fish of the trip. It hit hard when I drifted through this waist-deep run above the partly-submerged rock on the right side of the photo.
There was a nice bend in the Phillipson as the fish headed upstream. Suddenly, it turned and headed back downstream; my line came flying back toward me. The fish and both my flies were gone—time for a late lunch.
I had a can of bear repellent that expired the month before our trip. I brought it along with the idea of shooting it off “for practice”. My aim point was a tree 30 feet away. The can discharged completely. It went about 20 feet. The grass was wet, but there was no “orange cloud” like I expected to see. I sure was glad I had a brand new can attached to my wading belt! We decided to drive back to Missoula early to visit a few fly shops; purchase a few items; and ask about conditions on a few streams. I wanted some large hooks in case I needed to tie additional stonefly nymphs. As we entered the store, I immediately noticed the fly tying section and headed off to the left side of the shop. The 1st thing to catch my eye was tying thread, even though I didn't need any. Most materials were displayed on these swinging panels; however, on a shelf I noticed a small, compartmented plastic box with small spools of thread. Could it be..............? To my surprise—yes—it was Pearsall's Gossamer silk thread and 1 of them was purple (#8).
But wait, there was even better news; the price was $4.80! I also bought 2 spools of what I believe is dark claret (new #15). If anyone needs a spool of dark claret, I would trade 1 for a spool of: straw, light yellow, ash, or olive. Here are the colors that were still there when I left: 1 spool of brown, 1 spool of java brown, and 6 spools of light olive. You will not find this thread listed on their web site, but if you call the Kingfisher Fly Shop, I'm sure they would sell it to you.
Based on comments from the fly shop, for Saturday’s fishing, we chose the West Fork of the Bitterroot. It would be twice the drive of Rock Creek. Of course, in Oklahoma we drive 2 hours each way to fish for stocked trout in the Illinois River. Plus, there is always the chance they will disregard the water release schedule and you will find the river too high to fish with the flow at 4000 cfs. We just considered the drive to be part of the “Montana experience”. We headed south on U.S. 93 through the Bitterroot Valley. The air was crisp and the sky was blue since the smoke from the West Coast fires hadn’t arrived yet. In places, you could see the main branch of the Bitterroot and we took note of the signs for the different access areas. You had to slow down as you passed through each small town. Each small town had at least 1 fly shop, but they were outnumbered by the casinos 3 to 1! This fly shop certainly took the opportunity for some timely marketing!
After passing through Darby, we turned off on state Hwy 473. The stream ran close to the road and the water looked great. There were some cabins and small ranches with signs letting you know it was private property; however, there was also plenty of public access too. Some spots were a bit crowded, but there were few other people fishing.
We stopped at a campground looking for a place to park. There was a board posted with notices and rules. One of the notices said a bear had been spotted in the campground in the past few days, but no mention of what kind of bear. We parked in a pullout marked “Fisherman Parking” and fished upstream. This water had a slick bottom too. I fished nymphs on a short line in each small pocket area and made my way upstream with the help of my wading staff. A half dozen casts and I landed this small Brown.
I lost the next 2 fish when they made it to fast water below me and my fly pulled out. I landed another Brown and then a Rainbow from between the mid-stream rocks and the downed tree on the far side. Upstream, around the bend, the water opened up a bit and you could fish a longer drift. I briefly tried a hopper and Chubby Chernobyl when I saw a fish rise where a log ran right along the roadside bank. No interest in the dries, so I went back to the nymphs and picked up a few more fish before walking along the road back to the truck.
We ate lunch in the shade near the truck then walked down the road through the campground to fish for the afternoon. Where the road started to loop back, we took a path between 2 campsites that led toward the stream. It came to an open, grassy area next to a waist-deep run. A lady in a lawn chair was reading a book, enjoying the sunshine. She said she was from Oregon and was escaping the smoke of the West Coast fires. No sooner did she ask Scott, “Are there any fish in this stream?”, I was hooked-up and battling what turned out to be a 17-inch Cutthroat. Scott was downstream from me; he thought he could net the fish, but it was quickly past him as my Medalist 1494 made that classic noise as Sylk DT-6 line was pulled from the reel. The stream here had a smoother bottom and was easier to wade, so I gave chase and I finally gained control in the shallower water at the end of the run. It was the start of what I called: Big Fish Afternoon. I netted 6 fish in the 16 – 20 inch range and lost 3 or 4 more. It was a mixed bag with at least 1 Cutthroat, Brown, Rainbow, and Cutbow plus a few Whitefish. The 1 3/4F Heddon was definitely outgunned and I chased after all these fish!
We leaped-frogged past each other through the next few pools, picking up a fish, or at least getting a hit from each spot. There was a deep-water pool on a sharp bend that we bypassed. On the campground side, access to the stream was blocked off with yellow crime-scene tape and there was a warning sign about an unstable stream bank. We closed out the day in another long, waist-deep pool with a downed tree against the far bank. There was plenty of room for the 2 of us to fish. Fish were stacked up in this spot; they were all hungry; and they liked what we were offering—the stonefly nymph, a San Juan worm, or a soft hackle—they all caught nice fish!
On Sunday, we headed out to try a small stream experience. We exited I-90 and drove along a gravel road that paralleled the stream. We passed quite a few campsites that had small RV campers set-up in them. The morning temperature was in the 40s, so we didn’t see many people out and about. Not sure how many of the people camping were fishing too. We drove along for about 20 minutes then parked in a pull-out on a bend in the road. Never having been here before, we decided this spot was as good a place to start as any other. We rigged up and I chose the 3-piece Granger paired with a Hardy Hydra that held a DT-4 Hook & Hackle line. The stream was 8 – 10 feet below the road level and we found a well-used path down the bank.
Scott started in the deep pool along the bend and I walked upstream to the next pool. I tied on a red San Juan worm and a beadhead flashback pheasant tail. We worked our way upstream fishing every good-looking pool. I changed flies a few times, trying a red and then a chartreuse Copper John. I even added a small split shot, thinking I wasn’t deep enough. There was no insect activity and no signs of fish feeding. I kept waiting for some type of small trout to grab 1 of my flies. We did walk through a lot of ankle-deep riffle water, but there were still enough good places for fish to hold. I tried a green butt caddis pupa in the knee-deep riffles, but still couldn’t entice a single fish.
When I saw this spot, I was certain things were about to change—wrong again! We crossed the stream hoping there was a path that would easily take us back to the gravel road; however, that didn’t go our way either. We backtracked 100 yards downstream, where the road was right next to the water. We quickly scrambled up the bank and started our walk back to the truck. On the last bend before reaching the truck, a large, black dog came running out from a campsite. It was barking loudly and it looked mean. The lady in the camp site called the dog 3 times, but he kept coming toward me, getting louder, bigger, and meaner! Of course, she is yelling that famous dog-owner phrase: “He doesn’t bite”. I’m thinking, don’t make me use my $40.00 can of bear spray on your dog. The fish weren’t biting; fortunately—neither did the dog! He eventually turned and ran back to the camper. We ate lunch and decided rather than finding another place on this stream, we should go check out 1 of those access areas we passed yesterday on the Bitterroot.
We drove back to Missoula and then south on Hwy 93 to Hamilton. On the right side, at a bridge, was an access area called Angler’s Roost. There were sites for RV camping, you could buy gas, and there was a small store. Float trips could put in or take out here too. If you just wanted to fish, you could park in a small, grassy area behind the store. A lady was fishing from the bank with a spinning rod in a smooth pool that extended downstream. Upstream from her, near the bridge, was some faster water. Downstream there was a riffle area of unknown depth then the stream made a bend to the right and disappeared from view. The lady said she hadn’t caught any fish, but she saw fish splashing on the surface. We moved downstream from her and watched the water—it didn’t take long! First 1, then another, and another. I didn’t notice any flies coming off, but there were certainly fish feeding. The questions were: what were they taking and how small of a fly would you need? I went with a #16 Parachute Adams. I waded out to just above my knees. Farther out, the water seemed waist deep. I missed the 1st take, then another. Finally—a hook up. The fish was smaller than my hand; a Rainbow—no more than 5 inches. I missed another fish and then hooked another. It was another Rainbow, but only about 7 inches. By now the lady with the spinning rod had given up. We tried nymphs in the faster water between where the lady had been and the bridge, but didn’t get a strike. We walked downstream to investigate that water, but the riffle was shallow and we walked back upstream.
We decided to check out the water upstream from the bridge. In addition to the highway bridge, there was a railroad bridge over the stream. I didn’t see any private property signs, so I walked down the bank and upstream to the first riffle. It was certainly better-looking water than what we left downstream. There was some structure at mid-stream that broke up the fast-moving water, so I carefully waded out. There was also a nice run near the far bank, just in front of a downed tree. I fished a short line again and worked each pocket. Same result as this morning—not a single strike. Finally, I hooked a fish. It didn’t seem big; however, it pulled hard and stayed on the bottom. I was disappointed when I netted a Whitefish! Does anyone actually fish for Whitefish and then ever say, “Oh crap, another Brown trout took my fly?” Shortly after this, I noticed a raft upstream from me. The guide positioned the raft so he could pass between the mid-stream water I was fishing and the far bank. We exchanged greetings as the raft passed. He asked about my success and I replied, “Two small Rainbows on dries and a Whitefish.” He pointed to the area near the far bank with the downed tree and said, “Make sure you try over there”. I nodded and relied, “Yes, it sure looks good.” I didn’t really think I could reach the area near the far bank. Wading through the mid-stream fast water didn’t seem like a good idea, even with a wading staff. I decided to cast to the far bank from where I was standing. Of course, that meant I had broken up fast water and slow water between me and the run I wanted to fish. I’m also casting a 2-nymph rig and the size 6 3XL stonefly nymph had both a large beadhead and 20 wraps of wire! On the first 2 drifts my mending wasn’t good enough and my line ended up dragging. The 3rd cast was better; when the indicator paused, I raised the rod. The line went tight, the rod bent, and I saw the underwater flash. Fish on—and I immediately knew it was nice. I thought the fish would head straight for the downed tree near the far bank. To my surprise, it went straight upstream and then down, and repeated it again. I carefully followed it downstream and worked it through the mid-stream current where I caught the Whitefish earlier. Foolishly, I hadn’t swapped back to my long-handled net after fishing the small steam in the morning. I was still able to net the colorful, heavy fish.
At first, I thought it was a Rainbow. Then, I saw the 2 orange slashes and realized it was a Cutbow. Holding my net deep in the water, I turned upstream and noticed another raft positioning itself to continue downstream. I presume they saw at least part of my encounter and knew I had a nice fish in the net. The guide stopped his raft and they congratulated me and offered to take a picture. I figured it wasn’t going to get any better and stopped for the day. Back in the parking area, Scott took this picture for me before we started the drive back to Missoula.
Scott needed to catch a Westslope Cutthroat so we decided to try a “hike-in adventure” on Monday. I had a tip from a Forum member on a place to try. It involved heading out of Missoula, passing a certain town, and finding a gravel road that would eventually lead to the trailhead for a horse trail. From there, a 1-mile hike and let the fishing begin. Why not—we're here to drink in as much of MT as we can in 10 days! When we arrived at the trailhead, I hoped all the horse trailers, trucks and cars were there because of elk hunting. Certainly, they all weren’t there to fish—were they? We parked at the trail head, geared up, and down the trail we started. What I didn’t realize was that at the end of the 1-mile hike, we wouldn’t be on the trail next to the stream ready to start fishing. We would be on the trail; however, the stream would be way down below us!
By now, the smoke from the West Coast fires had replaced Montana’s big blue sky with haze, but it was still great to experience this type of setting. There was no path down to the stream and yes, it was as steep and as far down as it looks in the picture. It was rugged at the bottom. There were boulders the size of 4-door pickup trucks.
The water was crystal clear and the stream bottom was a collection of shiny, multi-colored stones. I started with a dry-dropper rig; a stimulator and a red Copper John. The entire stream was still in the shade, so it was hard to see the stimulator. Our path upstream was blocked by deep water, so we moved downstream, trying every good-looking spot. After a few pools, I replaced the stimulator with a 2nd nymph and an easier-to-see yellow indicator. Unfortunately, the result was the same; not a single fish; not even a strike. Scott tried a few of the over-your-head deep pools with his lightweight spinning rod, but also came up fishless. It was a repeat of yesterday morning. Except now, we had to climb back up to the trail—and that, was no easy task. Not far down the trail, we met 3 guys who were going in to an elk hunting camp.
I hope they had better success! We arrived back at the trailhead and ate our lunch. Believe me—a bologna sandwich never tasted so good! A Subaru pulled up to the parking area where we were sitting. The driver’s side window came down and 2 guys asked about our success. Discouraged by our fishless morning, they drove off.
The Bitterroot had been good to us, so we paid a return visit to the West Fork on Tuesday. This time, we drove farther up the road than we did on Saturday and went all the way to the dam that forms Painted Rocks Reservoir to look around. Then drove back downstream to fish well upstream from our previous visit. We parked in a pullout where the stream was right next to the road and the water had good movement. Today, I decided to use my Phillipson Peerless Dry Fly Special with a DT-6 on a J. W. Young Beaudex. It would have more backbone than the 1 3/4F Heddon if I hooked any larger fish again. There was a path right there along the stream, so we walked downstream a short way before starting.
Scott hooked a Rainbow right away and then I hooked a small Brown. He still needed a Westslope to check off his Cutthroat list. The water looked better than the results we were getting. I ended up skipping the section where the stream was right next to the road. The water was deep and fast right next to the bank. There was better water in mid-stream, but I didn’t want to stand and balance myself on the large rocks that lined the stream bank. I walked up the road 40 yards and re-entered the stream where the water looked more wadable.
The catching picked up right away with a mix of Browns and Rainbows. There were still no insects on the water, but the fish were certainly more active than earlier. I heard voices and looked upstream to see a raft stopped and 1 of the 3 people fighting a fish. As they moved downstream again, the guide said he could pass by close to me to protect the mid-stream area I was fishing. I backed up a few steps and they quickly moved passed me. Scott was moving upstream of me, so I decided to fish back down through the run I just finished. Half way through the pool, I saw the flash and set the hook—fight on!
This nice Brown, getting colored up to spawn, had the big stonefly nymph securely in the top of his mouth. It seemed like a good way to end the morning and we walked back to the truck.
We drove downstream to the campground for lunch in the shady fishermen’s parking area. As we finished eating, another truck pulled in and 2 guys asked if we were finishing up or just getting started. We said we had fished upstream earlier and were going to walk downstream and fish back to the truck now. They said great and they would start at the trucks and fish upstream. We walked down through the mostly deserted campground and started in the same place where we met the woman in the lawn chair on Saturday. The fish continued to be active and we picked up a mix of Browns, Rainbows, and a few Whitefish. There was certainly no hatch, but I noticed a few caddis and some blue-winged olives on the water and swapped out my San Juan worm dropper with a Leisenring spider. In the pool with the downed tree against the far bank, where I stopped fishing last time, I hooked a really nice fish that broke off and took both my flies. I sat down along the bank to rig up again and decided to continue upstream to fish new water. After a Brown and a Rainbow, I hooked another really nice fish that immediately headed across the current and broke off. Two nice fish gone in less than 30 minutes; I wondered what was up. I rigged up again with another stonefly nymph and a spider. It didn’t take long to have another fish on and I netted the Cutthroat.
Scott came walking up from downstream. I tied a spider to a piece of tippet and told him to tie it to his stonefly nymph because I just caught a Cutthroat on this fly and he still needed one. I backed out of the pool and pointed to where he should start casting. A half dozen casts later and he had a fish—yes—a Cutthroat. Lucky for him, his took the stonefly or I would have dogged him the whole ride back to Missoula that he only caught his Cutthroat because he used my fly and listened to me!
Back in Missoula, we stopped to pick up dinner at a popular burger place. It’s a Northwest U.S. regional chain called Frugal’s that was recommended to me by a guy at work who grew up in Bozeman and has a sister who lives in Missoula. It’s a drive-through only set-up using never frozen beef. I chose the Western Burger which came with pepper jack cheese, bacon, onions, and BBQ sauce. We added some additional local Montana flavor by getting huckleberry milkshakes—yummy!
In the morning, we would depart Missoula and head to Gardiner for 4 nights and some fishing in YNP.................................
Tight Lines- Ken
, Looking forward to Part 2!