Land of Giants

Sometimes life deals you a second chance. After returning from an abruptly truncated fishing vacation, I got the chance to return to Montana for short break at the end of September. I met my sister for a brief family reunion at Craig, MT where her son, Mike, guides on the Missouri River. A few of the prostaffers probably remember Mike from our epic western summit adventure to the Bob Marshall Wilderness a few years ago. Mike was busy with clients most days so he had one of his guide buddies, Norm, take me on a section of the Missouri between upper Holter lake (near Gates of the Mountains) and Hauser dam.

Gray cliffs of Madison limestone rose steeply on each side of the river creating a sense of splendid isolation as Norm took us six miles above the lake on his jet boat to a place called Land of Giants.

A section where the Madison limestone has folded

Norm taking my sister and I to Land of Giants. Norm divides his time
 between Craig, MT in summer and Santa Barbara, CA in winter
 where he is a commercial diver for abalone

Norm rigged me up with a Czech nymph followed by a small caddis dropper all suspended beneath a small balloon indicator. I didn’t have to stare at the indicator long before it quivered and disappeared below the surface. I landed several fat 15-18 inch rainbows before the football-sized hen bow in the pic below nearly took me to the backing. We measured it at 20 inches and guessed the weight at about 4 lb. That's why they call this Land of Giants!

20-inch hen rainbow. Thanks for great net work Norm.

Norm helping Agrontrutta with another fine LOG rainbow

And that’s the way the day went, staring at that little balloon and reeling in big fish. I broke off several like the one in the pic above. My last fish was a perfect end to the day, a 21-inch male bow with a hint of a kype. Land of Giants indeed.

21-inch missle-shaped buck bow

I also got to fish a bit with Mike and we pulled in several good fish on the Missouri just below Holter dam. And, no trip to Craig is complete without burgers and beer (plenty of Blackfoot IPA during this trip) at Isaaks. Sadly, however, the Trout Shop Café is no longer in business. They expanded the lodge space to include more rooms for flyfishers (including yours truly).

Where the elite (flyfishers) meet to eat - Isaaks, downtown Craig

I also explored a small bit of Little Prickly Pear creek in the canyon section above some large private ranches. I hope to get back sometime to thoroughly check out that lovely little stream.

Little Prickly Pear Creek

Sometimes life gives you second chances. Don't pass them up!

 

Paradise (valley) Postponed

It has been a while since I’ve had anything worthy of an RBF Pro Staffer to post. And, despite some fun fishing for small mouth bass on the McLusky Canal (a remnant of one of the last pork barrel big water projects here in the west) this summer, I’ve not done any significant fishing since last September. So, I looked forward to my September vacation in Paradise Valley, MT as eagerly as the Chief looks forward to a fresh keg at the eternal tap in St. Marys.

My wife, Cricket the flyfishing beagle, and I set out for Livingston via Red Lodge on Labor Day weekend. Late summer was very dry here in central ND but nothing like the crispy conditions in the Treasure State. Smoke from the Mustang complex fire on the MT-ID border hung thick in the air from Red Lodge to Livingston. The beartooth plateau was a dusty khaki color as we made our way along highway 212 to the Park where the bison were bunched up along the Lamar river riparian edges, the only source of green grass in the northeast corner. We stopped at the upper end of Soda Butte to fish for part of the afternoon and I picked up a few feisty browns on brown drakes. The Lamar was the color of the café au lait at the Café Du Monde in New Orleans so I diverted to Slough Creek and pounded the banks with no luck. No matter, it was a gorgeous day and we were on vacation.


The Better Half and Cricket the Flyfishing Beagle in the Beartooths

Soda Butte, NE Corner of YNP

We stayed at the Yellowstone Valley Lodge (http://www.yellowstonevalleylodge.com/) just south of Livingston for the week. The Pine Creek fire (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eqk_90cq2gs&feature=related) just across the river had burned about a thousand acres a few days before we arrived and each night we watched the flare ups on the mountainside from our back porch.

I spent the next day on DePuy’s spring creek. When I called about availability the guy said “Come on over, stop at the big house, and ring the doorbell.” “Big house” was an understatement. This place was straight out of Gone with the Wind—an imposing structure of pure white with massive front columns. I rang the doorbell and a spritely elderly woman greeted me and asked me to sign in and pay the fee. The inside of the house was just as imposing (and shocking) with a massive red-carpeted grand staircase and decorative swans on each step. It took a while on the stream to reorient after experiencing the antebellum time warp. I fished the middle section near the angler’s hut (next to hwy 89) for most of the day and took a number of fish on everything from a #20 baetis to #8 Dave’s hoppers. It was a good day and I returned to the lodge tired but wired.

DePuy Spring Creek Cutt on Baetis

DePuy Cutt on Dave's Hopper

I had a plan for the rest of the week: a day meandering around Paradise Valley with my wife and beagle and then a day or two of hard fishing in the Park. It was not to be.

The next morning, feeling a bit stiff and tired from pounding the water at DePuy’s I looked forward to lazily exploring some of the sights in the valley. We stopped at Knoll’s flyshop near Pray where Pat Knoll spent about an hour explaining the history and rationale of the shop. Then, after another stop and short hike by the bridge near Emigrant, every muscle in my lower back began to twitch, then stiffen, and finally completely seize up. I was immobile. We returned to the lodge where I gulped a handful of Advil and crawled into bed for the next two days. Realizing that my condition was not improving (much) we simply packed up and my wife drove us home.

Well, the point of this interminable post was not to solicit sympathy (my back finally loosened up at home and I wallowed enough in self-pity—just ask my wife and dog), but to set up the next post wherein I describe a last-minute consolation trip and a journey to the Land of the Giants on the Missouri River. Stay tuned Pro Staffers.