The River Constant

River Soul

noreply@blogger.com (The RiverBank Robber) — Tue, 01 Mar 2011 23:06:00 +0000

I am engulfed in perpetual bliss. Mother nature's song sings a familiar tune. Mayflies dance upon a canvas backdrop as if scaling the distant mountains on the horizon. A calescent sun peaks above the skyline as it's rays peek through the translucent wings of the tiny Baetis, like miniature stained glass windows held within the holiest of all chapels. Caddis tickle the water's apex, tantalizing the trout below. The quaint pulse of the river whispers the sounds and the story of it's abiding past. Rocks swell with growth from hard earned time; undisturbed. The innermost sediment imprisons their words and the truth of their existence for the rest of eternity. As an Earth bound by limits within a vast expansion slowly revolves in an inexplicable realm; the trout swim freely amidst her arteries, witness to the aqueous beginnings of life. I get lost in rivers and streams, like water loses and carries away its secrets with age. Water is my lifeblood; it penetrates my soul and permeates my existence. I am one with the river. The River is one with my Soul.

My Missouri River Valentine

noreply@blogger.com (The RiverBank Robber) — Wed, 16 Feb 2011 23:27:00 +0000

I actually didn't fish the Missouri on Valentine's Day, but I was able to the day before so I'll consider the title of this post relevant. The weather in Montana has been much like a NASDAQ stock exchange line chart. Peaks and valleys with weather temps in the high 30s - mid 40s for a few days, then back to miserable chilly, cold single digit temps. The pattern has been uncharacteristic lately for this time of year in Montana. When the peaks of warm weather come around, local anglers get the itch and head out on the familiar Missouri River tailwater in the middle of winter to give their mid winter woes a kick in the ass. There nothing better than getting out on the water after a month or two hiatus from not fishing, or just getting away your fly tying bench.

With the wind howling in Great Falls, I decided to call out to Headhunters Fly Shop to see if she was howling along the banks of the Missouri itself. Mark actually took me outside on the phone with him and said it was relatively calm, about 10 mph. Compared to the 30 to 40 mph winds in town, it was a mere breeze considering. So I got my things together quickly and was out the door in a flash.

The night before I had attended the Drake Fly Fishing Film Tour and tradeshow. Great food, great beer, and great fishing films! Along with the freebies I was able to get my hands on, I was ecstatic to hear my ticket number called during the raffle prize drawings. The prize, a new Simms Chest/Hip Pack in camo fabric ($90 value)! I was very excited and was well worth the $10 I spent on the tickets themselves. I was so excited to use it, I decided to transfer a few things over from my Orvis Sling pack. It has tons of space and pockets and is very accessible by design. I love it!

I went to the Bull Pasture fishing access sight off Recreation Road once again, as I had on my last outing Christmas Day. Before, not a single car was in the parking area, but this time three other vehicle were lined up. It was a little discouraging, as I hoped that nobody was in "my spot" below the dam. Luckily as I walked the long trail towards the dam, I passed all the other angler's and was able to get to the run I like to fish with no one else around. I tied on the go to Firebead pink sowbug pattern which landed me the variety of many nice fish on Christmas.

The early afternoon began slowly but it wasn't long before I saw my orange thingamabobber stop and dip under the surface just feet away from me. This fish made a few good runs, sticking near bottom during the whole fight. I figured it was a whitefish with the way it stayed down, not once breaking the surface to dance. But as I reeled it closer and closer, it became apparent that this was a nice 'bow, about 20 inches. This beauty had very dark mottled complexion, the type of Mo river rainbow you don't see everyday. Could have been an early spawner, with the tells tale signs of her chewed up pelvicl fins. I snapped a pic and gently slid her back into the chilly water and off she went.

It wasn't three or four more casts later as I saw my indicator dip under again in just about the same place as before. Before I knew it, an even bigger rainbow was on the line and was dancing out of the water directly at me before I had a chance to strip in excess line after the hookset. I quickly started to strip the line in as I saw the brute relax and head down to the bottom just a few feet from me. By the time I got the line tight, the large trout had spit the fly and leisurely swam away as I watched what about a 24 inch fish swim from my sight. It all happened so fast I didn't have a chance to get upset. I was actually calm and reserved and was a bit excited by the action the fish had given me. I told myself just to keep fishing, I'd stick another one soon.

Little did I know, that was the last action I'd see over the next two hours and for the rest of the afternoon for that matter. The only thing I caught was a case of some pretty cold feet from not moving around so much. I did slowly make my way down river in those two hours, with an emphasis on SLOWLY. My feet were aching so I decided to walk back to the truck. In previous outings, I've always stopped on the way back to look at the water just below the parking area for any last chance of landing one last fish. It never seems to fail, I always see a few risers if I sit and watch for a few minutes. This time the riser looked like a large one. At one moment while just leisurely drifting a pink amex in the slow water, a very large back broke the surface and made a HUGE wake! Big enough to make me think it was a Beaver's back. I figured this thing was taking midge emergers or just chasing baitfish of sorts. I was thinking of swinging a streamer out there, but decided just to pack it up and whatever it was probably wouldn't be interested.

All in all, I had a great day with nice weather. Although the wind did have it's moments of strong gusts, it was very manageable. At least the Mo was kind enough to let me land hold that one single rainbow, which I will remember as my Missouri River Valentine.

A Look Back on 2010

noreply@blogger.com (The RiverBank Robber) — Fri, 31 Dec 2010 23:04:00 +0000

As I reflect upon my fly fishing adventures in the year 2010, I can't help but to think how far I have come since I first picked up a fly rod at the age of 7 or so. Those days as a kid were spent trying to cast and fish bushy hoppers and salmon flies with my cousin Jacob on the Yellowstone River in our backyard. Although I had no concept of fly fishing and the world it entailed, seeing an eager trout rise to the fly at such an early age is a memory I will cherish forever. Little did I know, this would be a memory that would be buried in the depths of my psyche until nearly 20 years later; where it would be resurrected by experiencing the nostalgic episode time and time again as a mature fly fisherman; where it would spark a passion that would burn inside of me the rest of my time on this earth.

It disappoints me to not know and not understand why I decided to put away that fly rod for so many years of my life. I dabbled with that old rod a few times throughout my adolescence, but not enough to gain much understanding of the sport. The distractions of growing up as teen such as girls, sports, and girls would be my only guess as to why I never gave fly fishing a shot during that time in my life. If only I could go back in time and gain the experience of what I know now at a younger age.

The year began slowly as high water levels on Belt Creek reduced to normal flows in early August, nearly 2 months later than the previous year. Most of my fishing was spent on the Missouri, until Holter dam managers released 1000's of CFS from it's grips causing wade fishing to become a very dangerous environment. Reaching nearly 20,000 CFS for 1-2 weeks, banks and boat ramps became flooded. Not my cup of tea.

A highlight of my year included fishing the North Fork of the Teton River near Cave Mountain on the Rocky Mountain Front. My cousin Donnie accompianied me with his bait rod, and hooked himself a nice cutt or two. Beautiful, full-bellied cutts and brookies eagerly took hopper patterns from the swift shallow riffles, and pockets behind large mid-stream boulders on my fly rod. Of the baker's dozen of fish caught, a 15 inch lavender-chrome toned brookie caught with a Joe's hopper was the "trophy" of the trip. Even the 18 inch cut-throat couldn't beat the beauty the brook trout possessed.

I'm dissappointed for not making a trip to the Bozeman area to fish with my cousin Jacob, who is lucky to have the Madison, Gallation, East Gallatin and Yellowstone Rivers, all within a hop, skip, and a jump away to fly fish at his disposal. I'd say a trip this spring before the run-off is in order.

I also fished the Middle Fork of the Dearborn once again at Scott's cabin near Lincoln, MT over the 4th of July weekend. Compared to the 30-some fish I caught in the previous year, a mere handful is all I could muster to the fly this go around. It's a beautiful area and look forward to making another trip in 2011.

I also made a couple trips out with my girlfriend Missy to the Sun River and Belt Creek. Although she didn't fly fish, she was content taking photos, relaxing with music from her ipod, as well as studying the stream-side insects. I intend to buy an 8 foot 4 weight for the smaller creeks I intend to fish, and for the new ones I intend to explore in the new year. Montana has hundreds and I see no reason why I shouldn't be fishing them. Who knows, I just may find a new gem with some beautiful fish to catch, and this way, I'll have an extra fly rod for Missy to take along and learn with.

Other highlights of the year include catching what is the largest trout I have ever caught on the fly rod. It happened on Memorial Day, the day my nephew, Ethan Elliot Baker was born. I was out fishing on my own on the Missouri River near the Mid-Canon fishing access. I hooked into the heavy fish in the heavy riffle water, just a along the seam. The fish fought hard, as it took off down the river I frantically chased it in the same fashion as Paulie had in "A River Runs Through It." This fish went aerial more than once during the fight, thinking it was a rainbow. I knew this was a special fish as my heart raced and finally landed him 50 yards downstream. I was surprised to see a light chrome brown trout in the net as I laid the fish to rest near the bank. I was lucky to have gotten a pic with my not so good camera on my phone. The fish taped out near 23 inches and in my best guesstimation, it had to be about 4 lbs. Truly a pinnacle in my life of fly fishing.

Just recently, on Christmas Day to be exact, I nearly trumped that 23 inch brown with another monster. This fish, another brown, measured in at just over 22 inches. Not nearly as fat, but another trophy fish. Besides that brown, I also caught some fat 19-21 inch rainbows, and a nice whitey. Overall, I could not have asked for any better gifts on Christmas Day.

In other exciting news, I took a spey casting class in October on the Missouri River. Organized by Big R Fly Shop, Bruce Berry of Beulah Fly Rods came to Great Falls, from Oregon to teach a class of about 10 a few of the many different spey casts. I learned the switch, spey, double spey, and snap "C" or snap "T" casts. I can't say I am a "pro" yet at casting, but it has definitely opened my eyes to brand new possibilities to explore, even on the Mo'. Recently I purchased a Loop Evotec reel for the 11' 6WT Imperial Switch rod I've had since February. I have a Skagit and a Scandi head for fishing dries, nymphs, and streamers. As soon as the weather warms up this spring, I will be actually applying the casts I have learned and use them to put me into some fish in some runs I would never have been able to cast to before. It's amazing to know that I have learned the foundations to be able to easily cast 80 feet in any direction, 360 degrees around me, no matter my position in the river. I'm super stoked!

Once again, my sweet girlfriend decided to surprise me with an extreme gift (switch rod on Valentine's Day) this time with a 9' single man pontoon boat. I am so fortunate to have a girlfriend who fully supports my passion, and provides me with the tools to continue pursuing it. I am forever grateful to her. I CANNOT wait to put this thing together and float down the Missouri on a hot summer day, soaking in the sun and catching trout in fishy lies in which I would have never been able to reach without this boat! I also intend to search out some small mountain lakes and spend time camping and fishing. It's great how many new possibilities have opened up just by having access to a kick boat.

A new year arrives with new frontiers. My passion for this sport grows with every new adventure. I find myself constantly daydreaming about going to far off exotic places. If only money were not an issue or my career, I'd be on the next flight to fish the backcountry, gin clear rivers for large brown trout on the North and South Islands of New Zealand, or to the Rio Grande in Tierra del Fuego, Argentina in search of sea run browns, maybe to the Dean River in British Columbia for world class steelhead, salmon, and rainbows, or maybe even to the Florida Keys, Ascension Bay in Mexico, or the saltwater flats of Belize to achieve the Grand Slam of fly fishing, catching a Bonefish, Tarpon and Permit all in the same day. For now, these mere dreams will have to wait to become a reality, and while I wait, the many of Montana's beautiful streams and rivers will have to suffice, with which I have no qualms with whatsoever.

Guided on the Mo'

noreply@blogger.com (The RiverBank Robber) — Tue, 25 May 2010 16:41:00 +0000

Last week, I was fortunate enough to have been able to take a mid week break from work and have friend and fishing guide, Kris Keller, take me out for a float on the Missouri River. We made plans to meet in Craig Wednesday morning around 10 a.m. I rolled into Trout Town a bit early, got my gear ready and went into headhunters to get the daily buzz. After chatting with owner John Arnold for a few minutes, Kris and his friend Alisha came in to meet me. We shuttled my vehicle to the Mid-Canon access and then made our way back to Craig where we would start the float. We got our rods ready, put our gear on the boats, hopped into the boat and we were off! At last, the river was calling my name! The forecast called for cloudy skies with mostly rain all afternoon. Part of me was hoping for partly cloudy skies for a chance of a baetis hatch, and the other part of me wanted relaxing beautiful blue skies and a sunny afternoon. The first part of the morning remained a bit cloudy, no bugs were coming off, so we just nymphed. It wasn't 20 minutes into our float and a nice little 15 inch rainbow took the pattern Kris ties himself called Keller's Good Night.

"Kris Keller's Good Night is a BWO nymph/emerger he designed to be a cross between the lighting bug and more traditional style BWO patterns. The dun colored CDC wing gives the nymph a pre-emergent look and the flashy color makes this a great nymph when baetis are hatching, even in off color water." - Big R Fly Shop.

Learn how to tie it here.
This little fly turned out to be a killer pattern on bottom feeding rainbow trout throughout the day. As the day wore on, before I knew it, the clouds had dissipated, showing off the beautiful big sky Montana is known for. I was expecting an afternoon of rainclouds and showers, instead Montana showed off her glory, which made the float that much more relaxing. As we neared a nice little run near Jackson's Rock, I had a tangle in my line which made perfect way for Alisha, whose first time fly fishing, to cast to a hungry trout in the swift riffle water. In a flash, Alisha had a feisty rainbow trout slam her bead head nymph. Kris anchored the boat, angling the boat in the best position for her to retrieve the fish. He instructed her well and as the fish neared the net, the line went limp. It's one of those things that happens in fishing sometimes you just can't control. Alisha kept her composure and was happy with her semi-victory! For her first time ever fly fishing, I was very impressed by how quickly she was able to learn.

Just around the bend, off the tail out of an island, a popular seam that is great holding water for trout, my line went tight as a nice rainbow struggled to free himself from the fly. The hook was set perfectly into his upper lip as I brought him into the boat. Another one down, and still lots of good water to float.

We came to a quick riffle at the corner of an outside bend. I immediately positioned my fly along the seam between the slower and faster current, guaranteed to hook a fish. As I had predicted, a nice rainbow took the fly and circled the boat quickly, entangling my line with Alisha's. In a matter of a few seconds, the fish was gone, but we were still only near the head of the riffle. I knew I had another chance at the seam. Again, with one quick flick of the wrist, my line was in perfect position for another take. BAM! My indicator dipped below the surface as if I had hooked into a large rock. Instantly after setting the hook hard, a bright football sized slab of rainbow burst out of the water and this time completely cleared Alisha's fly line which was in the riffle from the rear end of the boat. The fish then took a sweeping Nascar like right turn out 180 to the starboard side of the drift boat. Again, the thick rainbow blasted through the water plane and danced about a foot above the water's surface. It was a beautiful sight indeed! With the fish under control, Kris decided to anchor the boat and not to follow the fish. As soon as we came to a halt, the trout position himself in the riffle column, gaining courage to make a run for it. My reel sang as he bolted for open waters, SNAP, I had lost him! The disappointment was short lived as I knew more trout had to be holding in the riffle we had just anchored near. We took a nice little break there, ate some sandwiches, and it turned out to be a good chance for Kris to get a line wet.

He ended up hooking into 4 more fish out of that run, only 1 of which he was able to land. The three that got away were just "long distance releases" and Kris liked to call them. I was not so fortunate, only having a few weeds to show for my efforts. Kris also brought along his 8 month old black lab, Fergie. After chasing our indicators all day with her eyes, she was happy to have Kris throw around her fetching toy for a while. Though she wasn't too sure about the gang of cows that had congregated, she seemed quite content.

Alas, we were off and running down the river. We were in no hurry, the day was gorgeous. Not a care in the world, it felt great to be out on the water in good company. As the day wore on more fish were caught and a few were lost. I landed a lengthy rainbow in a slow moving section of water, possibly one of the hardest fighting fish I've ever caught on the Missouri. Even with Kris chasing this fish with the boat, my arms and wrists felt like they had just come out of an arm wrestling match.

As we neared the Dearborn tributary, the water coming into the Missouri was dark as chocolate milk and was flowing heavily. Thinking we were screwed, Kris encouraged me to put on a girdle bug with a San Juan dropper and drift them out and along the line between the muddy and clear waters. On my second cast, a rainbow slammed the San Juan worm.

I was impressed by the fly selections Kris had told me to use. I let Kris give it a try with my rod, and a half dozen casts later, he hooked himself a nice Rainbow on the Girdle bug pattern.

We worked the area another 20 minutes. I hooked another nice rainbow before we closed up shop and headed towards our take out.

Over all, double digit numbers of trout were caught, with a few being lost. I had a blast and it turned out to be my single most successful day ever on the Missouri River. If the early season has started out this way, I can only imagine what the summer and fall months will have in store. The caddis should be out in huge numbers soon. If I can't hitch a ride on a drift, you can bet your ass you'll find me roaming the banks of the Missouri in search of rising pods and trouty lies, chasing that elusive trout of a lifetime.

Breaking News... Belt Creek Robbed! The River Bank Robber Strikes Again!

noreply@blogger.com (The RiverBank Robber) — Tue, 13 Apr 2010 18:00:00 +0000

The headline says it all. Belt Creek starts off with a bang in 2010! Fishing this gem of a creek in a dose of days from high noon till sundown has yielded this rodslinger a mighty 3 dozen + trout of all sorts! Rainbows, Browns, Cutthroat, Cut-bows and Mountain Whitefish. The River Bank Robber has gotten away with murder! These trout ranging from 8 to 16 inches were all slayed and released by the hands of a legend! The man behind the buff must be stopped! A glimpse of this clumsy killer has been caught on film. To the one who apprehends this fly flicker alive will be rewarded with the location of this trout massacre! Who knows which poor trout will be next!
Click the video below to view The River Bank Robber in action!

Foolin' Fish on April Fools

noreply@blogger.com (The RiverBank Robber) — Tue, 13 Apr 2010 03:16:00 +0000

"Now that I felt confident with my choice of fly, I flicked it back out into the current seam, only to have a slick 19 inch brown gobble up the synthetic treat".

I was lucky enough to have the afternoon off from work and with the weather being absolutely gorgeous out, the Missouri River was once again beckoning my return. I hit the frontage road off the Hardy Creek exit and made my way to Rhoda Island area. Only one other vehicle was parked off the road, I was excited for a bit of solitude. Upon exiting my car, I immediately spotted risers off the bank in nice little run. After world record speed of getting my waders on, my rod lined up and fly tied on, I slid into the river ever so quietly. After casting along the seam of the run a couple dozen times, I made a fly change from a Griffiths Gnat to a Parachute Adams. A few casts later and a nice rainbow took the fly. A strong fight and the rainbow in my net.

Now that I felt confident with my choice of fly, I flicked it back out into the current seam, only to have a slick 19 inch brown gobble up the synthetic treat. He fought hard, but quickly tired and was in my reach in no time. One of the skinnier browns I have seen, but I was very pleased with my catch.

I decided to move across the river and over to the area I had caught some nice fish a few weeks before. As I crept up to my familiar spot, I heard a guy telling me to take it slow as there were risers all along the tail out of the run. As I got closer, I recognized the voice as a buddy of mine, Jeremiah Watt. It's funny because I seem to run into this guy on the Mo' most randomly. Usually I see him floating by in his raft with his girlfriend Brooke on the oars. I was excited to actually get the chance to spend some time fishing with him. He gave me a fly of his choice to use and we began to hit the area hard. By this time, I finally became fully aware that fish were rising in every direction. Literally 360 degrees around me. I felt like a kid a candy store, picking and choosing the spots to cast to rising fish. I worked a run for a good 15 minutes, only to have the small, finicky trout tease me with their look and turns at my fly. I decided to work up the river to the tail out of my favorite run. Jeremiah had now hooked into a couple of nice looking trout.

A few moments later I had small rainbow on the end of my line. It was good to finally have one on after about an hour of casting dries to hundreds of risers. Here's where the foolin' part comes in. Now one might think that with hundreds of fish rising around me, which I have never witnessed on the Missouri River before, catching a handful or two of fish would be an easy task. Not the case. I tried about 4 or 5 different flies in hopes of fooling at least one more of these fish. These fish are so selective and key in only on the naturals and if your fly is not the right size and color... forget it! I came ill prepared. The fly that Jere' had given me would not work for the life of me, the Adams was the flavor of over an hour ago, the big and ugly were, well just too big and too ugly! I figured I needed a tiny ass size 22 midge pattern of sorts and I had nothing. The closest thing I had was a spent trico pattern which after a dozen casts yielded only frustrating rises inches to the left, right, front, and side of it. What's happening here?! Well, that's the world famous Missouri River laughing in my face is what that is! Of all days to get fooled by a bunch of picky trout, it just so happened to be on April Fools Day. Although the day wasn't a complete bust, I still feel I was taken for a fool. Maybe these fish here are a little more cunning than I give them credit for. Who knew Missouri River trout have a secret calender with a big red circle on April 1st that reads "Fool All Foolish Anglers".

The Missouri Gives Up Some Nice Trout

noreply@blogger.com (The RiverBank Robber) — Thu, 11 Mar 2010 00:24:00 +0000

Montana offered another beautiful day in late winter, and once again, I was not going to pass up a wonderful day of fly fishing the Missouri River. This time, a co-worker Dave and I would team up and hit the Missouri hard. We ended up in Craig at Headhunters Fly Shop around 11 am. After getting some great tips in the Headhunter blog earlier that week, I knew the exact flies I was going to pick out for my arsenal that day. I asked where a good place to go for some dry fly action, and was directed towards the Rhoda Island area. This area is full of small braided side channels and islands, and has the structure and feel of smaller creek fishing which I hold near and dear as my preference of fly fishing water. With a guarantee to catch 4 0r 5 fish from the dudes in Headhunters around that area, Dave and I made our purchases, including my renewed fishing license, and hit the frontage road with visions of rising brutes.

As we rigged our lines, Dave noticed a surface feeding fish just at the tail out of a nice run near the bank. The setup I decided to use was a size 20 Midge Modger hung about 8 inches from a size 10 Wilcox JC Special dry fly.
Funny as it is, the JC Special is an attractor dry of sorts and resembles no insect of any sort, especially for the chilly winter months. Apparently it has been a hit the past week on the Missouri so I thought what the heck! Large attractor dry fly fishing in early March, hell yes, count me in! I was the first to get my rod ready with the tandem flies, Dave followed suit. Like a predator creeping upon its prey, I slowly made my way to the edge of the bank in position to cast to the progressive rising fish in the tail out. I false cast out enough line to place the flies about 10 feet above the fish so they would drift directly over the unsuspecting trouts head. Dave and I watched patiently as the flies approached, they drew closer, nearer, right on top of him now... BAM! The little rainbow had made a pass at the top water dry, but a last second change of mind put the Midge pattern directly into his lip! It's been a long time since my first cast of the day yielded a catch. I stripped my line in, netted the 12 inch rainbow, and gave a little whoop! Dave was impressed with the reward of the trout from a single cast, and applauded my victory as I released the little guy back to his home. With the adrenaline rushing through my veins, it was a great start to the day indeed.

Just out and across from the bank where I had just landed the rainbow was a nice riffle created by the end of an island. Dave decided to attack it from river right as I waded across to mid river to work it from river left. Eager to get on the water, Dave had just realized that he had his sink tip line on and not his floating line. Not an ideal setup for a dry fly dropper rig. As he changed spools and re-tied his flies to the leader, I drifted, and re-drifted the riffle seam hoping to bump into another unsuspecting trout. As soon as Dave was ready to fish again, I gave him the run and told him I was going to explore the other bank and side channel for risers.

I made my way down a shallow side channel searching the banks for rising and porpoising trout. The water was quite low and figured I'd have to find some deeper water that would be perfect for fish to hold in. I came to a V shape point at the end of an island where another side channel met the one I was scouring, and immediately stumbled upon a deep, slow hole and began counting the surface breaks. 1, 2, 3, 4.... "Bingo!", I thought. I crouched and crept closer, ensuring a prime position for make my back cast. With a few flicks of the wrist, I made my presentation about 3 feet above the center of the 4 rises I had seen only moments ago. The flies moved into position. The suspense was killing me, seconds seemed like hours as I waited for any notion a fish would take the phony meal presented to him in a delicate fashion. The endless wait my anxious mind had ensued was abruptly interrupted by the heavy tug at the end my fly line. She had taken the midge dropper. I began stripping in my line as if it were a lifeline and my life depended on not letting go of it. As the mystery at the end of my line drew near, it immediately made a bolt for it and danced across the small pool with grace. A gorgeous brown had been duped by my fly and was now victim to the battle that was now to commence! I let her run a bit, but not too far. She was mine, and I was not going to lose her! I put her on the reel after her first run, wrangled her in closer and again, she ran, and again. Finally, after what seemed like the Hundred Years War, I had the large brown in my net and then into my grips. A stunning brown, the likes of which countless other anglers before me on the Missouri have accomplished, I felt like I had toppled Troy at that moment! All the hard work, countless fish less days on the Missouri and I had staked my claim, a 19 inch golden nugget of a fish in my hands, worth more to me than its weight in gold! To some, and most who fish the Missouri, this fish would just be another catch, an average size for this river. But for me, the biggest trout on the Mighty Mo' and it came righteously deserved after a solid year of fishing it. I was victorious!

After studying the beauty for a minute, I gently released her back to the water. I regained my composure and cast right back out to the same deep, slow moving water to the fish rising madly to the midge hatch. A cast or two later and another fish had rapidly inhaled the midge again. This was another heavy fish and he was ready to fight. He rose to the surface ferociously and danced wildly with passion across the surface. Rainbow I thought, but as I tugged him up to the bank, it was a plump whitefish, and a brute he was! A solid 18 inches and a chubby pot belly on him. I was blown away at the size of these fish!

The whole setup I was fishing with was actually working just as I had hoped. A simple yet ingenious and powerful solution. Attract 'em to the surface, and hook 'em on the emerger pattern below. I released the rocky mountain bone, and another half dozen or casts later and I finally had a brown snatch the dry fly! He was about 15 inches, but a tough little guy. I was ecstatic he had taken the large fly on the surface. It's a great feeling to accomplish in winter!

The hatch was beginning to die down as the rise forms on the surface began to dissipate and become very few and far between. About 40 minutes had passed during all this and Dave had just reached the area I was in. As I was explaining to him what had just happened, I felt another tug at the end of my drifting flies. Another medium sized brown was the culprit as I brought him to the net just in time to show Dave. I quickly released him and moved aside in order for Dave to have a shot a the end of the frenzy. It was bad luck, and just plain ole' bad timing on Dave's part as not a single rise or bite occurred since the moment of his arrival. The "window" had completely closed. Matter of fact, it had slammed shut! We fished most of the area for another couple of hours without seeing a single rise or hatch. It's funny how fishing can turn on and off at the flick of a switch.

We headed back to the truck, ate some lunch and decided to head over to the Jackson Rock area. We noticed 2 or 3 drift boats anchored in the area, hoping it was a sign that the fishing was good. To change it up, we decided to chuck some streamers against the banks, and through the deep runs. I chose to use a bright white and red sculpzilla pattern and Dave went with an olive wooly bugger. Another good hour passed of chucking and ducking, stripping and swinging with no hits, it was time to pack it up and head out.

The day was very exciting early on and I caught the most fish I ever have on the Missouri River. I felt like I was on Belt Creek on a nice Spring/Summer day casting to risers with attractors! It was a blast! I had hoped Dave would have hooked into a few, but for him, he was just happy to have gotten out on such a beautiful day.

The Missouri River, for me, is a tough fishery, and I'm sure I will spend most of my life trying to figure out how to catch fish from it. For a moment in time that day, she opened herself to me, giving me the satisfaction I yearn for and the fuel to keep me coming back over and over again. As it usually goes, I'll fall into a fish-less slump for awhile, but this experience has only fired me up to work harder to catch more and more fish, and ultimately has given me hope to land the fish made of dreams!

River Rodents and New Ventures!

noreply@blogger.com (The RiverBank Robber) — Wed, 03 Mar 2010 01:37:00 +0000

It was another gorgeous Saturday this past weekend to get out and fish the Missouri River. I stopped in Headhunters fly shop in Craig to get the latest news about the river, and to get any ideas of where to head out. This time, I was able to meet fly fishing guide John Arnold, the other half of ownership to Headhunters. John was kind enough to point me in a direction I have never fished from shore on the river before. Though I am sure this location is no secret to the locals, I will respectfully decline to expose it's whereabouts. To me, this area has some very special things going on within the braided system of islands and side channels. The entire structure of some of these channels take on the appearance of small creek or stream water appeal. Classic riffles, seams, back eddies, and slight undercut banks make this water very appealing to any fly fishing enthusiast!

I hadn't even been on the water for 10 minutes head hunting the banks when I came across a serious midge hatch on a bank side log. It was caked with the tiny mosquito like insects, ranging from 22 to 26 in size.

I scanned the bank carefully up ahead hoping to see some sipping brutes just feet from the bank. Not this time. The river was stunning as the sun's rays sparkled upon the surface. I wouldn't place any bets I'd see any risers with the sunny conditions, so I decided to fish with a pink firebead sowbug in some nice medium paced water at the convergence of an island seam created by the main river and a smaller side channel. I was bound to get a fish! I worked the seam, stepping slowly upriver, covering as much water as possible. 15 minutes passed, 30 minutes, 45, an hour. Nothing, not even a bump of any sort. My feet were getting a bit chilly so I decided to take my boots and waders off to warm them back up in the sun. As I laid on the bank, a pesky river rat of sorts, otter or muskrat, decided to play a little joke on me. I heard a few splashes thinking it was a big brown sipping some top-water morsels, yet I was only disappointed to see the over-sized rodent duck his head below the surface. I let him do his thing, not thinking much of it. After 15-20 minutes, I slid on my waders, tightened on my wading boots and was ready to fish the afternoon away. As I reeled in the 15 feet of fly line I had left dangling just off the bank, I noticed it was now split in two. HUGE MISTAKE! That damn pesky varmint had straight up chewed right through my fly line, and taken a good 4-5 feet of it down into his bank-side dwelling! I was furious! Only the river heard the obscenities that flew out of my mouth like bats outta hell! And if that river could talk, I'm sure it would ban me from ever returning! My temper got the best of me as I caught myself relentlessly kicking in the pests front door. "That'll teach you a @#$ damn lesson!" is all I remember muttering. I apologized to God for cursing his name, learned a valuable lesson about fly lines and river rodents, and decided to head back to Craig to get my hands on a new line.

I brought my reel and line into the fly shop to explain my misfortune, and the response was that of disbelief. Apparently I have been the first fly fisher to have been duped by a cunning river rat! After a few laughs, John was able to match my rod and reel with the exact line, only used. It looked liked it has been used once or twice, no more older looking that brand new fly line. He was more than happy to lend a fellow fly fisherman a hand and gave it to me at no charge. We then talked about fly rods, switch and spey in particular and the lines and reels that accompany them. We then began talking about my profession as a graphic designer and the help he would need with the Headhunters logo, t-shirts and signs. He offered to help me out with some spey casting lessons and I offered to work on the various projects he would need help with. An hour or so passed and I decided to call it a day as it was nearing 4:30. Even though I hadn't been so successful on the river that day, I was able to come out the whole situation with a feeling a victory! I appreciate the fly line and the opportunity John had presented me with. If it hadn't been for that muskrat, I'm almost certain that I wouldn't have made back into the fly shop to talk "business" with John. So I will end this post with a new found respect for river rodents, raise my glass and say cheers to the wonderful world of fly fishing!Look closely and you will see the perpetrator leisurely swimming in the current.

New 2010 Rod!

noreply@blogger.com (The RiverBank Robber) — Wed, 24 Feb 2010 17:32:00 +0000

So my absolutely wonderful, amazing girlfriend who fully supports my fly fishing addiction decided to be the biggest sweetheart ever and surprise me on Valentine's Day with a brand new fly rod! With the help of Big R Fly Shop, she narrowed her purchase down to the new 2010 St. Croix 11 foot 6 weight Imperial Switch rod. I am ecstatic! I've been wanting to experiment with a switch rod for awhile now, to learn the different types of switch and spey casting techniques. I've been told that this type of rod and along with these casting styles is a match made in heaven for the Missouri River. Not only is this rod a great application for nymph, dry fly, and streamer fishing, this setup can also be used for swinging for steelhead and smaller salmon; a venue of fishing I have always wanted to get into. With this rod, I just might become the next Jedi Master! Well maybe not, but I do salivate at the possibility of what this rod and style of fly fishing has to offer. I've yet to find a line and reel for the rod, not even sure where to begin my search for a great combo, so if anyone has any suggestions, feel free to let me in on some info. I'm hoping to have the setup ready to fish before spring fully hits. My current 9 foot 5 weight Imperial rod has served me well over the past year as it will continue to do so for years to come. I am excited, to say the least, that I will be able to experience the same type of buttery, fast action appeal the Imperial line offers. These rods really are in a class all there own with price tag that doesn't make you feel guilty for owning one. Thank you St. Croix..., and to my girlfriend!

Read about the Imperial Fly Rod line here.

Go Johnny Go!

noreply@blogger.com (The RiverBank Robber) — Wed, 24 Feb 2010 05:12:00 +0000

Great video from a piece of history! I can't believe this guys casting skills over a half-century ago. I'm not even sure what type of fiberglass that rod is made out of, but he sure as hell can double-haul. Not too sure about the 12 o'clock to 3 o'clock position on the regular single-haul casting, but I guess it worked somehow back then. Go Johnny go!

Mid February Mo River Fishing

noreply@blogger.com (The RiverBank Robber) — Wed, 24 Feb 2010 04:57:00 +0000

February in North central Montana has been a mixture and mild and pretentious weather for this winter season. It has been unpredictable, yet it always appears to show some beautiful days when least expected. This was the case Valentine's weekend. Saturday began a day thinking of heading to the ski hill, but when the plan fell through, I decided it would probably be a nice day to fish the Missouri. I hit the open road all alone, as I do all so often, leaving my cares and woes to the city life in Great Falls to bear. The soothing call of the river was all that focused my attention as I made my off exit ramp 234 from I-15 South, and into the town of Craig. For the first time since my last visit in early fall, I decided to stop in and take a look at the newly remodeled Headhunters Fly Shop, and to get some knowledgeable advice about where to head out on the river that day. After looking at some trout candy in the neatly organized bins, I was greeted by Co-Owner and fly fishing guide Mark Raisler. He pointed out some hot flies for me to use, and like a student attentively taking notes, I picked out the flies in a heartbeat, knowing they would pass the test. At the register, Mark and I exchanged our acquaintances, along with his knowledge of my fly fishing blog. I was humbled that he had mentioned he was a fan of my blog and had read every single one of my entries. I promptly replied back that I was an avid reader of the Headhunter blog he writes for the company website, and that it is what partly inspired me to begin one of my own. The friendly conversation grew into whereabouts and hot spots upon which to fish on the Missouri that day. More than obliged to, Mark scribbled out some marks and lines on a Missouri River map,directing me into some great runs and "secret" channels on the river. I expressed sincere gratitude and the pleasure of meeting him, and was off for an afternoon of solitude on the river.

I pulled off to a spot where Mark had told me to hit, eager to get on the water. As I was rigging up, an ephemeral hard sleet like, slushy snow began to pound down on me. Undeterred, I waded out across and side channel out to an island and began nymphing a nice deep run. It was a little faster than I wanted it to be, as I was told slower and a little shallower would be better holding areas for these wintry trout. A good two dozen drifts along the length of the island bank and tail out produced no results. I heard a commotion a hundred yards or so up river as I witnessed a fella wrangle in nice trout from my point of view. 10 minutes later, after he had left, I worked my way nymphing his same slow stretch with no luck. I decided to get into the car and work my way downriver to an area that has always intrigued me, Rhoda Island and Mid-Canon from the river right frontage road. Due to angling pressure on most other days, I had never waded across the small side channel out to the tail outs of the interweaving channels and islands that reside there. I explored the channels for quite some time, nymphing the banks, mid-currents and current seams also with no luck. I had been using a size 14 pink Amex fly the whole afternoon, call me lazy, but I was determined to catch something on that fly. After fishing a nice seam for 6 or 7 drifts, I finally had a hit. The fish tugged hard as I stripped the line in and put him on the reel. He went airborne 2-3 times and saw that he was a nice fish. Rainbow I thought, but as my line came in and the fish drew near, it was a healthy 18 inch whitefish, or as I like to refer to them as, Rocky Mountain Bonefish. I was happy to have the fish, his flank was pearly pinkish white, unlike any whitefish I had ever seen. I gazed at his beauty in the net for a moment and released him back to the river. I always say "one fish a day makes it all worth it". The adage being true and the wind bitterly picking up, I decided to call it a day.

Earlier, I stopped at another pullout that Mark had directed me to, I believe it to be his favorite on the Missouri, the Jackson's Rock area. I scoured the river structure, looking over the stacked rock piles along the outside bank and the inter-twined channels and islands, knowing this would prove to be a hard hit wading area for me as soon as the spring and summer seasons arrive. Bank to bank good water, I have an intuition this area will produce many fish in my 2010 future. This year is being considered a low water year that will make the months of April May and June particularly great wading conditions. Read about what to expect on the Missouri River here. Until then, dreams of large Missouri River trout will have to suffice.

The Missouri River in Winter

noreply@blogger.com (The RiverBank Robber) — Tue, 19 Jan 2010 05:23:00 +0000

The weather in Montana for the past couple of weeks has reached temps in the 40-50s, which is excellent conditions to get out on my favorite tail water, the Missouri River. I have made two trips to the Missouri the past two weekends, to press my luck in hopes of hooking into some nice trout. The first outing was pretty uneventful, only hooking into a single fish that got near enough for me to see, and then losing him just as quick as I had hooked into him. The wind was brisk, and deterred me from hanging around for too long.

This past Saturday, I made my way out once again, with a cloudy forecast, 4-5 mph winds and a solid mid 40 degree temperature. I was able to get on the river below Holter Dam by 1:00 and had a good 4-5 hour day ahead of me. I had just purchased a new fly box, lined it with trout candy, and was ready to put in a solid days effort.

The walk from the pullout on Recreation Road takes about 10 minutes to get right below the dam. The ice is still visible on the wall of the dam itself, but has slowly been melting off as the days have been warmer than usual. I decided to get as close to the dam as I could, and work a good stretch back down river. I began the day with a rainbow Czech nymph, drifting it deliberately, taking a few steps and repeating the process. As I was doing so, I caught a glimpse of big fish hanging just feet from the bank behind me. I got a decent look at him as he was close enough for me to net him if I wanted to, and quickly realized it was about a 22-24 inch Whitefish. He languidly held near the bank, not making many movements, and then slowly disappeared below the surface and swept himself away with the current. I made a few more drifts and then again noticed he was back, and this time I had a good angle to drop a morsel on top of him. 3-4 good drifts right on his nose yielded no results with the scud pattern. Once again, he moved on and was lost to the river. The next hour or so was slow as I repeated the tedious nymphing process. I was now in a section of the river, still near the dam where the previous weekend I hooked into the rainbow. By now, I had tied on a red zebra midge off the end of the scud, in hopes of increasing the odds of what the fish might be particular to this day. A few drifts in and I had a tug on my line. I wasn't ready for it as I had a little too much slack line out and was unable to properly set my hook, a few seconds of struggle and the line went limp. I decided to drift through the run again without stepping downstream, hoping another unsuspecting trout would sink his lip into one of the tasty treats at the end of my line. As expected, a dozen or so casts later, my line once again went taught. I immediately had a good hook set and the fish was on! I felt the immense power and struggle of this fish, two to three massive head shakes and he was running like a bat out of hell! I let him take line, he wasn't slowing down. I'm now halfway to my backing, and realize I need to put the brakes on this fish, I take a hold of the spool handle to try and reel him in, but he still isn't stopping. In a flash, I'm down to my backing and have yet to take control of this fish. Once again I grab hold of the spool handle put the pressure on and SNAP! Dead line. The fish got the best of me. I reeled in the 100 feet of empty, lifeless fly line, defeated. The scud pattern was still at the end of my leader, but the zebra midge I had tied only days before was gone. Sometimes I wonder if the result of losing a fish is due to a badly tied knot, bad tippet, or just plain ole' poor judgement. The funny thing is that the sun, which had yet to make an appearance all day, until that moment, at the precise moment of hooking the fish, peeked out from behind the clouds brightly, as if the heavens had opened up for a split second. As soon as I lost him and reeled in my line, the gateway of light closed and never once did it make another appearance that day. It's as if the fishing Gods were making a mockery of me for letting that fish run all over me. I can only imagine the moment I had just lost.

I took a break on the river bank for a little while, enough time for my feet to warm up, gathered my thoughts and made my way back down river. I made a few more drifts along the bank as I crept along, slowly drifting the same setup. It was near sunset when I got back to the parking area, I decided to take a moment and just watch the river. It never seems to fail me how the quiet passing of the water in the river can soothe me, and lick the salt from the daily wounds. It was about this time I noticed something special begin to happen. Fish were sporadically rising in my near vicinity. I did see some tiny midges near the banks earlier in the day, but could not make out any hatch on the water. I tied on a size 22 dark midge pattern, and decided to cast in the direction of any rising fish. The river had come alive as I eventually witnessed a few dozen surface breaks over the next half hour. I casted to, above and below every rise form I saw with no interest from the fish to my offering. Dry fly fishing will always boggle my mind in some way, and I don't think I will ever fully understand or master it. It's a game of cat and mouse, and more times than none, the mouse eventually always gets away! Overall, I was pleased with the day, but sometimes you win some and you lose some, and this day was only fuel for the fire to get back out and get em another day.

Year in Review 2009

noreply@blogger.com (The RiverBank Robber) — Wed, 23 Dec 2009 23:01:00 +0000

The past year has come and gone, like the waters that once grazed my waders from the rivers and streams I have fished in 2009. It has been one of rekindled passion and adventure for me. Though, I was never able to fish out of state, my very own backyard here in Montana has so many special places that, arguably, hands down holds some of the most scenic and amazing rivers and streams around. Why travel 1000's of miles when I have some of the best fly fishing venues in the world at my fingertips, less than a days drive away?! Fly fishing the months leading into 2009 and year in whole will be experiences I will never forget. I have learned so much about the sport and fundamentals of fly fishing, and more importantly, about myself during my ephemeral yet perpetual angling quest. It's hard to believe that only a year ago, I didn't know the difference between a streamer, wet fly, or a top water fly and how to technically fish with each one. Now, I know to dead drift nymphs and drys, strip and swing streamers, naturally presenting them to their predators. Then, I had no idea how to tell the difference between a mayfly, caddis, or stonefly. Now, I understand and recognize the difference between most aquatic insect species, the life cycles each incurs, and the fly patterns that resemble each stage. My brain was a sponge, soaking up every last tidbit of knowledge it could handle without sensory overload. I now own a respectable pile of fishing magazines, which I am addicted to reading, usually reading them twice thoroughly before tossing them into the backseat of my car. I've resorted to buying easily accessible fly boxes, filling them incessantly with the hottest flies as if they are little multi-colored pills I use to get my fix for the fishing addiction I indulge in. My car has begun to fall apart from the numerous trips out to Belt Creek, the Missouri, and the occasional trips to Bozeman. As rickety and rackety as it sounds, it still wears the mud and dirt as well as the Trout Bum bumper sticker proudly. Most of all, the sport, the hobby, the art of fly fishing has given me a deeper understanding of who I am, and the passion that resides within a special place for something I never knew I had. I once felt this passion in college for my career choice as a graphic designer, and now to feel it again for something new is very exciting for me! I wrote in a blog post back in early August that touches on how fly fishing has affected me.

...the last year of fly fishing Montana's streams and rivers solo has "changed me". This may sound ridiculous to some, but I somehow have a deeper understanding of my life and what matters to me. I find it amazing that an instrument such as the fly rod and this magnificent playground God has made for us for the sport somehow puts things into perspective. Don't ask me how I know this, but it's just that everything seems so clear and focused, natural and intuitive when I'm on the river. Nothing else comes close to what and how I feel when I'm in this setting.

To touch on this a bit more, it's like I have found a soul mate. Yes, I believe the river is my soul mate. I have never felt more alive when it is just me and the water. It's a feeling difficult to describe, but it's one that goes straight to my soul. Therefore, soul mates we are and will be forever.

Moreover, this year has given me friendships accumulated through the fly fishing world. The guys over at Big R Fly Shop have indispensable knowledge for the sport and have been kind enough to share it with me. I have been able to relate to my cousin Jacob whose passion is equal to or greater than mine, in a way we were never really able to. Truthfully, it was he who somehow sparked the fire inside of me to pick up the fly rod again, and to really give an honest attempt at teaching myself how to fly fish. In return, Jake and I have been able to share our passion for the sport together, something I view as invaluable.

I am excited for what 2010 has in store for me! I can only imagine the places I will fish, the fish I will catch and who I will experience it with. I plan on learning to tie my own flies this winter, starting with streamers, then working my way to larger dries and nymphs. Being the creative type that I am, I'm excited for the path fly tying has to offer. I've longed for the feeling of achievement for catching a trout on a personally created fly. I am hoping to post in this blog more often than what I did last year, I have found I actually enjoy writing about something that passions me so, another positive that has come just from picking up a fly rod. I hope that the readers this blog reaches enjoy reading about what makes me the happiest in this world and can vicariously live through my experiences with the feelings and aptitude I live and experience along the way. To the readers who currently follow me on my journey, I can only express sincere gratitude for letting me tell you my stories, through my eyes, of the adoration and devotion I have for art of fly fishing. Cheers to the new year and to all the fish tales/tails it brings!

John Thomas Ewald
aka The River Bank Robber

Black Bears and Browns! Oh My!

noreply@blogger.com (The RiverBank Robber) — Mon, 12 Oct 2009 23:36:00 +0000

A few weeks back, about the middle of September, my good friend Brad and I went out on Belt Creek for an afternoon of fishing. Brad, a Montana native, who now lives in the fast paced city of Las Vegas, was glad to be back in Montana for a weekend and to experience a relaxing day on the water, which he so seldom gets the chance to do. He told me he wanted me to show him the way of the fly rod, I was more than obliged to do so. It was a hot September day with the sun sitting high in the sky, not a single cloud, but a breeze that made the stickiness in the air dissipate just enough to make it a bit more comfortable. I decided I would take Brad to my favorite run in hopes he would hook up on a nice trout. I had never been to this spot on an early afternoon with the sun so high and bright, so I wasn't sure what to expect. I had a feeling with the sun as high as it was and the water being as shallow as it was, I figured it might be best to get a nymph down low as I assumed the fish would be spooky. The silence of the surface confirmed my predictions as we got to the spot and fished it for a good half hour. I set Brad up on a large hopper pattern so he could see his fly and get a good feel of the rod. Brad had only fly fished a time or two prior to this, so I knew he would be able to independently cast on his own without too much of my advisement. I had on an Stalcups Hopper with a bead head dropper of sorts, hoping to feel out the top and bottom. Surprisingly enough, I was able to get a few strikes on the top. A couple looks came off the side of the riffle I normally cast to, and the other came mid-stream in the presence of the shadows across the surface. Too small I assumed as the strikes were just little flicks of water. I decided that we would go downstream to a nice little hole on the backside of a boulder. After multiple casts I finally hooked up on a whitefish on a bead head flashback PT. He wasn't of great length, but I was happy to have caught one. I decided to let Brad take the wheel of my rod and work the same little run.

A dozen or so casts later a large strike came at the Orange Stimulator. Brad pulled back, which was a nice hook set, had the fish on for a few seconds, but with his inexperience, he made another hard pull back and ripped the hook out from the trouts lip. We were both pretty bummed as I wanted so much for him to land that fish. It looked like a nice 15 inches. He pressed on and casted to the same spot over and over with no results. Overall, Brad and I had a blast out on the water, drank a few beers and mostly just enjoyed being out there. Even though Brad didn't hook into any fish, he seemed to enjoy the time out and I was glad to have the company in my most familiar setting.

Walking back on the trail I've walked many times, light and dark, Brad and I were noticing large piles a dung full of chokecherry seeds. Brad mentioned that it looked liked bear poo to him, but I couldn't be for sure. I had never heard of bears being in the area, although I hadn't really ever fished the area much prior to this year. I didn't think much about it until the following week when I decided I was going to go out and fish again, like I normally do on any given weeknight. I thought about going to Scheels Sports to pick up a can of bear mace, but I figured I was being over analytical about the situation and just decided to get outta town so I had enough daylight to fish. It was a perfect evening, sunny and clear. I wasn't 3 minutes into my walk on the trail when I heard some rustling just down off the slope of the trail in the bushes. Instinct set in and I immediately began clapping and whistling only to expect a buck or a doe to hop off into the distance. Rule #1, don't ever expect rustling in the bushes to be just a deer! Two seconds after my timid claps, whistles and whoops came crawling out of the bushes a good sized black bear! My heart stopped, and I froze. I was standing less than 30 yards from a 200 pound black bear. My instincts told me to run, but I knew better so I just stood there, frozen in fear. To my surprise, the bear just languidly trodden towards the creek foliage. As he gained distance from me, I pulled out my camera, and began snapping a few picks. It was at this point I heard some rustling just another 20 yards to my right. Again, CLAP, CLAP, WHOOP WHOOP I went, and not kidding you, an even bigger, 300 pound black bear climbs outta the bushes and rushes towards the creek along with his buddy. I had to check my boxer shorts to be sure I hadn't shit myself. This was the first time I had ever been put in this situation, and what a relief it was to see the bears just as afraid of me as I was of them. So after my heart dropped from its 180 beats per minute to a relatively calmer thumping, I was brought back to reality and without any rational thinking, began walking the trail as if I were going to make my way to my fishing spot. After taking about 10 steps, I realized I was walking in the wrong direction. I asked out loud to myself "Are you nuts! What the hell are you doing?" There was no way I was going any further down that trail, only to walk it back in pitch black and get eaten alive by a massive black bear. Not smart. I quickly turned around and got the hell back to my car where I would decide my next move.

After relaxing a moment, I decided that I wasn't going to let the exciting events of the night ruin an appealing night on the water. I decided to fish downstream from the Riceville Bridge, in uncharted territory for me. After walking down about 100 yards from the bridge I dropped in a Batman nymph with a Stimulator on top. Only after a few short steps of walking along side my drifting flies, I got a nice tug on the nymph. I immediately saw a golden brown flash in the shin high riffle. I let the brown run downstream as he wanted, only to put the brakes on him and get him close enough to put him in the net. It was a stunning 17.5 - 18 inch brown.

I released the beauty as I noticed a smaller fish feeding on some passing morsels near the opposite undercut bank. The cast was tight near an overhanging limb, but after three of them I managed to thread the needle. I watched as the small rainbow darted a few inches to the right for my fly. A quick fight and I had the 12 inch rainbow in my grips. I let him go and moved a few more feet downstream covering as much of the tight water as possible. It wasn't more than 5 minutes when I saw a riser 20 yards down alongside the bank. I slowly crept downstream below him and cast up to him. The first few casts rendered zero interest to the dry fly. On the next cast I felt a nice tug on the Batman nymph. Another brute of a fish. This one really took off downstream as he made a break for a fast riffle out of the slower moving water. I quickly realized I might lose him so I tightened the drag and stopped him in his wake. He obeyed and soon I had another solid brown just over 17 inches in my grips. He looked quite similar to the same brown I had caught only 10 minutes before.

Another one down and I still had a good 45 minutes of twilight left. I worked that stretch for a short time before moving down even further into the unknown. I ran into some classic riffles along side the outside bends of the banks. No hits, but the water was perfect and figured it was about the time the water should come alive. I ended up snagging my tandem flies in the top of an aspen tree behind me, wasting precious light retying the setup again. By the time I was at another run downstream it was dark and figured it was time to make my way back. The thought of a couple hungry bears were hanging in the recent still frames of my mind. I quickly walked back in the midst of swooping bats and hooting barn owls in the trees above me. Like many other nights out on this creek, the night was over in the blink of an eye. The only thing different about this night is that I had the adrenaline rush of unfamiliarity. The bears will be remembered for some time to come and I will learn to use caution while fishing in the area, or any other for that matter. In a way I feel that the encounter was a blessing in disguise. I was able to break out of my comfort zone and fish some new water with successful results. It's funny how things work out sometimes. I was amazed that just an hour or so ago I had escaped becoming dinner for two black bears, and had come to grips with two awesome brown trout. Nature has an amusing way of writing some interesting scripts.

Fish of the Year!

noreply@blogger.com (The RiverBank Robber) — Mon, 28 Sep 2009 18:06:00 +0000

It all began like any other outing on Belt Creek. By the time I reached my favorite fishing run, it was already almost 7 p.m., about 30 minutes till sundown. I figured I would get some action as soon as I got on the water as this was usually the case around this time of night. To my surprise, I was able to hook into a 15 inch rainbow on my first cast on nice sized attractor dry fly. His holding spot was just in front of a rock which has recently been exposed from the draining flows. It's interesting to see the flows steadily change and decrease in gauge day to day, week to week. This fishing spot changes each time I fish it, revealing little nuances that make this run special and unique to me. Where the fish held in the current weeks ago, has been polished away and become extinct. The new holding spots are now further up the run where the current pushes through abrasively over the rocky stream bed. Soon, like the predecessors, these features will also be gone as the flow gradually depletes in discharge. So while these features still remain, I cast diligently to them, knowing eventually a feeding fish will take my fly as it drifts by him.

After fishing until sundown catching a few smaller fish, dusk was now upon me. The blind casting of a dry I know all too well by now was in full effect. With just barely enough light to see, I focus on floating my fly, in this case a size 12 Rubber-Legged Orange Stimulator naturally on the surface, ensuring a drag free drift to increase the odds a fish will mistake it for a tasty morsel. After casting upstream and drifting downstream repeatedly, reaching out my rod for the longest drift possible, the moment finally came, I heard the surface slightly break and felt a good tug on the end of my line. My rod immediately raised up to set the hook, as if my arms were trained without being ordered. This fish was heavy, but didn't put a lot of pressure on me. I slowly reeled in, with a few head shakes in between revolutions on my reel, the fish swam at me without resisting, like it wanted to be caught. Easily one of the quicker and effortless battles I've endured, I was able to successfully land and net the fish in under a minute. With the darkness surrounding me, I still was unable to see the fish in the dark, murky water. As soon as I raised the net from the waters surface, I felt the weight of this brute and could barely see the silhouette of his size, but couldn't make out the species. I walked the net over to the bank laid it on the rocks and took out the camera. As soon I took a picture, the flash lit up the bank like day, and it was at this moment... I about shit my pants!

I could not believe the size of this fish! It hadn't put up a huge fight, though it felt heavy, I was amazed to see the length and the beauty of this beast. It was surely the biggest I have ever pulled from this small creek! The bold bronze colors, the brilliant speckled red and black spots along the flank, the long toothy jaw of this brown trout is the type of fish I dream about catching when I go to sleep at night. And here he was, right in front of me flopping around, smooth to the touch.... and real! I had finally been given a gift from this creek for all the hours I have spent pursuing a big one... the perseverance had finally paid off. I measured the fish with my net's built in measuring system, and the beast lengthened out at 19 inches. By no means a record fish, but for me, a fish to remember, and a fish worthy of being dubbed an achievement and redemption. Everything in the world stopped at that precise moment, the chaos of the world around me ceased to exist. It was only me and that fish, the creek, the darkness and my surroundings, nothing else. I will be forever grateful to this fish, for he gave me something I will always cherish, something I cannot describe in words, but only in the emotions I was feeling at that exact moment. He will live on in my Soul forever!

For the first time in a long time, I left that creek feeling triumphant. I reflected upon the night walking the trail back in darkness. Everything for once had gone the way any seasoned angler would salivate for. The perfect evening September weather, not a breath of breeze in the air, the beauty of a nice fish after the first cast, no tangles, no snags, no lost flies and a fish of any boys dreams, gripped and released to live another day. And to top it off, a streaking shooting star in the vast blackened sky caught my eye as I appeared out of the brush and to my car. The perfect way to end a perfect night, and a night to remember for a lifetime to come. I made a wish upon that star that night, and when that wish comes true, I am sure it will make for another great adventurous fishing story, so until then... may YOUR best wishes come true!

Labor Day Weekend in the Bozeman Area Fishing Red and Blue Ribbon Waters

noreply@blogger.com (The RiverBank Robber) — Wed, 23 Sep 2009 05:03:00 +0000

As the Labor Day weekend neared, I decided what would be a better way to spend the holiday than to travel to some excellent blue ribbon fishing waters near the Bozeman area, and fish with my cousin Jacob. I packed the car up with a few things, all my gear and hit the road for a weekend of relaxation and visions of catching some big fish.

Our first outing was to a spot where less than a week before, Jake had battled and landed a brute, the biggest of this year for him, a large beautiful, bronze brown estimated to be about 21 inches. The story and the pictures were enough to weaken my knees at the thought of maybe having a chance to hook into one these guys. Excitement and fear mixed together is a crazy combo, I long for the moment, yet fear I will screw up and lose what could be a fish of the year or lifetime. This spot is relatively under-fished, not thought of as a spot to fish below the blue-ribbon section; this is merely red-ribbon territory that is said to hold larger fish than the average 12-15 in. ranging sometimes up to 20 inches, yet in smaller numbers than the upper sections. As long as the chance of catching a brute was possible, I was willing to sacrifice quantity in exchange for this possibility alone.

It was about 3:00 in the afternoon on Saturday as we loaded our rods and a cooler into the truck and got on the interstate to fish our asses off. We were ready to hit it hard and long, whatever it took to catch the big ones. We waded out into the waist high water to cast back into the banks where the current steadily swept along at a medium pace. It was still early with the sun high in the West; I decided to cast a hopper/dropper set up. After working a couple hundred yards of bank, my first hook-up came around a small run off an outside bend. The fish fought hard and I immediately knew this was not an average size fish. As the fish drew near, I could see the fat side of the rainbow and was excited to see the girth I was not used to seeing. Meanwhile, Jacob had run from downstream to capture the action on the camera as I reeled in the trout to the opposite bank.
This fish had been caught or struggled out of being landed before as it had a massive battle scar on his right flank. The fish was heavy, yet only taped out at a healthy 16 inches. I was pleased as it was the first fish all summer that had been duped by a hopper floating along the surface.

It wasn’t 10 minutes later that Jake had one on a streamer upstream less than 100 yards from where I had landed mine. I ran up to view the battle as he was able to land the nice 15 inch rainbow near the bank.

It was nice to see some heavier fish than the skinny creek trout I have been used to seeing for most of the summer.

We worked a few more stretches as the day began to dwindle away. Still no monsters, but we were not about to quit. Jake ended up having a couple more hook-ups, only to have them shake loose quickly. As 7:30 rolled around we headed back to the original run where the 21 inch brown had once lurked only a week before. A few casts in, a 15 inch rainbow snatched my Sculpzilla streamer after two strips and a few feet from the bank.

It was quite a tug and sweet to feet the powerful take, as this was my biggest fish hooked on a big ugly streamer. We're not talking about little old bead-head woolies or cone-head rubber legs, the Sculpzilla is an all out rabbit hair/marabou combo built for catching big fish in deep runs and pools. It was my first time fishing one and was satisfied by the results.

Again, less than 10 minutes had passed and Jake, just upstream from me had a fish on, which could have been the catch of the night! He battled it for a minute before the rascal slipped off the hook and back into the depths.

Darkness was now fully set in as we worked our way back upstream casting blindly to the banks with streamers, hoping to coerce an unsuspecting, appetite ready trout to our grips. No such luck. The day was spent, as were we. After 100s of casts and a few fish to show for it, still a good day in my books. I was just glad to have the smell of fish on my hands again.

The next day we decided to hit up the gorgeous freestone, wild and scenic, Yellowstone River.

We hit the river at about 5:30, the wind was a little nasty which made throwing our lines a little tough, but we weren’t going to let that stop us, not even Jake’s 7 year old boy Noah was phased.

We got to a small side channel and Jake hooked into a small brown on the fly rod, which in turn, let Noah reel in the little guy.

Though Noah, a fan of fly fishing, has still been learning to cast and has yet to land his own fish on the fly, brings along his spin rod and like a pro, catches all trout of all sizes including a fish just over 17 inches on the Yellowstone earlier this year and recently a 4 pound Cutty out of Yellowstone Lake.

30 minutes later as Jake and I were swinging streamers through a nice deep run, Noah outta nowhere hooks into a healthy 10-11 inch rainbow right out from underneath us on his spin rod. I was pleased to see the little guy effortlessly reel in his prize and gleam like a boy in a candy store.

We moved our way over to the larger section of the river, to a run that was deep and quick and all the way across the river, which was difficult to cast to with wind and all. I had on a double-bead head stonefly nymph with a flashback PT dropper. I was able to get a dozen or so drifts in without results.

Jake Swung his Streamer pattern diligently through the tail out of a quick riffle with no such luck. We worked hard to cut our flies through the wind, though our perseverance was not about to pay off. After a good hour pressing the run we decided to move on, back downstream to the bridge where we had parked. Unbeknownst to Jake and I, Noah had rounded up about 20-30 minnows into a pop bottle hoping to bring them home to raise them to “big guys” in his bedroom aquarium. It’s the little things like this that bring back the childhood memories of growing up fishing on this river.

We worked some good looking water on the way back with no luck. I cast to some small risers along a short section, but no takes. Picky fish and small, but any action would have saved the day. By the time we reached the bridge it was dark, only enough time to swing a few streamers through in hopes of a tug. It was dark and we were hungry and tired. A little Arby’s and a 30 minute ride home to reflect upon our day was satisfying, yet disappointing. Better luck next time!

The following morning, Monday at the crack of dawn, literally, Jake and I decided to give it one last go. This time it was to the East Gallatin. The wake of the morning was a bit chilly, but we were ready to hit it again and give it our all. The stretch we hit was nice blue-ribbon water that meanders through grass fields of private property. A small bridge gained us access into the relatively low-pressure fishing territory. It was slow the first couple of hours, no hatches and no risers. I fished an attractor/dropper setup as Jake chucked streamers along the banks. After passing textbook riffles and runs with no action we came to a spot where a flurry of risers gorged plentifully in slow moving water. Just 10 minutes before I had noticed a hatch that appeared to be tiny blue-winged olives. I immediately tied on the pattern and slowly moved my way to the section downstream. It was a frenzy! After a dozen casts a not a single bite, Jake made his way by my side and became exited and tied on a similar fly. 3-4 casts later and I had a small little rainbow take the bait. It was tiny, but finally after a day and a half of fish-less fishing, I had landed something.

A few casts later Jake accomplished the same feat. We giggled at the moment and decided to keep moving.

About a hundred yards downstream, Jacob was drifting a Copper John through a riffle and had on a nice fish. I ran up to net it for him and noticed the fish had been hooked in the side. It was funny because the whole time Jacob had figured it was a good size fish, but realized it had only felt like a big one because of the fouled hook. Still it was nice to see a good 15 inch fish come out of his hiding place.

On the walk back, I cast to a few more risers on our way back, only to hook into some petite fish. Jake ended up belly hooking a brown, about 12-13 inches with a dark muddler. Don’t know what the odds of that are, but two in a row is pretty rare I assume. We both thought it was a monster, and it was funny to see just an average brown as the culprit. Again, we chuckled to ourselves and moved on.

Overall our trip out to the meandering waters of the East G was a great way to end my trip to Bozeman. We made our way back to the truck to head back home. But I wasn’t done yet…

After saying my goodbyes, I packed up and headed back to Great Falls and decided to stop along the Missouri to finish off my weekend of fishing. I fished some nice runs near Mid-Canon. I tried a little bit of everything, nymphing, streamers, and was even able to cast to a brute, sipping insects off the surface along the bank. I drifted an Orange Stimulator right over the top of him a dozen times without any interest. Picky fish I figured and decided to drive down further and stop at the famous “Untouchables Bridge”.

Boy was I glad I did! After hiking down to the waters edge and tying on a Caddis Pupa emerger and bead-head flashback PT dropper, my first cast landed me a seventeen inch brown from just 6 feet off the bank. He had only one eye and was surprised he was able to take the size 18 PT dropper. I was ecstatic. It was at about this point I witnessed the river come alive! Dusk was just setting in as sloshes and splashes were in every direction. I quickly changed to a Caddis dry fly and kept on the PT dropper. I was able to successfully hook 4 more fish after this fly change, but unfortunately was unable to land any of them due to the ungodly amount of weeds floating the surface. Talk about frustration! These weeds were like Swamp Thing entangling himself in your fly, tippet, leader, fly line, the whole nine yards. I found out that night that for once I was human and that the patience I can usually portray went all down the drain. I became flustered with every cast having to clean weeds from my line. Spent from weekend, I packed up and made the rest of the trip home, just happy to have had one of the best weekends I’ve had fishing in a long time.

It is funny how 4 days of fishing will wear you out and break you down after only catching a handful of descent fish. Yet all I could think about that night while laying in bed was that I couldn’t wait to go out and fish again! I guess that’s why I wouldn't call it an addiction or an obsession, but a passion, MY passion. And it is this passion that drives me to pursue the endless, unknown fishing rivers and streams I’ve yet to encounter in my lifetime. Thus, “I WILL FISH ‘TILL I DIE!” and let the Goodtimes roll!

Two For The Price of One and the Elusive "Midnight Sippers"

noreply@blogger.com (The RiverBank Robber) — Wed, 02 Sep 2009 04:38:00 +0000

A beautiful little ghost cabin near the perfect run on Belt Creek.

The last few trips to a great spot on Belt Creek the last couple weeks have yielded satisfactory results. Fish have been rising to the fly like crazy with a few hookups on nymphs as well. For on one recent trip, I was able to experience a primordial event in my days as a fly fishing angler. I decided to throw out a Wulff on top with a small gold lightning bug dropper and four casts later I watched as an average rainbow slurped the Wulff and a split second later, a smaller rainbow take the dropper! I had two fish on simultaneously! At first I didn't know what had happened. I saw two flashes and began to reel. The line was heavy for about a few moments as I reeled in the dose of trout until the bottom fish slipped off the hook as it gained some slack. It was a moment I had never really thought about previously, let alone fathom would actually ever happen. I was able to land the first as well as miraculously deep set the dropper hook into the palm of my left hand.

I'm glad I had my forceps on me, otherwise the hook was staying until I got home that night. The pain was null as the adrenaline from the event alone was enough to forget about it after I began casting again, my mind dead set on raising the next unsuspecting trout.

Prime time on this creek is during the last two hours of the days rays disappear over the canyon walls. I find myself intrigued with this certain spot, a perfect run that tends to hold fish consistently. Fish average from 12-15 inches with a few monsters lurking in the 16-20 inch range. These guys are timid until 20 to 30 past sundown. Then the frenzy begins! Like clockwork, I know when to put on a larger fly to entice these bad boys from near range of the current seam and sometimes just off the banks. The smaller fish are more geared towards smaller patterns such as flying ants, and dark colored mayflies while the larger brutes snack violently on hopper and stimulator patterns, and the infamous Royal Wulff. When this little window of opportunity presents itself, I am usually blind casting the dry, for at this point the water is dark, only dimly lit by the backdrop of the early moon and spent rays of the sun. I tune into any noises on the surface of the water in the direction my fly is traveling, raising the rod at a moments notice. I have been able to successfully hook about 5 to 6 of these "midnight sippers" as I like to call them, each one putting up the fight of a lifetime. The angle and current at which the battle occurs is gut wrenching as the quick flow of the tail out is perfect for these fish to take a out ton of line. Tightening my drag and reeling them up current is a uphill battle from starting line to finish. It amazes me the 5 - 7 minute fights these guys have in them. Worried about increasing the odds of their mortality, I find myself knee deep in the run most of the time reeling and following the path of the trout downstream in hopes of getting them near the bank and out of the tiring current. Out of these 5 or 6 big boys I've had on the line, I have only been able to land two! That's right, I guess my inexperience has yet to really pay off. I finally bought a net recently as all the ones I lost were due to my lack of skill when it comes to getting close enough to the fish in order to land him. Frustrating, but I realize it's just part of the game. The two I was able to land were a 16 inch rainbow and a 17 inch brown. The brown was caught in relatively no light so no pic and the rainbow, I was able to get a snap with just enough light left.

The biggest fish I have had on my line at this spot came tonight as it was 45 minutes after sundown just after I had finished cleaning a 12 inch rainbow that didn't make it after a deep hook. It was dark, but I knew a brute had to lurking as I have become well aware of this over the past month of fishing here. The hook set came at a moments notice with an orange stimulator and this fish was heavy, close to 2.5 - 3 pounds. He took two head shakes, spooled out about 10 feet of line, jumped, rolled and snapped my fly off neatly at the knot. As he came down and splashed, the sound was like that of large log being dropped into the water. A sound I won't soon forget. "Damn!" I thought. There was nothing more I could have done, maybe some heavier tippet, but I guess I'll never know.

It's fish like this that keep me driving 40 miles out week after week in hot pursuit, aiming to achieve success in finally landing one of these elusive trout. I know they reside here, and it's only a matter of time before I am triumphant, finally leaving the fish feeling the effects of absolute defeat.

The Big R Fly Shop

noreply@blogger.com (The RiverBank Robber) — Wed, 19 Aug 2009 20:21:00 +0000

The Big R Fly Shop is a great area fly shop that offers many useful resources including current fishing reports and experienced and educated employees. Their shop is always stocked plum full of all the gear, guad, flies and information you need in order to be a successful angler. They have been kind enough to share my blog on their website, so I decided to give back and mention them in this post for all the hard work they have put in to hold a respectable establishment. They have certainly helped me along the way this year and know they will be of assistance to those who happen to find themselves among their company. Keep up the good work!

Here is a link to their August Newsletter with some great stories from their trip to Baja!

Here you will find the link to the bug blogs and current reports.

On Losing A Big One

noreply@blogger.com (The RiverBank Robber) — Wed, 12 Aug 2009 04:33:00 +0000

Tonight, I drove out to the Riceville Bridge and hiked in about 2 miles to fish the banks of Belt Creek once again. New territory for me this summer as it is only one of a handful of times I've been on this stretch. The water is quite low along most of the area, with a few boulders strewn between a few deep runs and shallow riffles. I fished a slow deep pool against a rocky ledge for the first hour. Smaller trout were rising every few minutes, sipping on very tiny insects. I couldn't figure out what it was they were munching on so I just threw out the normal go to patterns. Parachute Adams, Adams Naturals, Brown Caddis, Yellow PMDs, Griffith's Gnats, Yellow and Orange Stimulators, and even a Dave's Hopper. All falling short of even a strike, I became frustrated and decided to move ahead to some runs to nymph as my top water attempts failed miserably. Nymphing my go to Purple Bead Head Prince produced zero results. It was coming up on about 8:30 with about 25 minutes till sundown, so I moved upstream to a bend I had never fished. The current picked up some good speed forming a long run which held fish sipping on the tail out. My angle to the middle of the run was nonexistent so I waded around the tail across the bank to get some better casting room. As I passed the current seam, I looked on the water to see any insects passing by. To my knowledge, what I was noticing were little 18 to 20 red quill mayfly spinners floating along the surface. They were a dark brown almost reddish in color. I had nothing small enough to match the natural, and with daylight just about gone, I grabbed a size 14 Royal Wulff. It was red and it was large enough for me to see in the dwindling light. After about 7 or 8 drifts, I finally got a hit by a small rainbow. I was pleased that after a couple hours of fishing fishless flies, I had one in my books. As I was releasing the little guy, I noticed a bigger one sipping directly across my position just off the seams of the run. Two casts later I had him on, but only for a few seconds until he spit out the fly and was gone. Action slowed for about 10 minutes with no more rises. The sun was just going over the ridge in the West and darkness was setting in quick. With very little visual on the Wulff at this point, my strategy was to just cast slightly down and across and wiggle my line out to extend the drift as long as possible. After about 4 or 5 of these drifts, on a lift for a recast... BAM! My line went heavy. I figured it felt that way because I had at least 35 to 40 feet of line out. I lifted my rod high, and immediately put the fish on the reel. As soon as I began reeling in, the fish took off downstream another 15 feet! Holy Shit! This fish was not ready to brought in. I reeled the line at intervals, hoping to keep pressure and tire him in the current at the same time. Finally after a short struggle, he ran directly upstream right at me! I cranked the reel as fast as my hand could turn. He was 20 feet from me now and got a good look as he rolled around and hit the gas downstream again. At this point all I know is that my heart was pounding, instinct set in and I knew I needed to force this brute in before I somehow lose him. Pulling back on the rod turned him towards me and again he swam hard upstream. This time I had him 15 feet... 10 feet... 5... I had him slightly on the bank. With as much adrenaline that was running through my body, my head became weak, weary, and felt like I was going to pass out! All instinct was lost at this point and I felt like this was my first time ever catching a fish. I became clumsy and fumbled my rod, reached for the line to keep it near me. By this time, the mighty brown was behind me thrashing in the ankle deep rocky water. I thought to myself, "Oh my God, that thing has got to be 20+ inches". My biggest of the summer. It was dark, my knees knocked, I yanked the line close to me and... SNAP! SHIT! I threw my rod down, threw my body on the rocky bank like I was after a slippery football fumbled on a field. I got him... wait... no I don't got him. One slippery grip and a tail flick later... gone, out of sight. I had lost him! UUUGGGHHH!!!

It took me about 5 minutes to realize what had just happened. Mind you, it was all over in a matter of seconds of having him near the bank. Still in shock, all I could do is grab another big fly out of my box in hopes to catch him again. It's funny how the mind thinks when your adrenaline is pumping that hard. I had lost my mind! It was 9:15, dark as hell and I was trying to tie on another fly to catch to same fish. Wow! I had surely lost my marbles. I couldn't regain my composure, fiddled and faddled with my line and fly for another 10 minutes just making a mess out of my leader and tippet. I was done. The fish had gotten the best of me. The night was over and I still had 2 miles to hike back to my car, in darkness.

On the trail back to my car, I still felt crazy. "All this for what?!" "To catch some stupid fish!?" I replayed the scene over and over again in my head until it all became fuzzy! "What the hell happened!?" "Get a hold of yourself dammit!" "There's always tomorrow". I was immediately brought back down to earth and realized that this was all part of the sport and why I love it so much. I hadn't had a rush like that on the water in a long time! It's things like this that happen for a reason to keep me coming back for more. I don't regret a single moment of losing that fish, I had realized that it was just a learning experience for me to come back next time to try and keep some composure in a similar situation. It's moments like these that keep us human, and it made me realize, this IS why I fish.

A Creek Runs Through It

noreply@blogger.com (The RiverBank Robber) — Tue, 11 Aug 2009 01:15:00 +0000

With a sweet breeze in the air and the itch for fishing, Nate and I hit the road for a Sunday afternoon of fishing through the mesmerizing Sluice Box State Park. Belt Creek is a completely different looking creek above Armington Junction as it runs through shear rock walls, cliffs and caves. Massive boulders litter the creek bed of this gem and the pristine gin clear water calls for light tippets and spider-man like stealth. We hiked down along the beaten path near rocky ledges and 100 foot drop offs to a point past a set of cliffs usually inhabited by weekend cliff jumpers and recreationalists. The path down into the canyon to the creek bottom was steep and skiddish, though worth it as the view was absolutely stunning as we waded through the soothing water and into the prolific rocky walls of the canyon.

I immediately start nymphing a run along the walls that empty into a deep pool. The crystal clear waters were an added bonus as it was easy to see into the pools and scout any fish feeding off the seams. I looked around for any hatches, not much air born insect activity so I decided to tie on a hopper dropper setup. I tied a Stalcup's hopper on top and a type of iridescent bead head Lightning Bug. After moving through some slow runs with no looks on top and no takes below, we came to a nice run with some swifter water tailing out from some shallow riffles into a deep run about 20 yards long. I fished the tail out of the riffle with numerous casts before finally getting a fish on the bottom fly. The hookup came as I lifted my rod for another cast. I stripped in the little fighter of a rainbow and was pleased with the vivid array of colors on his sides.

I drifted the hopper/dropper pattern through the run another dozen times, witnessing a couple flashes at the hopper, but with disinterest, the trout would retreat, revoking the tasty morsel.

I moved up to a deeper pool where I could see a belly up trout in the bottom of the pool. It looked as though he could have possibly been snagged by a broken off line and had lived his last days trying to escape this watery grave. While checking it out, I saw a healthy 16-17 rainbow lurking a foot or two above the grave site moving in the current for passing tidbits. I had to retie a quick fly on as my dropper rig was too shallow for this deeper pool. After a world record fly change, I drifted a bead head flashback PT through the pool only to see the beast distracted and languidly move upstream. We saw a few more fish in this same run/pool, but the fish seemed a little lethargic, with not much of an appetite. By this time it was about almost 5:30, and with the combination of a few thunderclaps and some clouds moving in, I figured a prime window of fishing might occur. After hiking up and around a second set of cliffs with people hanging around the banks swimming, a drizzle began. We couldn't see another way down so we decided to hang out in a cliff overhang while the rain subdued a bit. It was a nice mellow rain, mixed with bright sun rays peaking through the clouds. It felt good sitting to watch the storm from the view of the jagged surrounding of the cavernous rocky wall.

After a short while, the rains let up a bit enough for us to make our way back down the banks to fish. We came across some cool looking caves near some of the cliffs we saw people near earlier. We decided to fish the spot though we figured no fish would reside in the area due to popular human activity. We wanted to press our luck. Hoping some hatches had popped off and the fish were looking up, I tied on a brown caddis dry. No risers and no hatches, I relentlessly casted and casted hoping to persuade a brown who just might have been looking up. No luck. It was worth the try, but we were right, no fish in the area.

By now it was about 7:30 and the rain was back, this time it came down harder, the thunder was louder now right above us, and this time accompanied by lightning flashes surrounding us. We should have gotten out of there while we had the chance. We found another rocky cove to wait it out again. We were mostly concerned with the lightning, so we laid our rods flat and a few yards away from us. We were very low and away from the creek so the odds of getting hit were extremely diminished. A short break in the storm came about a half hour later, so we bolted for it. We still had a 45 minute hike out on a slippery trail with spine-tingling drop-offs to worry about. We kept our cool, staying relaxed and safely made it to the car without a hitch. We were soaked and just happy to be out of the wet. It was a trip well worth it in my eyes. The jaw-dropping beauty I hadn't seen since a trip in the late 90's was gorgeous and reminded me of the considerable passion and enjoyment the outdoors gives me, even though nature's temperament can be tested on a moments notice, I was thankful we had made it out unscathed. Although the fishing wasn't very productive, I know I will return soon enough to find another hole or run in this rock walled paradise with its charming little creek quietly running through it.

Super Hopper Dropper

noreply@blogger.com (The RiverBank Robber) — Sun, 09 Aug 2009 01:18:00 +0000

Mikey Wier gives us some excellent tips and an innovative way to fish the popular Hopper Dropper rig.

Lower Water = Lesser Fish

noreply@blogger.com (The RiverBank Robber) — Fri, 07 Aug 2009 21:11:00 +0000

I fished my stretch on Belt Creek again Wednesday night with Scott. We fished the “Honey Hole” and the “Honey Pot” for about an hour before coming up empty handed. I couldn’t believe how much the water had depleted in only two weeks of not fishing it. One hole where a quick current once blasted around a structure off the bank is now a mere trickle of water producing half the size of the once massive toilet bowl back eddy. Another factor I noticed is that I could actually see the bottom of the holes now where before, the depth was unreadable. It’s amazing how the currents can change in such a short period of time. We moved downstream to a hole that still is very deep and now with some lower current, has actually exposed some rocks that produce riffle seams directly below them into to the minimum, 10 foot deep pool. As I decided to tie on a Double Bead Head Stonefly Nymph, Scott started drifted his Bead Head Purple Prince Nymph, courtesy of my recommendation, through the run and into the pool. Before I could even finish the improved clinch knot on my stonefly, he had a fish on. I finished the knot quickly and grabbed the camera.

After a couple minutes of tiring the rainbow out, he had him on the rocks. It was a nice 12-13 inch rainbow that fought like hell.

Scott released him after some pics and made his way back to the same run in hopes for another. I had just finished putting my camera back in my pack and was putting on an indicator when I hear, “I got another one”. Jeez! I couldn’t even get my line wet and Scott was having a hay day. The fish was smaller than the first, but still looked like a fighter. I finally got the chance to drop my line in. A dozen drifts later, no fish or hits. I looked in the air around me and saw some Yellow PMD’s floating around. The only fly I had to match was an old beat up PMD emerger that had lost all of its white mid section hackle, left only with a small vertical parachute and the yellow dubbing. I tied it on and added some floatant, then positioned myself above the riffles into the pool and began dropping the fly right off the seams. As soon as the fly moved into the swifter current along the seams, the fly would drown. After about the fifth drift as I was lifting my rod for a recast, a fish hit hard! It started to run and dive into the depths of the pool. I tugged back causing it to surface and perform a tail dance across the liquid dance floor. This guy was fighting hard, felt like a big fish.

After a short struggle, I landed him on the rocks. It was a nice fat little 12-13 inch rainbow.

I was surprised he took the beat up emerger, which without the hackle doesn’t really imitate an emerging fly, but somehow it got the job done. I think I’ll retire this fly and keep it in a special place. After all, I’ve had it since early June and have caught countless little brutes on it. After hitting a few more runs upstream, and catching some smaller fish, we decided to go back to the first two holes. It was getting dark so we had only a few minutes to press our luck. Scott came up with a nice brown right off the bat on his Yellow Humpy dry.

I got a small rainbow a few minutes later with a Yellow Stimulator. Overall the fishing has definitely slowed, fish are a bit smaller than what I’m used to, but was pleased we hadn’t gone home empty handed. In total, between the two of us we landed 8 fish. Not a bad night by any means so I can’t really complain. I’m thinking the fishing will either stay the same for the next few weeks or dramatically slow in this stretch. Maybe I’ll head up to the Riceville Bridge and hike into the Sluice Boxes my next outing. I’ve yet to fish it this year and hear the reports have been steady. I hope to bring back some great stories from one of my favorite creeks in the area, Belt Creek.

Big Water, Empty Handed

noreply@blogger.com (The RiverBank Robber) — Fri, 07 Aug 2009 01:06:00 +0000

My last visit to the Missouri was mid week June when I went on a memorable drift. Up to that point, a half dozen times of getting skunked in late winter early spring, I finally had some redemption. Maybe I spoke too soon, after all it was only one afternoon of delight. Feeling confident, Nate and I packed up the car and the coolers and made our way down Sheep Creek Road near Cascade to a relatively secluded stretch of the Missouri. This spot holds a special place near and dear to me. Throughout my high school years, some close friends of mine had some great days spin fishing in this beautiful area. I remember catching a healthy 18 inch rainbow one of my first times out. I brought it home (wasn't a catch and release guy then) and had a wonderful dinner with the parents. This stretch mostly was guaranteed to give up at least a nice sized fish every time. Even this time last summer when I hadn't rekindled my passion for the fly, I walked away with 5 or 6 notches on the belt after only a half day of fishing with the spin rod. Towards the end of August last year, I decided to bring along the old beater fly rod for the first time in 5 years. The only action this rod has seen has been the dusty corner of the garage. I figured what the hell, I hadn't casted it in years. After hours of no luck, I tossed it downed and luckily had my trusty spin rod along for backup. Then, I was so quick to give up, take the easy way out for the lesser challenge. I look back at this and realize how much I had been missing out on the passion I had buried deep inside my soul for fly fishing. I missed out on a lot of years and probably some big fish.

Off topic, the last year of fly fishing Montana's streams and rivers solo has "changed me". This may sound ridiculous to some, but I somehow have a deeper understanding of my life and what matters to me. I find it amazing that an instrument such as the fly rod and this magnificent playground God has made for us for the sport somehow puts things into perspective. Don't ask me how I know this, but it's just that everything seems so clear and focused, natural and intuitive when I'm on the river. Nothing else comes close to what and how I feel when I'm in this setting.

Back to the story, Nate and I were now on this same stretch of river I know like the back of my hand. Working the current with a Hopper/dropper rig, I diligently made blind cast after cast as I hadn't seen a rise all afternoon. An hour and half passed with no action as we decided to pack up and head further upstream in the car to find better fishing water. We drove all the way up past the Untouchables bridge to another bridge where we saw clouds of Caddis above the small pines which lined the banks. With a few scans of the water before hopping in, I could see a few rises off a riffle 20 yards off the bank. I tied on a pattern to match the hatch, though slightly darker than the natural, I figured the trout would take it over the hundreds of others on the surface. I casted to the rises, drifted over the top of the rises, sides, every possible angle. Frustration began to set in as I watched rise after rise and no hits. Darkness was creeping upon as I kept telling myself "one more cast, I got this". No such luck. Skunked again, head hangin' we called it a day. Nate never even had a bite on his spin rod which even surprised me. A positive for the trip is that Nate decided to try my backup fly rod for a change. I was bummed he had no action, wishing for him to catch one. Maybe I can get him to pick it up again next time, in a place guaranteed to catch fish. This is what I can't wrap around my head. I hear and read in so many places that the Missouri is one of the best rivers/tailwaters in Montana. And I understand this to be best fished in a raft or boat, but why can't this be true for us wade fisherman as well. Maybe I just don't know the "hotspots" or know how to fish it. I do know that it is a very technical river and that the fish think differently here. Seriously though, can it really be this difficult to catch fish here on the fly!?

I came across an article just days after fishing the Missouri last weekend, and it actually shed some light on why I may have such a challenging time on this river. I found the article on the Fish Wildlife and Parks website written by Neale Streeks in the recent publication of Montana Outdoors. Neale Streeks is long time Great Falls resident and guide for Montana River Outfitters. I have actually read a book written by him called "Stalking Western Trout". The book is written well and really encompasses the sport on Montana waters like the Missouri. This particular article from Montana Outdoors actually flicked a switch for me in regards to fishing the Missouri. I'd rather not go into detail of trying to describe what he writes, but I find the "The Rhythmic Rise" section very interesting. I've heard of the concept before, but have never applied it, which I hope to do the next time I'm on the Mo'. It just might be the key to some of my issues I've had in the past. You can read the article here. As always, keep on fishin'.

Bite sized Brookies on the Middle Fork of the Dearborn

noreply@blogger.com (The RiverBank Robber) — Tue, 28 Jul 2009 23:49:00 +0000

A couple weekends ago I went for a weekend stay at my friend Scott's cabin on the middle fork of the Dearborn River. Nestled in the woods off Highway 200 to Lincoln, MT sits a picturesque cabin in what seems to be in the middle of nowhere, only to be hidden a couple hundreds yards down off the highway. Further down along a beaten path, a horseshoe pit sits alongside a quaint little stream that meanders through towering lodge pole pines. One look at this raw beauty of nature gets the blood pumping with thoughts of fish and flies. It was getting near dark so I had to calm myself and wait till morning to head out on this little gem.

The following day, after a long night of drinking,

I rigged up and made my way downstream in search of a little run, riffle, pool.

This water is nothing of which I am used to by any means. One look at it and you begin to think "How can this hold any fish? It's so tiny and shallow". The water at its deepest point is shin high, reaching only an average of 6-8 feet across. With a 9' 5 wt. rod in hand, I knew I was going to have to stay low and take a stealthy approach if I were to have any luck. Walking along the tight bank I immediately spot a nice undercut bank followed by a quick riffle. I move around some trees, maneuvering my rod through the foliage as I come into better view. My body casts an angular shadow across the hole and I see 4 to 5 fish spook and duck for cover. "Damn! I'm a F#@%ing idiot!" I say to myself. Two dart upstream while the rest swim for cover into the undercut. I figure I still had a chance to entice one with a dry I would present right next to the front ledge of the undercut. I tie on a tiny Royal Wulff and with a cunning grin I drop the fly in the tail out of the riffle on a direct path of my target. "Right there... perfect... take it..." BAM! I quickly jolt my line up, completely missing the strike only to get snarled in the tree above me. UUGGGHH! I compose myself and try again, and again, and again, and again. Damn fish are getting the best of me! A dozen or so strikes and the same result. I begin to raise the rod a little later, counting to three for the take. Still can't land the damn thing(s). So after almost two dozen casts and more than a dozen strikes. I decide I better check my fly or change it. I reel up, take a look at the wulff and sure enough, no F@#$ing hook! A perfectly tied fly rest on the end of my line, yet no hook. I must have busted it off in the tree on that first cast. I had never felt so humiliated in my life! At least I was alone, and nobody had to witness my foolishness. I surely would have been made a mockery! I retied on another Wulff, the one with the sharpest hook in my box, and went after it again. This time I would not fail. Sure enough, the starving little beast took the fly perfectly on the very next cast and he was on! This little fellow was fighting for his life! Up, down, around until I finally just yanked him up onto the shore. It was a beautiful plump little brookie. 11-12 inches.

His color was an amazing bronze. This was the first I had seen all year. As triumphant as I felt for finally catching the little rascal, I could immediately see he was very tired. It was quite the struggle for such a little guy. I snapped some quick pics and released him back into his watery lair. This would be the biggest fish of the trip.

I later fished a few other holes and runs only to find many 4-6 inch and two 8-9 inch light-colored brooks. Amazing as it was I even caught a 5 inch brookie on a size eight Dave's Hopper.

Scott came out with me for a while to show me some spots upstream. I gave him a brown San Juan to try along side an underwater log. He drifted the worm along side the tree and after a couple hits, he had the fish on. It was fun to watch as he reeled in the 10 inch brook.

Overall I had a blast on this wonderful little creek. In all, I estimate I caught a little less than 30 fish, many of them small, but just as fun as the first. I was amazed that the size of the creek could actually hold fish in the smallest of runs and shallowest of riffles and pools. A great couple days in my books and hope to make it up again. There's just something about a small creek nestled in nature that can make you forget about everything in the world, cast your troubles away and just live in the moment... free.

Quote of the Day

noreply@blogger.com (The RiverBank Robber) — Tue, 28 Jul 2009 22:09:00 +0000

You can fish all your life never knowing –
it's not fish you're after ...

- Steel Head Films