The Beaverhead at Winter Flow-10/9-11 (30cfs)

Now its down to 30 CFS.  Rock bottom.  Weeds and podded up fish.  Feeders in nearly every remaining lane.  6X and size 20's rule the day.  Yes, fish can be landed, big fish.  Over, through, and around the weed beds.  Sometimes you just go get 'em out.  There's nothing else like it.  Some are eating midges, some are eating tiny BWO's.  Either way, they're all a challenge, needing perfect positioning and a good cast.

The Hole with a Pod of Risers

"The Hanger" is Still Rocking!

Heneberry Walk-in Area.  Low!

My Last Beaverhead Trout of the Season.
Reflections:

 This fall trip is the most difficult to return home from.  The rivers all feel so much like real home, where I should be, and where I have so many memories.  The finality is overwhelming.  The end of a season, not just a fishing trip.  I won't see or fish Montana again until late June, and leaving now brings a couple tears.  If I could make it early October all year, I would.  But I can't.

The June trip is bright with new growth, new hatches, full rivers, and new optimism.  All the hatches are either happening, or soon upcoming.  In october, its the last of the little blue wings and midges.  In June, months of opportunities lie ahead.  In October, I fish each river for the last time.

On the drive home, even with the rods all in their cases, I make the obligatory stops at the rivers I must pass to give them a final look, see a fish or two, say good bye, and be sure they're still there for next time.  Silly, but its so hard to let go, and this helps.  On the last night, already part way home, I still camp along a river I haven't even fished this year, but have many times in the past and still have a small attachment to.  It prolongs letting go and facing reality.

Sure, there is still a few possible late-season dry fly days to fish on home waters, but they aren't my Montana favorites that I'll be thinking about all winter and spring.  Kemmerer, Dutch John, Fontenelle, and Jackson just don't have the same ring and attraction to them as Craig, Dillon, Ennis, and Livingston.  Not to mention my all time favorite of Last Chance, ID, on the Henry's Fork.  I really learned to fly fish there, and it was my first real destination dry-fly fishing place when I had such little time and money.  It was "the" trip of the summer, and where I now usually start the summer season.  The June opener seems so far away, and it is.

I'll get over it.  I have "things" to get done, and others to begin.  There's a winter tarpon trip or two for thawing out, keeping sane, and catching the ultimate sport fish on the planet.  But even those trips are nothing like the feeling and freedom of loading up and heading for the golden triangle of southwest Montana.  No airports, no immigration, no security checks, no lines.

The last few weeks were so sweet.  The near future more sour.  I love the fall fishing, but hate when it ends.  Early summer is so less confusing and all so bright.  Eight more months.  Uggh.