The Last Walks

Up and at 'em fairly early.  There are no crowds to beat.  The bicycle crowd is headed to the bridge and beyond, so I had the west-side grassy run in front of the ranch houses all to myself.  Long stories short, I got my ass handed to me, or fucked up big time, depending on who's judging.  The first big eat simply didn't get hooked right.  As it started the first move downriver instantly after the take, the hook pulled and my heart sank, thinking that would be my only chance with the bugless water.  150 feet downstream, right on the grass, I had my second take.  That one ate, turned, and disappeared with my fly and a few feet of 4X.  It happened so fast, I don't know what happened!  Now I'm cussing for a few seconds.  100 feet below that crime scene, I get a third fish.  This one is on, until it bolts downstream and then turns up into a thick jungle of weeds.  The pulses subsided, and I'm left with 15 pounds of weeds.  They've done this before.  OK, I did catch a few small fish at the bottom along the cliff, but these three fish will haunt me until I go back and get to see and touch one in September.  Maybe it is a sign. 

On the way home I stop at the spring creek I often fish coming and going.  It was really low, was full of weeds, and I briefly hooked one average fish for about 5 seconds.  I didn't stay long, as it wasn't happening either.  Could be a sign.  Go directly home, do not pass Go, do not collect anything further along the way.  

One fried wheel bearing.  One worn-out pair of leaky waders.  One found pair of Dr. Slick hemostats. One lost polarizing filter and attachment.  One little folder of forgotten non-resident fishing licenses at home. (Doh!)  Too many hot afternoons.  Little rain.  And as I made my last gas stop in Wyoming . . . I get an email from Montana FWP of more hoot-owl closures and full fishing closures across the state, including the MO from Cascade clear up to Holder dam (no fishing after 2pm.)  Yes, its time.  Come on September!

Alone Again . . . 

Last One

Not

Last Hookup

July's Last Casts

As the years go by, I get a little bit more saddened as each season passes.  The long, almost two-for-one days of June and July go too quickly.  Each walk to the river is equal to a typical full day window in the fall.  I get a long full morning and a long full evening every day, even though the days have become more tiring.    Management is the key, with a nap between sessions if possible.  But now another summer season in my favorite places is nearly gone.  

It seems like the right time to head home, but feels like I just started this little trip.  It never feels right driving down off the Island Park caldera, no matter when or the circumstances.  About 320 more days until I pull up that hill next June, when the caddis, drakes, and PMD's will be waiting.  Sure, I'll see it again in less than two months, for shorter days and more layers of clothing.   But both waits seem like an eternity right now.  I'll be running the heater, not running from the heat.  Baetis, not PMD's.  Mahoganies, not drakes.  So many contradictions.

The dog days are definitely here, and they came early this season.  You could say, mid-June.  

The Fork fished well early, but not as well later in the month.  That low water on the MO was a beautiful thing.  I've seen it fish better, and it got tough this month, but I'd take another 300 cfs June without hesitation.  The creeks were consistently good every day, as they always flow cold.

My explorations into northwest Montana were a little mixed, but worth the effort.  The Thompson area in June was beautiful with its clear skies, open vistas, and crystal clear water.  The July swing to the Blackfoot, Swan Valley and Flathead side of the Bob was sort of marred by the thick smoke that filled the skies everywhere starting on my last day on the Creeks.  I know that would have been stunningly gorgeous country, and it was nice even with the smoke, but I had to use my imagination a bit.  

The post-creek journey into the NE park went about as expected.  Crowded, smoky, and average cutthroats.  The best fish I saw were rising on the Yellowstone, where caddis, drakes, and salmonflies were flying and floating.  The river was still closed to fishing though.

So now I'm back where it all started 40 days ago, on the Fork, overlooking millionaires pool with nothing going on.  Gray, waterless clouds hang above the smoky skies, and a typical afternoon breeze keeps it tolerable with temps in the high 80's.  They've dropped the water back to around 1,200 again after dumping for irrigation most of July, but its higher than June and the weeds make it deeper.  Nobody is around, not a voice to be heard.  It's sort of eerie, like the end of a trip, and seasonal window.  I need to try ad get a couple more eats from some big lower ranch fish before I leave.  Next time, it will be mahoganies and baetis, and cold hands.  Now its a desperate attempt to hang on to what I look forward to more than anything all year.  Just a bit longer.  Just one more wade out.

Mo runner

Wolf camp

Creeks camp

  

  

Blackfoot camp

Armstrong barn

Magnetic

It pulls constantly.  I saw a forecast for a day of "cooler" temperatures in the low 80's with a good chance of showers, and it was back to the MO after playing around in the park for the weekend.  Its a different MO.  There have been tricos every morning except the rainy Tuesday, but the fish don't care.  The morning bite is minimal to nil.  The late afternoons and evenings have all been decent to good.  Not great.  Rising fish are in small spots, but not widespread.  More bugs on the stretch from Wolf to the dam, and most of the big fish.  Smaller fish are up below the bridge, but even those are in just a few select spots.  River is crowded, really crowded.  Everyone is up top.  So, are the fish tougher because it's so crowded, warmer/lower water, or just because that's the way it is?  I've ripped 'em plenty of times in July and August heat, low water, and crowded.  Some say they're just not on the tricos "yet."  Weeds are now in play, though not annoying on the upper stretch.  The hooked fish know how to find them easily now though!

Bugs are still PMD's and caddis, and most of the fish are eating the PMD's.  Evenings have a decent little hatch.  Not much for mornings.  They are eating "that" stage when the adult is just popping out of the nymph, a tenth of an inch under the surface.  That one or two seconds.  Not the adults.  Not the numerous spinners.  Maybe the nymph an inch under.  You'll see a rise, and the fish "misses" the bug, and a split-second later the dun pops onto the top of the water.  One seasoned regular I talked to, when asked how you catch those fish feeding on that stage of emergence, said, "You don't!"  Well, enough casts and some luck and you get an eat now and then.  But he's right, they usually don't eat any fly you have even when you're close, can see the fish, and get the perfect drift right over them.  I'm still working on a fly for this, probably until the day I die, or someone else comes up with "it."  The hanging ones were the best, but only for a couple fish here and there.  Never found one they mostly liked.  Not too thrilled with the loop wing, PHD, Last Chance, or most other cripples and emergers.

The caddis eaters felt like a consolation.  Easy.  They went after it.  Surprised there weren't more eating them.  Same with the spinners, no fish on 'em.  Both were on the water most of the time, and mostly ignored.  Fishing pressure in the low water?  

The Dearborn Ranch fire was contained last night and this morning.

Stayed mostly to the west of the Interstate

First evening winner

Tricos in the house

The landed ones are the ugly ones.

Bull Pasture for the win

The big island at 3,000

Better looking, except for the mouth.

It keeps trying to be great.  Just good.  Needs work. 

This was a beauty, hook jaw and everything, but he had other ideas.

Ok, flirting with dirty, but it floats high!  And, I can see it really good.  Hi-vis "a-second-before-emergence"

 

Local favorite that got repeated eats on two evenings.

Another hook jawed tank, just a little too wet

The evening PMD winner hands-down.  'Ole Buzz at Depuy's fly shop knows his shit!  (Craven too)

Not this week

For future reference when we go back to 6,000 or 8,000.

Finale

One more cloudy morning!  Even into the early afternoon.  I returned to the scene of last evening's crime to see just how big some of those fish were.  I was patient until late in the morning, and managed to turn three big fish from the grassy banks, but never touched one. There just wasn't much happening bug-wise.  Some spinners over the faster water, some dropping and drifting down. Maybe had I stayed, but it was the last day, and I had to move downstream to see what was really happening.  Good move! 

I hadn't not started a morning below Eva's, but probably should have, given what I saw.  Bugs on the water, and fish up when I got there.  The first fish I took, no more than an inch off the far grass, was the largest I landed in the 7 days on both creeks.  It was a MO-sized brown, on the mole, first cast.  After that, I just had fun in the ankle deep stuff just below. (For Bob!)  Ya, I like the skinny water too, and I could approach and make casts to rising fish due to the cloud cover.  They got really spooky mid-afternoon when the sun popped back out in between thunderstorms.  When that happened, I moved down the the deeper, knee-high riffle on the bend in front of the picnic table.  There were some big rainbows in there, and I hooked a bunch of 'em, but only touched a few.  

I fished 'till I dropped.  It was probably a good thing the howling wind sent me packing a couple hours before sunset.  The back and shoulder have had more than enough.  I sure wish I could fish as long as I used to, and pain free.  In the fall, the shorter days aren't quite as much of a problem.  I'll sure miss the morning-evening days of June and July though, especially these slightly cooler cloudy ones without the cold.

Cloudy morning looking up at the corner

Where they moved the water last night

When you come to the fork in the trail, take it.

Mosquito-infested

Whitewater at the top, and the wonderful clouds

Mr. Bank Feeder

One of those chompers got me while removing the hook

Ankle deep

#18, with a sparse wing.  FOD

Pigs under the picnic table

Top view

Spinners right before the thunderstorm

There went the evening bite. Seven days on the creeks ends here.