It's a Lock

Always is, this great river.  Come to think of it, if Montana didn't have this place and Livingston, I'm not sure I'd fish the state as often as I do, especially in the fall.  Idaho has three or four pretty good ones closer to home, not to mention Wyoming.  But they ain't this.

Upon late arrival around 11, there's a few caddis skittering about, the last of some tricos, tiny midges, and assorted mayflies about the size of the midges. A random fish rises, here and there, and once in a while one comes up in range to cover with a big generic soft hackle.  I take a couple fish, and wait for the 1:30 blue wings that never come.  Too early?  Too warm?  Just fishing?  After a late lunch, I swing the wet into the sunset and take a couple more fish to stretch the tippet.  Hmmm.  Is it tough here too?

The trailer rocks from the wind on Sunday morning.  Its day six, fifth on the water, and the show is still not really on the road.  I think I know how to fix that this morning, even in 20-30 mph winds, no exaggeration.  I go up to the big island channel with the high bank and some willows, and wade right down to the lower part of island where the pig flat always produces.  It does, on the wets. The wind is blowing down river off my right shoulder, so with the right timing I'm making hero casts.  I work down the flat and finally around the corner into the deep drop, where the wind is still favorable, if there's such a thing.  I cast between gusts, and they're chomping the swing.  Really chomping in the bucket.

By 12:30, the gusts now have some short breaks in between.  I see a rise, and then another in the same spot.  Revolutionary!  It does happen!  There's a little pod of fish on one little semi-protected flat less than a foot deep and no more than five feet off the shallow bank.  I add some 5x and start to play.  I can't see what they're eating, and don't see any bugs on the water.  Midges?  I don't know.  They don't refuse the mole though.  

Mid afternoon, and I'm hurting everywhere from casting in the wind and pulling on fish.  I . . . leave rising fish for a late lunch, a walk and dinner for Norman, and a nap for both of us before evening.  Back up at Lone Tree for a quick 90 minutes at sunset, there's a few fish working just down the hill.  Easy access for the weary.  A couple more line stretches, and that's a wrap.  Lock.

Next morning I'm back in the same run.  I mean, its a lock, right?  Yep.  Down the lower skinny-water bank, and out in the bucket, the fish are rising.  No wets today.  I get humbled a little in the calm sunny conditions, but still manage some good ones fairly steady.  There's enough bugs to keep it going through early afternoon, when some riff-raff decides to fish, float, and have lunch on the 100 feet of bank I'm working. The clown rowing (I won't call him a guide) offers me a bratwurst.

The last 90 minutes or so before sunset have some fish up back in the same area too, though I don't really get to where I want to be, and am not going to be "that guy" just because I want to fish there.  Fish still come up to the big dry soft hackle.  They actually like it!  Maybe some remembrances from summer, or just opportunistic eats.  Hey, I'm ok with size 14's in late September.  Low 80's in the forecast for two more days.  I'm all in.

Time for a change of scenery and fish this morning, so I'm walking down from the barb wire pullout.  I turn a fish early on a leech, and see a couple of one-timers, but its no lock here.  The wind is up and I search the protected high bank extensively, but there's no bugs and no fish up.  I need a town run for some tax-free trailer tires, and I win the lottery and get the call to go pee in a cup.  (Is the US Government's DOT the last people on earth that do this?) Seems like a good afternoon to do it.  I get back in time for another quick evening check on things, and there's nothing worth checking on.

One more pleasant morning finds me walking up from Lone Tree to the bottom of the little magic island.  All looks hopeless, but now there's two fish rising every few minutes on the bank below a big weed patch stuck to a rock.  Speaking of weeds, its seems more weedy than ever this morning, with floating salad everywhere.  The flow hasn't changed.

Its rough positioning due to depth, and I just can't get out very far from the shore they're rising on.  Down and just a hair across is the angle, and I finally get the lower one to eat twice.  No hookup either time, and that's that.  I go up above the island to the only place I can cross the side channel, and then back down to the bottom where I can walk down on the big shallow gravel bar and fish the bucket.  A fish rises once in a while there, and I manage to catch a couple of "regulars."  

Four full days plus a little extra, and the only place that's any good is the bottom of the big island.  At least I found that, but I'm not really wanting to fish it over and over again, nor compete for it with boats floating down from the dam and merry-go-rounding on river right.  No Missouri River magic this visit.

Bucket full of 'em

Sweet spot

That last spot of risers

Weedy