Cruise Control

Cruise control can be a derogatory term in the fishing world.  It connotates laziness.  But in my case now, it means the pressure is off, if it was ever there in the first place.  I've been to nirvana, sort of topped out, so now I can just fish.  I can go fish water I've fished less of.  Fish less crowded or completely alone water, not worrying about what I'm missing.  Cast that 3 weight some more.  Maybe toss a streamer/mouse at or after dark.  I'm not stopping or releasing the gas quite yet, just keeping a nice comfortable speed.

Just cruising.  Savoring each precious day of summer, of vacation, of wet-wading warmer water that still doesn't seem to be bothering the fish.  Relishing the daily PMD and caddis activity that will soon give way to the tiny shit again for 8-9 more months.  I still get up and fish the cool, calm, comfortable mornings pretty hard, cover some ground on both waters, and wing it from there after the whistle.  Maybe a little early evening fishing, maybe not.  Some evenings are boiling.  You can tell how good its going to be by the mosquitos.

Ya, nothing wrong with being in summertime cruise control, where the fish are still rising and the livin' is easy.

Now its six more days in post-creeks.  The 13th.  I've fished the "other" creek a couple mornings, and the big river for the last three.  Today though, I disengaged the cruise control and used the gas a little.  It was just another one of those "know when to say when" days, though I did act a slob.  I was already down river 1/2 mile, a dozen nice fish in, from where I parked. Coming back, I had to stay within the high water mark, but there were heads in my way.  What's a slob to do?  In all, I touched twenty fish in 5 hours, 9-1.  Up to 20 inches, and no dinks.  It was a parachute day.  PMD para spinner, PMD CDC parachute dun.  A couple on the Mole because I needed its darker wing in some cloud glare.  I think the fish eat the parachutes sometimes for a spinner, sometimes for a dun, once in a while as an emerger.  I can see 'em all the time, every cast, and every drift. All I gotta do is get the right float over the target, often within 1-2 inches of the bank.  At this point in the trip, I'm dialed in.

I just bought a John Deere riding mower for an acre of natural vegetation (weeds!) around my house.  Today, I was mowing them down like a Deere.  

Paraspinner for the win.  Silhouette.  Visibility.  Floatability. Durability (sometimes).

CDC for motion.

Still knockin' 'em down.

Sometimes you get 'em right in the nose, 12:00 high.

So simple, yet so effective.  And it really does float like a cork.

Look who actually showed up.  Gunner lives!  And still fishes!!

Bottom Lip.

Monsters

Up before dawn to feed the boy, and still didn't have a plan.  I could have got on Depuy's again.  But, I followed my senses.  On to I-90 out of Livingston just after sunrise, still not certain of the destination, but an idea.  Passing a possible exit here and another one there, I finally take one.  I roll into monster land at 9am sharp.  Out of the truck and a stroll over to the river, I'm surprised to see the monsters sipping bugs in remarkably clear water.  PMD's in the air, and spent ones all over the water.  Oh shit, better hurry. The trout are as long as my arm.

They chomped clear into afternoon.  Some too big to hold.  And I was coming here to swing the still-rigged 3 weight that had such a pleasant feel on the Livingston creeks, on a little creek here.  Ha!  Some of these browns could eat those Livingston spring creek trout for breakfast.  Water is a little higher now, yet much clearer than before.  Fish rising on the banks, in the pools, and in the riffles.  This is about as good as it gets here.

The plan a few days back was to go to Glacier today.  Fish the Swan, upper Flathead, maybe the Thompson again.  Right.  I couldn't do it because I remember things.  Maybe next week I'll go exploring, Idaho or something.  Once in a while days like this are a reminder that sometimes it can be too good, too easy.  It's a fun reminder for sure, but I stopped when there were still fish to be caught pretty easily.  Know when to say when.  I was too worn out to even attempt the evening, and it rained starting about an hour before sunset anyway. I'm not going back to the Fork or to Silver just for the challenge though.  There'll be plenty of challenging days ahead, and I'll be remembering this one.  Big fish, big flies I can see, and big tippets so I can land 'em right. The morning I drove a couple hours right into perfection, and it seemed like I knew exactly what I was doing.

I'm gonna start and put this one right here.  Biggest fish of the trip.  First one I threw at.  Two-footer.

PMD spinners and brown trout.  Perfect RX.

Started with this one.

Second fish I threw at 40 feet below the first one.

They liked a "Jacked Up Cahill"  Just pinch it, clip it, and powder it.

Front view of the Jacked Up Cahill

Right up Main Street.  Upstream game from here.

Grand Central Rising Station. Podded up.

The fly of the day, a gray-hackle peacock.  Powdered.  Partridge.  It moves.  It's alive and tasty.

Even after the secured peacock is all chewed up, it keeps on ticking.

Rusty Spinner Lip

The fly formerly tied as a Swisher/Richards No-Hackle.  Starting to get tattered.

Damn, a tattered No Hackle makes a mighty fine looking soft hackle.  Should I start tying some soft hackles with these duck feathers?  Mess 'em all up and tie 'em in?  The trout said yes.

Pig Pen

Last but not least, riverfront "affordable housing" in Dillon Montana. Well, without the land it might be.

One Epic Day

Last two days on the creek.  Yesterday was one of those.  Cloudy almost from the start, no wind, and good bugs.  A couple early afternoon passing lightning storms just wet enough to put on the rain gear.  Just enough close lightning to send me moving at a fast pace to the truck for an hour or so.  It was pretty good before the storm, and just silly easy to a heavy hatch afterward until the wind blew it all away around 4:30.  But the place was boiling for a few hours.  More heads than a guy could ever cast to.  Pick your fish.  Pick your lie.  Big fish in the slick below Betty's.  Eating anything and everything.  Not too crowded, me and three other guys in the whole run, and they were in and out.

Today, in contrast, was sunny from start to finish.  Calm until about Noon, then that north wind blowing upstream all afternoon.  Hatch was mediocre, and the fish were on midges early and throughout the day.  Once in a while I'd get an eat on a mole, spider, little cdc emerger, or something like that.  Small stuff.  Same run, same fish.  This afternoon about 6, I returned to the PHD pool and made up for the ones I missed there with the mole earlier in the afternoon.  This time with the spider.  

Livingston is one of the few places you can catch a fish in a spring creek, get a 90 minute massage, grab a DQ Blizzard, and get back on the creek with another fish on, all in three hours!  (In Campeche, its catch a tarpon at "crappie tree," get a one-hour massage, and be eating coconut shrimp at La Pigua in three hours!)  This week goes by so fast.  Seven days sounds like a lot, but it passes quickly.  

Ole Asshat showed up here this morning.  Walked down the bank right next to where I was casting, stepped right in behind a guide and his client properly below me, then started fishing in casting range closely below them.  Come to find out, he's a local politician, once kicked off of here, and this morning told to leave the best little fly shop in Montana.   

Yesterday's PMD's.  Big ones, 16's.  There were BWO's too.

This one has a Mole in his lip

And this one has a spider in his lip

In some light rain.  Big drops though.

The traditional spider, again.  Mowed down the last three fish on the PHD pool with it this afternoon.  Wind was up, blowing upstream from the North.  I was casting straight upstream, with a greased leader all the way to the powdered fly, right over 'em.  Slurp!

Bet this was quite a shitter with a view at one time.

A favorite red barn on the next ranch up.

Not a perfect camp spot, but better than most, close to town, close to the creeks, and private other than some horses, cowboys, and a few other local residents.