When the "big" one doesn't get away...

It is still about three months till mousing season will begin again in earnest.  At least here in Montana, where the lakes remain frozen over and in the hands of the ice fishermen. My yard has been covered with snow since well before Christmas. But every time I see a field mouse dash across the road in my headlights or find their tracks around the house in fresh powder I am transported back to July in my mind.  There are those hits that leave you aching for a second chance.  Those hookups that never get landed and fuel your imagination in the off season of what next year will bring. And "next year" is now closer than "last year."

Then there are those hookups where the "big" one doesn't get away.

scooping a  mouse-eating brown

Honestly, it's usually the other way for me - meaning that once a fish is in my net and illuminated by headlamp I often find it was bigger than I thought.  I'm pleasantly surprised when a fish I am fighting in the dark winds up being larger than I expected.  I don't typically find that I've misjudged upward.  Maybe it's because I just about never use an 8-weight for my daytime fishing and am thrown by the extra stoutness. Could be I'm just a conservative estimator.  But I'm also slow to react - often letting a good chunk of fight go by before I 'call' what I think the fish is.  Maybe that's cheating with regard to judging a fish, if there is such a thing.  But even then, with a heaping helping of clues, not everyone is right all the time.  So when you lose a "big" one, just how big was it?  Was it anywhere near as big as you imagined it?  Bigger even?  Who knows.  You'll never know, especially in the dark.  Who's to say you didn't snag a duck....

Several weeks ago now I was driving down a dirt two-track road in the dark after a late season deer hunt. A storm was coming.  Although the weather was calm and eerily still right then - and golden sunlight had just finished bathing the sagebrush-covered landscape in setting sun like a summer post card - it was December and snow would soon be falling. That night in fact. 

Mice were everywhere it seemed.  Scurrying and bustling in preparation.  Shooting across the tire ruts in the headlights.  They appeared to know that this could be the end - the last chance to get around from bush to bush without tunnels under the snow until spring thaw.  The fact that snow wasn't already piled over them was just good fortune on their part.

Of course I instantly thought of trout sucking them down - imagining a big whoosh of white foam when one swam out into the stream...... well, ran across the jeep trail.  They were all standard field mice.  I'd spotted about half a dozen of them in the last mile when suddenly I saw a whopper.  It was a kangaroo rat.  Twice the size of the other mice I was seeing, with a super long tail.  A very defined tuft was at the end.  It was in no hurry to escape the headlights but evaded me when I got out to take a picture.  My first thought was "Man!  I need to fish mice with longer tails!"  And then I began to imagine the monster brown that would eat this giant.  I chuckled because I figured it probably didn't matter - it'd get smacked by a 14-incher.  Which reminded me of a hot July night that'd I'd been fooled.

Prairie Double

A lion and a deer. And a pick-up truck.

It was the second mountain lion I'd seen this year.  The first had been after an overnight fishing trip in June.  This one was at the beginning of a deer hunt.  They both came with other significant things - the one in June had been my first 30-inch brown trout.  This one came with a unique buck.

This has been a full fall.  Not necessarily in the busy sense, but the satisfactory. It was filled with good trips, lots of action, and multiple hunting partners with successes.  Even a tank of a brown trout made it to the net between hunting trips.  I was with one guy when he took his first animal ever.  I helped quarter and pack another friend's 370-class bull-of-a-lifetime.
I watched two different hunting partners make their longest shots yet, and both animals dropped where they stood.  I was with another hunting partner when he took his first two antelope on consecutive days. And then there was my own action.  One day in particular stood out over the others.  A day where I took a big game double out on the rugged prairie.

In September,  night trips for big browns morphed into nights sleeping on the ground among sagebrush once bow season kicked in. There were encounters with bulls, including a time I walked in on two battling it out and still didn't get a shot. I never fired an arrow of my own all season long, but took part in packing two archery elk. 

I spent time trailing bucks.  Good bucks on three different hunts.  One day I followed a bachelor herd of seven the entire day without ever closing the distance to bow range. Four were shooters.  The biggest had back forks that forked twice and sported extra kickers on top of that.  I vowed to return during rifle season.....

Opening of antelope in October was a blast.  Myself and two hunting partners tagged out on bucks and a couple does.

On opening of general rifle season two weeks later my hunting partner and I made some moves on an elk herd across canyons and burns at high elevation that resulted in a bull taken.  Our day had begun at 2am and with a thirteen hundred foot vertical gain.

And rifle deer was yet to come.
Deer hunting - and more and more mule deer hunting in particular - is my favorite.  Especially during rut. I look forward to the waning side of November every year and reserve a block of time toward Thanksgiving to be devoted to it.  This year I had a specific place in mind - right back in the same basin that I'd followed that bachelor herd around in with my bow. 

For three consecutive years I've been elk hunting in a piece of scrubby, broken, and rugged country during archery season.  Each year I've seen good bucks.  And each year I'd sworn I'd return during rut to hunt it in rifle season.  Somehow two years had passed without making it happen.  And the first trip I'd planned this year in mid-November was snowed out and hampered by single digit temps.  The trip just wasn't smart to make.  

But the weather broke and warmed to the point that as the last week of the season approached, I could foresee the possibility of breaking out the bivvy gear and putting it back into use.  Nights were not forecasted to drop lower than the upper 20s.  Sleeping on the ground would make penetrating the country I wanted to hunt possible.  The plan for this hunt was very clear - target the area I'd seen most of the largest racks and glass for days.  I would be passing on all until I found a buck of the caliber I knew was there.  But all that can change.  Expect the unexpected and be flexible.

             ---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kids on the night shift

I've been wanting to get my kids out for the night experience. Earlier opportunities this summer involved high water, and I just wasn't crazy about little kids streamside in elevated flows in the darkness. I also wanted some moon - not that I'm picky or anything, but I wanted their first trip out to be enjoyable, and I figured being able to see their surroundings would make it all the more pleasant and awe inspiring.

I saw a handful of mice dart across the road in the headlights as we vibrated over the washboards in darkness to where I wanted to start. Always a good sign that the 'hatch' is on.  As we got out of the truck I noticed another mouse on the gravel of the road. The kids bailed out and gave it a good chase. They had it cornered a couple times before losing it into a crevice. That seemed to set the stage for a good night of adventure and mousing. Well, it would only be a couple hours. Maybe three. It certainly wouldn't be all night.

We hiked to what I figured was a decent starting point for both fishing structure and minimally hazardous waterline. The kids experienced how well they truly can see in the ambient light of night (at least in the wide open unvegetated world that is Montana) because I had them hike with lights off. The pale dirt of the trail was easy to see, and as eyes adjusted to the dimness the texture of the ground surface could be seen. The hillsides were white in the moonlight but were still only a vague suggestion of the terrain.

When we arrived at the water's edge, they both slipped a life jacket on.  We'd discussed this ahead of time and they accepted my requirement without any pushback.

As the night wore on we did things I never do. We shined lights everywhere. We observed bats.  I knew there were a lot, but it wasn't till this night that I knew just how many filled the air. We watched them eat and flitter. We watched them react to the flying mouse fly. I pointed out the sounds of the bats and of landing waterfowl. They spotlighted my mouse and watched how it came to life in the water. I was tossing one of Chris Cutler's arti-mouse creations I'd gotten from him earlier in the summer. My daughter exclaimed "It looks just like a real mouse!"

Steelhead

I was on the edge of my seat - for 12 hours.

We were driving from Montana to southwest Washington to visit family and friends over a long weekend. I was going to be steelhead fishing the next day, back in familiar territory from nearly a decade ago now. I'd lived there for six years and had fallen in love with steelhead in small streams.

Who wouldn't?

Since then I've been back for them only once. I hoped that I'd get the opportunity to tangle with one. I only had a single day to try. And steelhead - well, if you've fished for them you know -  can be like hunting for sasquatch. Elusive. Seemingly impossible, nonexistent. Like elk hunting - you wander the hills for days and question your own sanity until suddenly you are into them with nonstop thrilling action. Much like that hour-long line at the roller coaster for a 90-second ride. But I'd be fishing with one of the best friends I've ever had. So really, catching one would be icing.

Joe and I met when we were both in our 20's. One of us turns 40 this year.  I do not entirely remember the sequence of events under which we met, those piddly details are overshadowed by the fishing adventures that began almost right away. On top of that our wives became good friends and the four of us spent lots of time together. Joe and I endured their wrath [loving tolerance?] whenever a fishing trip resulted in returning closer to midnight than suppertime.

Even on this trip when it was over and our families were saying our goodbyes, I kidded with Joe that I would pick him up before daylight the next morning to fish. His wife Amber slid over and said,
"Are you serious about fishing in the morning?"
"No," I said, "Just joking."
"Okay, I'll give you a hug then."

Wherever I have lived and fished in my life I have always seemed to leave behind a trail of disgruntled wives. On this day-trip Joe and I came rolling in somewhere near 11pm. Barely an eyebrow was raised, so somewhere along the way people have at least gotten used to us.


We met in the morning shortly after 6am. Our start time was limited by the opening of the establishment where I could purchase my license. We tossed our gear into his pickup truck and then loaded the four-wheeler on to the back. The thought was to use it to access some more remote areas. But in the end what it actually did was allow us to bite off way more creek then we might have fished without a shuttle and ensure that we would be home just as late as ever.

After an hour of rolling through the hills over familiar logging and forest roads we parked the truck at a spot we knew we didn't want to miss. We still had not formed a plan exactly, but there was no one on this stretch and there's a hole here that's as close to a sure thing as we know to exist in steelhead fishing.

Fishing the Earthquake

I've always liked how fishing serves as a gateway to experiences. It's a reason to go somewhere. It's a reason to get out of the car. It's a reason to choose one hike over another. It's a reason to be outside in places and at times you may not otherwise have gone or been there. And when there, you often get to witness things you wouldn't have experienced or seen otherwise.

Sunset over the house a couple hours before the quake.

This week I had the pleasure of being one of the few -  if not the only - fishermen to be picking my way along the river's edge when a 5.8 magnitude earthquake jostled the region at 12:30am. I did not know how widely it had been felt in that moment, so I noted the time on my watch and planned to look it up later to learn the details. But as dawn glowed on the horizon and I found myself driving back into cell range, my phone began dinging with various alerts and updates about it - when it happened, how big it was, where the epicenter was, check my structures, report gas leaks, etc.  Social media was plastered with people's stories of surprise, shock, and general uneasiness. It had provided a good scare back in civilization.

Time well wasted: a daddy-daughter day

One trip, two perspectives

My soon to be eight-year old daughter and I took a day trip over the continental divide and into new trout country to us.  We'd planned to do so when school ended for the summer. The premise was fishing. The idea was to explore new creeks and look for some dry fly action. It didn't really go all that well from my perspective, at least as viewed through the lens of my expectations. I'd planned to write about the trip and took mental notes in preparation. I had essentially scrapped the idea late in the day, thinking there really wasn't much to tell -  and then found that my daughter had already written about the trip. She'd captured the day's events in a little notebook in the back seat of the truck. Eight short pages of dedicated second-grade scrawl made over bumpy roads. Fresh insight into her day, and how she'd seen it through something other than my expectations.


We left the gas station with freshly washed windows, streaked in the places she couldn't reach very well.  She loves to wash the windows of my truck anytime I'm pumping gas.  Doesn't matter the weather.  She tore into the little treat we'd bought from the candy racks and shared a bite with me.

Beside me in the front seat our fly rods rattled and buzzed.  She had a new one that was all her own.  Ratty Montana road maps used to the point of falling apart lay under them. Leaving the house had been delayed when at first I couldn't find these maps. Our waist packs were on the floor boards with the fly gear for the day stuffed into them.  Her little purple bag contained a box full of "the pretty ones" she'd selected from my fly boxes earlier that morning.

30 inches of mouse-eater: a morning of predators

When was the last time you saw a 30-inch brown and a mountain lion in the same day? 

For me it was as June's full moon faded into morning.

I chuckled to myself as I slid my net into my waist pack and looked up at the moonlit slopes.  Here I was in a fairly popular spot for recreational users without another person around.  I picked up my eight weight, slid my fingers down the heavy furled leader, along the 16lb tippet, tested the knot, and then stowed the mouse on the keeper.  This evening I had decided to try somewhere new.  I had scouted the place earlier in spring, so I had hiked it in the daylight, but this would be the first overnighter. The spot required more time investment than my usual places.  I planned to finish up about two miles from where I'd parked.  I had driven about an hour from home.  Given the added remoteness, I added my .44 to my belt.  Aside from the occasional coon who doesn't want to give way,  I haven't had any midnight encounters - but there wasn't any need to tempt one tonight by being unprepared.  Once last summer I had a bear mosey along the slopes well above me.  It moved along noisily and bellowed once as it faded away. I figured it was saying good bye.

I shut my tailgate and hit the trail.  The time was now 11:00pm.  Five solid hours of mousing lay ahead of me.  Memories of key pieces of rock structure mentally noted six weeks ago were on my brain. I'm learning to treat mousing for browns like tournament bass fishing - skip the 'so-so' water and hit the primary structure.  Then move on. No need to waste limited darkness picking the entire shoreline apart.

My run-in with 'beaver' trout

Sunset over the house - time to get ready to fish!

There's an image burned into my brain. A week ago on a partially moonlit night I was swimming a mouse along a vertical rock wall on a river clear enough to fish but swollen with snow melt. It's a wall that's been productive over the last few summers, accounting for more than one of my larger browns. So far this summer I haven't been touched along it. I mostly chalked this up to high water, figuring it may be a holding point during lower summer flows that are yet to come. Still, I stood for several minutes and many casts making sure to work the wall thoroughly. You can't reach it all from the bank. And you can't wade. It bulges out and then tucks back in out of view. So toward the end of the time I spend on it I start getting creative with long sweeping casts that I try to make wrap around the rock face beyond the line of sight. Basically just feeding line and hoping the fly rides up against the rock. I do this from a slightly elevated position, which aids in being able to cast, but also provides a fateful view of what's below.

Mousing: June signals the opening of nocturnal big game season

May has given way to June.  With that shift begins a new summer of night fishing.
Mousing has picked up.  There was surface action the entire month of May, but it is

Best mousing brown of May 2017

just getting better the deeper we get into June. The waxing moon in the first part of the month is making casting easier and the takes visual. The number of strikes received in a night is climbing as the water warms and shallow water forage becomes more prevalent. I'm seeing more  scampering mice both by headlamp along the river  and in my headlights while driving. Frogs will be out soon. I'm beginning to see crayfish venturing along the margin of water and dry land.  All in all, the reasons for a big trout to hunt the shallows in the dead of night are mounting up.  To me, this is some of the best opportunity of the year to tangle with a trophy trout.  And what better way to do it than on topwater baits during the adventure of nighttime on a river void of other anglers.

On the night of June 2nd and into the 3rd, I was accompanied by my friend Josh who has worked in the fly fishing industry but had never moused. The night was calm and partially moonlit. Once the sun was fully gone around 10:30 p.m. and darkness had set in, we dropped into the section of river I intended to fish and began some practice and instruction. Nothing major, just getting the general feel for what we'd be doing.

Night tools

Mousing to me is kind of like swinging streamers at short range. It's everything you're not supposed to do when dry fly fishing. Downstream casts. Drag. Tight line. Wake. Splashes.
During our practice run Josh had two hits. He asked "Is this one of your special spots?"
"Nope, this is a 'nothing' spot. Just meant to practice." That boded well for the night. 

A short distance downstream we came to the first piece of serious structure I wanted to target.  We scrambled over some boulders and got into a decent casting position. Within a cast or two Josh fed his mouse to where the current wrapped around the point of a boulder just as I described. An audible slurp signaled a take and Josh set into solid fish. It didn't break top again in any of the usual ways. No rolling, splashing, or jumping. It just turned downstream and set Josh's reel to singing - and against a tight drag. He was through the fly line and into backing almost instantly. The fish blew through the next few points of structure I'd intended to focus on and went around a big jam - passing around the outside edge and then tucking in behind it downstream, still peeling line as it plowed into the next big pool.

Out of the ordinary

The prairie is an intriguing landscape - it can be exceedingly more rugged than you might expect, or be soft and endlessly rolling like swells on the ocean.  Sometimes forested island mountain ranges pop up out of the sea of grass.  Other times deep coulees or canyons filled with stands of piney timber - and big enough to swallow entire cities - are abruptly carved from what first appeared to be flat land.  In the far east and north of Montana the prairie flattens and becomes wetter as the higher plains give way to the prairie pothole region.  Throughout each of these terrains flow streams.  Streams that wind through miles of empty space, draining vast pieces of America and southern Canada that most of the population never sees.

Across northern Montana, each of these make their way to the Missouri River on their eventual path to the Gulf of Mexico.  The waterways are not as plentiful as they are in the mountains.  The relaxed landscape contains watersheds spread over many more square miles than those squeezed into the small spaces between ridges and ranges.  Many of the tributaries only flow intermittently. Some perennial creeks flow muddy and are steep-banked.  Many flow surprisingly clear. Often I can find pike or walleye in them.  I've caught northerns in the tiniest trickles, in larger rivers, and in isolated ponds. None of these waters are places that many people purposely seek out.  The locals fish them of course, but no one travels to Montana with these streams in mind.  I enjoy the small opportunities I'm handed when travel takes me across them.  I make sure to be ready.  This time I was hoping for pike.

UPS truck on a rural prairie road

My vehicle was packed. Everything I needed for a few days of work was in there. And then there was everything else - a tote with various boxes of plugs and bags of plastics, several spinning reels, just as many fly reels, three different lumbar packs prepped for spinning or fly, waders and boots, a net, and multiple rod tubes. Surprisingly all this recreational equipment fits into nooks and crannies and was out of sight. Hopefully there'd be time when each day's work was done. I knew there would be. I have a way of always finding that time. Even if it is dark before I start.

Fall in Montana: 2016

some trout, a rabbit, plenty of big game, 

endless scenery, and a healthy dose of camaraderie

[Montana Sunrise, Elkhorn Mountains]

[September brown]
Missouri River, MT

Hunting season has a way of interfering with fishing.  Or at least elbowing it's way to the front of the line. [Not that I'm complaining!] Priorities shift for a brief span of time each fall - and right when some amazing fishing is heating up. [Okay, maybe just a little.] I always hope to be successful early and then get back to fishing. But that really isn't ever going to happen - even when successful, there are more tags and more hunts to shift the focus to. I did however run a couple September float trips for folks during the archery season, both of which saw some good action. I even got to fish myself.

Although fishing happens year-round, and hunting only in a tiny window, preparation for hunting is year long. Licensing is purchased at the beginning of the year when all licenses have to be renewed.  I'm not going to spend one day of the year without a fishing license in hand.....   

[Client's beautiful September brown]
Missouri River, MT

Then by March the first round of big game drawings must be submitted. Earlier for turkey.  From then on you're either putting in for more drawings or looking at results of previous ones. Plans are always evolving as the summer continues and drawings are held. I fared well this year and drew several opportunities across the state for various species and picked up a few surplus tags as well.  I held multiple tags for each species I hunted and managed to take bull elk, antelope buck, and mule deer buck. I also had the privilege of being joined by a friend from out of state for a late season deer hunt on his first trip to Montana.

Chapter 1:  Missouri Breaks Elk

[Missouri Breaks sunset]
hiking out of the canyon after quartering my bull

The first big trip on the list was to try and put an archery elk permit to use in the Missouri Breaks.  I packed by bag, my bivvy gear, my bow, and wandered around in the remoteness with no action for a string of days to start the season off.  I was part of a group of four with the same permit.  We split into pairs, the four of us overlapping in the same camp only once the entire season.  My archery partner JJ and I have been elk

[Looking across the Breaks at the Little Rockies from a highway pull out]

hunting the past few seasons by bivvying where night finds us, leaving us totally free to follow elk with no fear of ever getting "too far from camp."  No more hiking  miles in the dark back to base camp just to get up early and hike all those miles back again before daylight.  But we've also learned to save time and resources when there's no action and pull out - either to jump to a new spot or take a break and return later.  After making a few day hunts from home following our initial trip (mostly because I had a cow tag for a local unit burning a hole in my pocket), we packed up to head back to the Breaks for another longer hunt.

[Final mouse-eater of 2016]

But before I could leave, I couldn't help but string up a fly rod and hit the water for a night of full moon mousing. While JJ was home readying his gear and sleeping like a sane person, I was scrambling over rocks in the moonlight and swinging mice along shoreline structure. I knew it'd probably be my last chance of the season.  Didn't find any big September browns, but I found a few rainbow mouse-eaters.  Landing those fish meant that I had hooked and netted at least one fish on every mousing adventure I had made during 2016, and that was pretty satisfying.  Since I would be leaving after sun-up for another four-hour drive back to the Missouri Breaks, I cut it off early and caught a few hours of sleep.

Twelve hours later we were on foot packing in for the second big push, hiking across dry drainages and up dusty ridgelines.  We were trying a new area - navigating across a wide creek bottom, cutting around some private land, and then drifting out into an expanse of BLM that we had been glassing into from miles away during the previous week.  Hopefully there'd be more elk here than where we'd started.

[7-point shed found during the first trip
A reminder of what is possible]

At about three or four miles from the truck we heard our first bugle.  That was already more than last week.  The bugles grew more intense as we made our way towards them.  Dusk was coming fast, but we spotted a few animals on the ridge opposite us, separated by probably a mile of hiking.  We could make out at least three individual bulls by the location of the bugles.  We set up our bivvy camp, being careful to dodge the cactus, and lay there all night listening to their music.  They never really went anywhere. The ridge they were on was mostly private land, but it was surrounded by plenty of public land and timber they'd likely head into during the following day.

My [present] take on targeting big trout (always subject to change)

I have places I love to fish because I enjoy catching what's there, or because I like being where they live - experiential fishing rather than trophy hunting - like little Smoky Mountain specks, cutthroats across the Rocky Mountain West, or largemouth from a tannin-stained Southern cypress swamp. Same is true of my hunting and other outdoor pursuits - getting somewhere special. And I think it's important to point out that this type of fishing is probably the bulk of what we all do.  It's the heart of fishing and should not be brushed aside in favor of 'bigger is better.'  But with that said, bigger often is better, and that's deeply rooted in the heart of fishing too.

From the perspective of chasing trout and other cool water gamefish in moving water, and wishing I knew what I was doing...


Define "big."

25 inches of deep structure brown

We all know "big" is a relative term. Maybe "mature" is a better word.  In the right water, a 12-inch brookie is a monster to celebrate.  Somewhere else it might be an eight-pound brown or a 30-inch walleye. Figure out what a reasonable definition of "big" is for the where, what, and how of your fishing.  It varies by location.  It varies with species.  It varies within a species across different regions.  "Big" can even vary with chosen techniques - perhaps you're on a quest to beat your personal best using a fly rod, maybe even a specific type of fly.  And I've come to learn that my own definition varies with my own age and experience - what I saw as 'big' ten years ago and what I see as big now are quite different. At the same time, pictures of what I presently call big would probably not get pinned to the bulletin board in more than a few tackle shops.

Set your expectations and goals reasonably, but don't underestimate a stream's potential to produce. Think big. Whatever you do, don't look at another guy's photos and whine that his fish are bigger than yours. Drooling is fine..... but so is adding his water to your bucket list. Or his methods to your toolbox.

Beast of a brown from the creek where it lives

Fish where big fish live.
Such an obvious statement, but even with the knowledge of relativity, so many people just continue to hit what they are used to and hope for better results than last time (and with baits they are used to - more on that next).  They stay put in their rut of familiarity rather than spending time searching, researching, and ground-truthing.  If you want to chase something bigger, search out water with a reputation for size, or check out unsung water that you think has some potential.  Start generating some local or regional "go-to" spots.  I'm not necessarily talking about destination fishing. Admittedly I do live in Montana, but I've never been to New Zealand, Patagonia, or the Amazonian watershed.  I haven't even fished Alaska or the White River in Arkansas. I'd love to do all that.  Hopefully I will.  But I do know (to some extent) which waters within my reach are better than others for producing hogs.  And there's still more than I can ever possibly explore.  


mouse-eating rainbow

There are established places I go when I want to hunt big ones. And I'm always looking for clues about where to try next to expand my list.  I take note of reputable waters.   I look for trends of larger fish on brag boards, articles, fisheries research and surveys, etc.  This past year I noted a couple monster rainbows (as in well over ten pounds) caught by different anglers from the same Montana river, each listed on a different online brag board.  I haven't been there yet.... but now I'll make a point of it.  That river has demonstrated it can generate size.

I shamelessly glean info off landmarks and terrain in the background of people's photos (hey, if they don't blur it out or do a better job of discretely framing the shot, it's public domain).  I spend time analyzing aerial photography and picking "hot spots" ahead of the trip, sometimes marking them on a gps to be sure and hit them as I float or hike by.

Pre-float aerial photo scouting

Hit tailwaters.

Hit fertile waterways (hint, they aren't always the most picturesque - instead they might be murkier, slower, nutrient-rich cow pasture streams).

Fish above lakes and below dams - and both at the same time if  possible.

Fish the transition sections of rivers where they go from cooler to warmer (baitfish population and other meaty forage can increase, and carnivore size can go up, even if overall trout population decreases).


Side note:

25-inch "transition section" December brown
-lanky post-spawn-

Often my search for big trout translates into hunting browns.  Brown trout are a tantalizing fish to target, and when it comes to browns, bigger can't help but be better.  And a good thing about a stream that has browns - there's always a big one. 
Somewhere.
The typical fish in the system might be under a foot long, but there's generally a brute or two that makes their living eating those typical fish. If you think the streamer on your rod is too big for that water, or if a flat-brimmed guru with a suitcase of size 24's laughed at you as you walked by, then you are probably using the right one.
            

Use a food they prefer.
Using flies or lures that are truly representing preferred foods of larger fish (or at least a food that triggers a predatory or opportunistic response) might rule out "normal" fish. You are certainly going to greatly reduce the number of hookups you could have on a given day or night if you are willing to ignore a majority of the gamefish population.  Be willing to throw baits that are outside of convention - could be oversized, could be something intended for another species entirely.  Picking up decent fish on #11 Rapalas? Jump to a #13, or even an #18.  Cast big mouse imitations in the dark.  Swing streamers that are next to impossible to fly cast with your regular trout gear.  For me, unless I'm mousing (I love mousing!) or working crayfish imitations, this almost always means appealing to the fish-eating side of

Of course a caddis imitation may draw

more strikes - but on the hunt for a big

one I want what is willing to eat the mouse.

trout.  I love big meaty minnows - streamers, jigs, plugs, and soft plastics.  More often than not I'm tossing some of these when hunting bigger-than-average trout in any given water.

    - Downsize?

But a "food they prefer" does not always translate to "big."  There are times when smaller is better. Even times when all this goes out the window and you just need to drift microscopic nymphs (maybe the flat-brimmer above was right) - the timing of which I can never seem to anticipate, so I'm no help to you there, but it happens often enough that it's worth mentioning, even if the practice of it doesn't appeal to me that much and I practically never do it.  Add to that the fact that the  "targeting" of big ones with tiny flies (without the luxury of sight-fishing them) is essentially lost.

Be willing to downsize if your [well-learned and wise] gut tells you should have seen a fish or two by a certain point but haven't - but don't fall back on this too soon!  Downsizing can be tempting - it leads to more action, more numbers, and takes you back to the familiar.  And remember, "familiarity" isn't necessarily your ticket to finding heftier fish.

Taken at night in a small river in a bend
that had proven itself as a holding spot
for larger browns on previous day trips

The hunt for big ones is a mental game of patience and persistence.  You have to be willing to fish all day or night for that one bite.  But it's also a game of observation and intuition, and after you've been at it long enough to recognize trends, you may be able to distinguish between when you truly feel it is necessary to downsize and when you just want some action.....

I downsize most frequently in  water that is ultra clear and water that is both clear and slow (or rather, nonturbulent) - such as dropping from a heavy four- or six-inch jig or streamer to a lightweight 2-inch that more closely matches the minnows or fry I'm seeing.  I think it often just comes down to visibility - a bait has more calling power in clear water than it does in off-color or turbulent water and the fish needs to come closer to a smaller offering before it determines to reject or not, by which time it's more apt to hit (my theory from observation anyway). Likewise, it can make the determination to reject a larger artificial from a greater distance.

I may also downsize in temperature extremes - cold winter days or hot midsummer days.  But when truly hunting bigger trout, I try to stay with larger baits the majority of the time.  Fish a big plug or an ugly streamer long enough and you're going to see that dinner plate-sized flash sooner or later.


Time your trips to coincide with their presence or activity and be repetitive.
It may seem obvious, but I think it's often not put into practice.  Be intentional about trying to intercept the seasonal movements of fish, especially the ones that coincide with elevated feeding activity - such as rainbows in the spring or browns in the fall.  This is when it's worth driving three hours one way for just a few hours of fishing instead of staying on the usual water and spending an entire day on fish you know won't be big.  Play the odds of hitting stretches of river where the population of big fish should increase as fish stage prior to or after a spawn (confluences, deeper water alongside gravel bars, etc), during a special hatch (salmon flies, summer hoppers, etc), or maybe during high or low flows.  And often it pays big dividends to 'always travel with fishing gear' because you just never know when the place and timing may simply fall into your lap - if you're prepared and looking for the opportunistic.

Taken on a mouse from a stretch of rocks I've targeted

repeatedly for 3 years after learning it held good fish. Finally paid 

off big. I hiked 2 miles in darkness to fish 100 yards of 2am shoreline.

But also be intentional about intercepting daily movements and activity levels along with the seasonal.  Make a point of being on the water for first light and last light. Take advantage of the movements of larger fish in the dead of night - as they move from their mysterious daytime haunts to feed in the shallows, sitting in water you wouldn't even look at during the day. Particularly in summer. This gets me really excited.  Some of my favorite trout fishing is pulling all-nighters and swinging mice through shoreline structure.

   I like topwater hits.
   I like big fish.
   I like solitude.
   Summertime mousing in the dark brings all that into one place.

Fantastic Weekend of Montana Mousing

big browns and a new personal best

This was the first full moon weekend of summer.  The third weekend of June, 2016. Up until June the mouse bite had been slow.  It just hadn't turned on yet. But  after getting into some great mousing action during the darker moon a week prior [see Mousing: 'tis the season], I couldn't wait to get out with moonlight to see by and sling some more mice. The switch had flipped and it was time for the summer games to begin.

Sometimes all the effort pays off in a big way. Those are motivating moments.  They pull you forward as you anticipate when they might occur, and then they propel you into the future with renewed vigor after they've happened.  All those hours of exploring spots in daytime. Casting into the darkness of night. Hours logged.  Fish encounters - successful or not - filed in your mental database.  You hope it will happen, you know it CAN happen, but deep inside you wonder if it ever really will.  But it only takes one bite, and that bite came on my second consecutive solo all-nighter of the weekend when my mouse pattern was slurped off the surface at 2:30 in the morning.  

I was targeting a shoreline of big chunky rocks I've been hitting repeatedly for three years after discovering it holds solid browns.  More often than not it is persistence that catches fish more than any particular technique. I knew it had to hold big ones. Over the past few years I've taken browns measuring in the low to mid twenties (inches) off it. And I'd broken a bigger one off in a lousy rookie-like hookset - I'd seen the giant brown take my offering in broad daylight and it had made a fool of me [in the 2014 article Looking Back]. If I had to rank my current spots for potential to produce a trophy, this one little stretch of shoreline only a couple hundred yards long would be on top. And I hadn't even fished it at night before. So I opted to take night number two, pick my way for nearly two miles along the stony and essentially trail-less river edge to get there, and cast to this one spot. The result was likely my biggest trout to date, and certainly my biggest on a fly rod.

But before that, the first night was fantastic all on its own.  The hits were infrequent but solid - a typical story 

First big brown of the weekend

on a night of mousing. And browns outnumbered the rainbows. I lost two mature browns, one of which I saw clearly enough in my headlamp to have counted spots - it was very acrobatic and jumped constantly, ultimately coming off on a leap just as I finished setting up my tripod. I'd seen by flashlight that he had a pretty pronounced kype and I was wanting to get a picture of him while he was still wearing the mouse on it.

This was a shoreline with ample structure and slower current - an ideal setup for tossing mice. And it stretches for over a mile before transitioning into terraced cut banks and trading the rocky structure for clay bluffs.  I caught fish on three different mouse patterns that night.  All of the browns hit when the mouse was inches from or touching rock that extended out from the shore. They were waiting in ambush points like largemouth bass, but sitting in water you'd never find them in during the day.  I managed to net and photograph three browns at or over 20 inches, two of which were particularly impressive in overall size and coloration. Two stunning browns in one night!  It was such a good night. Seemingly so hard to beat.  It was exactly what you hope for when working a trout water with mice. I was satisfied enough that if I didn't make it out again this weekend I would still feel fully accomplished.

Beauty contest winner of the weekend

But then on Saturday night I chose to make that hike.  Friday had been too good.  It was possible to go.  I could fit it in.  Who needs sleep anyway?  Remember, persistence.  Make it happen, or it won't.  The spot was gnawing at me, and it was bothering me that I was yet to ever try it in the dark when I knew it would eventually produce. So I tossed civilized common sense out the window (i.e. that I should catch up on some sleep) and worked my way to it, sometimes just walking, sometimes stopping to cast to likely looking spots along an otherwise bland stretch of river.  Not that there wouldn't be fish, and I did catch a couple, but there wasn't any major structure for the browns to key in on.  I generally catch rainbows in open water and the browns tight to structure - just like the daytime, but perhaps even more so. And browns were the focus.  There was one vertical wall along my path, and I stopped to work it.  I had a great take and completely missed.  First hit of the night. Casting was more difficult than the night before.  A stiff wind was blowing up river, which messes with placing the mouse and drags the line, slowing the drift.  But there were calmer lulls.  I pulled a rainbow from a pocket behind a lone boulder.  I climbed on top of the big domed rock and drug the mouse around the perimeter, not casting at all.  Jigger-poling for trout.  The fish smashed the mouse and dove down alongside the boulder.  I was very surprised to see it was a rainbow.  But the ice was broken - one fish down.

Mousing: 'tis the season

A friend of mine and I pulled an early June all-nighter. My kind of all-nighter. I never stayed up the entire night in college or graduate school. No test was ever worth that. I've never worked a graveyard shift. Video games bore me.  But for fish? No-brainer. I'd do two or three in a row if necessary.

We started fishing before dark and hiked out well after sunrise, after the first anglers of the day had already begun filtering in. Fought bloodshot eyes the remainder of the weekend.

Once it was too dark to see, out came the mouse flies. I couldn't see them land, but the soft 'splat' told me where they'd come to rest even though the wind robbed some sound and meddled with placement. The moon was only a thin crescent-shaped sliver and was gone over the ridge almost right away. But you can always see better than you think you can. At least enough to have a vague idea of where the structure is.

We dodged storms, twice hunkering down against rocks and logs encapsulated in waders and rain gear to wait out thunderstorms.  Lightning-flash danced on and illuminated the canyon walls. The white and gray crags sprung from the mountains in a crystal-clear three-dimensional form not seen in sunlight, only to be gone again a second later - the ashen image still burning vividly in your stunned vision.

One of Stormy's 'bows

No one else was around to witness the show.

The unsettled weather and passing storms brought rain and wind, along with periods of calm. But the bite was great throughout.

The first fish was a dink rainbow that ambitiously stuffed a big mouse into his face. But it WAS a fish and we were on the board with the first mouse hook-up of 2016.
The hits came steadily - not constant, but more predictably than a typical mousing night. And rainbows were killin' it. Mousing is the one time when fishing this water that I expect to see more browns than rainbows. But not tonight. It was easily 8:1 rainbows.

First fish on mouse 2016

The first storm passed and the cloudiness gave way to a clear Montana sky seemingly polished clean of grime and haze. We both stood in awe of the vividness of the Milky Way framed between canyon rims. The depth and vastness of outer space plainly visible in the absence of artificial light and moon glow. Staring upward it felt as though you may fall - only not down into the water, but weightlessly up into the stars. A sizzling shooting star interrupted the daze, the trail hanging in the atmosphere long after the meteorite had burned out.


The fly of the night was the Mr. Hankey.
The particular specimen I was tossing came from Big Y Fly Company in Oregon - known for speedy service, great prices, and a wide selection of flies and gear. Last summer a photo I submitted to them featuring a nighttime brown caught on their slim version of the Morrish Mouse was used as a 'photo of the month' [click here to see it].  Folks chosen for photo of the month get to pick out a selection of flies.  I stuck with the theme and requested mice - these very Mr. Hankey's that were getting the job done tonight in fact.  And one Mr. Hankey survived the entire night of action.

Spring has arrived

Spring is here for real in Montana. Not only has it arrived, but it feels like summer is bearing down at an overwhelming speed.  Things are green.  Fly shops are all open and buzzing with activity.  My favorite jigs always seem to be sold out. It rained the other day and I never saw even one snow flake in it.  The white is fading from the mountains.

And the trout are eating everything. You can expect to catch them on nearly any forage and at any position within the water column.  They are gorging on bugs, emphatically chasing minnows, and eating crayfish like candy.  I cleaned a couple rainbows for the grill with my kids the other day that were bulging with crawdads.

It's a great time of year to fish throughout all daylight hours - lots of action, not too hot, not too cold, not too grassy, willing surface feeders, and the big browns haven't yet faded into the nocturnal routine.  Take your pick of how to target and what to target.

On a recent float I saw other drift boats doing everything from nymphing to dries and streamers to wet flies. Everyone was catching fish. What didn't I see?  No one was reaching into the depths.

Sometimes I get fixated on looking for big browns along structure (okay, a LOT of the time).  And to me, the best way to reach them is to jig.  On this float I was drifting with a friend who I hadn't fished with before.  Gabe was perfectly happy to focus on jigging and see what it is I do when in that mode.  And honestly, I get a kick out of doing stuff that no one else is doing. Spinning gear may be taboo on fisheries dominated by the fly fishing industry, but to me the techniques, skill, and even the equipment itself can be just as artful.  And I sure don't mind the bonus of being about the only boat to reach fish along the bottom of 20-foot holes....

The mouse hunt

My son got off the bus after school with a painted face.  His class had held some kind of party. He looked something like a warrior, although maybe closer to a football fan on bowl day.  I didn't realize how fitting it was going to be.

Once we got home, the kids piled out of the pickup and wandered around outside looking for the cat.  It wasn't waiting to greet them like it often is. It came trotting down the hill to their calls, mewing emphatically and carrying a mouse.  It sometimes brings the kids mice in a devoted sort of way.  This time it was live.  He placed it in front of them and let it go, seemingly wanting them catch it.  Maybe to finish it off.  I suppose he was 'teaching them to hunt on the pride.'

After a scramble, the mouse managed to squeeze between a log and the ground, mostly out of reach.  The cat didn't seem to mind, he just looked on approvingly as the two kids poked and prodded around the log.  Cooper stood up, an idea obviously forming, and asked enthusiastically through his face paint "Can I get the BB gun?"

"Sure," I said.

When he came back with the air gun I used a stick to ease the mouse out.  It moved down the outside of the log, seemingly hesitant to leave the only structure within sight.

Cooper fired a few rounds as Cadi cheered him on.  Then she begged for a turn and pumped a few of her own into the mouse.

The happy hunters collected their prize and walked up to the back patio.  They posed for a picture - Cooper in his war paint, Cadi with the fearless 'hound,' and the mouse stretched out on the concrete like a bear.

After the picture Cooper mentioned that he'd like to tack the hide to the wall of the shed.

"Huh?" I said.  "Skin a mouse?" 

"Yeah.  We should hang it up."

We'd read Where The Red Fern Grows aloud during Christmas break.  He had liked it so much he'd immediately read the whole book again when I finished.  I'm sure he was likening this to a coon hunt.

Pike on the Road

I could see on the calendar that my travels would soon take me within striking distance of a favorite river.   That always gets the juices flowing.  It's an out-of-the-way place that is an investment to get to under normal circumstances. Not that my gear wouldn't have been with me anyway, but I made certain my boxes were in order and well-stocked.  As it turned out, enough time remained at the end of the day to strike and being sure to Always Travel With Fishing Gear paid off.

When the work was done, I rambled down the gravel road I was already on, then veered off along a little two-track that would take me to a particular hole that always holds fish. Over the years I have found big browns, hunky rainbows, the occasional walleye, and a number of pike in that spot. Today, at the end of March, I was anticipating pike and trout.  A little early for walleye in the river. So I rigged a lighter rod with 6-pound monofilament for trout - upped from my usual 4-pound for some incidental pike insurance - and tucked a stout nine-and-a-half foot spinning rod strung with a braided line and outfitted with a beefy floating plug in my belt behind me.
Honestly, I hoped I would see a brown worthy of hitting that plug as much as a pike.