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.

Thirty-inch brown

It's not every day you are fortunate enough to see a brown that breaks the 30-inch mark.  I'm not sure I've ever seen one in person till now.  Mid to upper twenties a number of times, both on my line and on others' fishing with me.  But not 30.  There was one time that I didn't have a measuring tape for a fish - guess I'll always have to wonder just how close it was.

The other day I was on board Josh Steinmetz's boat of Steinmetz Outfitters.  I'll be working under Josh running guided trips from my own boat starting this year (more on that another day).  We were fishing upper Holter Lake on the Missouri River, targeting the staging spring walleye, and hoping for one of those elusive yellow beasts of spring.  Ryan McCourtney, a guide at Headhunters Fly Shop in Craig and a friend of Josh's, was with us briefly in the morning before stepping off to join a guy in another boat.  Josh hooked the brute on his third cast.  I know because I was rigging a rod - hadn't made even one cast yet - and was watching Josh work his jig while I ran line through my guides.  I saw the hit, the hookset, and the telltale bend in the St. Croix rod.  If Ryan hadn't still been on the boat, I would have been on net duty.  Instead I was able to jump to the gunwale, catch some footage of the battle, and snap pics when the fish came on board.  From that I was able to put together the short video below.

Like with any uncommonly big fish (and I don't care who you are), the three of us bumbled around the boat all weak in the knees while trying to make decisions through clouded minds after our first glimpse of flash beneath the water. Big fish are always within a split second of being gone it seems. So much has to go right. Each one is somewhat of a miracle. And this one was no different. Even once it was in the net the jig it had taken just fell from his jaw like it hadn't ever been attached - mangled and the bend of the hook wide open.

The fish was one of Josh's lifetime best.  Possibly his first personal brown to break 30 inches. We laid the fish on a measuring board, but when we went for the digital scales the batteries had fallen out into a gear bag.  In all likelihood the fish was around a lanky 12 pounds, but we'll just have to leave it to the next person who catches that brown to weigh him.

Phones were buzzing as the photos and stats circulated the local region.  We fished the remainder of the day and were last to load up at the boat ramp.  Other fish were caught, even a couple trout that could have been trophies on other days.  But we didn't even take pictures of another fish.  We were still reveling in the magic that had happened first thing in the morning.  That fish will likely carry Josh through the summer and on into fall.  But for me, it just piled more fuel on the fire.

*Be sure to watch on a computer in order to see the text annotations.  They are not visible on most mobile apps.*

Bring on spring

Well, its not officially spring, but it seems as though spring has come ahead of schedule this year. And when the weather is nice, what better to do than go fishing. With a forecast reaching temps near the mid 60s, something not seen since perhaps October, I was already laying plans to hit some water.

Justin's rear view shot

About then I received a message from a friend in Billings: his brother-in-law was visiting from out of state - could the two of them come and fish with me? That was an easy "yes," given my current plans involved no one other than me. I fired back a message to Travis (the same Travis from Beartooths) and laid out a plan for when the two of them arrived. It involved a day of hiking and rock scrambling. That's when he informed me that his brother-in-law Justin had a broken leg. Well, good to know.  Scratch that first idea. Plan 'B' took root and I hitched up the boat.

Justin and Travis arrived late Friday night. They crashed in the basement and we were all up and heading down the road before daylight. We made a quick stop at Hardee's (well, quick for crutches) to calorie up on greasy biscuits. Travis and I poked fun at Justin by making sure we got him an ADA-approved table equipped with all the appropriate handicapped signage. I'd never met Justin before, but it was quickly evident he was a guy who could be messed with.

50-ish miles later we had dropped a car at the take-out for shuttling and were launching at the top of our 9 mile run. Crutches were stowed like spare rods alongside the net.



First fish of the trip for Justin