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The big white house reminded me of Tara of “Gone with the Wind” fame. I had never fished here before so I thought it polite to check in with the owners even though I had checked in with the fly shop I made my reservation at. A very nice white-haired lady greeted me and assured me my stopping wasn’t necessary. She gave me directions to the proper entrance and waved her hand dismissively at my apologies for disturbing her.
“Happens all the time, hon. Have fun!”
The sky was so sodden with moisture that the dark gray clouds sagged just overhead in one solid mass. Every so often moisture in the guise of rain or snow would pelt down on my windshield but the snow didn’t accumulate, and better still, there was no wind accompanying it. I found the right entrance and drove down to the spring creek, parking next to a fisherman’s hut. There was not another soul around. The hut was a nice surprise. It had a table and chairs inside that would sit eight people. A hefty wood stove sat in the corner with a full wood box next to it. There were some fishing magazines and a deck of cards laid out in case things were slow on the water. The place smelled of wood smoke and bacon which is exactly how a fishing hut should smell. I built a fire in the stove to get things warmed up because I was sure to need warmth throughout the day. This was exciting. I had the whole place to myself.
Kerry and the boys had given me a fifty-dollar bill in a handmade card for Father’s Day back in June. I was a little confused. Why money?
“We decided you should go fishing on one of the spring creeks this Fall when the price per rod comes down. October is one of your favorite months to fish. Pick one and make a reservation,” Kerry explained.
“I really appreciate it, but I like having you guys fishing with me.”
“We know but it’s awfully technical there and a little beyond our skill set. Go have fun for the day and tell us about it when you get home.”
Still, it felt strange going by myself. The last time I went fishing solo was up the Boulder at a friend’s place several years ago. We usually did everything as a family. Rain loudly pattered against the window interrupting my self imposed guilt trip. Squatting there in front of the stove, I turned my attention to feeding the fire and watching it grow. It made me feel like a kid again when I would build a fire for my grandfather in fireplace at the cottage. I always was in charge of the fire on cold, rainy days. “Show us your Boy Scout skills!” Grandpa would laugh and then cheer, feigning surprise as the flames grew higher. Grandma would make tea and we would sit telling stories… I glanced at my watch. Time to stop reminiscing and get going!
Putting on your waders next to a roaring wood stove is so much nicer than dressing out in the cold and damp while standing on a piece of plastic to keep your socks from getting muddy. Once dressed, it took no time to rig my fly rod, and within minutes I was standing at the edge of the spring creek looking at its smooth as glass surface to determine what was going on, if anything. I had lucked out. Newly hatched Blue Winged Olives were floating and twitching on the water’s surface in between the rain drops. Trout were rising all over the spring creek delicately taking the tiny, drifting insects with a barely audible slurp, and leaving nothing but expanding rings on the water’s surface. The damp weather made it difficult for the insects to dry their new wings in order to fly away so they drifted long distances making for easy targets. Wet snow splatted on me and the river, but the hatch never even slowed down. I pulled the hood of my rain jacket up and put on my wool, fingerless gloves. It was cold, wet and miserable and I couldn’t get the grin off my face.
This was my secret weapon. I love fishing in bad weather. Not only is the fishing pretty good but it also chases away all but the most fanatical fisherman leaving me in peace and quiet.
I picked out my first target about ten feet from the bank. I missed about a foot right from his feeding lane and inexplicably he slid over to confidently take my fly. Trout, especially hard-fished trout like these, just don’t do that. They are spooky and suspicious. Their feeding lanes can just be a few inches wide and very challenging to hit. This day, however, these fish were nonchalant and confident. They rose to anything they saw. I even started putting on bigger flies that I could see more easily which didn’t come close to matching the hatch. It didn’t matter one bit. The fish kept taking my fly. I don’t know how many I landed and released in a few hours.
I decided it was time for some lunch and a cup of coffee. After that I would stalk and hunt big fish exclusively. As I walked up the bank, a Chevy Suburban pulled in with an outfitters name stenciled on it. My heart sank a little because I had grown accustomed to solitude. A big guy with a black beard got out of the driver’s side and came over to me. He was sopping wet. Water dripped off his beard and the bill of his hat.
“Hi, I’m Jamie,” he said, extending his hand.
“John,” I replied shaking his hand.
“Please tell me something good is happening here,” he moaned. Turned out he had been out on the Yellowstone River with a family of four with another guide and two boats. Fishing was horrible. Everyone was wet and cold. Dad was a fisherman. Mom and two teenagers were not.
“The kids and mom are troopers, but no one is having fun. I brought them here hoping to get them into fish.” I looked over at the family who had gotten out of the vehicle. They were drenched and looked cold.
“Why don’t you folks go in the hut? I’ve got a fire going in there and you can dry out some.” I suggested. The family went in and from the oohs and aahs I heard they were happy with my fire.
Turning to Jamie I explained how crazy good the fishing had been, but it had all been on dry flies. He was concerned. Four people, three of them beginners, and he was by himself. “But,” he said, “I’ll figure it out.”
I went inside while Jamie was collecting gear. The family was a nice group of people from the Midwest. Today was the only day they could fish so they went despite the weather. Seems to me they were at the end of their ropes. The more they thawed and dried out the more they thought sitting by the fire was a good idea. Jamie came in with a large cooler. He had a couple large thermoses of coffee and a small one of hot chocolate. Lifting out a Dutch oven wrapped in bath towels, he pulled the towels off and placed the cast iron pot on the stove.
“Moose stew!” He grinned. Jamie took the lid off and stuck his finger in the stew but yanked it out fast. “Still hot!” He whimpered to peals of laughter from the kids. There was homemade bread, two pies and plates, silver ware and glasses. This guy knew how to feed clients! The coffee and hot chocolate was warming them up and they started taking off their layers of clothing. Everyone was becoming much happier. Jamie went outside for another cooler of drinks and fruit and I followed. I liked these people and I wanted to help.
“Hey Jamie. This may be out of line but would you like for me to take the kids and help them while you deal with the adults?”
Jamie looked stunned.
“I don’t want any money or anything,” I hurriedly assured him. “Although, I wouldn’t mind a bowl of that stew.’
Jamie started to howl with laughter.
“You are welcome to all the stew you want! I don’t want you to give up your afternoon though.”
“It’s not a problem. I like watching people catch fish and I’m a pretty good teacher. I’ve had an amazing morning already and if you don’t mind me saying so, you need some help.” He thought for a second.
“Alright. If the family doesn’t have a problem with it, let’s do it.”
The family seemed to think it was a great idea once we explained they could come back in and warm up and have a snack anytime. I sat and talked with the kids about high school and their plans for the future. It didn’t surprise me they were both athletes with both of their great attitudes. Lunch over, we all got dressed for fishing again and headed out. I took the kids downstream while Jamie headed upstream with mom and dad.
I showed the kids the rising fish and caught a couple bugs so they could understand what was happening. We tied flies on and stood in the water ankle deep. We worked on a nice short cast that was easily controlled. I had given both kids some of my special flies that have an orange fluffy post for better visibility. The girl and I stepped carefully out deeper, and she made an upstream cast. Boom! A trout took her fly and screamed upstream. She was squealing and laughing while I frantically tried to help her get her slack line under control.
“I got one!” I heard from behind me. The boy wasn’t waiting for me and was fighting a fish as well. Fortunately, both kids had been bait fishing a bunch with their grandfather, so they had a good idea on how to fight a fish. I netted the girl’s fish first, and she expertly grabbed the barbless fly with a pair of forceps to remove it and slide the fish back in the water. I turned to help the boy but the fish came off five feet away from him.
“Arrgghh!” He cried looking disappointed.
“Nice LDR,” I cried. The boy looked puzzled.
“Long Distance Release. Usually, it takes years of experience to learn how to do that. You must be a prodigy!” I was surprised his sister didn’t fall in the creek she was laughing so hard.
“You are a real funny guy Mr. O!” He laughed. “I have to remember that one.”
That was a preview of the whole afternoon. I sat down on the bank in between the two of them and watched. They caught fish, missed fish, got tangled and untangled.
I was both a cheerleader and lifeguard. There were cries of, “Nice LDR!” and “Good Leaf Fish” when one hooked a floating aspen leaf. It shocked me a bit when I heard their mother call. It had been so much fun I had lost track of time and it was late. The kids talked her into one more fish each which didn’t take long. We all trudged up the bank to the hut, reluctant to leave the water.
Once in the hut, the kids regaled their parents about their adventure. Dad remarked that it looked like this was going to be expensive buying gear for everyone. He and Mom had done extremely well with Dad landing maybe the biggest trout of his life. I lit a propane lantern that hung over the table because it was now dark outside. It was obvious no one wanted to leave. Not even Jamie and me. It had been a special afternoon. We sat in the circle of lantern light passing the pie plate around taking bites.
We were packing away everyone’s gear in Jamie’s outfit when dad tried to slip me a one-hundred-dollar bill. I wouldn’t take it. I explained that I wasn’t a guide, and he should give it to Jamie. I had a blast with his wonderful kids and had great moose stew, that was enough.
“Tell you what though,” I dug around in my pocket for my wallet and pulled out a business card. “If you ever come out here on another trip, let me know and I’ll join you as an apprentice guide.” Dad took the card.
“Thank you,” he murmured shaking my hand.
“You bet,” I replied. After hugs and handshakes all around, the family headed back to their hotel with Jamie.
I loaded my gear and started home in a light dusting of snow. The closer to the house I got the harder it snowed. There was four inches on the deck outside our front door. I went in and was greeted by the smell of fresh bread and found a pot of Kerry’s famous potato soup on the stove. I could hear the boys rough housing in their bedroom. Kerry came out of our bedroom with a relived smile.
“How was it?” She asked. “Did it rain and snow there? I was starting to get worried.”
“Well, let me get out of these wet things and I’ll tell you all about it. You wont believe it”