Imagine a land where virgin pines tower over frigid rivers, chock-full of wild and unsullied fish. Slate blue or grayish fish with olive-green backs and oversized dorsal fins spattered with specks of gold and pearl. The trees have twice the girth of a burn barrel, but they spread about politely Read more…
I wade out of the Big Hole River, put my rod in its case, and store my reel in a bag with ten others—eight of which will stay in the bag for the entire trip. I make a tomato and cheese sandwich, and—between bites—ponder my next move. A Subaru wagon Read more…
One fish, ten fish, big fish, Zen fish. That’s how Theodor Geisel—Dr. Seuss from our child- and parent-hoods—might have described the fly-fisher’s journey. In his excellent essay, “The Five Stages of Fly Fishing,” Todd Tanner includes another phase between big and Zen, something Seuss might have called finicky fish. This Read more…
I caught the first fish of my life with a worm suspended below a bobber. In my early years, that was the only way I fished. My rod was a cane pole; the fish most likely a bluegill. A tiny spring gadget held the bobber to the line, and—even though Read more…
Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?That depends a good deal on where you want to get to, said the Cat. —Lewis Carroll, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland Last night, the guys at the campfire told me the tricos weren’t hatching. I might find some Read more…
Every time I’ve considered cancelling this trip, Roxanne has talked me out of it. She reminds me about bookings with guides, commitments to friends, and the ticket our son Daniel bought to fly from San Francisco to Bozeman for a few days while I’m there. She tells me that we Read more…
It’s finally the day that I depart for Montana, and I’ve packed the truck with all the supplies I’ll need to eat, sleep and fish for the next three weeks. Enough stuff, actually, to stay twice as long if I’d like. Although I planned to leave around 8 am, it’s Read more…
With direct access from the parking lot to your room, I know that Gates Au Sable Lodge in Grayling, Michigan looks more like a motel—or motor lodge—than the type of lodge Roxanne would have in mind. Still, I told her we would stay in a lodge if she came along on Read more…
How do you see a place like Montana? A place that is roughly 550 miles across at its widest, and—in total—occupies more of the planet’s surface than Japan. A place with magnificent rivers that push through gorges, ravines, canyons and valleys to funnel the snowmelt from roughly 100 named mountain Read more…
I thank the trout. Rainbows for oceans, great lakes; emotions, fierce takes; return to small streams. Yearn and fall dreams. Browns for the depths and the darkness; the steps that bring sharpness; attention and caution. Apprehension forgotten. Brooks for innocence and grace; forgiveness, mistakes; the sharpness of small. The largeness Read more…
I floated the Au Sable’s big water in late June with my friend David McMillan, where we hoped to find big trout eating big flies in big darkness. Our guide was in his early thirties, and—like most on the river that night—he frantically exchanged text messages with the other guides. Read more…
Scene I: The Proposition “I know a guy,” my friend Doug whispered, and—although I should have sprinted for the nearest exit—I stayed until he finished his proposition. Following a friend’s “I know a guy” advice usually involves some sort of felony, but Doug had no reason to believe I wanted Read more…