Them hills.

A couple years ago I wrote in a column that I would never have the opportunity to fish for golden trout because of the difficulty in reaching them (being more of a "Chubby Chernobyl" than a "Skinny Nelson").
But since last Thanksgiving, I've straightened my diet out and put a little more effort into exercise and am down 65 pounds. Couple that with the fact that some golden-trout lakes in the Gallatin Range require a hike of only about 2.5 miles and elevation gains of only about 1,000 feet, and I thought it time to try.

The fact that I got lost at about 9,000 feet and couldn't find the trail for about a half hour after getting altitude-woozy notwithstanding, it was all pretty easy. Including the fishing.

We arrived at the first lake to find cruising and rising goldens. Already excited just to be in their presence, I picked one out and cast a Bloom's Parachute Flying Ant to within its radar. A quick twitch of the ant and the fish whipped a u-turn, swam directly for the fly and ate it. One cast. Granted, it was the only one I caught since we couldn't find fish in any other lake and the rest were quite spooky (as legends hold), but that's cool. And we made it back to the valley in time for 48 ounces at the brewery. Nice little Saturday.