Like a kid

Maturing in your late 20s while discovering fly fishing in Montana makes for some incredible days and better memories. Every hatch is new, exploring desolate fisheries, so many high fives, grip-and-grins, views, reminiscences ... But over time, the excitement can actually start to wane. Careers take precedent, kids need nurturing, and life "happens." The roaring inferno dwindles to a glowing ember. 

But this past Monday, a friend helped me rekindle the flame. 

On the outskirts of Yellowstone National Park, we found challenging but good fishing for rainbows, cutthroat, brown trout and whitefish up to about 17 inches (except for the alleged 21-inch cuttbow Brady claimed to land). As we were leaving, we circled back to the holes where we'd started while dark clouds expanded over us.

"That's a green drake," I said. We weren't expecting to see green drakes, but as Brady was telling me earlier, it can be bay-nay-nays when green drakes are out. But they're generally a late-June/early July thing, and this was August

"Ooh, that's another, and there's another!" he said. 

Fish exploded around us like cannonballs from afar. Like a hailstorm. I was well into my next knot before I realized that I hadn't been this excited on the river in years. The fish were not so dumb that they'd eat anything, but after 20 minutes when the hatch ceased, we had landed three beautiful trout, including a marvelous down-river-chased 18-inch cuttbow.  

Within minutes, as the overhead lightning blew up and the rain down poured down, we slogged back to the truck. Then toasted, and smiled all the way home.

Then on Friday, another friend and I went to investigate a rumor that access was allowed at a private-land gate, that would let us on a section of river that is basically off limits. But it was well-posted, and while you could esoterically argue that the placement of the posts implied access is actually allowed here, we decided that it wasn't worth it. We traipsed back to the public access and fished upstream for a couple hours, finding a handful of hopper-eaters. But my heart was pounding like it was 2010 thinking about the opportunity to get on that upper stretch. 

I'm so grateful to feel that joy of fly fishing in Montana like I hadn't in years. The forced free time afforded by COVID has presented an opportunity to relight a fire and feel like a kid again. At least for a few minutes among these anxious days. 

Say what you will about 2020. Some days, it's pretty fun.