Adieu et c'est la vie

Starting now and continuing for a few years, the non-native-but-wild cutthroat trout present in an unnamed drainage are going to be euthanized or relocated in an effort to help conserve an even more endangered native fish. Limits are high, and a mandatory-kill law, like the one at Yellowstone Lake, was apparently on the table (though decided against). Non-native trout removal is happening nationwide and it is what it is.

But liberal limits and a fish trap are certain not to guarantee elimination of the big, beautiful fish, which are currently planting and fertilizing eggs. And there are undoubtedly hundreds more - maybe thousands - that are too young to spawn this year, thus making them difficult to capture. Fisheries management is an inexact science and managers admittedly don't really know how to handle this situation in a multiple-use/conservation-minded area keeping as many folks happy as possible. It's an experiment that will be evaluated when it's over.

So we fished. Within 15 minutes, Liz landed three around 20 inches - it probably goes without saying that the level of "sport" was low (we didn't fish over redds or anything, but we might as well have). These fish were absurdly aggressive - in some holes, two casts was an extended dry spell. But this trip was more about having fun while helping conserve a unique fish in an incredible place, than it was about sport-fishing. We have no illusions about our success.

Big smile now...

Fish til you giggle...

Gratuitous

Like a boss

And they tasted great...

At the fishing access site...

Caviar!

If you recognize this fishery, have at 'er and help conserve an endangered fish. Keep in mind, however, that it's small water and a fragile ecosystem that probably wouldn't appreciate throngs of anglers.

We hate to lose this tremendous fishery, but if not for the efforts to rid the big and beautifuls, the creek would be closed this time of year and we'd never have the opportunity in the first place.

Regardless, we indulged for one weekend. It was something most lifelong fly anglers will never experience, and we appreciated every second and every fish. Hopefully this was not a final goodbye.

Copyright Liz Juers

More photos

Whatever floats your boat

Be happy.
In my reality, there is nothing more important than happiness. And happiness can be a fickle thing, so however you can find it (within reason), go for it with everything you've got.
I recently recalled judging a childhood friend and his family for having a run-down house with buckled siding,  cracked walls and messy rooms, but an excellent Bose sound system and all the TimeLife CD collections you can imagine. I thought their priorities were twisted, and I shook my mushy-brained adolescent head.
But now I have a plain, old, small, stained-carpet dead-grass-yard garage-free townhouse in a blighted neighborhood, nine fly rods and reels, eights pairs of Simms waders, and two rafts.
The second raft hasn't hit the water yet, but with a little luck it will this weekend. A brand-new Outcast PAC 1300 on a brand-new Adams raft trailer (the lights even work!) is sitting in my driveway, yearning for water.

Don't judge me - I am a (happy) fly fisher.

Ink for cutthroats

We stopped by Chuck Stranahan's fly shop in Hamilton, and after a few minutes of chatting, he made a phone call to see if he could line us up with his outfitter, Jed Fitzpatrick of Sula Mountain Fly Fishing. Sho 'nuff, Jed called later that day and we hammered cutthroats all Tuesday.

Fitzpatrick is a nice man and a terrific guide - he had us into fish from put-in to take-out. He helped Liz with her dry-fly cast, gave me a few tips on my own, and had some valuable advice on everything from fighting fish to photography to rod storage and fish release.
And we fished.
We floated a short stretch on the upper-middle mainstem and never touched a nymph. Trout, all but a couple appeared to be (as-close-as-they-can-be-to) pure westslope cutthroats, were all over neumora and March brown dries. We saw a handful of skwalas on the water, but the fish didn't.

Fish of the day.

One thing we learned - the skwalas bring the anglers, but the other bugs bring the fish; neumoras, capnias and March browns. Big, slow cutthroat rises, mostly on Stranahan's Brindle 'Chute.
The "good", fishy day for which I yearned finally reared its frantic grin. It only gets better from here...

Brindle 'Chute.

Don't touch my beer

Montana is known for fly-fishing for trout, mountains, open spaces, and soon, micro-breweries. It's a booming niche that employs many and provides family-friendly establishments to unwind with some of the world's most delectable beer. But the Montana Tavern Association, feeling threatened by the tasting rooms which are already bound by a 48-ounce-per-person-per-day limit and madatory 8-p.m. closing times, has lobbied for LC1429 (not yet a formal bill) (full text). Basically, it would force breweries to obtain the expensive and limited cabaret (beer/wine) or full liquor license to keep their tap-rooms open. Google it - there have been many op-eds in Montana newspapers regarding it lately.

• MTA's fair response

Montana's breweries are hip, unique establishments that spur industrial and tourism economies, and are fun places. I and mine love them and regularly patronize as many as we can.
This comes on the eve of Liz's and my trip to skwala fish and brewerize in the Bitterroot (ground zero for another on-going fight over a Montana specialty), where there are something like 10 marvelous breweries, counting Missoula and satellite outlets. We will be sure to get our time in, as there's a chance their time is limited.

Our new governor appears to be on the side of breweries, as he mailed a nice letter to one of Montana's newest breweries, welcoming them to the 'scape. If a bill gets that far, hopefully he'd quash it. Hopefully, it won't get that far.
So we're going to exercise our rights to patronize good-beer makers and angle within high-water marks, and appreciate what Montana is to me.
Fight!

Pinedale 82941

In Pinedale, Wyo., everybody plays an instrument (or so it seems). Every bar has a band and every band is at least excellent. So happened the band we patronized was the most excellent. We stayed with the front man (and his lady), who happened to be the Sublette Examiner's 2012 People's Choice Musician of the Year which, despite what it might seem, is quite an accomplishment in this hip community. Also in this band was a hilarious, bluesy bass player who apparently played gigs with the knee-high Jackson Five and Don Cornelius (let me stress apparently). The fishy fiddle/mandolin player rocked the strings, and the lead singer and the drummer flew in from New York City for the performance - no jive, it was excellent music for a metropolis of under 1,500 residents. If "6 Foot 2" comes near you, you might consider it.

And we fished. The upper Green, was in fact frozen up at Warren Bridge, but we found some access on a nearby creek where it seemed there was nothing under 15 inches. I had one of those days where I couldn't keep a hook in a fish, but Liz's 'set was solid...

We fished our way home Sunday through a wicked wind and snow shower. The fishy water proved fruitless, save for a handful of photos.

Pinedale is a hip, fishy community where the cure for the blues is to wail on the didgeridoo.

Passamari

March was in like a lion, or more aptly, like a slew of furious brown trout. This weekend it's Paradise Valley, then Pinedale, Wyo., then Missoula for skwalas. Hopefully March will be out like a slew of furious browns, too.

A healthy nymph eater.

Leaper!

Adi' or 'pose, depending on how cool you are...

Stickfish Liz with another beaut.

Weathered and bokeh.

Working through the trout to get to another stick...

Incidental catch.

Jammin' on the Gallatin

Winter fishers are familiar with ice jams. They can restrict flow, wedge a section of river with huge ice chunks and create 10-foot-plus-tall banks when the ice thaws. It can also cause dangerous floods, as shown in the video below. A fisherman had to be saved by Search and Rescue last month when one broke upstream of him.

Furthermore, friend and fellow-blogger Will Jordan reported that when he fished the Gallatin Canyon last weekend he saw floating fish in many holes. An inquiry with FWP revealed it was apparently the result of the flood (although other reports said the fishing was EXTREMELY good for the next few days). Here's hoping the kill wasn't too great an event.

There are times when anglers make poor decisions and get themselves in hairy situations, but something like this is hard to predict. My best advice would be to stay off islands and close to the banks if you know you're fishing below an ice jam. And get your line in the water ASAP afterward.

The Fifteen Percent

The latest US Fish and Wildlife Service participation numbers were recently released (click here for Brett French's Billings Gazette story for a Montana-centric article), and are a good source of blog fodder. Especially when they're not what you expect, and I was kind of shocked by some of the statistics.

From French's article:
"Between 2011 and 2009, (Montana) angler numbers fell 35,500... The fishing participation rate nationally is only 14 percent. The mountain states region, which includes Montana and Wyoming, can boast a 15 percent participation rate. The west north-central states, which includes the Dakotas and Minnesota, leads the nation with a 23 percent participation rate. Oddly, the watery Pacific states -- Washington, Oregon, California and Alaska -- have a participation rate of only 9 percent, the lowest in the nation."

The elbow room of 15 percent.

Fifteen percent? That includes bait and spin-fishing. I am blown away. I imagine that because I spend much time fly fishing and I associate with mostly fly fishers, that my perception has been skewed. If I'm being honest, I love that so few flog our rivers, but if I'm being considerate and in it for the industry - I gotta think that at least some of the 85 percent don't know what they're missing. I've said it before - we live in a state with thousands of miles of fishy water that the law allows us to wade through - it's an incredible thing in which only 15 percent of the residents partake. Sheer madness.

As an angler, I like this. As a member of the fly fishing industry, it's less likeable. It tells me there is a ton of opportunity for expansion of the industry via popularizing the sport, which the industry is all over - another reason I am shocked it's 15 percent. And while I love the elbow room of 15 percent participation, I also enjoy cameraderie. And the more who participate, the more innovation, the more places to buy flies and tying materials, the more magazines, books, etc. Ultimately, in my opinion, it's kind of a mixed bag.

Are you surprised by these numbers? Would you like to see more participants? Why?

Why I live here...

My dog has recently tore his ACL (actually a CCL in dogs) which means my travel fishing plans will have to wait until my next tax refund. But it reminds me why I chose to live in Montana in the first place - I don't need to travel to have a vacation. In lieu of New Zealand or Forks, Washington, I have already discussed a multi-day trip on the Yellowstone with a buddy. Or maybe I'll explore the Kootenai drainage. I just need the time off of work...

Or check out the tailwater no one knows much about...

...or hike into the wilderness...

...or spend some time in the mountains...

...or go for an ill-advised float...

...or explore downstream sections of popular water...

....or get to know the local rivulet better...

...or check out the ranch ponds...

Little pink stuff

With an inch or two of new snow on the ground, winter has descended. Fly-rod guides are iced. Which means it's time for small pink shit. Soft-hackled Sow Bugs, scuds, worms, and my personal favorite, Dave McKee's Shrimp Cocktail. Think what you will, but I am convinced trout eat all of these flies (with the possible exception of the worm) for eggs. It's a nice little trick to fish an egg, without actually fishing an egg.

Treat yo self

We're taught that all seconds tick the same, but I'm skeptical. The weekday seconds between about 7:30 and 4, for example, seem much less ambitious than some. But that gives us plenty of time to dream and plan, and hope that the best is yet to come.

Now that I have a little wiggle room in my budget (crazy shout goes out to Assurant Health), I can afford to trade some of the slow seconds for quick ones - like the ones I spend between the banks of a trout stream. And spend a little money on luxuries like Depuy Spring Creek. And treat myself.

Muted colors

This fall we took a Saturday to fish Ennis Dam, cuz we were taking a novice and I cannot think of an easier place to catch trout on a fly. The novice was told to wear muted colors, as bright clothes might spook the fish. Then I showed up in a Kool-Aid Man t-shirt, and we caught plenty.

Since then, I've become acquainted with Boise's Ed Dunn, who first debunked the myth of muted colors years ago, going as far as wearing sequins on the Railroad Ranch. He noticed that not only does the flashy garb not scare fish, it does scare his competition.

Ed's Facebook profile pic

"I scored a hot pink soccer shirt for 50 cents from a thrift store," Dunn said. "Even before dipping a tootsie in the water let alone making a cast, I instantly noticed that the hot pink shirt scared the living snot outta fishermen."

That and Dunn's defense of the perpetually scorned native whitefish spun into his regionally famous moniker: Whitefish Ed. You'll know him if you see him.

Stay tuned for more a thorough account of Ed's exploits...