Out There

Solid 'bows and browns

It's been a while since I've thrown a rod. I got in a redfish trip during January, but that was short-lived and only gave a little flavor sample of what that Florida fishery could be. So I bailed out earlier today and said screw-all to everything. I bought my 2010 Montana fishing license, grabbed a leader, a few Lightening Bugs and then sat down and whipped out about 10 egg patterns. Grabbed a few 16s and headed to the Madison.

I remember the Madison fishery about six years ago when I could walk from my house to the river and bang 10-to 20 fat, 16-to 20-inch fish in an afternoon. And I was hoping that would be the case today. But, as it's been for a few years now, I didn't find any of that former success. So, was it worth the effort, to lean into the wind and deal with a leaky right wader leg, and to throw several hundred casts into the blow? Are you kidding me?

The Madison, on a bad day, is still one of the Rocky's greatest fisheries and I had a blast today, wandering the banks of the river, watching the whitetail deer and the eagles and the mallards and the porcupines, glancing up on occasion to see the snowcapped Lone Peak, Fan Mountain and Sphinx Mountain. Truthfully, it was just a treat to be outside today, away from the screen and the keyboard, letting the mind focus on fish...and nothing else.

A few years ago I would fish the river about 30 or 40 days during February and March and I never had to fish anything other than an egg imitaton as the lead fly and a Serendipity or a standard Pheasant-Tail Nymph as the trailer. I know some guys who banged them up with San Juans, but I never saw much success with the worm and always preferred the egg. And I still do. If you plan to fish the Madison this spring, and I think you should, bring a bunch of egg patterns, size-16 or 18 and not too puffy. Also bring some Brassies, Pheasant-Tails, Serendipities and Copper Johns. Thread midges in a variety of colors also work well. I like to place a bluish/metalic bead at the head of those patterns. Zebra Midges, with the silver wire segmentation also work well. Make sure to bring some indicators and small split-shot, too. You'll want a nine-foot 4X leader and a couple spools of tippet, in 4X and 5X.

Make sure you know the regs before fishing the Madison. The area from McAtee Bridge to the town bridge in Ennis is open. Downstream from Ennis to Ennis Lake is closed. Below Ennis Lake, the Beartrap Canyon is open. One of the best places to camp is at Varney Bridge. Sweet spot, with lots of room for a fire and your late-night coyote screams aren't going to bother anybody. If you're in a more social mode, camp near town, just on the south and east side of the town bridge. You can walk to the bars from there...and home of course. Claimjumper makes a mean cheeseburger. Real Decoy offers a fair deal on dinner. The Silver Dollar also is a sweet spot with a good pool table and Rainiers.

Here are a few pics from the day, temptation for the rest of you to throw in the towel and say, what the hell, I'm doing it!

gt

NOTE: It's the voice of Troy Letherman again and if you've read his previous work published on Angler's Tonic you know what a treasure it is. This is another great, long read. Grab a drink, find reprieve from the family, sink into that leather chair and enjoy. To see more of Letherman's work check out www.fishalaskamagazine.com

Valhalla Lodge

by Troy Letherman

We come from the land of ice and snow,

From the midnight sun where the hot springs blow.

Hammer of the gods will drive our ships to new land,

To fight the horde, sing and cry: Valhalla, I am coming!

--Led Zepplin

I TUCKED MY CHIN INTO THE CORNERS OF MY JACKET-TOP, attempting to avoid the artificially accelerated sting of these first drops of rain. There was no threshing oar to sweep—the little outboard was kicking along quite nicely, thank you—but otherwise Robert Plant had it about right: our goal was indeed the western shore.

Through a dim film of sea smoke and chronic drizzle, I could just make out the far beach as we clattered along, cresting short swells and slamming down again. Throughout the day, the loudest sound I’d heard was wind sweeping in off the tundra to rustle willows and spoil the cast. Now, skidding across the chop in an aluminum boat, the air was filled with barbarous dissonance. I retreated deeper into the last cranny of Gore-Tex, and, tasting zipper, I thought of trout.

Valhalla Lodge with the floatplane locked and loaded.

The flowing waters that vein these western Alaska lowlands represent one of the last great strongholds for Oncorhynchus mykiss irideus, the coastal subspecies of rainbow trout. The rivers pour from runoff, from groundwater springs, from cold headwater lakes, and the fish raid rich and stable sources for nutrition—sticklebacks, sculpins and leeches; voles, mice and shrews; flesh and eggs, alevin, fry and out-migrating salmon smolt. The water is clear, clean; the trout wild, pure. They color up in copper and gold, with coal-black spots and deeply magenta stripes, or they betray a fondness for the big lakes by turning out in silver, spotted faintly, a light emerald across their backs. The shingly streams invite the wading angler. These fish—eager eaters—invite the well-swung fly.

Mosquito Lagoon Redfish

 NOTE: Here are some pics from a trip to Florida last week to visit friends and enjoy family time away from the blizzards of Montana. Of course, I worked in some time for redfish. Hope you enjoy. gt

Every kid fears that a dentist is either going to stick a needle in their gum or crunch a molar out of their jaw with a toothy vice and a serrated blade. I can't say that I didn't have that same fear with my early dentists but then a dentist moved in next door to our family home in Seattle and my relationship with he and his wife has stood the test of time, and the extraction of four wisdom teeth, for 36 years.

While visiting those two, Jack and Layne, in Satellite Beach, Florida and lounging in their pool I considered the good people in life. You meet some who seem more generous caring and selfless than others and Jack and Layne certainly fit that mold; they were generous to me as a child, they supported me with gifts, cash donations, food and sound advice in the college years and, later, they provided a loan for my first home in Montana. These days they offer their various houses to me and my family whenever we care to visit, whether they are present or not. In addition, they hold a keen interest in my kids and they treat them as if their own. There are few people on earth, a handful at best, that I'd leave my kids with for an extended period—Jack and Layne are two of those. Most important to me, Jack and Layne continue to serve as a sounding board and I am able to discuss any issue with them and know that their words come from experience and are thoughtful and articulate.

It's always cool to land a specie of fish for the first time. Redfish, I can report, are very cool fish.

Among the things that Jack and I did frequently when I was a child were basketball and fishing. On the fishing side Jack never took things too seriously while casting jigs and lures off his dock on Lake Washington in Seattle. To catch perch and a few bass and a big trout every once in a while he used nothing  more than a pink children's Zebco rod and reel. Yes, he's been spooled a few times. Remember, Lake Washington harbors king salmon to 30 pounds or more. Fact is, Jack and I got up early one morning and probed Lake Washington with large rods, flashers and plugs and we caught our fair share of kings up to 25 or 30 pounds. I can't say that Jack always followed the letter of the law to a tee; some of the salmon he cooked on the barbeque looked a bit oversized and suspicious. 

Among our angling triumphs was the landing of a bonito in Puget Sounds during an El Nino period. Another time I caught a large yellow perch in Lake Washington and tried to relocate it to a pond in Jack's backyard in Richmond Beach. When the end seemed near I bonked it over the head, filleted it and had jack serve it as a snack.

Note: A little humor for your first Monday after the big holiday. Hope it takes some pain away. gt

A North Idaho Near Disaster

Backpack trips into remote trout streams are usually about having too much stuff—too much food, too many pairs of underwear, too many flies, rods, reels … When the opposite is true it’s typically in regard to a dearth of suitable beverage, or forgetting a rain-fly, or the bear spray, or a lighter and matches. Something to turn an anticipated experience into a near-disaster.

A couple summers ago, in July, I engaged on a five-day backpack trip into north Idaho with a friend, Jeff Wogoman. We were searching for big, native cutthroat and a few bull trout. Jeff viewed the trip as an opportunity to field-test some prototype gear, including Cloudveil’s super-lightweight 8X Wading Boot.What to do in North Idaho with two right-foot boots?

At the trailhead we spread our gear on the ground, then divvied essentials into our respective packs trying to match weights (Hey, I’m not carrying that bottle of Crown Royal, too, Wogoman roared. I retorted, If I’m carrying all the food and 15 pounds of fly boxes and reels then, yes, you are carrying the Crown Royal). Then this dubious suggestion from Wogs: If we drink all the beer right now we wouldn’t have to pack it in. Eventually, we agreed on the beer and the loads and all that was left was to lace our boots and head up the rough trail, five miles upstream we hoped, past the mulies and whitetails and black bears and moose.

I just about jumped out of my boots when Wogs yelled, “What the hell! You’ve got to be kidding me!” His rage broke the silence of a perfect summer morning and all I could think was, He broke his sunglasses or he snapped a rod or, after a pre-hike belt, he failed to screw a cap onto the Crown Royal and now it might be leaking in the bottom of his pack. Instead, he said, “Ned’s dead! He gave me two right-footed wading boots!”

Benelli Day 3

Yesterday was Day 3 of the Benelli On Assignment hunt and there was some pressure to score. We'd seen lots of bucks and tried to stalk a few but, each time, we got busted by does and the antlered ones made clever escapes.The author with his buck.

This was the first filmed hunt I've participated in and that added an element of pressure. Take yesterday morning for instance. After leaving the lodge at seven, we worked to an area where we'd stalked a large three-point the day prior. That day, I had the buck in my sights for more than five minutes, but he was skylined on a ridge and I prefer to not shoot at skylined animals for safety reasons. In the end his group of does spooked and they took him over the hill with them. We followed through heavy cover, but the snow was crunchy and there were six of us walking in single file, which means we wer