We managed a half-dozen brook trout, some with beautiful coloration and white tipped fins, plus one solid 16-inch, high-jumping rainbow, and a great brown trout that stretched past 20 and gave me a good battle. It ate an olive deer-hair head sculpin that I’m fond of, but we couldn’t find any more big browns that were looking up.

Upper Big Hole on Friday.

Beer and fried chicken? Is there a better midday snack. We smelled that chicken from the Albertson's parking lot in Anaconda and knew what we'd be chewing on later.

Great day to be on the water, however, and we made the float before flows bounced up a bit this weekend. We’re seeing cool evenings in Montana, but hot days. So the rivers are bouncing then dropping on a daily basis. Drove over the Clark Fork tonight and it had a blueish hue. I’ll check it again tomorrow to see if light and my mind were playing tricks. Good time to be on the water in Montana if you can find water with decent visibility. A couple shots from the weekend.

D-Sumn chilling at lunch with an Olivia #3.

My tent is made by Big Agnes, a Steamboat Springs, Colorado-based company that ranks high on the list of backpackers and mountaineers. Four or five years ago they sent me a tent to test, a three-person, three-seaonson model. Since that time I’ve pitched it a hundred times or more and aside from a friend ripping the rain fly when he was sucking down whiskey and wandering around our camp on the Smith River,  nothing has gone wrong with this bomber tent. I’ve taken it to the top of the Madison Range, to the eastern Washington desert, and even to central Montana where I used it as a base of operation when I competed solo in a 24-hour mountain bike race.

Getting mauled by the weather at goat camp in the Madison Range. Slept well in the Big Agnes that night.

So, if I were in the market for a new tent I would definitely buy another Big Agnes. I was just perusing their new catalogue and here are the models I’d be interested in. First, for those who love fishing high-mountain lakes, I’d go with the superlight Seedhouse SL2, a two-person tent that weighs just 2 pound 9 ounces. For a bit sturdier tent that still is manageable to backpack with, I’d go with the three-person Copper Spur UL3. It weighs 3 pounds 14 ounces and closely resembles the tent I’ve been using. Now, there is some reality I’m dealing with—most of my camping, especially with the girls, is going to be close if not right next to the truck. For that type of camping I’d go with a Big House 4, which is a four-person tent that weighs ten pounds 13 ounces. Not something you’d put in your pack and carry to the top of a mountain.

So, if I choose to update my tent this year, I would go with that Copper Spur UL3. It’s light enough to carry in a pack, but big enough to use next to the vehicle.

Want to know more about Big Agnes? Visit www.bigagnes.com

The In-Law’s Bass Pond: by Louis Cahill

“The pond was full of those great lily pads, and I guess that’s where the problem started.”

I guess I should be happy, but I’m not.

Ever since my in-laws moved to South Carolina the compulsory visits have had a silver lining. I discovered a little bass pond just down the road. It’s a sort of neighborhood open space and I’ve seen a few folks fish it but very few. Maybe an acre total, you can fish about sixty percent of it from the bank if you’re a good caster.

I am, SO not a bass fisherman. My brother is quite good at it so I’m well aware of my shortcomings. I have a lot of respect for the guys who can go out on those big lakes and find the channels and structure, temperature changes and whatever else causes bass to find a happy home in, what looks to me, like featureless water. I’ve never been motivated to learn all of that. In part because bass just don’t blow my skirt up.

They’re a cool fish and all, I’m just so in love with the brightly colored trout that bass don’t get a lot of my attention. I also freely admit that I have no interest at all in going seventy miles per hour in a boat. It scares the shit out of me and I bear no shame for that. I find it aesthetically more pleasing to walk to my fish and it’s easier on my nerves. That said, a bass pond is just my speed.

It’s been great, at Christmas, Thanksgiving or Easter, to just sneak off for and hour or two at the end of the day and deposit a little of my stress into a fly line. There is just something terribly satisfying about watching the chug-chug of a bass popper get violently interrupted by a falling bowling ball. It’s not the most challenging fishing but, that’s kind of the point.

This little pond in the South Carolina low country is just beautiful. Enough trees to find some shade but not so many that casting is impossible. A healthy frog population so the popper fishing is great. I’ve had fish bust through the lily pads to eat a popper sitting on top. The pond was full of those great lily pads, and I guess that’s where the problem started.

I don’t know if the alligator was attracted to the lily pads but he certainly liked the bass that hung out around them. Whatever the reason, this gator happily took up residence in the pond and it caused a minor hysteria among the neighbors, my in-laws included. Apparently suburban gators have an acquired taste for dog. Now, this gator couldn’t have been big enough to swallow more than a poodle and, honestly, is that the worst thing that could happen? But, one poodle at a time, he was sure to grow big enough to be a problem and I can understand why they got rid of him.

The gator was gone, physically, but he lingered in the minds of the neighbors. At this point the fear of the gator came home to roost where fear always roosts, the fear of the unknown. People looked at the pond differently. Anything could be lurking under those lily pads. Those lily pads have to go. And go they did.

The last time I fished the pond it was a different place. The fish that I caught were not in the usual places. They were huddled up around the banks finding structure where they could and there were a lot fewer of them. It was OK, but not like it used to be. There was more that was new. Big shadows cruising where the lily pads used to be READ MORE

Of the thousands of fishing holes across the nation, two locations managed by the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers’ Walla Walla District made the Bassmaster Magazine Top-100 list of best places to fish for bass, according to an April 24 release by B.A.S.S. Communications.

The Columbia River in Oregon and Washingtonranked number 20 on the list. Much of the river’s recreation opportunities are managed by the Corps’ Walla Walla, Portland andSeattle districts. The river runs about 1,200 miles from its headwaters in British Columbia, Canada, throughWashington and Oregon to the Pacific Ocean nearAstoria, Ore. The Corps operates five dams on the Columbia River mainstem, each forming a lake READ MORE

THIS PAST WEEKEND (April 28/29), a buddy, Nick Segal, and I headed up the Taku River in southeast Alaska, outside of Juneau.  As with most trips up the Taku, this one was a mix of the good and the bad.  While it would have been nice had everything been good, that would not have been realistic and it would have made each of the good things slightly less appreciated.  It seems like it is often a mix of the good and bad that makes us enjoy the good all the more and makes some fishing trips so memorable.  This trip certainly helped emphasize that.

To begin the trip, we were not sure that the ice had even broke on the river.  The last report we had was from Ward Air which had flown the river on Friday afternoon.  They reported that the river was broke up high, but that approximately 10 miles of ice remained on the lower river between the Taku Lodge and the tidewater. My buddy and I decided to take the risk and head out in my jet-sled. Here’s a chronologically organized good/bad detail of the trip:

A view up the wild Taku from the helm of Sullivan's jet-sled.

1. Good: Found a neophyte to the river, who was good enough to agree to go up there with me. Wahoo! I was not having to risk doing a solo trip in the spring. My chances of surviving were now better!

Bad: Not sure whether or not we were going to make it up the river or not. By all accounts, it is was still frozen as of the day before. Talking to the pilot at Ward Air who had flown the river on Friday afternoon, he indicated that the river might break within two high tides (~16 hours). We left town without any further word, on Saturday at 11 a.m.

2. Good: Made it through the sketchy section of the river we thought might have ice. It had broke during the night. Awesome! Were told by the caretaker at Taku River Lodge that we were the first boat up the river this spring.  Perfect timing.

Bad: The river was ultra-low and difficult to run. There were pieces of the river’s bottom I have never seen before. For the most part, the riverbanks are covered with 4-6 feet of shelf ice and snow. There is only one channel to run the boat in (as opposed to the usual many) and that channel is extremely challenging.

3. Good: Since the River is ultra-low, we figured it would make for great clear water and awesome fishing at our ultimate destination.

Bad: We were constantly worried about whether or not the river would be deep enough to allow passage to where we wanted to be and whether or not there would be any trees across the river that would block our passage.

4. Good: Great wildlife viewing including many moose and goats.

Bad: The honey hole we had planned on fishing had substantially changed. It was now 200 feet away from where it had been the year before and was now a shallow, fast riffle as opposed to a long, 4-6 deep and wide run.

5. Good: Came upon a moose carcass very close to the river, which had two wolves on it (one black and one white). We were able to get up-close and personal to the wolves (<100 yards) and even had them standing and looking at us a good part of the time.  Very, very cool!

The black wolf returning to the forest.

Bad: Not only had the honey hole changed, but in addition to that, it was uncharacteristically muddy and unfishable.

6. Good: During the entire trip, the weather was warm and we had no rain or wind. By Taku standards, it was incredible weather!

Bad: The reason for the river being muddy above the honey hole was a large landslide.  Below the landslide, the river was blown out. Above the landslide, it was fishable.

7. Good: Nick was enthralled with the river experience. It is so awesome taking somebody up the river who has never been there before. To many, it is a life-changing experience. By Nick’s reaction, he may well fit into that crowd. It is incredibly gratifying to have been partly responsible for having brought that about.

Camp on that.

Bad: Another series of honey holes exist about six miles above the landslide. However, just above the landslide there is a large log across the only navigable part of the river. It was approximately 3 feet in diameter and needed to be cut on both ends. One end was in approximately 4 feet of extremely swift water and the other end was in approximately 8 feet of fast water. In the end, I estimated  that, being 70 miles from town by boat, it was far too dangerous to risk making the cut, and that even if we made it through the log, the river was likely too low to get to the next series of honey holes and/or get out of there without destroying the boat.

8. Good: Made quick time coming back down the river from the log blockage.

Bad: Ended up planting the boat on a tree/stump sticking up in the middle of the river at 20 m.p.h. and wound up at about a 45 degree angle, due to a malfunctioning shifting unit and lack of reverse. The crash nearly threw me out of the boat (I have a grapefruit sized black bruise on my leg to show for it). However, ultimately, after about five minutes, we were able to get the boat off without any damage or repercussions. This incident was by far my closest call on the river yet.  It puckered me up – just a bit, and not to mention hurting my pride!

9. Good: Survived the boat crash.  Also, we had tons of very nice, clean and soft, spongy shelf ice to camp on down the river.

Bad: The shelf ice and snow on top of it was so soft that you would post hole down into it several feet.

10. Good: Nick and I each caught steelhead at an alternative location that I have only caught one steelhead at before.  Nick’s steelhead was his first on the west coast and his first in Alaska.

Bad: I broke my rod on the only steelhead I caught.

Nick with cold steel.

11. Good: Nick and I both caught lots and lots of big bull trout and very nice dolly varden.

Bad: Banged the hell out of the jet-boat at all sorts of different locations going down the river.

12. Good: Found an awesome campsite that we were able to catch bull trout and dollies at all night long. Additionally, Nick and I imbibed after our near-death boating adventure and great fishing. It was a wonderful!

Sulli with Taku steel.

Bad: I am not used to hanging around youngsters so immune to alcohol and its bad effects,  meaning sleep deprivation and muscle soreness. Needless to say, I suffered the next day!

13. Good: The trip down the river was beautiful and relatively uneventful.

Bad: Unfortunately, I realized that when filling one of the tanks on the boat in Juneau, the pump automatically shut off, and the tank was not full. Instead, it was empty and the nozzle had simply needed adjustment. We had 1/3 less fuel than we had thought.  Very big bummer!

14. Good: Fortunately, the Taku Lodge agreed to sell us some gas.  I was reluctant to ask for any more than I thought we might possibly need, particularly in light of the grumbling by the lodge caretaker (he agreed to provide us fuel, but was obviously not overjoyed at having to do so, since they were relatively low on fuel as well). As a consequence, I only asked for 10 gallons. I also switched over the tank we had been using to get to the lodge to another tank I had partially filled at the lodge. My plan was to use the lodge tank until it ran out and then switch back over to the partially depleted tank and and run my extremely fuel efficient kicker engine.

Bad: For the 10 gallons received, we ended up paying the lodge the $23 we had in our possession, approximately $30 worth of leftover Knob Creek Bourbon (which was extremely hard to let go of), and, promise that I would be back to make up the difference of what I still owed, whatever the caretaker deemed that to be (keep in mind that fuel in remote places in Alaska is far more expensive than elsewhere). The caretaker huffed and puffed, implying that I had not really paid anything in light of the fuel’s ultimate worth.  Whatever! We received our fuel and were hoping to make it back to town.

15. Good: It was very beautiful out, including the seas, until about 12 miles before Juneau or about two miles before Point Bishop.

Bad: At that point, we ran out of gas.

16. Good: At least we had the back-up tank that we had switched over from at the lodge for the kicker.

Bad: Actually, we didn’t. Turns out, the tank was switched over at precisely the same moment it must have also run out of gas. As such, we were dry, dry, dry. We had zip, zero, none in the way of fuel.

17. Good: We had oars.

Bad: Oars in that tide and wind, and 12 miles from town in a 3,000 lb. jet boat, suck! They are good for very little other than enabling you to get to shore—if you are close.

18. More Bad: Good Samaritans on the ocean are very few and far between this time of year.

Good: A family of Good Samaritans finally came upon us and shared some of their fuel with us. We were once again on our way. Woohooo! Another Taku trip survived!

Tate and Finley, a couple years ago, on Sulli's boat, with humpback whales approaching.

A backpack trip into north Idaho’s cutthroat and bull trout bastion brings humor and grief, via an unexpected surprise in wading boots.

Note: I gave a presentation last night to the Fly Fisher’s of the Bitterroot Club in Hamilton, Montana and had a wonderful time. The most laughs arrived when I told the following story, which was formerly printed in my old publication, Tight Lines. Hope you get a similar kick out of it.

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, I engaged on a five-day backpack trip into north Idaho with 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 one of his company’s breakthrough products, the super-lightweight 8X Wading Boot.

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! That ass gave me two right footed wading boots!”

Ned referred to Ned Hutchins, a veteran fly fisher who knows the value of sturdy boots on freestone streams, especially those located in near-wilderness where a turned ankle or a bad fall could render a dream-trip into a dangerous game. Wogs and I huddled for a moment. The nearest town was at least 50 miles away over bad dirt road. The nearest fly shop was 20 miles farther than that. The nearest quality wading boots, we declared, were at least a half-day drive away. If we went for the boots, we’d sacrifice the angling day. Fortunately, while digging through the cab of my truck I came up with an answer—I pulled a pair of ink-black, slick-soled New Balance running shoes from the depths, handed them to Wogs, and said, “Retro is in.”

Elements of big trips often reveal themselves as refrains and this catastrophe was no different. At first, whenever Wogs slipped on the trail or nearly fell while crossing the stream we’d say, “Ned is Dead!” By day two, Ned was to blame for everything; if we burned food it was Ned’s fault; if a trout rose to the top and rejected a fly, it was Ned’s fault; if a no-see-um or a horsefly torched an arm or leg, it was that blasted Ned again; when the weather turned and lightening threatened … Yep. Ned.

That Wogs survived the trip or, more accurately, that his ankles and knees and wrists weathered north Idaho’s freestone storm, is testament to a youth spent in competitive gymnastics and college years wearing in a male cheerleading suit. There were times when Wogs spun circles and then launched off slick, midstream rocks, demonstrating the splits in midair, ala Mary Lou Retton. Other times he nearly lost it on steep off-trail sections, feet sliding down the scree, momentum finally stopping at the bottom of a mountain in an airborne spin and a perfect two-point landing, ala Tanya Harding’s defamed triple axel. Each time I witnessed that grace I felt like waving a flag and throwing wild roses. It was as if I were witnessing the birth of a new American legend. I don’t think Wogs, humble man that he is, saw it that way.

At the end of what turned out to be a most memorable and productive fishing trip, with a grimace on his face Wogs tore a piece of paper from a notebook and scratched his sentiments, and demanded that I snap a photo to e-mail to Ned.

Later that year, I caught up with Ned and gave him a rightful amount of good-natured abuse. Ned, ever the clear-minded thinker, said, “Yea, it’s too bad that Wog’s had to dance around north Idaho in tennis shoes, but the real questions is this: Who’s the poor son-of-a-bitch that ended up with two lefts?”

The activities, meaning libation and stories, I believe, begin at 6 p.m. I’ll begin the program around 7 p.m. and will show images and talk for about 40 minutes. I’ll field some questions after that. Should be a great time as I know several club members personally and they’re great people. Look forward to seeing/meeting all of you there.

THE DIRT: Tuesday, May 1, 2012, at BJ’s located at 900 N. 1st Street, Hamilton. General fish tails start at 6:00 pm and the program starts at 7:00 pm.

Those carp cruise the shallows and eat a variety of offerings, ranging from hare’s-ears to leeches and other secret society flies that you’ve got to be there to see. For more info contact Brooks Montgomery at brooks@hartmontgomery.com