Four days into the trip and it was time to go fishing! I had brought two fly rods with me; a G. Loomis GLX Max 5wt and a Sage FLI 6 wt. Both are nice rods, but I grabbed the Loomis and two reels and set out for the river. I had seen someone fishing down there when I staggered in on Saturday and they had at least one fish they were keeping for dinner. It was a good sign.
The South Fork of the Flathead River is home to two different species of trout. The most prevalent is the cutthroat trout, so named because of the bright red lines just under the gills. The other species is the bull trout. Montana just started an experimental permit system to fish for bull trout in a small section of the river but every other place was catch-and-release only. Bull trout are very predacious. The flies for bull trout in the fly shop look more like saltwater flies with long streamers and fat bodies. People who know say catching a bull trout is an experience you won’t forget because they can get very big and are fighters. I thought it might be fun, but frankly I didn’t care what kind of trout took my fly as long as I caught some fish.
The river was very uniform in most places. 
There was no structure and no plant life, just smooth rocks from one bank to the other. The water was very clear but fast enough to cause some distortion when trying to find trout feeding lanes. You could wade in anywhere and start casting, but it was random coincidence if you happened to hit an area where trout were. There was nothing to suggest one place would be better than the other. But a spot where the river turned offered an exception to the pattern. A deeper channel cut its way through the middle of the curve leaving relatively calm pools on either side. They looked like good places for trout to hang out so I decided to start there.
I watched the river for a while to look for any signs of trout feeding. Since there was no overhead cover I didn’t expect to see many trout rising except maybe around sunset. That didn’t necessarily mean they wouldn’t take a fly off the surface. The guides at the fly shops said dry files would work all day. I tied on a Royal Wulff I got at the Grizzly Hackle Fly Shop and tossed in some casts. The drifts were very short, only four seconds or less due to the speed of the water. That can be both an advantage and disadvantage. The upside is that you don’t have to be quite as perfect with your technique because the water would naturally toss around anything on the surface. The drawback is that the fish have precious little time to see what’s coming and if you don’t put it in the right feeding lane they won’t even bother fighting the current to get to it. I wasn’t getting anything happening with the Wulff. I was positive that fish were in there, it was just a matter of finding the right fly to get their attention. All the conditions suggested subsurface would be a better bet. I tied on another three feet of tippet to my line but left the Wulff on. I tied on a blue Prince rubberleg nymph that was suggested at the fly shop. I needed at least two splitshot to get it to a decent depth before the current dragged it to the bank, but that would pull the Wulff under as well. So I put a Thingamabobber (yes, it’s an actual name) about six inches down from the Wulff. The Thingamabobber is a simple plastic ball that can loop onto your leader so it floats in the water. It is very lightweight, which makes it sensitive to the slightest twitch on the line below, at least in reasonably calm water. It’s buoyant enough to stay afloat unless a fish takes the nymph, then you know something is on. This would serve as an indicator and still allow the Wulff to stay on the surface. I was quite proud of the ingenuity, if I say so myself!
The setup wasn’t accommodating for long casts, so I had to swing it out to the channel downstream from the target. I let it drift naturally and then held on at the end so the nymph would rise like a natural hatching insect. The indicator disappeared underwater and I tugged the line. I had my first fish! It was not a monster, but it was a good eight inch cutthroat and a sign that the fish were there. I stayed in that spot for a couple hours, changing up flies on top and bottom. I got a few strikes on the Wulff but they didn’t take it. I thought maybe it was too big, so I tried a Royal Coachman 16 instead. Now I started hooking fish both on top and underwater. I had brought a flexible tripod for my camera in hopes that I could take a self-portrait of me with a fish, but it was more difficult than it might seem. First, there was nothing around more than knee-high to use as a base. I decided to use a rock and just point the camera to an area I could get to. But I found that it’s like juggling on a unicycle to turn on the camera, set up the timer and push the shutter without moving the camera or stepping out of the frame while holding a flopping fish. And reshooting for multiple takes was not really an option. Here’s the best one I got, and I’m covering up most of the fish!
I caught six fish that morning, all in that bend in the river. Most were between 8-10 inches, but I did catch a couple 14 inchers. They weren’t trophies, but they were hearty fish and good fighters. I probably could have stayed there all afternoon too, but I wanted to see what was downstream.
I hiked along the bank to a section that was about seventy yards wide. I could toss out a good amount of line from knee-deep water and it was fun to watch the flies drift along the swift current. No strikes though. I knew that fish had to be in the deeper water but I couldn’t get to them with my floating line. I switched reels and tied an olive marabou onto my sinking tip line. Some guys catch most all of their fish on streamers, but not me. I’ve never been good with streamers; there is something about the retrieve rate that I can’t seem to get right. I tried a variety of colors and styles on the sinking line but didn’t get any interest from the trout. I figured they won that battle, so I should get something to eat and plan my next strategy.
I hiked back to the secret spot and ate lunch. I had brought several cans of Dave’s Gourmet Tuna and Salmon for lunch every day. They are a great source of protein and also quite tasty. Along with some chips and cold water they make a satisfying meal. After lunch I headed back up to my tent. I wanted to hike upstream to a place on the map called Independence Park, which was just a big level spot near the river. I didn’t know if the fishing was any good, but it seemed like an interesting place to try and it was less than a mile up the trail. As I got closer to the cabin I saw someone unloading his pack animals near the corral. Feeling I had mastered the neighborly protocol of the wilderness, I walked over to say hello. His name was Bill and he was every bit as friendly as expected. He was a legitimate, died in the wool, one hundred percent original cowboy if there ever was one. He looked 65 years old but might have been 38 in cowboy years. I asked Bill if he needed a hand but he seemed to be in a routine that he could do in his sleep. The horses and mules had also clearly been through the drill before, waiting patiently for their packs to be unloaded before finding a patch of dirt to roll in. Bill worked for the forest service taking supplies in to work crews in the wilderness. His week consisted of starting out at Meadow Creek trail head with a fully loaded train, taking it as far as Big Prairie 33 miles south, then turning around to trek back out. He had six days on and four days off, when he returned to his ranch in Eureka, Montana where he tended his own horses.
I was surprised that Bill hadn’t tied up any of the animals. I pointed out my tent across a field and asked him if I needed to pick it up. “No, they won’t bother it”, he said with the same tone of confidence that he might use to tell me the mules wouldn’t fly away either. I took the opportunity to tap Bills expertise.
“Can I ask you a dumb city person’s question”? I asked.
“Sure thing!” he said cheerfully.
“What’s the difference between a mule and a donkey? I mean, I understand that mules are half donkey and half horse, but why use them as pack animals? Why not just use horses or donkeys?”
“Some people prefer horses for pack animals” he said. “But what I like about mules is that they keep their heads better if you ever get into trouble. Once in a while you might see a donkey out here, mules are generally better dispositioned”.
“Can you tell the difference between a donkey and a mule by looking at them?” I asked. I mean, I couldn’t.
“Oh yeah” he replied. But I got the impression Bill could tell the breed, age and weight of a horse from looking at half a hoof print. He could probably also tell you when it was shoed last and what it had eaten for its last three meals. He really was a cowboy. He had left Big Prairie that morning and was going to spend the night before heading out the next morning. He asked me how the fishing was and I gave him a short report. I said I was going upstream to look at a new spot. He wished me luck and we said maybe we would see each other later in the week.
The trail went past the cabin and then wound inland to cross Hungry Creek. It was a beautiful trail in the forest with greenery on both sides. I passed a few Huckleberry bushes and stopped to sample the berries. They weren’t heavily loaded but they were quite tasty. I couldn’t help thinking that some black bears would probably really enjoy them and might even be coming by to check the crop.
I didn’t want to venture too far upstream so I only walked about half an hour before finding a path to the river. It looked a lot like the rest of the river I had seen; very uniform with not much variation. I did find a gore point where the river split off to a separate stream and converged again a hundred yards downstream. The merge point offered some promise, so I hiked upstream to approach it from above. I hooked one cutthroat on the Royal Coachman and missed several other strikes.
After a while the action went dead. It was after five o’clock and I decided to go back to wash off and make dinner. I had tried using some duct tape I had brought to fix the tent pole but it didn’t hold. I had fixed a similar break a few weeks earlier by wrapping fine-gauge wire tightly around the fracture. I stopped at the cabin to see if they might have anything similar I could use. Bill was the only person there and he invited me in like I was an old friend. I told him about my project and asked if he might have anything I could use. He pointed me to a box behind the stairway that was a collection of odds and ends that had been gathered over the years. Sure enough, I found a two foot piece of wire that looked like it might work. Bill invited me to sit down while he made something cold to drink. There is a faucet in the cabin that gets water from Hungry Creek. He opened a cupboard where a box of Tang was kept. I have to admit, it was very refreshing to have something other than plain water. He made a pitcher of it and we downed two glassed each before setting it down. I asked Bill about the area and what kind of wildlife he had seen. The trail is snowed in for three to four months a year. Sometimes outfitters bring elk hunters up until October, but most don’t want to risk getting caught in the snow. Access in the spring is determined by the amount of snowfall and the rate of melting. This year was exceptionally heavy, which made it tough on outfitters. They book trips a year in advance and hope the weather doesn’t force them to refund deposits. They make most of their money in 6-7 months, so every delay costs them dearly. Bill said by July 4 he can usually cut across the river with his animals and shave a mile off his route. But this year he still couldn’t risk it in early August. He said he talked to some disappointed rafters who had gone the whole length of the river and not caught anything. I suppressed the urge to tell him I had caught six just since this morning!
Bill had seen a small bear around in previous years but it hadn’t made an appearance so far this year. Deer were walking through the camp all hours of the day, so it went without saying that they were around. He also said sometimes they get elk coming up to graze. Most grass eaters realize that pack animals mean food, and they like to scavenge what is left behind. Several times during the week I would see deer walking around in the corral looking for leftovers. Bill said the elk were more plentiful earlier in the Spring/Summer but they leave for higher ground once it starts getting hot. He said they also get the occasional moose further north on the trail.
I asked Bill about the biggest worry he had on the trail. He said it wasn’t bears or any kind of wild animals, but the animals getting spooked on a narrow trail. Mules don’t have a lot to think about on a train except the ass in front of their nose (take that any way you want), so anything unexpected can startle them, especially hikers from the city. I had seen a sign at the trailhead that gave notice of a dead mule near mid-creek, so I could see how a misstep on the trail could be disastrous. A slip and fall could mean a broken leg, which is a death sentence for a pack animal. There are no ambulances in the wilderness, and all outfitters carry a pistol that isn’t always just for bears. Bill liked to get started early in the morning to minimize the chance he would meet other guides on the trail. Moving animals off the trail or, even worse- turning them around one by one – can not only extend your trip by hours but offer lots of opportunity for trouble.
Bill had a walkie-talkie with him that the forest service uses to communicate through the wilderness. But he pointed out that sometimes they don’t work and they have to use the phone. He opened a small door to expose an antique crank telephone that was connected via a wire draped through the forest to a cabin 12 miles away. I snapped a picture of it. Bill then offered to take my picture with the phone so I could tell the people at work that I tried to dial in for some meetings. Funny!
I think Bill would have talked until dark, but I needed to try to fix that tent pole, wash off, and eat dinner. I thanked him for the drink and hoped that I would meet him again on Wednesday on his next trip through.
The wire worked like a charm and my tent was back to full size. I had my favorite for dinner, spaghetti and meat sauce. Everyone who ate freeze dried camp food ten years ago tells me the new food is quantum leaps better than it used to be, and I believe them. The Mountain House is especially good. All you do is add boiling water to the pouch, wait about nine minutes and eat it right out of the package. I never get tired of the spaghetti, but I brought a few others along for variety. A close second favorite would be the potatoes with beef and onions. I sealed up the empty bags in a Ziploc and kept it in the bear canister. The forest service advises campers to suspend their food and trash at least ten feet off the ground and ten feet from any tree. I didn’t go to quite that much trouble, but I did find a limb on a nearby pine tree that I used as a hook for my canister while I was away from camp. I wasn’t really worried about bears getting it, but those deer might nose it around and knock it into the river if I didn’t keep it off the ground. While in the tent, I used it as a footrest to keep my feet elevated. Turns out those canisters are quite useful!
After dinner I grabbed my soap, a towel, a fresh shirt and my fishing gear and walked to the river. My plan was to wash off in the river while it was still warm outside and then stay there to fish until dusk. I went back to the spot where I had success in the morning. Not much was happening there until about 8 o’clock, and then a few fish started rising. I tried the crippled emerger I got at the fly shop and it was a big hit with the trout. I caught six more fish that night, five on the surface. I left the river about 9 o’clock while there was still plenty of light to let me find my way back. I passed a few deer and some of the pack animals on my way to the tent. None of them were too concerned about me being there.
The weather forecast was for sunny skies all week, but some high clouds had moved in towards evening. I put the rainfly over my tent and tucked all my gear into the vestibule. I’ve weathered some strong downpours in that tent and it kept everything dry. It was comforting to know that if it did rain that night that I wouldn’t have to scramble to cover things up or worry about getting wet. I finished the day having caught 13 fish and learned some interesting facts about life on the trail. Day 4 was definitely a good day to be in Montana.
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