I woke up last night to hear something grazing about 10 feet from my tent. Fortunately it was just a mule who was minding his own business. I had some deer very near the tent a couple nights earlier but a quick smack on the tent wall sent them running. About six o’clock I heard Bill over by the coral getting his gear ready. He gave a distinctive cowboy yell of “Hiyee Ho!” and the horses and mules immediately came from all corners of the woods and fields from as far away as a quarter mile. It was an impressive command of his animals. They seemed actually eager to get moving again. Loading up a pack train takes a good 40-50 minutes, but Bill was about as efficient as anybody could be by themselves. He loaded up the train and had them on the trail before 7 a.m.
I wanted to explore further upstream a few miles, but I still didn’t feel up to the hike. I decided instead I would press further downstream to look for good spots. I started at the spot where I had success the day before but didn’t spend much time there. The water downstream was very nice, but also very uniform. Still, it was like the fly fishing videos you see where guys standing knee deep in clear rivers whipping fifty foot casts and no obstacles in sight. I had to throw some upstream just to watch the long drift. Nothing was biting, but it was still fun.
I walked a little further downstream and sat down on a steep bank to replace my tippet. While I was tying knots a group of 4 rafters landed upstream 80 yards on the other side of the river. I presume one was a guide taking the other three on a float trip. They waded in to their knees and fished a channel ten yards in front of them. Most of them didn’t look too serious, but one guy was a real technician. I watched him as he carefully placed his caddis fly upstream and mended his line as he followed it through a drift. I was a little surprised when he caught two fish in that small section of water. Both were only about six inches, but I still wouldn’t have guessed there was anything there. It inspired me to try some unlikely places. With the wind at my back I casted out into the river and slightly upstream. I was using a prince nymph under a red humpy with my thingamabobber setup. At the end of a drift the indicator disappeared underwater and I felt a strong tug. I set the drag on my reel and started to bring it in. But he really wanted to run and I was careful not to snap the leader. Despite continuously tightening the drag, he still kept peeling line and heading downstream. When he got to the backing I knew I needed to start fighting harder. 
I started walking downstream to the fish while bringing in the line. He was starting to tire and I was closing the gap. Eventually he got close enough to net. Like the others, he wasn’t huge but he put up a good fight.
I spent a good part of the late morning and half the afternoon fishing downstream and reeled in seven trout. It wasn’t a banner harvest, but it was fun. In late afternoon I headed back towards the cabin. I hadn’t actually spent much time exploring the grounds away from the river and wanted to see what it was like. The cabin was quite well built considering we were in the wilderness. Bill had told me they had been around since the 30’s. It was little more than a two story barracks with bunks built in. There was a wood burning stove in the middle and a few cupboards for supplies. The sink was a nice touch, and somehow the water was connected directly to the faucet. I think the water ran from a higher spot in Hungry Creek so it created enough pressure to flow on demand. The windows were also quite nice and equipped with big wooden shutters that could be bolted shut for the winter.
The cabin is property of the US Forest Service, and I don’t know the official rules governing who can use it. Certainly forest service employees like Bill, work crews, and rangers can use it when passing through. I suppose I could make an argument as a tax payer that it’s partially my cabin too, but I was content with my tent closer to the river.
Behind the cabin and up a small hill was a big meadow. It was quite a contrast to see such a broad, level spot after hiking so close to the river. The grass had dried up, but it was still very photogenic. I could envision deer and elk grazing there in the spring when everything was green. Bill’s horses and mules also wandered up there to run around. Views like this are what earned Montana the nickname of Big Sky Country.
The rest of the evening was pretty low key. Each night I would collect a bag of water in my 10 liter collapsible sink and bring it to camp. I discovered a water pump at the corral that was much more convenient than going to the river each night. From this sink I would have water to cook with and to filter for my three drinking bags. It would be enough to take me through the night and until late morning. It could also be used to rinse off muddy boots or hands without trekking down to the river each time. I wanted to get a good night’s rest because tomorrow was going to be a long hike up river. I needed to give myself plenty of time to get there and back, and of course, fish for most of the day. I was looking forward to it.
fly-fishing-chronicles.com 
Leave a comment