October, ca 2018

There was amiable company on the trail today. Good friend Bill, a tall and sturdy Texican who come to homestead in these Northern territories back in aught-four, rid with me as we pushed east over to the settlement of Bozeman. Day had already begun when we lit out and sun was sliding slowly across the bright blue above as we crossed the Divide in high mountain and made way into the Big Hole Valley. Further on, we crossed her again atop Homestake Pass what is just east of Butte and then rid hard to day’s destination. Bill, having a lovely and long-time gal in that town, made his residence with her, whilst I found lodging at local boarding house.

Pleasantries of old friends and pretty women notwithstanding, we was there to fish. 

Dave Williamson of Wild Trout Outfitters.

Every year at this time, the big browns and bows come swimming out of Hebgen Lake and move up into the Madison, the Gibbon and the Firehole rivers of Yellowstone National Park. They’s there to spawn a few weeks later on in the season. We’s there not to interrupt them annual nuptials, but to bring a few to net, say howdy and then send them on back to satisfy natural predispositions of procreation.

Early next day, before sun took its place and pleasure in morning sky, we was off. The hard cold of winter come traveling with us as we made way to outfitters camp down in Big Sky. 

We was fishing with a man name of Dave Williamson of Wild Trout Outfitters, wildtroutoutfitters.com. I have had the pleasure of pursuing trout with Dave many time afore on many a river and have enjoyed both his fly-fishing expertise and his camaraderie. Them Wild Trout fellows is a group of good and decent folk who live and breathe fly fishing, acquiring plentiful proficiency in locating those feisty critters and catching them in abundance. After customary greetings, we rid south with Dave to river’s edge in Yellowstone Park and there prepared gear and ourselves for catching them big boys. We waded out over slippery rock and into waist deep current and cast our flies into slow riffle with heightened expectation. Weren’t long before my rod bowed up hard and monstrous fish was ripping down stream a mile a minute when…boom! He spit hook. 

Friend Bill hooking up on a monster trout
right before it spit the hook!

It was then Bill’s turn to enjoy screaming reel and fast running line as another sizable trout lit off with his fly and…boom! He spit hook.

And so went the whole of our time on water. 

Again and again hook was spit, and fly was broke off by us two “skilled” anglers who could definitely not claim as such this day. 


Perhaps more preparation of mental state was required. Or a good stiff drink of strong whiskey to calm nervous excitement. 

Sometimes there's nothing left to do but have fun and a good laugh.

Guide Dave, a masterful and practiced professional, had put us on big fish spot after spot throughout the park. And while we managed to land a few of them brutes, many the more ran off down river without coming near to net.

I do believe I might have heard giggles and laughter coming from underwater on occasion. Or perhaps it was good friend Dave who was there beside us and, I am well confident, beside hisself, too. And so the day ended with net used less than hoped for, yet also memories filled full from beauty of natural surroundings, pleasant company and plenty of laughter (intermingled, I must admit, with the occasional curse word).

All in all, it was good to be amongst the Great Creator’s glorious gifts to humankind. I have not died today. And that is a fine thing. Yours truly…