A Montana Journal, ca. April 2021

 

Sun was already on the job and attending to daily duty when me and Ol’ Black Tahoe, my trusted steed, lit out north up the valley heading to the Missouri River. We has been a long time sitting still here at present homestead and was overjoyed to be wandering once again in these Northern territories. We pushed on past Missoula and then skirted east of the Rattlesnake to arrive at Bonner, what sets along the Blackfoot. We followed that lovely river for many a mile through canyon and cut along steep and well-treed mountain. We was pleasantly rewarded time and again with wonderous sights of them Rocky Mountains covered in snowy loveliness. 

Pressing ever onwards, we come to Lincoln, Montana, what was made famous by some angry feller who’d send explosive parcels via the US Postal Service, stealing health and happiness and life itself from other souls. He and his anger reside now, and rightly so, at some federal penitentiary. Coming out of that sparse community we climbed  some 5,600 feet to cross the great divide at Rogers Pass. We then headed east over to Wolf Creek and to first destination, the town of Craig what is situated directly on the Mo. Though trailing through these territories is often without purposeful intent other than to look upon the Great Creator’s handiworks, this particular ride was also for chasing those mighty trout what inhabit the Missouri.

We was putting into it the next day with the good people of Headhunters Fly Shop, headhuntersflyshop.com. They are amiable folk and quite skilled at the task of finding fish. After saying my howdy-dos to them, I took off north along the Mo to the settlement of Cascade where I had procured lodging for the night. I took bread and meat and whiskey at the Driftwood Bar & Grill and then turned in carrying great anticipation of the fishing to come.

Next morning I lit out back to Craig and met up with guide, Brett Matula, ynpbcguide@yahoo.com, who was working with them at the Headhunters. I swear, a nicer young man I never will meet. Short ride and moments later, we dropped into that current aboard his drift boat and weren’t five minutes more, then boom! Fish to net. It took not long at all to learn that this feller was not only a keenly agreeable sort, but also a man who knew what seemed to me every current, chop, ledge, and drop in that vast and varied body of water.

It was a knowledge beyond my comprehension, but one well appreciated as the man presenting fly to fish. 

We proceeded to land sizeable bows and browns at a pace slowed only by my lack of talent on the set. Brett would let me know what was ahead of my fly and where the hookup would probably take place, filling me to full with excited expectancy and which was more the fun of fishing with this man. He was right more often than not. And by day’s end, he’d put a handful of 18’s, a couple of 19’s and a lovely 20-incher on the plus side of my fishing career column, not to mention many a smaller fish what was too abundant to put number on. All spoke, it was quite the remarkable day of fishing thanks to guide Brett Matula. And one more soul satisfying memory of my time here in these magnificent Rocky Mountains. I have not died today. And that is a fine thing. Yours truly…