If you’re going to learn to fly fish anywhere, southwest Montana is as good as any. The guides at Sweetwater Fly Shop put us on some beautiful fish, and we all came home with a grin on our faces and a desire to return.
This is my favorite shot from the trip. Zach is a true outdoorsman, able to talk knowledgeably about everything outdoors. He and Emily are rearing my nephew, Bear, to be a wild spirit with a gentle heart. I got to see that combination on display on this trip, and I loved seeing Zach in his element.
Our first guided fishing day came in drift boats in the famous Paradise Valley. We floated the bird section of the Yellowstone River (between gray owl and mallard’s rest). I tried to focus on learning how and where to work my fly fishing rig, but almost every time I looked up, the scenery made me lose focus.
I came to hunt photos. I bought a special underwater camera rig to chase Instagram gold. Ironically, I proved a better fisherman than photographer. I love this shot because it captures the essence of our trip. Half of our trip focused on what was under the surface, the rest on our conversations and scenery topside. Really, on all of my group trips I’m looking to find what’s going on beyond the obvious adventures—inside my companions and inside my own thoughts. There’s something about that double discovery and juxtaposition than turns trips into journeys, places into mile markers.
I haven’t fished in three decades. I don’t know if I’ve ever held a wild fish in my hands. This moment was surreal. This beautiful brown trout’s iridescent scales shimmered in the water as we wrestled with each other. As he got closer to the boat, I exclaimed, “He’s beautiful!” Turns out, that became my inescapable reaction for both days in the drift boats. I caught 13 fish over the two days, but my first catch proved the only brown trout I would net.
Irony is hilarious. I invited experienced fly fishermen buddies out, but the fish chose me on the first day. I caught nine fish the first day, including the Yellowstone grand slam: rainbow trout, brown trout, Yellowstone cutthroat, and mountain white fish. I netted the first fish of the drift experience and the longest. I was the only one to catch a fish while at anchor, too. Beginner’s luck is real. I feel like the person who wins the office football pool by picking teams based on mascots or uniforms. Ha.
We covered 12 miles of the Yellowstone River the first drift day. It rarely didn’t look like this—or actually better. Some of the prettiest stretches never made it onto my iPhone because my hands were busy casting, mending, and tracking my hopper dry flies.
Eric’s Instagram showcases incredible catches. Do check it out, but know he’s even more humble than he is accomplished. (That’s something to which I aspire.) The evening we arrived, we sped down to an outfitter for out-of-state licenses and then down to the Gallatin River for Eric and Tommy to do some wade fishing until sunset. It was so tranquil! I can see why people are drawn to this pastime and lifestyle.
Tommy and I teamed up the first day with a fantastic guide. He saved his biggest catch of the day for last. I got excited as he reeled it to our guide’s net. I didn’t realize how fragile the hook set is in fly fishing or how technical keeping the fish on the line is. We all lost fish at the end of long wrestles. I lost one out of the water, trying to swing him to our guide’s net. Zach lost probably the biggest fish any of us hooked—it looked fantastic—trying to determine how much line the fight required. I like the mental focus and constant adjustments of fly fishing. That was an education for me as someone with next-to-no attention span and little finesse.
Zach and I caught some absolutely gorgeous rainbows with just beautiful coloring—accents of blue and purple and pink. But Zach reeled in this monster near the end of our day as fishing mates. During our weekend in Montana, he, too, got the Yellowstone Grand slam and netted more fish than any of us (16). Zach pursues his various passions with laser intensity. He asks tactical questions and has an uncanny ability to store the answers on his hard drive. He loves the pursuit of mastery. I enjoyed watching the fruit of that from the back of our drift boat.
I’m glad I had these guys around me as I learned how to fly fish. They showed me a lot of patience. They answered a preschooler’s worth of “Why is that?” and “What does [that term] mean?” questions. They treated me as an equal and welcomed me with open arms into the fly fishing brotherhood.
The patterns and variation of the fish—even just between different fish of the same species—fascinated me. Diversity pushes me to wonder. Wonder leads me to worship. We got less than a minute with these specimens of God’s creativity before we had to get them back in the water, but I enjoyed every second we had with them.
This is a Yellowstone Cutthroat, the only fish native to the Yellowstone River. You can see how they get their name. They are genetically close enough to trout to mate with them. A least one of the guys in our Virginia crew caught one of the mixed breeds, called a “Cutbow.”
This is what a fish in the Yellowstone River saw as it got closer to me. I didn’t want to kill him or eat her. I really didn’t even want to hold it. I just wanted to see its fleeting beauty and marvel in its intersection with my life.
After spending a weekend with Zach, I’d love to get my brother and brothers-in-law together for one big Montana fly fishing weekend someday. It’s healthy to celebrate another man’s success, and that celebration happens naturally. As Zach said, “We’re rooting for the boat no matter who gets the fish there.”
I didn’t care for holding the fish; but that moment when it’s in both of your hands, you feel connected to nature in a unique way.
In normal life, Zach (my brother-in-law) and I don’t make it into a lot of pictures together. So, I took advantage of this trip to bring the inventory up to quota.
When we got to our AirBnB, the guys with experience compared their flies and equipment. At that point in time I had next-to-no clue why this case’s contents were interesting.
While Eric and Tommy waded into the Gallatin River, Zach and I hiked the banks (of what we learned later was part of Ted Turner’s property) and ended up observing from the Axtell Bridge. If it weren’t for the surprising amount of traffic, I’d love to set up a camp chair and write from this perch.
This was the view upstream from Axtell Bridge. On a cool evening, I could feel stress draining out of my rib cage. Kids and baby boomers both fished within ear shot. A family picnicked on a sandy spot on river right. Eric and Tommy stood against the current and toyed with gurgling riffles and eddy pools. It sure beat Friday night on Wards Road back home.
