Blackfoot

Fear No Rocks (QE2)

August 15, 2011 by n.taylor 1 Comment

Fear No Rock

As advertised, yesterday was the final installment of propping up my lackluster trout fishing summer. The Blackfoot called my name and these days because of inter-tubing stimulus recipients the canyon stretch is just about the only show in town (see local fishing reports). My father drummed up John Howard again to provide boating and rowing services, compliments of the ClackaCraft. I’m happy to report that the Clacka indeed fears no rocks, as we tested every fiberglass seam in the hull.

Stimi Love

The day consisted mostly of fluffy terrestrials tempting eager Westslope Cutthroats. Being delegated to the back of the boat for the day I tried to dredge a monster off of the bottom but I was unsuccessful, despite throwing every streamer in my box. We rounded out the day catching a fair number of trout, nothing huge, but enough to make me a happy man. The Blackfoot is a river where you can find peace, which is perhaps why Norman Maclean was so successful in conveying his message. The world is changing, but for an afternoon I felt like I was transported back to my childhood, when life was simple. I returned to work today a rejuvenated man, ready to attack the challenges that lay ahead. Fishing has a way of doing that, and so I have concluded that fishing, at least for me, is the best treatment for when the rest of life might not be going your way.

Dad Still Has It

Plunge Protection Team (PPT/QE)

August 10, 2011 by n.taylor 2 Comments

I have been busy working, trying to avoid stock market murder holes and pay my rent. This trip has been scheduled for awhile and I’m not sure if the timing is perfect or awful. In an effort to give the middle finger to the economy I’m forming my own PPT with a small group of men. This weekend will be our response to the massive global disappearance of wealth which we have artfully termed QE. QE 1 will be taking place on the Bitterroot and QE 2 is slated for the Blackfoot. Should more mental stability be required before our return then we will look into additional QE.

Missoula

UPDATE: While sitting at the airport I’ve heard no less than 70 people trying to position their portfolios to avoid idle elevator shafts. Even travelers toting Orvis Helios are popping aspirin and sitting in front of air conditioning vents.

Some People Just Like Trash

September 19, 2010 by n.taylor 2 Comments

This fine morning the air was brisk, the skies cleared, and we were on the water yet again. David was eagerly throwing streamers in the early daylight hours, but after early refusals he was left to explore other options.

David's Choice

We pulled the boat to shore as David searched through his box for the perfect fly. A fly that would present itself effortlessly in the rift of the current, encouraging another beautiful trout to partake in its glory.

David chose a classic for this particular stretch, the girdle bug. This pattern imitates the stonefly as it makes a suicidal journey, bouncing along the river bottom. Trout often sit below small rapids gorging themselves on these innocent stoneflies who have been knocked loose from their rock homes. David secretly concocted a plan to fool one of these elusive game species with this deadly stonefly nymph.

As we rounded the bend David let fly a beautiful roll cast that landed 15 feet from the stern of the boat. The nymphs floated as close to a natural insect as I have ever seen. I lost sight of them as they neared the bottom, but even then I was sure David was destined for glory.

His indicator plunged and with a hook-set that even Roland Martin would envy David was on the business end of an epic battle. The fish gave him violent head-shakes and rolled in and out of the current as he continued to hold strong, giving line when needed but always in control of the fight. At first he was positive it was another whitefish, but from the apparent size David confirmed that this must be a trout, and a fine one indeed. As the battle drew to a close and I netted the fish, a great flood of laughter and tears came from the rest of the boat. David was elated, he held his catch like a proud father and urged us to admire his greatness. He gloated at the size of his “carp” and asked aloud how many others might be lurking in Montana’s waterways. We assured him it was a rarity and that only the finest of anglers could present a fly perfect enough to fool them. As he released his catch those of us in the boat took an oath to not let him know the error in his judgement. David had caught and landed the most sought after sport fish in North America, the Longnose Sucker.

The Longnose