The Ignorant Angler

Way back in 1910 a series of forest fires torched the Northern Rockies.  Depending on the quoted source, the fires may have numbered in the thousands.  Catastrophic winds at the most inopportune time coalesced many of the fires into a few huge ones.  There was a great loss of life, property and timber.  No doubt a lot of elk got barbecued too.

Well, one of the burned areas straddles the Montana and Idaho border.  Appropriately known as the Great Burn, it's been considered as a candidate for wilderness designation.  I hope that it receives some protection.  It's a neat area.

Here are a few images from a overnight trip to the Montana side of the burn.  The lead photo doesn't do justice to the overwhelming serenity of the morning.




























Although I hiked alone, I had plenty of company.  A pair of inquisitive hummingbirds hovered outside my open tent door while I sipped coffee at daybreak.  Soon after, a moose announced its arrival by belly-flopping into the lake.  Meanwhile, a grea…

A lone angler waits for the arrival of brown drakes in the magical light of an early evening.  Whether they show or not, immersion in the scene is reward enough.

A few images from a short day hike to the north flank of Table Mountain in the Spanish Peaks.  Beautiful blue sky day.  Lush greenery.  Flowers galore.  Most hikers call it quits at Lava lake.












Oh yeah, parmesan crusted fish for lunch.

Last week it was time for another quick road trip.  Wanting to check out the brown drake hatch, I tried to get to Silver Creek earlier.  They came and went.  I didn't.
So, another good looking weather window opened.  An opportunity to chase clear water, do a little camping.  My tent erecting skills needed the practice.
The best thing about Silver Creek is getting there at sunrise and listening to the birds.  I love watching the hills and valley light up with the first morning rays.  Besides, what else is a guy supposed to do when he gets up at 4:30 and drinks all of the coffee?




First morning.  Blue-winged olives.  A smattering of PMD's.  There was a flight of what looked to be white miller caddis like those seen on the Firehole in Yellowstone.

Fish?  Loads of little ones.  Most chased the white miller.  A few on the olive.  Best fish of the morning was a brown that mouthed a small rainbow.  One credible brown ate the olive but it came loose when it rolled and I couldn't …

Up and down.  So go the river levels.  It's absolutely confounding.  Between the rain, runoff from snowmelt and dam releases, fishing conditions change, every day.  
It was eighty-eight degrees early one evening last week.  I usually dread the heat.  But, since a guy doesn't know how many trips around the sun he has left, I went anyway.   The river had dropped to around 2400 c.f.s.  Wading is possible at that level, one can nibble around the edges.  If lucky, I thought that I might find a few rising fish.  Maybe a few caddis too.  They like warm weather.
Shuffling my way through the grass, I stirred up some caddis.  Like hoppers, they were up and right back down into the safety of the grass.  Like me, they were waiting for the wind to die down.
I found a bit of soft water and settled in to watch.  At 7:30 the caddis dance began.

And, soon after, a few fish began to show their noses.  I tied on a nine foot leader, which, after fishing a fourteen or sixteen footer was quite a c…