"Kindness to Animals" by Anonymous

Illustration by Walter Beach Humphrey

Little children, never give

Pain to things that feel and live:

Let the gentle Robin come

For the crumbs you save at home,--

As his meat you throw along

He'll repay you with his song;

Never hurt the timid hare

Peeping from her green grass lair,

Let her come and sport and play

On the lawn at close of day;

The little lark goes soaring high

To the bright windows of the sky,

Singing as if 'twere always spring,

And fluttering on an untired wing,--

Oh! let him sing his happy song,

Nor do these gentle creatures wrong.

"Kindness to Animals" by Anonymous

Montana Fly Fishing Magazine, Summer 2014

There's no Summer like a Montana Summer. Get it HERE.

Trout Lake Report: Fishing, Family, and Fire

Last Tuesday there was a haze of smoke in the air at the lake. There was a small wild fire burning to the south of us.

It was a relaxed, farewell fishing trip.

The next day my family and I would hop a flight out of Spokane heading for a week's vacation in Indiana with my family there.

So I was thinking about packing, and travel, and the week's agenda in Indiana when I drove home that night. And also, in the back of my mind, I wondered about that wildfire....

The trip was wonderful. It was the first time all six of my children and all four of my grandchildren (and another on the way) were together. We made the most of it.

And every morning we would check the news. That little lightning-spawned wildfire grew and joined others and exploded into the Carlton Complex Fire, the largest fire in the history of Washington State, burning over almost 400 square miles, prompting the evacuation of three towns--towns we know well, and destroying 185 homes. It came within thirty miles of our home before shifting direction and moving off into unpopulated areas.

We're home now. The fire is still burning, along with four other fires in the state. Conditions for fighting the fires have improved, and today was cool and rainy. The Carlton Complex Fire, which had been 0% contained over the first five days of its existence, has now been declared 16% contained.

And it's just the beginning of the fire season.

"Solitude" by Alexander Pope

                                                        "Home in the Woods" by Thomas Cole, 1847

Happy the man, whose wish and care
A few paternal acres bound,
Content to breathe his native air
              In his own ground.

Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread,
Whose flocks supply him with attire;
Whose trees in summer yield him shade,
              In winter, fire.

Blest, who can unconcernedly find
Hours, days, and years slide soft away
In health of body, peace of mind;
              Quiet by day.

Sound sleep by night; study and ease
Together mixed, sweet recreation,
And innocence, which most does please
              With meditation.

Thus let me live, unseen, unknown;
Thus unlamented let me die,
Steal from the world, and not a stone
              Tell where I lie.

"Solitude" by Alexander Pope. Public Domain. 

Trout Lake Report: I Know Where You Are

You give up your Ahab-like quest to make the trout in the south end eat your Damselator. You go to the inlet where, even on a hundred degree day, the cool waters flow into the lake. There are rises at the entrance. You tie on the Damselator and lay it out.

Eureka.

There are fish working inside the inlet, too. One jumps into the sunlight: a buttery-yellow Brown. You go for him. He takes. You have him on. And then he comes off. But he took the Damselator.

You catch some more fish out of there. But no Brown. This Rainbow wraps around a branch, so you go in, pushing like a turtle over the shallow bottom, and scoop him up with the net, stick and all.

The cool waters filter in all along the west shoreline here. You work along with the Damselator. Right up along the driftwood you see a dorsal-and-tail rise where your fly is. A big fish. Likely a Brown. You lift the rod, you feel the hook come up against his jaw--and slip off. There's a swirl and he's gone.

There are Rainbows rising, too, and you catch a few. They're fresh and strong.

You tie on a new stimulator. Maybe those elusive Browns will go for something new.

You work back to the inlet...

...turn, and work back to the line of driftwood. Brown hunting. 

You see another Brown come up in open water and flash his yellow sides at you. So you work out there, too. But you catch only a few more small Rainbows--this time.

After catching nothing on the last two trips, you're happy with the Rainbows.  But you put those Browns on notice: I know where you are.

More Recommended Reading

Click HERE for High Country Angler, Summer 2014.

Click HERE for Southern Culture on the Fly, Summer 2014.

Small Stream/Trout Lake Report: Mountains and the Moon

You decide to go back up the mountain for some Redband fishing. There's a wide stretch of creek right by the campground that makes you think about wading.

But instead you start up the trail.

There's elk sign here and there. You keep your eyes and ears open.

Upstream a ways the trail brings you back down to the creek. You have everything you need to fish except a rod. So you take out your Buck knife and make yourself a sweet little small stream rod.

You tie a length of 5X tippet on the rod and knot on a little elk hair caddis. You're ready.

You float the caddis over the first deep hole.

Your brand new rig works just fine.

You work your way upstream.

There's a beautiful pool at the base of a log jam. You come around the jam and pick your way out to where you can sit behind the big log.

The whole pool opens up to you.

You can see fish riding the currents in the deep. The caddis sweeps over them and they dart up to intercept it. You draw them up into the sunlight for a moment, then send them back into the shadowy depths.

You start downstream.

You go past your starting point and find the deepest pool yet. You climb down, stand on a deadfall and hang onto a tree with one hand so you can reach out with the other and let the fly drift into the shadows five feet down from the rock. A piece of shadow breaks off, rises, and takes the fly confidently. It's a big fish, maybe ten inches. You're hoisting it up when it hits a branch, twists, and comes off.

You go back again, and catch the small version.

You climb up to the campground and the truck. You take the fly, but you leave your new rod leaning against a picnic table. Someone else may get some use out of it. When you come back you'll make another. You're thinking the next one might be a foot longer and a bit more limber. It's fun to be a rod designer.

You start to drive on up the mountain. You have another destination in mind. You've never been there, so the trip is an exploration of new country.

It takes longer than you thought, but it's a beautiful drive.

You finally come to the high meadows you were looking for. The place is named Long Swamp, and it's known for its chain of beaver ponds. You have high expectations, but you find the water level way down. The stream is at its widest at the culvert under the road, but the water is shallow and warm.

You squish around on the marshy ground looking for fishable water. You don't find any.

You get back in the truck and backtrack slowly. You find where the ponds would be if there were water, but now they're mostly mud flats. You determine to come back earlier next year.

You start the drive back down the mountain, but you stop at a new stream. It's beautiful.

This time you get out your fly rod and cast down and across to an overhanging bank. You're fishing the cinnamon ant that got no hits the last time you were at Trout Lake. These Redbands love it. Fish pop out and take the fly hungrily.

One of them is the fish of the day. 

After awhile you come to the end of that stretch of creek, so you load up and continue your drive down to the valley. You don't feel that the day should be over yet. There will be a full moon tonight, and you want to be somewhere on or near a body of water when it rises. You weigh your options all the way down.

You aren't surprised to find yourself at Trout Lake. It's mostly on the way home. You settle into the float tube and fish. But the lake is still quiet. Instead of fighting it, you let the peace and stillness enter you.

You still fish, but it's OK if you don't catch anything. You're waiting for the moon.

Darkness falls and the stars come out. Bats flit. A satellite crosses silently overhead, then another. Then you notice that the rock face to the west is glowing. The light of the full moon is beginning its descent to the lake.

Finally the moon reaches the top of the eastern ridge...

...and spills its light over all the world...

...and you. Now you're ready to bring this extraordinary day to a close.