First Time to the West Fork
Our permit for the Smith River in late September wasn’t going to work. Waterflows were to the point where we would spend most of the trip dragging rafts through the river. With a valuable lesson learned that a permit earlier in the season would provide greater opportunities for floating the Smith, we adjusted our plans. Previous trips had taken us some distance into the Big Hole valley, yet we knew more remain unseen. Decisions made; we headed out on a clear September morning with the West Fork of the Bitterroot as our destination. Travelling up the valley we made a few stops to fish lower stretches of the river and enjoyed catching rainbows and browns. Lunch was simple, and by the time we stopped on the roadside, the sky was blue with temperatures in the mid-60s. Unplanned stops like these sometimes create the best memories. This did not disappoint. Sitting in the September grass enjoying the food we had brought while admiring the openness of the Big Hole valley rewarded us with a wonderful picture.
The small towns we passed through, Wise River and Wisdom, were busy as people tended to their midday errands. Heading out of Wisdom perhaps 2 or 3 cars passed going east as we made our way up to the Route 93 intersection. This area of the valley, primarily Forest Service land, becomes green with trees that stretch out from the road. Hills roll off to the side of us covered with stands of Lodgepole Pine and Doug Fir. Water trickles through this area that forms the streams which eventually becomes the Big Hole River. Climbing, the road continues until you drop into the top of the Bitterroot Valley. You have two ways to go, looking south on Route 93 you see the welcome to Idaho sign, to the right you begin your descent into the Bitterroot Valley. As typical with mountain pass roads you wind your way down dropping in elevation. The drop also allows you to view the Bitterroot range. Finally, settling into the bottom of the valley the East Fork joins you accompanying the drive. At Conner, Montana you make a turn leading to the West Fork.
Painted Rocks reservoir provides a cool and constant flow of water for the river. The combination of cool water and flow make the West Fork a wonderful fishery for cutthroats, browns and rainbows. Special permits are required if you want to target bull trout which also occupies the river.
We arrive at our cabin late afternoon and quickly unpack to check out the river across the road via a forest service path. Making our way to the water we find a gravel bar along the bank to sit down and observe. The flow is clear winding its way around a bend heading the water to our gravel bar. Rushing water rumbles over the rocks providing a relaxing moment in the day. Nothing can be seen from here except wilderness. Few bridges cross the West Fork, leaving the south side of the river relatively untouched. It is nice to see nothing man made, and the only evidence of people is the path with scuffed up soil from boot traffic coming to the river.
Plans are made to head to Darby, pick up groceries at the IGA and get something to eat. Motivation for the plan is to return to the river before dark and fish the evening hatch.
Darby, Montana still retains its small-town feel, yet it has been discovered by the droves of people who want to see where Yellowstone is filmed. Restaurants and the bars are busier than they used to be along with the sidewalks, where people stroll. Indications that film production is taking place are evidenced by the fairground's parking lot being full of semi-trailers and campers. Once production is wrapped up the town vacates and returns to its quieter life.
We get in and out of the restaurant in good time, make our way back and head to the river. We pick up where we left off at the gravel bar and walk into the water going upstream. A slow eddy is found and we are delighted with the voraciousness of cutthroats coming to the surface and taking dry flies. A combination of the cool evening air and dusk approaching has given the fish the signal to feed. Blue wing olives, parachute adams and elk hair caddis all seem to fit their need. In an hour 20-25 fish are caught. Agreement is reached, it was worth the drive to be rewarded so well and builds our anticipation for what happen tomorrow.
Distraction to our efforts begins at dusk when we hear in the distance elk bugling. It is mid-September, and the rut has started. What starts as faint bugling by the males as they call for the cows, grows as we walk back to the cabin. We peel off our waders and boots to a chorus of bulls around us as dusk settles. We sit on the porch listening. As it darkens, we are rewarded by hearing cows utter their mew to signal the bulls of their location. It becomes a fascinating dance of sounds as we hear both males and cows call each other in the darkness. We sit still for an hour soaking in the activity. The cool air causes us to grab a blanket and throw over ourselves. Warmth allows us to remain there, silent and absorbing what we hear. Each evening while we are there the same event unfolds, and we relish the opportunity afforded us of a ritual that has occurred forever.
Fishing activity is the same the next day. The four of us go further upstream, working the bends and drifts with dry flies and the occasional nymph. Each spot produces fish. Cutthroats outnumber rainbows, yet the rainbows are sizeable. We hang on a particular run that flows with riffle water. Perfect for nymphing in the side water that slows, rainbows are abundant. Some reach 15-16 inches in length, a good size for mountain rivers. Validation of finding a good spot is observed when a sole fisherman comes up around the river bend, stops and then turns back. Other than him we only see one other and two guide boats on the river. We have the river to ourselves. Lateness comes to the day and dinner will be at the cabin. Our porch seats are ready when we hear the first male bugle for the evening. We stay there until bedtime and fall asleep listening to the calling back and forth amongst the males and females.
Our final day on the river awaits. By now we have walked the river to know where we want to go to fish our favorite holes. On the prior day, a large cutthroat is seen in a side channel of the river near a log. The lateness of the day kept us from trying to see if he would rise to a dry fly. Today we see if the fish is still there. Called sight fishing, it can be rewarding if the fish takes the fly and frustrating if not. Numerous dry fly changes accompany this technique as you seek to find the pattern, size and color that will bring the fish to the surface to feed.
Arriving at the side section of river the fish is still there. While not feeding on top of the water the challenge is before us. Dry flies that had success are tied on to tippet and cast. Nothing. The fish continues to rest in the current. Sight fishing is agonizing since you see the fish and rejection of the fly. A half hour goes by, then an hour. You begin to question yourself whether it will happen – having the fish take the fly. You go to weird one-of-kind flies in your box. A couple of those are tied on and nothing. Then you tie on a rust-colored elk hair caddis, probably an 18 size, and the fish takes it. Amazement is equally shared by you and the fish. The fish is trying to understand and yet reacts instinctively to food that is trying to pull away via a thin piece of nylon by going down and leveraging the current to escape. You have an opposite challenge trying to keep the line tight, not let it snag on an underwater branch and bring the fish through the current to you. The seconds drag on, the air becomes still, and your entire focus is on the fish. Within reach of netting the adrenaline tells you might succeed, and you do net the fish. You admire this 17-inch cutthroat in the net for a few seconds. Realizing the fish is exhausted and needs to return you release the hook without touching the magnificence so close to you. Your wrist turns allowing the fish to swim away, and it does, going back to the same spot behind the log partially sticking out in the river.
You are done here and walk along the river to other opportunities. The achievements of the other days come back to you with the catching of cutthroats and rainbows. Nice fish, but not the same as the first fish of the day.
We vow to return to this place. The combination of serenity, good fishing and the elk rut have made a deep impression on us. As one travels, some places stay in your mind forever – the sights, the sounds and the experiences. They become so memorable you smile each time the subconsciousness of your brain brings them to you. You are thankful for these memories, and they sustain you through daily life. It is perhaps why we wander, to break the routine, re-awaken the mind and make us wonder what else is out there. The edge of the known propels us to go forward and explore what is unknown. While our minds can conceptualize and formulate how things may look, our curiosity to find out leads us on our quests. Perhaps this is the root cause for others I see wandering in the west. While some dabble in it for a brief period, others pursue it for their lifetimes. Their experiences create the fabric that has become the west and they have added to its story.
