{"id":747,"date":"2006-03-14T15:27:22","date_gmt":"2006-03-14T15:27:22","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.itinerantangler.com\/blog\/podcasts\/2006\/03\/14\/articleinto_a_far_strange_coun\/"},"modified":"2006-03-14T15:27:22","modified_gmt":"2006-03-14T15:27:22","slug":"articleinto_a_far_strange_coun","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.itinerantangler.com\/blog\/podcasts\/2006\/03\/14\/articleinto_a_far_strange_coun\/","title":{"rendered":"Article: Into a Far, Strange Country"},"content":{"rendered":"
\n
<\/p>\n
\nThe Great Falls of the Yellowstone
\nand a Madison River brown.\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

IT ISN’T OFTEN IN LIFE one finds oneself unencumbered enough to agree to a two-week
\nroad trip. I know that. Soon enough children, full time jobs, and advancing
\nage will limit my ability and willingness to be on the road for that length
\nof time. For many of the same reasons that have caused me to study casting so
\nintensely as a young man, I decided now was a good time to seize some experiences
\nbefore those experiences pass me by. When my editor called and offered an assignment
\nthat would take me and Lauren, as my tandem photographer, into the West, I jumped
\nat the chance.<\/p>\n

Travelogues can be a surprisingly difficult thing to write. No one wants
\nto read the nitty-gritty details of each stop along the road, but when you
\nare in a far strange country for the first time, you want to do justice to
\nthe things locals may take for granted. For instance, I got a kick out of
\nall the ‘World’s Biggest’ displays, like the World’s Biggest Pink Concrete
\nPrairie Dog, outside Badlands National Park.<\/p>\n

Keeping that in mind, I will try to lead you through the wonder I felt at
\nthe West’s immensity and laid-back atmosphere without boring you with the
\ndetails of crappy hotels (Dayton, Wyoming), bad food (Dillon, Montana), or
\nbroken-down vehicles (Shoshone National Forest, Wyoming) that mark and mar
\nso many trips. Those things happened, but the grandeur of the West made them
\nirrelevant. This was the most exhausting and grueling trip I have ever taken
\n– psychologically hard, and hard on the pocketbook in the sense of being much
\nmore expensive than I anticipated – but none of that mattered. I was going
\nWest, farther out and for longer than ever before.\n<\/p><\/div>\n

<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\n

The world’s largest concrete pink
\nprairie dog<\/h4>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\nWe began our journey in Knoxville, Tennessee, with a wearing sixteen and a half
\nhour day ending in the corn fields of central Iowa. An audiobook of Patrick
\nO’Brian’s excellent Master and Commander helped us pass the time, but the really
\ninteresting stuff didn’t happen until our second day on the road. Rising at
\ndawn, we set out across the South Dakota plains. There seemed to be a surprising
\nnumber of motorcycles around…<\/p>\n

After a few hours and our first encounter with ethanol-laced gasoline, we
\nmade a brief stopover in Badlands National Park. The Badlands were formed
\nwhen sedimentary deposits proved harder than the ground around them, which
\nwashed away. Dinosaur skeletons are relatively common and paleontologists
\njourney from around the world to search here. Without judging or glamorizing
\nin any way, it is a historical fact that the Badlands were dangerous territory
\nfor whites crossing the plains in the latter part of the 19th century, when
\nthe Sioux had been thoroughly aroused by white depredation. You can see how
\nthe territory would make an easy spot for ambush.<\/p>\n

Thumbing their noses at the arid environment, the locals have made creative
\nuse of irrigation and much of the world’s supply of hay now comes from these
\nparts. In a bad year, South Dakotan hay might be shipped as far as Kentucky.
\nThen of course there is the ubiquity of Wall Drug. Wall Drug has signs everywhere!
\nYou may even have seen ads for Wall Drug, in Wall, South Dakota (named for
\nthe sudden cliff face rising out of the prairie on which the town was founded,
\nno doubt) in the background of pictures taken in Vietnam. Wall Drug boasts
\nthe widest dispersion of billboards for any mom-and-pop shop on the planet.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n
\n

The South Dakotan dawn<\/h4>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n
\n

The hayfields were a break<\/em> in the monotony of the modern high plains corn industry<\/h4>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n
\n

Only sunflowers interspersed the corn
\nfor much of the heartland. <\/h4>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\nI, however, resisted the strong urge to take pictures of any of these signs,
\nseeing none that I could really call clever. The Badlands, however stark, are
\na welcome relief after that much prairie, and I highly recommend the detour
\noff the interstate. The local highway will loop you through the Park, and you
\nwon’t lose much time. There is a $10 entry fee per vehicle and the crowds might
\nbecome heavy in July, but by August, the Park was worth the detour.<\/p>\n

Almost immediately after leaving the Badlands, the bikers became thick as
\nlocusts. At our next stop for gas the answer to this anomaly presented itself:
\nwe were just in time for the infamous Sturgis Motorcycle Rally. Bikers were
\neverywhere in this tiny town, just a blip on the interstate close to the old
\ncity of Deadwood, South Dakota. The local culture hasn’t changed much, apparently,
\nand most officially-sponsored Sturgis memorabilia proudly pointed out the
\nsimilarities between the riders of yore and the riders of today.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n
\n

The Badlands border some very good
\nhay country indeed.<\/h4>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

Hunter Thompson was once nearly beaten to death at a motorcycle rally (I believe
\nthe one that would become Sturgis), and he had to finish his Hell’s Angels from
\na hospital bed. We were luckier, and although we were treated to a few sites
\nthat made me glad there were no children along, the day passed uneventfully.
\nNear Sheridan, Wyoming, we began to pick up herds of pronghorn antelope, which
\nare remarkably abundant.<\/p>\n

After overnighting in an air conditioner-less cabin in Dayton, Wyoming (my
\nfirst encounter with a hotel in which air conditioning was not absolutely
\nrequired to prevent the certain death of patrons), we headed out over the
\nBighorn National Forest at dawn – a remarkable place if ever there was one.<\/p>\n

The Bighorn National Forest is an abrupt range spiking at 10,000 feet where
\nWyoming in its wisdom allows cattle ranchers to free range their stock. Consequently
\none must be careful when driving – especially careful in the false light of
\ndawn when so many animals move about.<\/p>\n

The difference between the Bighorn National Forest and Yellowstone is Bighorn’s
\nwild nature – the animals here are less accustomed to human presence and indeed
\nmay be hunted from time to time, but nonetheless the area teems with wildlife.
\nI count sightings in territory such as this as far more worthy than in Yellowstone
\nor the Smokies – indeed, in Yellowstone, I refused to photograph two majestic
\nelk due to the ring of people snapshooting in a circle all around.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n
\n

A typical Sturgis attendee<\/h4>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\nThe Bighorns rise over central Wyoming like a set of hands breaking the surface
\nof water – jagged and sharp, they provide beautiful views and an abundance of
\nwildlife. Everything in the area is wild, and we saw herds of elk, whitetailed
\nand mule deer, moose, and antelope.<\/p>\n

After a layover in the Shoshone National Forest to remove a wheel and check
\na grinding noise (we had worn out our brake pads descending the Bighorns and
\nlater had to get them changed in Gardiner, Montana), we entered Yellowstone.
\nThe pictures here must speak for themselves – for the greater part I lack
\nthe words. We camped two nights, once near the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone
\nand once in Mammoth Hot Springs Campground.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n
\n

Moose, though not abundant,
\nwere nonetheless present in the Bighorns and quite unmoved by our presence. <\/h4>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

I caught my first wild cutthroat trout in the Yellowstone River itself. Temperatures
\nwere in the 30s at night and I was glad of my 20 degree sleeping bag. After
\na hot day hopper fishing for h4 brookies in the myriad highland prairie streams,
\nwe bedded down for the night within spitting distance of the 45th Parallel and
\nMontana. Wolves came and circled around our tent, sending up howls to chill
\nthe blood. Mother nature provided hailstorms and rain and a glorious sunset.
\nOn the whole, it was the most dramatic night out of doors I have ever spent.<\/p>\n

Yellowstone is a magnificent place. Nowhere else have I fished next to wolves,
\nwaited out a hailstorm in the midst of a bison stampede, beheld a volcanic
\nlake hundreds of feet deep, or caught large, native, wild trout. I will always
\nvalue my time there among the most moving travel experiences I have enjoyed.
\nThe Parks Service is to be given credit, great credit, for its great wisdom
\nin reworking the management strategy to favor natural competition of natural
\nspecies. They have taken innumerable criticisms for the reintroduction of
\nwolves, the return of wild hunting techniques in bears, but they have done
\nthe nation a great service.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n
\n

Yellowstone River cutthroat release<\/h4>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

<\/p>\n
\n

Lauren in camp near the Montana border <\/h4>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n
\n

Gardiner, Montana<\/h4>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n
\n

Bison caught in a hailstorm<\/h4>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n
\n

Yellowstone spring creek brookie<\/h4>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n
\n

Mammoth Hot Springs<\/h4>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n
\n

The Great Falls of the Yellowstone<\/h4>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

<\/p>\n

\n
<\/p>\n
\n

Sunset after a sudden storm in Mammoth
\nHot Springs<\/h4>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

As moved as I was by Yellowstone, I must say that Montana’s Ruby Valley, our
\nultimate destination, was no less magnificent in its own way. Here working
\nranches take the place of wild prairie, but the trout are big and strong in
\nthe Madison, Beaverhead, and Bighole Rivers. Farms and ranches stretch to
\nthe foothills of the unmanageable Ruby, Pioneer, and Gravelly ranges. Ranchers
\nin this area preserve a way of life that has its own noble place in history,
\nreaping the benefits of their ancestor’s unimaginably hard work in carving
\nout workable solutions to nature’s extreme measures. Some areas of this valley,
\non the Big Hole, see only 4″ of rain per year – yet the locals manage to grow
\nhealthy herds and hay and even grain on it.<\/p>\n

The major rivers of the area, the Ruby, Beaverhead, Big Hole, and, one
\nvalley over, the Madison watersheds, are all served by local water associations
\nmade up of sportsmen and ranchers alike. Thanks to the intervention and
\nlobbying of these cooperative groups, the trout in these rivers are big
\nand strong and have water to swim in despite Montana’s six hard years of
\ndrought – all without bankrupting the local economy. However, perhaps sensing
\nthat this way of life may, like the Plains Indians cultures before it, give
\nway to rising commercial pressures, some local ranchers have turned to lodge-owning
\nand recreation as a means to keep land in the next generation’s hands. We
\nstayed at one such lodge, the Big Hole C 4, where Dave Ashcraft and his
\nwife Cindy were very kind to us despite our irregular status.<\/p>\n

The Ruby Valley boasts many interesting landmarks, from Virginia City,
\nonce a mining town of 10,000 and more and now in a state of “arrested decay,”
\nto the strange polygonal barn a local mining baron built to serve his national
\nchampion racinghorses in Montana’s harsh winters. The top level kept the
\nhorses’ water wet through a series of moving drops and falls, constantly
\ncirculating, while the center story contained enough hay to last through
\nto spring.<\/p>\n

This was Sacagawea’s home country, and the area is pervaded with Lewis
\nand Clark landmarks. The Beaverhead Rock, which really does resemble a swimming
\nbeaver if viewed from the proper angle (about 10 miles due west, not right
\nin front!) was the first landmark Sacagawea recognized and it came as a
\ngodsend for the Corps of Discovery, dragging their dugouts naked through
\nwhat is today the confluence of the Beaverhead and Big Hole Rivers – a nasty,
\nmosquito infested slough. Those mosquitoes haven’t moved, and anglers coming
\nto the area should remember to bring a strong repellent (even 40% DEET didn’t
\nhave much effect.)<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n
\n

Ruby Valley’s famous racinghorse
\nbarn<\/h4>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

This is also the valley where Twin Bridges, Montana, home of the R.L.
\nWinston Rod Company, is located. Twin Bridges is an attractive little blip
\nof a town, and the citizenry was for the most part friendly. A string of
\nlittle towns dot the road through the valley, and you never know who you
\nmight bump into. In Sheridan, the next blip down, Lauren and I ran into
\nDavid Letterman in a coffeeshop – he has apparently purchased land at the
\nhead of the Ruby Valley (which incidentally we later accidentally fished.)<\/p>\n

During our time at the Big Hole C4 Lodge we were treated to days fishing
\nthe Madison (known locally as the 20 Mile Riffle, but good fishing), the
\nheadwaters of the Ruby, brook trout streams in Beaverhead National Forest,
\nthe Big Hole (where we killed a rattlesnake), and the Beaverhead. I fished
\nthe Madison the first day without Lauren, which was a shame as it was the
\nbest fishing of the trip. Two great browns, about three and a half pounds
\nand two and a quarter, respectively, fell victim to a ridiculous experiment
\nof a stonefly pattern I cooked up on my vise in a fit of creativity long
\nago.<\/p>\n

This stonefly pattern was cooked up back in my days on the Little Red
\nRiver in Arkansas, when we would get very sporadic hatches of what I thought
\nat the time were Little Yellow Sallies (now, having seen a Yellow Sally,
\nI think they might have been h4 golden stones). Hatch-matching is really
\nfar from my forte; most of the waters I have fished are tailwaters and the
\nusual patterns are aquatic crustaceans, like scuds, and sculpins or baitfish.
\nThis pattern was a standard Hare’s Ear, tied with a turkey-flat wing case,
\nbut with the addition of goose biot horns and tails, stone-fly style, the
\nwhole tied and segmented with neon green floss, and beadheaded. By all rights
\nit shouldn’t have worked but I caught two of the nicest fish of my life
\non the fly, tandem dropped below a streamer.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n
\n

A Madison River brown<\/h4>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

One of the most interesting things I learned on this assignment was how often
\nWestern guides will go to a two or three-fly rig in order to get a better
\nfeel for what is working. Most of the time I fished either two streamers (to
\nsimulate competition for food sources), a streamer deaddrifted with a nymph
\nbehind, or two or three nymphs like ducks in a row. To rig these monstrosities,
\ntry this little trick:<\/p>\n

Tie your fly on normally. I use a clinch knot. Don’t improve the clinch
\nknot – the improved clinch is weaker anyway. You could leave a long tag
\nend and drop from there, but that tends to tangle. Instead, cut a piece
\nof tippet about 24″ long and double the last six inches over so you can
\npinch the tag end between thumb and forefinger along with the running end,
\nmaking a simple loop. Now roll your fingers together with a tight pressure,
\nand the tippet will spring into a pig’s tail. Hook the loop of the pig’s
\ntail over the back of your first fly and pinch it there with your other
\nhand. Now carefully unclasp your first thumb and forefinger and grab the
\ntag end before it unravels (it isn’t that hard, just don’t let go all the
\nway but shift your grip forwards a bit). Run the tag end through the loop
\nover the hook gape, pinch, wet, and tighten, and bingo – 20 second dropper
\nrig, a standard clinch knot over the back of the hook! I am proud to say
\nI came up with this by myself and it worked like a champ.<\/p>\n

The other truly interesting discovery I made was how Western guides fish
\nthe water. In the East, we become accustomed to fishing tailouts and deep
\nholes at a slow pace, making mend after mend to correct microdrag and hoping
\nthe fish will accept our pitiful offerings after long deliberation. Western
\nfish don’t have the luxury of as much time as a lowwater tailwater trout.
\nThey must make a snap decision. As a result (and possibly partly because
\nof the inexperience of my oarsmen), we sailed right through holding lie
\nafter holding lie, making snap casts left and right like six-gun slingers
\nand hoping against hope the trout had time to see the pattern. Lies behind
\npockets, under cut banks, and in tailouts were all explored and as expected
\nmany of them had fish in them.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n
\n

Western browns are cerulean blue
\ninstead of red-toned.<\/h4>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

However, where the Western guides began to really differ was in water like
\nthe Madison. Rather than casting to slow water on either side of a deep, wave-crested
\nriffle, our guides instructed us to cast directly into the riffle on the principle
\nthat fish will hold wherever there is enough water and aerial cover – in this
\ncase provided by the broken, choppy ceiling. Sure enough, we caught several
\nfish out of these pockets.<\/p>\n

By raft or drift boat, the winds on the Madison can be brutal. Indeed,
\nwe had one windless day at the start of the guided fishing, then paid for
\nour luck in blood sacrifice for the rest of the week. Our second day on
\nthe Madison, Lauren’s first alas, the winds blew so hard we could have scudded
\nunder a close-reefed topsail for hundreds of miles. Our inexperienced oarsmen
\npicked up some heavy salting and handled us well and I am very thankful
\nto them – thanks Flint and Dave! I only managed one little brown and a couple
\nwhitefish, but that was a victory given the conditions. Lauren had a nice
\nbrown on for a moment – long enough to run her well into the back of her
\nline, but the wind was so strong the fish had the advantage of simply holding
\nin place and screaming the reel like a bonefish. It snapped her 4x like
\nmidge tippet.<\/p>\n

To fight these winds and keep our dead drifted nymph and streamer rigs
\nafloat, I used the balloon indicator method that is currently leaking out
\nof the southern Rockies. Neither of my guides had ever seen children’s party
\nballoons used as indicators, but they work like champs – especially in heavy
\nseas and winds. To make a balloon indicator, half-hitch a loop in your line
\nat the desired place. Inflate a child’s water balloon only as far as needed
\nto fill it out – don’t stretch the latex at all. Tie it off well up the
\nstem to make a h4 indicator, then snip off the valve with scissors to
\nkeep it from spinning. Place the knot on the other side of the half hitch
\nloop and wet and cinch down. If you want to move it, simply tease out the
\nhalf hitch. For a placid tailwater this indicator might be too large – but
\non a high-flow western river it is perfect.<\/p>\n

Our next destinations were the Big Hole and Beaverhead rivers. Although I
\nsaw a very fine brown holding in an irrigation channel in the Big Hole, the
\nsight of no less than 4 snakes in 200 yards, including at least one and possible
\ntwo rattlesnakes (I am informed bull snakes resemble rattlers but I wasn’t
\nhanging around to find out), we gave up on the Big Hole.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n
\n

An Owlsey Slough brown<\/h4>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

The Beaverhead wasn’t much kinder. The winds were still blowing pretty
\nstiffly by Day 4, but worse than that our cloud cover had evaporated and
\nnone of the big fish wanted to move. The Beaverhead resembles an eastern
\nspring creek, meandering at low gradient through tall grass and muck that
\nis excellent habitat for mosquitoes. However, it contains the largest fish
\non balance in Montana and can be a place for spectacular fishing. The recent
\ndrought has hit it hard, however, and although it has plenty of water now,
\nthe last few years of poor recruitment means there is a generation gap in
\nthe trout that will cause the large fish to vanish for a few years when
\nthe current generation dies off.<\/p>\n

Fortunately, Dave Ashcraft’s Big Hole C 4 Lodge sits smack-dab on Owsley
\nSlough, where I moved but failed to hook the largest fish of the trip. This
\nis a true spring creek and not for the faint of heart. Still, I know of
\nnowhere else where one can jump no less than four fawns in an hour’s fishing,
\nsometimes almost beneath your feet. The mosquitoes and muddy, soft banks
\nmean this is a young man’s fishery, and it may well have been the most dangerous
\nplace I encountered on the trip. I fell in the river more than once as a
\nbank gave way, but I still managed some nice browns.<\/p>\n

The browns in Owsley Slough were highly unwilling to come up for hoppers despite
\ntheir abundance on the banks. Really, although we were in the height of hopper
\nseason, we never saw much action on the big patterns throughout the trip.
\nI believe I caught one brown on a hopper and handful of brook trout.<\/p>\n

The trick at Owsley was to float dry peacock caddis over the trout, then
\ndunk the fly and strip it back at the end of the drift. Casting was tricky,
\nbut the fish were rewarding, with some brought to hand as big as 14 inches
\nand a couple seen or lost as big as 22″!<\/p>\n

We concluded our trip at the Big Hole C 4 Lodge, and so I will conclude
\nthis rambling account there. We had a great time – truly the trip of my
\nlifetime – and I will spare you the grueling hours on the road (32 of them)
\nto return to Knoxville, Tennessee.<\/p>\n

If ever you have the chance, this is one far, strange country, you must
\nvisit!<\/p>\n

For more information on travel and photography, visit the Bulletin
\nBoard<\/a>.<\/h4>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

The Great Falls of the Yellowstone and a Madison River brown. IT ISN’T OFTEN IN LIFE one finds oneself unencumbered enough to agree to a two-week road trip. I know that. Soon enough children, full time jobs, and advancing age will limit my ability and willingness to be on the …<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":1338,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-747","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-articles","column","onecol","has-thumbnail"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/www.itinerantangler.com\/blog\/podcasts\/files\/2013\/01\/montanatitle1.jpg","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.itinerantangler.com\/blog\/podcasts\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/747","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.itinerantangler.com\/blog\/podcasts\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.itinerantangler.com\/blog\/podcasts\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.itinerantangler.com\/blog\/podcasts\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.itinerantangler.com\/blog\/podcasts\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=747"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.itinerantangler.com\/blog\/podcasts\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/747\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.itinerantangler.com\/blog\/podcasts\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/1338"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.itinerantangler.com\/blog\/podcasts\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=747"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.itinerantangler.com\/blog\/podcasts\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=747"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.itinerantangler.com\/blog\/podcasts\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=747"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}