Buster Wants to Fish our Golden Years:
As the Gallatin Range approached making our way down the road instantly my spirits rose ignoring all else. Though I’ll not post the thousands of photos I took clearly having clicked one off each mile, just take my word for it that coming from Southern Michigan it was a magnificent change. Well that and the fact the camera I had bought specifically for this trip turned out to be a piece of junk. Yet that I’ve already addressed in another thread.
(Note: to one and all never having been in this part of the country. Just as you always hear, no photo that I am capable of taking at least can demonstrate the beauty, imposing terrain, and the general magnificence of this region. You truly do need to see it for yourself as in my photos 10,000’ peaks look like foothills, fish look like the Coney Island White variety, and I’m actually much more handsome than the photos show).
Barely into the foothills just like the mountains before us my spirits and that anticipation right on the cusp of an adventure began to rise. Even DM exclaiming how beautiful it was, all up until the Gallatin River came into view. "There, there’s the river. Lets find a spot and pull over to fish."
Instantly I reminded DM that we had a plan. Seven species in seven days. To do that we had to get certain ones and what would be found in the Gallatin we would find everywhere. Arguing with DM however was like arguing with a toaster. You’d push the lever down explaining the logic, he’d pause for the longest time, sometimes clearly pouting, yet at the other extreme commenting on the beauty. However just when you’d least expect it he’d pop up with the expected retort.
"I don’t care, I just want to fish. What makes you say there are no Goldens in there?" Well if he had looked over a fraction of the couple hundred webpages, pdf’s and book lists I had sent to him he’d know, as instantly once again as my spirits still rising that all too nagging tingle that something was wrong crept over me, and then DM went and said it.
"Look, I don’t care, I just don’t want to drive around like we did Up-North. I just want to fish!" Just like that it hit me like a sledge hammer as I pointed to a pull off stating I wanted a smoke. DM all the while griping about "why don’t we just fish there?" That split second I remembered, in an instant my generous gift of a year before turned ugly instantly flooding back to me.
Almost a year to the day before I had offered DM a personal gift for his birthday as he had just turned 50. The gift being though buried with work literally working 3 days non-stop to then sleep for 3-4 hours then do it again week after week, I would take him to my personal, favorite and somewhat hidden Trout fishing spots up north of Oscoda. Three days of fishing like he had never experienced, at my expense. Three days of misery more like it.
Those same words. "I don’t care, I just want to fish, not drive around the whole time" I had to listen to over and over as he b****ed, griped and moaned. He wasn’t lying. While I would try to get him to this spot on this river, or to that on another, DM would shout "there stop", jumping out of the Jeep pole in hand, and literally start casting into a 1’ deep by 2’ wide drainage ditch happy as a clam.
When I could finally get him to those spots he’d ooooh and ahhhh at the scenery, be shocked by the vast numbers of respectable fish, yet past watching him fish ditch after ditch when we’d get to my spots he’d be off and gone. Some of them dangerous locations (hidden holes from a century ago the massive Jack Pine stumps having rotted away). So I spent my time hunting for him on the river, often to find him pissed off I was looking for him, though he’d be wandering through the brush to get to the car in the wrong direction. Quite a few times getting way out of range and lucky I found him a couple minutes more and he’d of been lost and out of earshot.
Then there was the food issue. DM will NOT pay for food. He’ll eat what you don’t off your plate, eat what you force him by ordering and paying for it, he’ll even pull it out of the trash or go hungry, but DM will not pay for food. (Naturally because it is so over priced though in fairness he is not trying to get anyone else to buy it). That means either sitting there eating while he is waiting or go hungry yourself.
Finally he would just want to go and go…No rest for the wicked or weary. All in all the trip was rough on many levels. A gift so no qualms about what it cost, ten times more costly in hours I had to make up, and since I had offered I just endured it. This trip however was mine, I needed this. I had been killing myself literally and this was my last chance before my well deserved retirement known as a heart attack.
Mustering my own rage yet trying to restrain myself I refuse to go anywhere but GTL’s, back in the truck and we head South. DM now pouting as I had firmly said "no", and soon enough his tactic of driving too fast past every turn-off so I’d give in really backfired as we found ourselves many miles south pulling into Big Sky. Check the maps and make him turn around (yes his griping increased), yet finally we found Portal Creek road and our destination was in our grasp…Kinda.
Up to 7,900’ we drove, the road nice enough at first yet soon proved without the ground clearance of the four wheel drive we would not have made it or would have at the least negotiated around many of them. (Know many of the rocks in the road protruded much more than the junk camera shows).
All the while the same thing. DM complaining that this was a waste of time, a wild goose chase wasting time driving around hoping there would be a path to some lake when we had a perfectly good river to fish down below.
Finally however we made it though instantly I come to a stark realization. First off, my new boots have not quite broken in enough and I know there is no way I can walk any distance in them. No problem, why I brought my old ones…However, the effort to change them alone has me gasping.
Now I don’t know about the rest of you old bastages, yet when I bend over to tie my shoes or trim my toenails it’s a hit or miss proposition as to weather I can hold my breath long enough before I pass out. Yes, the poor diet, lack of exercise and loss of testosterone has taken its toll. But just like everything else I have ever done that was difficult, every injury that had me virtually crippled, I just knew I could "will myself" to get better and do this.
That said just getting my gear ready already had me winded. To that end, I immediately knew that the extra 10 ounces of long johns would be too much to carry, yet naturally was not willing to give up the hundred pounds or so of worthless cr*p I carry in my vest. Okay, a slight exaggeration, somewhat. In any case, vest, net, jacket, small pack with hip boots, second pack with water and other junk all on my back and rod in my hand off we go up the trail to Golden Trout Lake.
We have roughly 3 miles to walk and just over a thousand feet to climb in that distance. Seriously, how hard can it be? At a fair walk I’ll do 3 miles in 45 minutes, speaking of which I realize it is now 4:30 BZN time. Well, though I’ll not post the numerous photos know the one below was shot looking dead ahead, much of it roughly give or take a 4 degree incline if you average it, or 2.25"/30"step.
It took me all of 3 minutes to have to stop gasping and wheezing the years of smoking really paying off. The third time I stopped I told DM just to go on, I’d get there when I got there. So off DM goes as I catch my breath. Within a half hour I’m praying for my retirement. To you that means R&R, to me that means I get to have that massive heart attack, "here I come lizabeth, this is the big one", but no, I’ve not lived a good life so I don’t get off so easy.
Roughly 30 minutes later I catch up to DM waiting and agitated. So I make it very clear, "go on ahead, do not wait for me, I will get there when I get there" and I don’t see him again the rest of the time. Soon after again I’m praying once more for retirement, and soon after that I start looking for a sheer cliff, one where I’ll fall a great distance not just tumble till broken and suffering, yet none are to be found.
With that, too prideful to quit, too stupid to not, I press on. Soon enough I learn that walking till absolute exhaustion is more detrimental than walking a short ways and stopping for a few. Short meaning like 10 paces. But on I go, I will do this if it kills me. Please kill me, something, anything, kill me now. Hell, I don’t care if a Bear eats me alive, just please let me die.
Finally there it is. The top of the mountain, nothing but sky behind the trees! Nope. At the top, the next rise is just far enough beyond that you can’t see it above the horizon of the first, and worst of all the incline increased significantly at each stage. By the top of the second rise I’m considering cutting my juggler with my nippers. But I say this has to be it, just this next one. Nope. At the third rise I have given up all hope. God knows I’ve been a little b*st*rd all my life and is punishing me for it, yet now I really can’t quit and I don’t care. If I go back down I’ll live, yet if I keep going I know I’m sure to finally keel over dead.
Having resolved myself to a fourth, fifth and sixth rise now hell-bent on this small mountain killing me just so DM will have to carry my body back down, at the top of the fourth I walk through a thinning dying landscape and find this.
I don’t know whether to laugh or cry…..So naturally what do I do in celebration? Well have a cigarette of course, duh?! If I was smart I would be laying on a beach in Bermuda being fanned and served rum. DM however is stunned. A hundred times healthier than myself he cannot believe that I made it even stating how he had considered turning back. When asked how long he had been waiting and why he wasn’t fishing he stated simply roughly 30-45 minutes, and I realize he’s not fishing because he is still recovering.
It was then that I checked my watch realizing it was already 7:30PM BZN. It had taken roughly 3 hours to walk that mere 3 miles. Past being soaked from a heavy sweat, muscles simply exhausted from lack of oxygen to them but not hurting, and still catching my breath in between puffs on my cigarette I turned and told DM to go fish while I took it all in.
I’ll say it again, the photographs do not do this place justice in either beauty or scale. In the photo above the collapsed sheer rock wall in the background rises 200’+. The peak just beyond it 1,000’, GTL placed at a modest 9,100’. Compared to photos of other "Alpine" lakes that I have seen GTL probably ranks rather low on the "wow factor", however to me it was absolutely magnificent.
The lake is actually much smaller than the photos seem to show. Enough room that quite a few folks could fish at the same time without getting in anyone’s way, but small enough to make it feel cozy and secluded. Off to the South end there is clearly what was a camping spot that folks have most likely used often. Dead across the lake to the West a small waterfall running off from what I suspect is a smaller spring fed lake just above.
https://maps.google.com/maps?q=boze...eman,+Gallatin+County,+Montana&gl=us&t=p&z=14
Most of all however looking out over this small bit of water were the countless rises taking place. There were fish there to be sure. The trick now just to catch them.
After roughly fifteen minutes of rest, and another fifteen of exploring to the South I figured since DM was already fishing I had better get at it. Taking off my boots tough enough. Struggling with the rest like my hip boots, vest, and to rig my rod all taking its toll as well as suddenly DM shouts he has a fish on, and for me to get over there so I can get a photo……In a mad rush I scramble leaving all I need except the camera. Out into the water I go, DM yelling all the while for me to hurry and instantly I discover a serious problem.
In Michigan the bottoms of streams and lakes it is dirt, gravel, and at worst silt and logs still there from years past. The logs slippery to be sure, yet past that it’s sure footing so rubber soled waders tend to be the norm. Under the water at GTL it is nothing but large flat pieces of stone, shale perhaps it all looking like some old mountain had collapsed in on itself forming a shallow depression. However, those flat rocks are oddly tippy and slippery.
How slippery? Well, if you took teflon, covered it in ice, then painted it with snot, and finally gooped on a thick layer of KY Jelly you’d start to get the idea. Instantly I’m slipping and sliding as I try to get to him. A wild youth having destroyed my knees, ankles, and back instantly coming back to me as what the walk up wouldn’t hurt, the unsteady and slippery surface below is intent on tearing apart….In any case, thirty seconds into my mad dash and he loses the fish. Naturally even though it was still 30’ from him it’s my fault, so angry with me now he’s back fishing as I struggle to just get my gear on.
Wading out slowly realizing now that I’m over my head in walking skills and not wanting to be over my head in water, finally I begin to cast to the fish rises. However, the large groups of rises seem to move the second I begin fishing for a bit (and I’m sure I wasn’t lining them) yet eventually they begin to strike with a new yet rather welcome problem.
The fish are literally attacking the small #18 BWO so ferociously that in every case they miss the fly. Seriously, their hits were so violent that I believe they were pushing it out of the way as they surged up, many even jumping clear out of the water.
They hit so often that they forced me to check my fly no less than 3 times thinking that perhaps I had a broken hook. Nope, they’re just that aggressive. So onto a #16 hoping that will help them tag it, and just as I begin to cast so the call goes out again.
"Fish on! Quick don’t make me lose this one!" Another mad scramble my knees and ankles screaming. Yet there it was, DM’s first Golden Trout.
Able to get a couple photos before it slipped back into the water, back I go as I’ve discovered that each time I stay near DM moves off. Again the fish are hammering my fly so hard they keep missing it. It was ridiculous how aggressive they were, and just as I go to cast having finally figured it out
….."Fish on, hurry get a picture!" So back I scramble again almost going swimming barely able to get a shot off before it slips from his hand and is gone.
Okay I’ve had enough, time for me to get one and just as I raise my rod watching the water to see where they are biting, the water suddenly goes dead calm, the bite in an instant over. Checking my watch there is no wonder why. It’s now 9:30PM BZN, and I’ve yet to get a fish on knowing that this will very likely be my last chance to catch a Golden Trout. Nothing, I cast and cast. Swap out flies, move, yet oddly I can still see rather clearly as it seems the twilight there lasted till quite late. Perhaps an hour into it, finally I have a bite.
Literally pound for pound that little Golden Trout fought harder than any other fish I’ve ever encountered. Wilder than any Marlin or Smallmouth, racing harder than any Wahoo or Pike. A number of times it jumped putting on a display that would put a Sailfish to shame, one time in fact close to 3’ for it’s perhaps 10". Finally I suppose realizing that it was caught that little trout had one last trick up his sleeve that I could tell was both intentional and deliberate.
Clearly not his first rodeo, that little trout raced toward me, passed me, and went under the one and only deadfall branch laying on the shore and into the water. Now I had called to DM that I had a fish on and to get over there with his camera. Instantly he took another cast, and each subsequent time I called he’d cast again till finally with a few expletives added on, he took one more cast and began a leisurely stroll toward me as I rushed to untangle the fish from the limb.
Just like that, the fish was gone having clearly not raced there to hide yet to do exactly what had happened. Such moments are a high/low thing. Low in the regard you didn’t catch it, high in that the fight was awesome, and more so hinted at more bites to come. But they didn’t come. No rises, no wakes, just another half hour of pointless casting till suddenly there was another violent attack to my fly, and that fish just like many others clearing the water very likely would have hit 18" and fat. Like many others as well missing it, and I never saw that trout rise again.
Roughly 11:00PM, I start casting again, and again, and again. I have killed myself to get up here already vowing to never come back the climb so hard on me, and round about 11:30 I’m seriously thinking about quitting. Never the less I fish on. Cast after cast nothing taking the fly though clearly there are bugs flitting around me and with each cast I’m more and more thinking
"frick it. If I don’t catch a Golden it is pointless so then DM can fish any damn place he wants as it won’t matter then, that problem solved."
We all do it in such times of lean, and also times of fat yet that moment I did what many of you have done it now 12:15AM
. "Five more casts and I’m done. Five, four, three, two, fish on!"
This one fights twice as hard as the first. This time I’m careful though neither horsing him nor giving him too little as I edge myself away from that one lone limb. He fought, jumped, pulled and ran. DM all but having quit himself deciding to draw near, and after perhaps a three minute fight, there he is, my first and only Golden.
Was it difficult the climb up, the lack of sleep for days, nothing to eat save that one breakfast, the lack of air in my lungs? Well scroll up to me in the airport, here I am that moment, pinched, gaunt and exhausted, but I have him, my Golden Trout checked off the list……and if you don’t think I said a prayer to God for those last five casts you’d be sorely mistaken.
Okay, that’s it we’re done. What was perhaps 95 degrees had turned to 40. Thankfully I had not brought my long johns having only used 3 flies and nothing else out of my vest. Perhaps if we had been on better terms that moment I might have considered cuddling with DM to not freeze, but this ain’t hell and it’s not that cold of a day.
More importantly two couples I suspect had wandered up there roughly arriving around 10:30 and had been poking around our things halfway around the lake. So we head back over and do a quick inventory, they’re setting up camp and already I can sense they’re not too comfortable with us being there either so DM and I decide to head back down, this the last shot as we left.
Without trying to brag I have stunning night vision. In fact with the full moon besides able to see shadows distinctly I’m still even able to make out some colors without a light. For me at night, even a moonless one only lit by stars let alone a full one like that night the world still looks rather clear. On a night like that one imagine looking through a modern night vision scope. So walking down for me without a flashlight is not a problem….UNLESS someone else insists on being close and using theirs.
Further, I’m rather fearless when it comes to the wilds. The critters, getting lost, having to survive has always to me felt like more of an adventure than anything. DM however is a VERY (and I mean that sincerely) courageous person. He is courageous in that though he does all of these sorts of things regularly, I think down deep it scares him yet he musters his courage at such times and many other sorts of times and always stands strong. So sincere kudos to him.
However, in that almost instantly something large though not a deer starts paralleling us, DM decides we should stay close, and because we’re close, I’m now blind from his flashlight. Instantly I had to get my digs in now forced to have to use a flashlight myself,
"bet you wished you had bought that Bear Spray now, don’t ya?"
"No" DM replies as he fishes around in his vest,
"I’m not wasting money on that stuff, I brought this instead" as he pulls out and holds high a "rape whistle". Now before you all start laughing let me stop you right there. Though some insist upon a gun, others Bear Spray, DM had opted for a rape whistle and as silly as you may think that was know for an
absolute fact that it worked.
Not one time, not a single solitary one the entire while we were out West was DM ever raped by a Bear. So laugh all you want, they clearly work.
In any case now we’re going down and though you’d think it was easier, it could have been except for one thing. DM’s light is blinding me. Worse still, now that I’m blinded by his I have to use mine, and literally every third step at the least I’m getting hammered by the trail. Here you go to step down yet the ground not there and suddenly you find yourself dropping that inch or two jarring you badly.
My knees and ankles are already shot from the slippery rocks, but now along with continuing to pound them my hips and back are taking a beating from the hard jolts step after step. No matter what I tried I couldn’t correct it and by half way down my knees are so swollen I start having trouble walking. Crossing the creek that runs into Portal Creek and seeing the climb I have to make up I’ve had enough. So with that I tell DM to go on hoping I can get my vision back, yet also knowing the perhaps rather steep 50’ rise and slight incline after to the top is going to take me a while.
My vision never comes back that night, possibly in that once onto the incline DM is shining his light directly at me to help, yet as you can guess it blinds me. By perhaps 2:00AM we finally made it back to the truck, and even DM is hurting so badly from the hard jolts that we sat there a good 15 minutes debating on staying or going.
Both deciding that we will never, ever do that again, we slowly drive out rewarded by the nice surprise of a Moose of all things at roughly 7,000’. On North to Four Corners, and DM deciding that
"he is not going to put in on a room for just a couple hours" finds us instead finding a dead end road just North of the intersection and we pull in to sleep the night in the truck….which is fortunately not a sub-compact.
Unfortunately however, besides the swarm of deer that keeps stomping around the truck, I’m hurting so incredibly badly from my toes to my neck that after a couple hours of tossing and turning I can’t take it anymore. Besides at roughly 5:00AM BZN it’s actually 8:00AM DTW time. I’m two hours late getting up. So what if I’ve not slept in days (by that time I suspect 4), there is no way I’ll be able to now, and all of my tossing and turning will really throw my back out.
With that I give DM a shove, "wake up and move over," and I limp around to the drivers side, get in, start the truck and begin to drive to Belgrade to turn onto the highway heading West to Butte and points beyond.
Bull Trout our next quarry, and in that Montana is restricted as to where, Idaho it shall be.
B.E.F.
