MONTANA TROUT

The big rainbow came up from the bottom, that's where the action is for sizeable food. My brown and yellow wooly bugger flashed halfway between sky and river bottom, and that was enough to whet the appettite of a hungry fish. A dark torpedo was suddenly behind the fly, then inhaling it, then arcing three full feet out of the water. My heart trembled at the sight, but my old timers nerve held steady. A few reel screeching runs, and the fish was mine. Afterwards, my sons dog gave the trout a farewell kiss, and I returned it back to the mysterious depths it called home.

Early moment in a fishing guides life

This second piece is about my son, now a professional guide in Montana, partly because I like this photo so much. When my son Matt was eleven I took him on a fishing trip to Alaska. Then, as now, he had the best eyes for fish of anyone I've ever known. Matt can watch a trout rising to midges 50 feet away, and see the exact moment when they inhale HIS fly and not the natural. But in this case, my eyes were as good as his, because we were fishing for king salmon in a crystal clear river. Matt and I watched the big king move toward his red and white daredevil (all right, it wasn't a fly, but he WAS only 11 and he only fly fishes now), grab it, turn, and race 100 feet down river in what all seemed like a second. Needless to say, after a very long struggle, he caught the fish unassisted and I took this photo.