Summer Goes on Forever and the Trout Fishing Never Ends...

Well, some years it seems that way. This is one of those years, when there's hardly been a bad day on the Big Hole River. The Spruce Moths seem to be near the end, but there are plenty of mayfly duns in the morning and grasshoppers are thick in the afternoon meadows just waiting for a stiff breeze to put them in front of hungry trout.

And this old dog learned something new. Lose something, learn something.

First time ever, a few weeks ago, I lost a flybox. Standing in a stiff mid-river current, I was tying on a fresh Adams after breaking off a nice fish. I slid the box into my left vest pocket, didn't zip it shut right away, and then slipped on an algae slick rock (welcome to the Big Hole). The box popped out and the current took it out of reach in a heartbeat. And though I got back to shore and chased it some ways down river, the current seemed disinclined to send it within reach and so I sadly said goodbye.

So when I finally stopped in at Al's shop, Great Divide Outfitters, he told me for the umpteenth time about one of his favorite flies, Purple Haze:

Who'd a thunk it? Tried 'em out yesterday morning (nothing like a few hours of fishing to ease out of a beery haze) and they are magic. Sort of like Paul Schullery's "Shupton's Fancy," if you've ever read that little novel about the fly trout cannot resist. The morning began with a nice brookie:

OK, OK, you can catch a brookie on a pigeon feather dragged through the water on a string and a pin. But then the brown trout started coming to the fly. One after another. Not huge, but good, solid, fat 14 to 18 inch fish. Often caught in 8-inch deep water (just as Al says). Fantastic:


RolyTheDog, Trout Inspector, agrees:

By 10:30 a.m. the browns tapered off and smaller rainbows began coming to my last Purple Haze (of the three others, I broke off two on larger fish and the other was ragged). Time to go home. And besides, it was Family Day on this reach of the Big Hole. Overloaded boats, happy (sometimes partying) people, many novice oarsmen getting hung up on the canyon's rock garden. Had to get out of the water before I fell in and drowned laughing...

An Ri Ra 2008, Butte Montana Irish Music Festival

An Ri Ra is an annual Irish Festival in Butte, Montana. Though music is central to the festival, it also included Irish film, dancers, cultural heritage workshops, and of course a 5K and 10K run.

In Butte, the Irish flags are flyin':

Jan, Emily, and I entered the festivities by listening to the local favorite, Dublin Gulch:

Beer and Irish music go together like Butte and a pasty. Here's Don Stierle with a good choice:

Cathie Ryan stepped up to sing a lovely ballad with Dublin Gulch. What a lovely voice! Here she is, with a "ghost sign" for Butte Special Beer in the background:

Butte America has a lot of these ghost signs, in part because the late 20th century passed by and didn't raze the traditional foundations of the urban core as happened with so many other cities. Along with the many architectural landmarks, they are another cultural element that helps keep Butte's soul alive. Another ghost sign, this one for Highlander Beer, also near the primary music stage:

Irish dancing is a big part of the festival. The Tiernan Irish Dancers have a local chapter in Butte, and the club does a great job of recruiting the little ones:

Time for more music, Beoga:

The Tiernan dance clubs are affiliated with Trinity Academy of Irish Dance in Chicago. They send a few high stepping champions to Butte each year:

Makem & Spain took over the stage just as a stormfront blew out of the valley, the brilliant Montana sun re-emerged, and the temperature went up 20 degrees F in 20 minutes:

After a few (too many?) pints we rolled up the hill to Walkerville for a sound night's sleep so we could make a big Saturday of it. On the big stage, we listened to the sounds of Finnegan Ridge:

Then a big thunderstorm with awesome lightening blew in, and we headed for cover in the Quarry Brew Pub. The storm was severe, and all the late afternoon/evening acts were cancelled. Luckily, the Quarry's back door leads out into a big parking garage where the groups Crested Hens and Malarkey set up an impromptu session much to the delight of the crowd:

After pizza and a pint at the Broadway Cafe, we headed over to the historic Finlen Hotel's bar. Well, if it isn't an Irish Pub (minus the thick cigarette smoke), with the Makem & Spain boys jamming in the corner:

Good live music, a pint in hand, Jan Munday by my side, and the Olympic swimmers on the big screen (Go Michael Phelps!): life doesn't get any better than this.

Well, actually it could get better. While I like traditional Irish music as much as the next bloke whose folks came over on the boat from County Clare by the Shannon River, it gets a little tiresome when band-after-band-after-band pretty much sounds alike. A few years ago, An Ri Ra brought the Prodigals to town. Tremendous "progressive" Irish music! So how about a bit more of 'at? Maybe Floggin' Molly, what do ya say?

The Art of Non-fishing on the Big Hole River near Butte Montana

Do you remember Carlos Castaneda? I keep a copy of his classic little The Teachings of Don Juan: A Yaqui Way of Knowledge (1968) in my backpack, and read a few pages before my post-peak bagging naps and bedtime. Very inspirational, I think the book even guided a few of us through those drug-crazed late-60s/early 70s. Castaneda gave us hope that some deep spiritual insights lay beyond the surface glimmer of the drug experience per se.

Yesterday was an experience in the art of non-doing, a common Taoist meditative technique that snuck into old Don Juan's teachings.

The morning dawned red as seen from my front porch in Walkerville, and this sailor took no warning:

Sheila Youngblood, Jo Buysse, and I set out late yesterday afternoon for a few hours of fly fishing on the Big Hole River. We hoped to catch some good Spruce Moth fishing. All day long, as I sat in my office, the moths flitted in through the open windows:

In the photo above, you can see two very different color phases of Butte's Spruce Moths (sex or age related?). And as I speculated in the previous Spruce Moth fishing post, there are clear differences among populations that probably mark distinct species. The Big Hole moths (below) are quite different morphologically than the longer, more pointed wings, and slightly larger Butte critters:

Now some would write this off to Butte's toxic mine waste (don't move here! the fishing & hunting stink too!) or the fact that, at a bar, Butte moths probably out-drink and out-fight any Big Hole moth. However, I rather suspect the difference stems from Eastslope (Big Hole River) v. Westslope (Butte/Clark Fork River) of the Continental Divide.

Anyway, I digress. There Sheila, Jo, and I were at the secret spot across from Butch Starin's trailer. Looks promising, I thought, and rigged up. Moments later lightning crashed on the ridge south of us, the wind cast a dark sky upon us, and the rain began. Pouring, steady rain. More lightning. Boats began pulling off the water, and the Big Hole being the Big Hole it was two rafts full of Frank Stanchfield, his son Lance Stanchfield, and friends from the Troutfitters near Wise River. Sheila kindly gave two drivers a ride down to Silver Bridge to facilitate their shuttle. We called Jan Munday and daughter Emily Munday (Em had just gotten off a flight from Boston), and did what anglers do when they're rained off the river: went to a bar (Blue Moon Saloon) for a few pints of Moose Drool (alas, no Butte beer from the Quarry!):

After a few pints and a good meal, the Art of Non-doing felt pretty good. And as we pulled away for the short drive home, a rainbow as a promise for a new day:

An Ri Ra, Butte's big Irish music/culture festival, begins today. Reminds me of that great line from the Prodigals song, Happy Man:

"I'm a happy man today, I don't know about tomorrow,
Will I live in ecstasy or deep in debt and sorrow,
There's a pint upon the table, there's another on the way
and with the girl beside me, I'm a happy man today..."


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Cf. Spruce Moth fishing on the Big Hole River last year, 03 August 2007: http://ecorover.blogspot.com/2007/08/early-august-fishing-raspberries-hiking.html

Big Hole River: red hot trout fishing, spruce moth hatch

As Al Lefor will attest, the Big Hole River near Butte, Montana, is fishing red hot these days. This morning there was an abundance of Spruce Moths coming down to get a sip and ending up getting 'et, numerous large Caddis popping out of the riffles, and swarms of May Fly Duns. Fish rising all around. Browns, 'bows, cutts, and whitefish all stacked up together at the head of the pool/riffles/pocket water where I fished.

Wow. It just doesn't get any better than this. Plus, virtually no one else on the water. Al went by with a couple of sports--all had big grins on their faces! And just as I was leaving, another guide boat drifted by, but by the looks of things the sport couldn't cast to save his life and the guide was not smiling. So it goes, I guess.

I was late getting on the water and, watching all those fish rising, my hands were shaking as I tied on some tippet and a tan Stimulator (a reasonably good Spruce Fly imitation). One big trout across the river -- with too much fast & complex water in between to get a decent drag-free drift -- had a back as broad as a muskrat, and was just slurping in every drowned moth that came by its rock. That big fish slurped all morning, reminding me that no matter how good the fishing is, there's always "just one more" you ain't gonna get.

I'm pretty sure there are several local species of Spruce Moth. I say this because the moths this morning were shorter and more blunt than some I've seen in past years:

At first, I had some refusals and short strikes. Often this is because of a bad drift. There was a stiff wind blowing down river that made good casting and mending a little tricky for a so-so caster like me. My solution was to lengthen my tippet and go from 4X to 5X. The trade off was breaking off two large trout that I could not handle in the fast water. But still, a number of brown trout, rainbow trout, and one fat native (westslope cutthroat trout; the first pic below) came to hand:



Late morning I thought it was slowing down as the Spruce Moth flight tapered off. But after a short lull, there were more trout than ever rising to everthing on the water. Several smaller (10 inch?) rainbows in a fast riffle just upstream were leaping two feet or more out of the water after large caddis flies. Just for fun, I tried switching back and forth between a Stimulator and Elk Hair Caddis. The hooking percentage was higher with the Caddis, but I had far more strikes -- and larger fish -- on the Stimulator. Go figure how a creature with a brain the size of a dried pea can be so damned discriminating.

Well, almost time to go. First I needed to catch two more fat trout (rainbow trout, as it turned out) for supper tonight, and RTD & I called it a morning. And one nice mountain whitefish for my friend Howard who just loves them:

If you're new on the Big Hole River, be sure and check in with Al and Art at Great Divide Outfitters--they will have the flies and advice you need to catch fish. Tight lines!

Hiking the Burn: Life after the Pattengail Forest Fire near Butte, Montana

Butte, Montana, was a smoky town last summer. The plume from the Pettingill Fire (aka the "official" misspelling Pattengail) seemed drawn to Butte like iron filings to a magnet. Like the Yellowstone Fires of 1988 or the Mussigbrod Fire (upper Big Hole River basin) of 2000, the Pettingill Fire is part of a natural cycle in the mid-elevation lodgepole pine forest of the Beaverhead-Deerlodge National Forest in Montana.

Last week, Dave Carter, RTD, and I were able to get out for a hike across the Pettingill Burn in the Doolittle Creek/Squaw Creek area.

It was a classis "mosaic" burn, with many fingers of forest left untouched. Notice the stark contrast where Dave is standing as the ridgeline falls away to the north side (unburned):

Fungi of various kinds are among the first colonizers after a forest fire. Sorry for the technical scientific jargon, but here are some little brown mushrooms:

And some tiny brown mushrooms (these seem to be especially associated with elk droppings--sort of like the Huichol Indians "trail of the deer?"):

We don't normally think of lupine as early post-fire colonizing plants, but they sure are abundant in this burn:

The elk are also using the burn already, and it seems every finger of unburned land has its resident big bull elk. Note RTD standing in this big elk bed (it ran out just ahead of Dave & I--we probably talk too much while hiking) in a green island near a spring seep:

Big track, big elk:

Like the other burns I mentioned, the elk population will probably double in this area over the next several years as plants recolonize the burn, turning the landscape into a lush elk-garden.
The insects and spiders seem to be doing OK, too--like this orb weaver and its beautiful web:

As we drove back toward Butte, we were greeted along the Big Hole River with the sight of a bald eagle out for a little afternoon fishing:

Pintler Wilderness: Rainbow Lake, Warren Lake

It's hard living and working in Butte, Montana, looking over to the Pintler Wilderness each day. After a few days between home and the office, my soul takes flight. Usually, I follow.

Last week saw RolyTheDog & I in the Pintler for a 4-day tour of the Rainbow Lake/Warren Lake area. It's a tough, long trail in and so this corner of the wilderness typically holds a little more solitude than easy, popular spots such as Goat Flat.

It's worth getting up at 5 a.m. for a morning drive to a Big Hole River watershed trailhead. The elk were still out in hay meadows after a night of filling their bellies (you should be able to click on this and other photos for an enlarged view):

The ranchers were not yet at work using the locally crafted beaverslide haystackers to make the unique hay mounds:

Heading up the trail, a mule deer doe and fawn played the peek-a-boo game with us:

I suppose with the starvation budget and increasing demand for fire protection from folks living at the urban/wildland fringe, there's not much money for things like new trail signs. Well, the old ones have character:

We beat the worst heat of the day hiking in, and still RTD took advantage of every spring run we passed for a quick cool down:

It was a good trip, with the usual Alpine wildflower delight, visiting lakes & hiking ridges, and a bluff charge from a protective mother bear.

The Bluff Charge

RTD & I were on our way out with an early morning start.

We were about 6 miles into the 9 miles, dropping from the morning cool of 9,000 feet to the valley heat, falling into the rythm of putting one foot in front of the other, reflecting on the high Alpine beauty of the past four days. I had just paused to photograph this cool orb weaver spider:

Then there it was. A bear. Not remarkable for the Beaverhead-Deerlodge National Forest, I run into a few most every year. But this one was just 70 yards uphill of the trail and eyeing us closely. Usually they hightail it at first sight/sound/smell. But I quick snapped a photo, and as I did Bear turned to its right and gave a "Woof:"

Oh-oh, I know that sound. It means, "Kids, get your asses up a tree." And when I looked where Bear was looking, I saw one cub already up one tree and the other scooting up another. I grabbed RTD & we started moving down the trail--a little too quickly, perhaps. Sow Bear followed us, more or less parallel, just behind us and above the trail. After RTD we covered about 50 yards, Sow Bear charged. I pulled my cannister of pepper spray from its hip-belt holster, RTD & I stood fast, and I began loudly telling Sow Bear what I thought of her, her mother, and every other irascible unforgiving no-good bear that ever walked this green earth.

Sow Bear stopped 50 feet away. Classic bluff charge. I'm thinking, "Boy, the 30-foot range of this pepper spray is REALLY close." I thanked Sow Bear, complimenting her on her good sense and on being such a cool mother as RTD & I slowly backed down the trail. Sow Bear turned sideways and sort of shuffled back toward her cubs. Good Momma.

Lesson here: carry pepper spray and KNOW HOW TO USE IT. Believe it or not, it is far more effective against bear attacks (including the mighty grizzly) than a firearm.

This sow was just doing what any good mother would do. Here in Montana, however, like all over the U.S., we have a worsening problem with BAD bears--bears that have been habituated to human food by irresponsible & thoughtless people living at the urban fringe. People who have taken up residence in the bears' home. Some intentionally feed bears, and many others leave dog food or animal feed outside where bears can get it. Like Montana Fish, Wildlife and Parks says, "A fed bear is a dead bear."

Flashback to more than 40 years ago, the last time I was bluff-charged by a black bear. Gramps & I were walking back up a steep hill from one of the Cobb lease oilwells when three cubs ran across the road near the ridge-top where the Willys was parked. Sow Bear charged us and if she'd have come close enough I believe Gramps would have clobbered her with that 24-inch Trimo (pipe wrench) he always carried as a pumper.

Lakes and Ridges

Well, except for Sow Bear it was a peaceful 4 days in the Pintler. Two days at Goat Arena, a beautiful cirque,:

just north of Rainbow Lake:

The first day RTD and I hiked the mile or so over and fished Rainbow for small 4" to 8" cutt-bow hybrids, and met three hard-working young guys on trail crew with the Forest Service. Trail maintenance -- things like water bars and sawing out those 24" diameter spruce blowdowns -- don't just happen on their own. These guys were great, putting in 12-hour work days with a 2-man whip-saw (aka cross cut saw), big double-bit cruiser axe, and razor-sharp Pulaski, wearing a full pack, and out for the full week.

I had planned to scramble the unnamed 10,000+ foot peak at the head of Goat Arena, but my peak bagging hopes were dashed by high winds. I expect the ridge tops of the Continental Divide to be a little breezy, but knock-you-down gusts are dangerous and downright over-the-top.

If I had a good pack horse and wanted to shoot a big bull elk (or trophy moose), I'd camp & hunt the Goat Arena. It's called that for a reason, of course, or at least it was. Here are some goat bones, the closest thing I saw to a live goat on this trip:

This adds to the now abundant evidence that mountain goats have declined precipitously in the Pintler. Hunting season is closed completely on goats in the West Big Hole. The cause & effect relationship between snow machines (aka snowmobiles) and goat decline all over the northern Rockies is well established. When will the U.S. Forest Service and Montana Fish, Wildlife & Parks find the cajones to curb the rampant abuse of Alpine areas by snow machines? In the Pintler, snowmachines routinely ignore these signs to violate the wilderness:

Warren Lake is a pretty spot (some say the most scenic lake in the Pintler), and we moved camp there for the second two-days:

There is a gorgeous tarn a mile west of Warren Lake, well worth the hike:

This tarn is an alternative route to that unnamed 10K+ peak, but RTD decided this one. After a snack and short rest at the tarn, she refused my urgings to start up the scree toward the peak. Good dog, my right knee agreed. Two-to-one I was outvoted so we spent the morning hiking around the open larch woods and got a glimpse of a big still-in-velvet mulie buck that will be a real trophy come hunting season.

Several years ago, Warren Lake had some big fish--maybe 2 pounds+. Now it seems fishless. Even in the evening, with a heavy caddis & mayfly hatch and stoneflies on egg-drop flights, I never saw a single fish rise. Maybe it froze out, as these mountain lakes do from time to time. Warren is fairly shallow, and if the ice stayed on too long in the spring the oxygen could be totally depleted. There were a pair of loons on the lake, I thought they were fish-eaters but they must do OK on abundant benthic invertebrates?

Alpine Wildflowers

On the lower c. 6500 foot elevations near the trailhead, Sego Lillies (Calochortus nuttalli) were abundant:

In the woodland meadows, the Silky Lupines (Lupinus sericeus) are still putting on a show, with the occasional white variant:

Around the spring runs where RTD likes to cool down, Yellow Columbine (Aquilegia favescens) are at their peak:

Along the trail on the drier slopes were Oregon Grape (Berberis repens; love the leaves changing color and the berries forming):

Stemless Sunflower (Hymenoxys acaulis):

And Twin Flower (Linnaea borealis):

Once at the lakes, Alpine Laurel (Kalmia microphylla) and Mountain Heather (Phyllodoce, both Pink P. empetriformus and Yellow P. glanduliflora) carpeted the shoreline:



And on the meadows around the lakes, Alpine Lousewort (Pedicula contorta) was the dominant flower of the week:

Alpine Lousewort close-up:

There are still a few snowdrifts on the trails and around the lakes, but the skeeters have largely subsided. Black flies are another story, and I've never seen them this bad in Montana. Reminded me of our summer family fishing trips to northern Ontario & Quebec. Poor RTD really got her belly chewed up. Luckily for me, the weather was cool (barely over 70 deg F) so long sleeves & pants were no handicap.

See you in the mountains!