Montana Stream Fishing Interlude

I do my best to keep this blog pertinent to the Bay area, but I can't resist sharing this. If you’re inclined as I am to read fishing reports from places you might have been or hope to someday visit, written by a neighbor you barely know and may never meet, you might find it somewhat interesting. Despite all the fun I’ve been having on the Bay I've been going through hot-weather stream fishing withdrawals. I’ve yet to make it up to any of Maryland’s cold-water creeks, but I’m reporting a cool blue fix in and around Montana’s Glacier National Park this past week. Since this was my first time in that area, I considered hiring a guide, but they were extremely expensive with most recommending floating the lower streams or hiking into the high lakes. I wanted solitude and moving water, so I rented a 4X4, bought a guidebook, and set off into the backcountry. Dianne joined me the first day and we spent most of our time exploring and getting our bearings by driving across the park.

I stopped at what is probably an over-fished stream just off 'Going to the Sun Road' and got my feet wet. I didn’t bring a flyrod. I was spin casting a gold 1/16th oz Panther Martin with micro-light gear. I wasn’t sure what I’d caught when I landed my first Glacier fish so I had to look it up in my book. It turned out to be a mountain whitefish. They’re in the trout family but have bigger scales and less color. Based on my hillbilly creek fishing experience, they look like a cross between a redhorse sucker and a creek shiner but with one primary difference - they are delicious!



Looking for less-traveled waters, I found a promising stream just west of the Continental Divide at Marias Pass. The ‘Skyland’ forest fire is burning nearby, making my pictures somewhat smoky. I passed the firefighter's base camp looking for a stream on my map callled 'Bear Creek.' I found a trail disappearing into the woods and followed it. The creek was wide enough to jump across in spots, but there were some deep holes. After a few casts I was rewarded with what back in the warm-water Tennessee hills is considered the holy grail of trout fishing – brookies. The fish were not big, no more than 9 inches, but they were extremely colorful and hard fighters. Bear Creek lived up to its name when I encountered a young black bear on the way out. I didn't stay around long enough to find his mother.

The next morning while Dianne went off dutifully to a conference, I got an early start on a stream I had spotted the day before. Paola Creek on the map, it was off the Middle Fork of the Flathead River just outside the park’s southwest boundary. I hiked up a steep unmarked path about a mile before I found an area level enough to fish. I switched over to a mini red & white Mepps beetle and ducked beneath the pine bows casting toward the mid-morning shadows. Paola Creek paid off when the first little fish went airborne. I thought I had found more brook trout, but on closer inspection the fish was pinker with fewer spots. Beneath its chin was a bright red blaze. Cutthroat. It turned out the tiny stream was loaded with them. I don’t think the area had been fished much judging by how aggressively they attacked my lure. My guidebook says this variety of cutthroat was once endangered, and they remain a protected species inside the park.

The next day brought the smokiest skies yet. Big fires raged on both sides of town, but not close enough to be threatening. I started by driving north into the Stillwater State Forest. My plan was to hike into a creek I’d circled on the map, but along the way I happened upon a small lake that I couldn’t resist trying. It was too warm for trout, but not for neds. The still water was crystal clear and I could see the fiesty yellow perch darting for the lure long before the strike.

I opted to follow the stream back down toward the river instead of fishing the lake, always looking over my shoulder because of the bear and mountain lion warnings posted on the way in. This is the first time in my life that I’ve fished where there was no visible evidence of human presence - no beer cans beside the trail, no milk jugs floating down the creek, no camp fire rings, nothing but fresh bear & deer tracks in the sand beside the water. The fish were bigger here, but surprisingly non-native rainbows, evidence of stocking earlier in the park’s history. I believe keeping non-native fish is encouraged, and it might even be forbidden to return them to the stream, but I wasn’t equipped to keep them and I didn’t want to encourage the wildlife. I fished until way past sunset.

The next day I revisited some spots I had found earlier along the river. Casting into a deep blue-green pool, I picked up something heavy and started dragging it in. I was surprised to find that I had caught what looked to be a brand-new fly-rod, complete with reel, floating line, leader, and no-longer-dry fly. It had probably been dropped by one of the rafters I’d seen floating downstream earlier. I was happy to find the rod, but a little disappointed that others had recently visited my corner of the wilderness.
Another surprise came later when I added a 5th species to my Montana catch list. With the colors and markings of a rainbow but flashing a red-orange blaze on the lower jaw, this fish is known as a Cutbow. It’s a hybrid, but obviously native and protected like the Cutthroats.

If you’re ever out that way, I highly recommend Glacier and the surrounding area. The town of Whitefish is still somewhat quaint and uncrowded. There are good local brews and most of the saloons have a cash poker game in the back room. The highlight of our wildlife viewing came on our drive out through deep forest in the Flathead Indian Reservation this morning. I was dozing while my wife drove just after daylight. We were about 20 miles from the closest house when she called out, “Look, there's a kitty!” My first thought was bobcat or lynx, but there was no mistaking the cat's long tail as it scampered quickly across the road and into the undergrowth. That kitty was a young mountain lion. I slept most of the way back to the Spokane airport still smiling with memories of picturesque mountains, pristine forests, clear water, and colorful fish. The contrast of arriving back to our area’s asphalt jungles tonight was almost smothering. I’m not certain there’s much real wilderness remaining in this country, but of what’s left, I’m pretty sure I got right up ag’in it!