5 Miles Back
Throughout this backcountry adventure I had the opportunity to fish a rod of great significance and caliber. I met up with Matt at Tom Morgan Rodsmiths in Bozeman, MT prior to the trip, and discussed fishing, their company history and story, and the bamboo rod building process. Matt gave me one of their rods for this adventure to fish and write a story to be featured on their site. Here is the story.
We loaded up the car on Thursday afternoon with everything we thought we needed for a fishing trip. A gallon of water, bratwursts, some beverages, firewood, two cans of bear spray, and an assortment of rods, reels and flies.
I met Joe at the beginning of the summer through work, and became friends almost instantly. Throughout the summer we talked about a backcountry fly fishing trip, and this past weekend we put our plans into action.
We drove an hour and a half to a quaint cabin, and unloaded our things. In preparation for the evening caddis, we put together our rods and tied our knots. The sun was still high in the sky, but despite the heat I trekked upstream in search of some fish.
Walking on the slippery rocks of the creek bank, my ankles quickly became sore and bruised from the constant loss of balance and abrasion against rocks.
Finding my rod getting caught more in the bushes than taught to a fish, I ventured back downstream to the cabin to enjoy the shade and some water. Joe had been reading since we arrived, and I quickly became jealous of his chair in the shade.
After a couple of hours, we decided to go and look for some fish farther upstream than I had explored earlier in the day. Our plan was to hike 3 miles on a well-kept trail to a meadow where we were told their were lots of feeding fish.
The trail starts down by the campground, crosses the creek a mile and a half in, and continues up through the meadow and further into the backcountry. After a mile or so on the trail we came across a couple of cows. We thought nothing of it and carried on.
The sun was setting, and Joe and I knew that we would have to maintain a nice pace in order to fish the meadow and return to the cabin before dark. When we came to the bridge, we saw where the trail would take us up over the ridge and down into the meadow. The problem was the trail was occupied by cows.
Joe and I attempted to push them along, but they were not enthused and didn’t move. Our progress for the evening was halted, and we returned back to the cabin with thoughts of the meadow and hungry stomachs.
As we sat by the fire and cooked our bratwursts, we discussed topics like school, work, relationships, podcasts, and fly fishing. On every fishing trip I have been on, the conversation may start with themes of a recent book you read or a person you met, but will eventually end in talk about fly fishing.
The mosquitos come out and bite at our feet. Your feet get too warm trying to keep the bugs off being close to the fire, so copious amounts of bug spray are applied. We see caddis coming off, and a tempted to throw a couple casts in the run right behind the cabin. I took my 8-foot graphite rod down to the creek, and got one to rise in the seam behind a rock on an Elk Hair Caddis, before retiring to the cabin for the night.
After our dinner, we cleaned the dishes and settled in to our sleeping bags. Visions of the meadow and hungry Cutthroat trout loomed in our heads as we dosed off the sleep.
We were awakened by the sun beaming through the dust covered windows, and rose quickly to clean the cabin and prepare breakfast. We knew there was not much time to waste, and if the cows weren’t around, we would have some miles to cover on the trail.
We set off on foot with hopes of an open trail and hungry trout. Within the first quarter mile we found the cows, and quickly after their discovery they had disappeared. We carried on, crossing the bridge and gaining elevation up the trail.
Early in the morning, with the dew on the grass and the air still cool from the night, we are refreshed while exerting our bodies at altitude. Feeling the spider webs on our hands as we travel on the trail, we are assured that no one has traveled before us this morning.
After reaching the ridge, we lose elevation and hike down into the meadow. When we lay eyes on the meadow, we simply cannot believe our eyes. Lush green grass ends quickly and is joined by the downed old growth and high peaks. With the creek winding through the valley and up into the mountains, no words are said. The vista truly took our breath away.
We think about the glaciers that came through here millions of years ago, and how that shaped things here and across the globe.
We see a moose trotting off in the distance, and begin to talk and make noise again. We see the moose move up in to the higher part of the meadow on a scree field, and carry on. The hike from the meadow to our planned destination is around 1.5 miles. The terrain is manageable and the trail is clear.
Not more than 20 minutes after the moose encounter, we come across a bear. With Joe trailing behind me, he spots the brown bear no more than 50 off of the trail. Before I even see the grizzly bear I have my bear spray out of its holster with the safety off. With our blood pumping and vision centered, we can make out details in the face of the grizzly. I have spent lots of time in the backcountry, but removing the safety on the canister is a first.
With the grizzly bear showing no signs of aggression, we re-engage the safety on our bear spray and slowly work our way back to the meadow. Joe had never seen a bear before, and is full of adrenaline for the rest of the morning. There is no hesitation in this decision, and we make quick work of the return to the meadow.
Not many words are said to each other. We yell aloud for the next 15 minutes in hopes of deterring other bears, and are hyperaware of our surroundings. Joe palms his bear spray in anticipation for another encounter.
Humans have an interesting reaction to events like this one. We quickly develop a “fight or flight” mental state, and focus on needs to happen in order to survive. We as a human species can live through things like illness and stress, but when exposed to other creatures we are defensive, and rightfully so.
Maybe it had to do with the grizzly or lack of fish, but the atmosphere around the adventure has changed. We throw a few casts in the creek running through the meadow, but are at a loss of motivation to spend time working on particular fish. Joe takes a swim in the creek to cross it and fish the opposite bank, while I stay on the other side watching for bears and rising fish. The adrenaline has started to wear off in both of us.
As we make our way back to the cabin, I decide to work a small pool below the bridge. I take three fish, not of great size, but beauty on a fly I tied. Finding a Cutthroat in a place like this is unique. A species dating back centuries and thriving in a mountain creek like this, I feel honored to admire it in my hand before releasing it back.
Joe and I wrap up fishing at the bridge and finish the hike back to the cabin. As we hike out, we discuss the encounter with the bear, other thrilling adventures from home, and what’s for lunch. We are tired from the hiking and adrenaline our bodies used in the height of the bear encounter, but are also glad to have found a few fish and return unharmed.
While driving back to town not much is said. Even on a short two-day trip like this one, you can learn a lot. For myself, I came to realize that the story lies not in the beautiful Cutthroat and brown trout, but in the authenticity of the journey. Catching a couple of fish is the desired outcome, but even more memorable is the bear, conversations with Joe, and the well cooked meal over a fire. To me, these are the experiences that will stay with me for a long time.
Going 5 miles back simply in search of some hungry trout, Joe and I returned with quite a story. The trout, moose, grizzly bear, deer, flowers, and birds that we saw will all go on to live many more years in this forest. We are grateful that they let us share a piece in time with them, and can live to tell the story for many years to come.