East Gallatin Update

Thursday, October 9, 2009. After a night of heavy drinking upon return from the Big Hole, we got out on the famous East Gallatin around 12:00. A few pheasant roosters greeted our arrival and the scenery was unmatched; beautiful, meandering stream, grassy fields that seem to go on forever, and, in the distance, snowy mountains in all directions. We parked at Swamp Road bridge and after chatting with an old, wind worn guy in a rhino we headed down stream to where the guy at Fins and Feathers told us was the better nymphing water. Two holes down, we spread out and started to catch fish.

I stood next to this deep, green water and tried to figure out where the fish were, what they might want to eat, and how to get it to them. I was throwing The Worm up front and changed my back fly a couple times - finally settled on a wet hackle PT, 18. The trick, however, was to get the right weight and depth. My goal was to tie on enough splitshot to get stuck on the bottom and then take one off. One split shot, nothing. Two, nothing. Three, FISH. I pulled three fish out of that hole, had a lot of bumps, and, in what turned into a disturbing trend for the day, had two others on (the biggest fish) but shake off.

Following Ben and Paul I moved downstream. Ben was trying to cast size 20 bwo dries to rising fish on the far bank so I decided to hit the inside seam of the run. Casts upstream, slightly across, flies in line resulted in 5 more fish in the net and 4 or 5 more on and off again, including the biggest one from that hole, too.

Headed downstream further and tossed my weighted rig into a wide, fast run near a pod of 20 rising fish. After a few casts the thingamabobber jerked under and I felt a nice, nice fish on the end of my line. A couple seconds later he shook off... I decided I needed to get a little deeper so I tied on a weighted streamer with The Werm behind it. First cast, BAM - again, nice fish. Again, shook off. GODDAMN!!!! This one jumped just to make sure I knew it was a big rainbow before coming loose. Anger. Fished a few bends, some very deep holes down stream. Ben and Paul kept hearing cock birds cackling in the fields - I always seemed to be next to a loud riffle, but did catch the tail end of one call. The hunting here would be disgusting. I would love to see Porter working hard through those countless acres of bird-filled grass...

Paul was pulling a couple nice fish out of the most downstream riffle we fished, Ben and I lined up behind him. As I worked downstream I realized I was walking on the drop-off so I backed up, moved downstream a bit and cast back to it. First cast, fish. Big fish. Turned out to be a White Fish, but fought hard and more than filled the net. Another trout, slightly upstream had the count up to 9. Walked upstream with Paul and watched him pull a couple out of a seam to even the count. Game on.

Tied on The Werm behind a large, 12, BH prince nymph. Caught two out of a tiny riffle that dropped off sideways into a run. Two, steely rainbows. The fish out of the Gallatin were unlike any rainbows I've ever caught. Smaller heads, thick in the middle, and with a cold, steel look. Apparently they have steel mouths, too, given how many Paul and I lost through the day. Ben and Paul walked up the bank behind me a jumped two cock birds who cackled and rose, one flying over my head, one flying away from the river. Gorgeous.

Moved back upstream to where I'd caught 5 before and pulled 4 more out for 15 on the day. Probably lost close to that many as well. Frustrating to lose so many fish and so many nice fish. But the day was success and beautiful. Cold, about 27 on the day, a slight breeze and sun that finally gave way to clouds and a snowstorm. As we drove back to the cabin we watched wild clouds fill the valley, swirling, dropping snow in random, isolated places.