I did not make a cast today.
It’s not that I didn’t go fishing. I spent three hours walking the shoreline of Hebgen Lake looking for rising fish. It’s just that I didn’t see any, so no reason to cast. It was just a morning walk with a fly rod and my dog.
I tell myself that the storm last night put the bugs down. That the lake levels were too low. Maybe the fish had seen lots of angler pressure. Whatever it was, it doesn’t really matter, and I was just at the right place at the wrong time. Or the wrong place at the right time. And that is just as much my fault as anything.
Despite the lack of casting, it was a phenomenal day. I woke up before my alarm, excited for the day ahead. This is something that has been hard for me to do this year. After some stretching, I made a breakfast sandwich and a thermos of coffee. I rarely drink coffee, but the longer nights and foggy mornings have me fantasizing about fall, which is the only time of year I drink it.
I was out the door and in West Yellowstone by 8:30am. Like many trout anglers, I’ve fallen in love with West Yellowstone. A part of me feels lost when a weekend goes by without visiting the area. Maybe it’s the numerous fisheries close to town, the never-ending lodgepole pine forest, Yellowstone National Park, the fly fishing history, the fly shops, or just listening to John Gierach’s chapter on West Yellowstone at a young age when my brain was malleable. All I know is the indescribable feeling as I drive into town, and when my next trip to West is.
Hebgen was engulfed by a moody fog that lifted as the sun warmed the valley. The lake was everything a dry fly angler dreams of. A glass surface without a cloud in the sky. My rod was already rigged from yesterday’s walk. A 15-foot leader down to 5.5x tippet and a size 16 callibaetis sparkle dun. The fly was tied yesterday morning in the final minutes before leaving home, even though I had a fly box full of callibaetis spinners I tied over the winter.
I slowly walked the shoreline with my dog by my side. Kenai is my ten-year-old Siberian husky and is showing his age. While it was nearly impossible to take him fishing in the prime of his life, due to his ability to escape into the woods never to be seen again, things have changed as he has gotten older. He stays by my side, watching the lake and sniffing the shoreline. I’ve had to face the fact that he will not be by my side much longer, and I try to embrace every moment with him. It seems like he knows it too, and feels the same way.
A few eagles soared over, geese spooked into the lake, two pelicans rested on the point, and a doe and fawn came to the lake’s edge for a drink.
With time to think, my mind wandered. I couldn’t help but be grateful to live in Montana, surrounded by some of the best trout fishing the world has to offer. It’s hard not to take it for granted when it’s so embedded into your life and culture. But it is truly amazing to have thousands of trout within a few hours’ drive of home, and to live in a place that so many people travel to escape their normal lives for a week. It makes the unaffordable housing costs seem worth it.
Blue Ribbon Flies is my fly shop of choice, and I end up there when the fishing is slow. It’s always a worthwhile stop, and this time I had a fulfilling chat with the staff and Bucky McCormick. I also met Mike Mercer, who happened to be in town. That’s West Yellowstone for ya, the trout capital of the world.
I made it home by 3:00pm, timidly driving into town as hail pelted the hood of my new truck. An August storm is no joke. It made me wonder if I should still drive the old truck on all my adventures, since I don’t care if it gets dented or scratched. But I quickly remembered how likely I am to end up stranded down a dirt road in that truck, and let it go.
I got ready for the workweek, hit the grocery store, did a few chores, and ended the day tying a few flies and drafting this article.
As I reflect on the day, I feel immense joy, gratitude, and relief. I realized I became the person my younger self looked up to and dreamed to be. To fish West Yellowstone like it was just another day in my life and part of the routine. To live the fishing lifestyle.
So no, I didn’t make a cast today. But today was everything I could have dreamed of. Walking the shores of Hebgen Lake, with no doubt in my mind about where I wanted to be on a Sunday morning. With no anticipation for the future or regret about the past. Just being there in the moment, remembering that the goal is to just be out there, living the life of a fisherman.
Thanks for reading,
Nick
