We had decided to spend a day on a Spring Creek and were lucky that DuPuys, considered to be one of the very best, was only a short drive from the lodge where we were staying.
We pulled up at a house that wouldn’t look out of place in a bayou in the deep south of the America. We weren’t in the Deep South but firmly planted in the Mid-West in Montana just a short distance from Livingston.
Matt asked who had the nicest handwriting. I felt a mild degree of panic as the thought of a calligraphy test might somehow provide if our fly fishing credentials were sufficient enough to fish DuPuys Spring Creek.
The panic quickly subsided when Matt explained that the proprietor liked to see the day tickets written in stylish handwriting and if she liked it she’d let you know. She remained silent as I carefully, and in my mind with a rather stylish flourish, filled in the details of the anglers in our truck but she cooed excitedly when Daran filled his out.
We were Spring Creek fishing. The equivalent of what we would call chalk stream fishing back home. Crystal clear water, challenging fish and careful presentation were going to be the order of the day.
I really enjoy chalk stream fishing at home and have fished from Yorkshire to Dorset in search of chalk stream trout and grayling. I prefer to hunt out the slightly lesser known names that are both affordable and where possible, contain wild brown trout.
I’ve fished Spring Creeks before and like back home, enjoy stalking sighted fish. It is even better when it is with dry flies and after the cooler start of the day had cleared through we’d been told there was a good chance this is what we’d be doing.
Matt and Eric took the guys downstream a little but before going, Matt suggested I went upstream to a spot he felt I might just see a riser. He was right. As I peered into the water looking for signs of a fish I saw a rise some 40 feet ahead of me. Then another from what looked like the same fish.
I had to scramble down, avoid a pipe outlet and wade up some more. We’d been wet wading for most of the trip but had been advised to wear waders as the water here was colder. I could feel the chill through my waders as I waded waist deep.
There was a high bank behind me that allowed just enough room to make a cast. The fish had risen once more and from where I was standing and the depth of water I was in I couldn’t see the fish but I had marked where it was and had planned my cast so that it would get a look at the F Fly variant I’d just tied on.
Second cast and the fish was on. It was one of those nice confident, slow rises that you often see on a chalk stream. There was some really heavy weed growth just to the edge of where the fish had been lying and it knew the drill, head for the weed and do everything you can to wrap the fly. I applied as much side strain as I felt I was comfortable with and managed to keep it clear and landed it, a cutthroat of 13 inches. I let it slip back into the water and as it was too deep to wade any further I got out and headed downstream in search of my friends.
My timing was good as I watched Mark hook into his first fish of the day and took some pictures. He’d been fishing a slightly faster run with a duo and the fish had hit the nymph.
Further downstream Richard had Matt by his side as they worked their patterns over a trout they had spotted. Richard is no stranger to chalk streams and is one of the most patient anglers I know. He’ll quietly watch a fish for what to me seems an age, make the cast and then catch the fish. He is often spotted on bridges in the Hampshire area just watching and noting how trout and grayling are behaving.
I took some photos of Matt and Richard but the silence was soon broken by a call from Mark. We all looked upstream and in unison cupped our hands to our ears straining to hear what he was saying. It sounded like he had a biggie on and the bend in his rod confirmed the fact. Matt handed me the net and asked me to land the fish and so I walked back to Mark just a little excited to see what was happening.
It was a good fish; Mark was trying to keep control of a big brown trout. He was starting to get the upper hand which only seemed to annoy the trout even more causing it to burrow down into deeper water trying its best to shake the hook.
Slowly and carefully, Mark brought the fish close and I netted it. We admired it for a few seconds before we measured it, took a couple of photos and sent it on its way. Mark had been wearing a big grin from the moment the trip had started when we first landed at Bozeman but to me it looked just a little broader. 20 ½ inches of Brown trout would have me smiling like a Chesire Cat too.
We picked up a couple more fish and then headed back with Matt to his truck. He had taken us to one of his favourite spots and was taking us to another.
Getting back into the water I could see the sun was in the perfect position to really spot the fish. It was made even easier with a few starting to rise. I’d caught the last fish on a NZ rig, or dry dropper as they call it over there. The first sign of fish near the surface had me snipping off the nymph and tying the F Fly back on.
Matt was with Richard and Mark a little downstream, I walked upstream. The fish were rising against the far bank but I scanned the water between me and the risers just in case. I was glad I did, I had spotted four or five cutthroats. I drifted the fly over them in what looked like a perfect drift but putting just a tiny amount of slack into my next cast overcame what must have been a micro current and a fish took the fly.
Fishing CDC means I have to treat the fly and get it floating again. It doesn’t take long or much effort but sometimes it is enough of a break for the fish to settle down again if there has been commotion in their vicinity.
My thoughts were broken by a wail of disappointment from Richard. We’d been having a snatched conversation about a fish he’d been stalking that had taken, but it had just got off.
Further down I could see Mark's rod bent once more.
I cast across the river to the risers. I put slack into the cast as it travelled out over the water and then put in a quick mend for good measure. I wanted as long a drift as possible. The fly passed over one fish but the second fish rose and I set the hook.
I could have stayed where I was and caught more, plenty more, but I caught what I felt was enough without being too greedy and walked down to see Richard.
Richard was playing a fish that knew exactly what it wanted to do: head straight into, around or under the only structure in the area – a submerged log. Despite a valiant effort the fish, this time looked like it had won. Matt waded out, rolled up his sleeve and dipped a hand into the water and felt around.
Richard and I had stood in silence. I didn’t want to say anything just in case the fish had broken free. I have found over the years that it is often better to leave a fishing companion to come to terms with the loss of a fish, say nothing and then, when they are ready they’ll quickly bounce back. A comment no matter how well intentioned can sometimes deepen the gloom. I have found waiting for the angler who has suffered the loss to speak first. It lets you know how the land lies.
Personally, I have come to terms with fish losses and it doesn’t bother me that much. People I have fished with have looked at me quizzically if a fish bounces off and I laugh. It would be good to land every one but I like the odds to go to the fish too.
The silence was broken when the fish, still attached to Richards line shot out from the snag and after a few short runs was in Matt's net. He’d managed to gently coax the line from around the log and forced the fish out into the river again where Richard stopped it going for a repeat performance.
It was lunchtime. I say lunchtime, as it was nearly 2pm. We’d met up with Gavin and Daran who had a slightly tougher morning. They’d fished a little further downstream with Eric and had caught some fish but it sounded like the water was a little slower and the fish had just a little longer to inspect the flies. There had been many changes of fly, some paid off some didn’t but I handed Daran a few of my F Flies and hoped they would work later on for him.
It sounded like they had experienced a more typical spring creek day. Wary fish, careful drifts, many fly changes often resulting in refusals. It spoke volumes that they had done so well.
We walked downstream and passed a bench with a simple inscription. “In loving memory of Don Williams, sit awhile, go fishing, keep a tight line” That said it all and is a nice testimony to someone I never met but was a fellow angler. The bench means a lot to Matt who grew up fishing with Don and misses him still.
We fished where Daran and Gavin had fished. It was definitely tougher fishing than we’d experienced in the morning although Mark just seemed to get on the fish whereas Richard and I had to grind ours out. It is how it goes sometimes and if you fish with someone regularly it will often play out this way, but when you look back over the day, week or even season the final tally always seems to even out.
The thing I really enjoyed, as with chalk streams is being able to spot the fish. Towards the end of the day I was casting a single nymph over fish to gauge their reaction. Sometimes it would be like I might see back home, the fish ignores the fly but doesn’t want to leave its lie and makes just the slightest move so that the well-aimed fly is now on a hopeless path that passes down the side of the fish. Other times the fish would inspect the fly and refuse it and then there would be occasions when the first simply took the fly. I wasn’t using an indicator just relying on any tell-tale signs from the fish and I’d set. I loved it.
We fished late and headed back tired for steak and beers at the lodge. The meteor shower was still on and we decided to sit out, talk fishing and life in general and watch the clear Montana night sky.
We travelled out to Montana with Fly Odyssey visit their website HERE
Pete Tyjas is a fly fishing guide and instructor based in Devon