The line shot back and looped high, the light of the morning
sun glinting off it like a magic gossamer. I was watching my son fly fish the
Blackfoot, the wild river central to the book and movie A River Runs Through It. Actor Brad Pitt plays the role of one of
two brothers with a stunt double to do the fly-casting. The scene in the movie
was meant to be mesmerizing, but this scene was much more. There was the cool
morning breeze whispering through the majestic lodgpole pines and glittering
sunlight, fluid gold off the water. The sound of rushing whitewater tumbling over
the rocks broke the morning silence, even as the Ravens cawed above. I sat on a
boulder some 30 feet above him, standing on a rock in the middle of this 60-foot stretch of river. We had hiked in
for 30 minutes up a pine forested mountain trail, ensconced by evergreens
singed black by the ravages of a recent forest fire that burned over 100,000
acres. Sometimes nature has stark ways of restoring the wilderness.
His line moved easily forward and back as he let out more
leader, searching the water for a rise or sight of a silvery-sided cutthroat
trout. The pools reflected the Montana “Big Sky” azure blue seemingly waving
with the green of the towering pines. In front of a large boulder some 100 feet
upstream there was a splash, a trout feeding. Looking around, the tiny caddis
flies were visible, swarming over the stream.
His fly was perfect a deer hair caddis dry #18, barely visible on the
end of a 10-foot tapered leader.
The loop grew slowly, widening above his auburn hair covered
with his favorite, well worn camouflaged
Duck Commander cap. Now his arms were
working more quickly to bring the fly
over the pool. The loop stayed aloft, high above the water, now some 80 feet
out. The water rippled again. He was
double-hauling the line to gain power and to keep it low so it wouldn’t catch
in the branches.
Like a small insect falling from a twig his fly gently dipped
to the water at the head of the pool. A small ripple appeared. Again the line
drew back and forth, fast moving and releasing. The caddis alighted and the
water exploded. The line went taut as he struck quickly back against the
eight-foot, four-weight graphite rod with his wrist. The fish rose up as if in
ballet on the water, falling back again; then three more times. He was moving quickly upstream, as if
imitating the dancing trout. Now above the pool, rod bent over, double. The
sound of the drag zipping out gave notice that the fish was larger and stronger
than average. It was quickly moving up stream against the current, trying to find
a snag or rock to rub off the fly. He held the rod high above his head to keep
the line taut, as any slack and the fish would shake out the fly.
He could now stand in the shallow water across from the fish
and place pressure on the rod and line, careful not to break the light leader,
while letting the reel slip out line between his fingers, lightly holding the
reel. The fish ran out again as he let out line. Then slowly pulling in line,
twice more. He could now see the silver sides with vibrant red gill plates and
blue spots. It was fall, so the lower jaw was angled up on this 18-inch bull
cutthroat.
He wet his hand in the icy water as he pulled the rod back
with one hand and slipped the other under the wriggling fish. Reaching down now
with his rod hand as the fish lay in his other, he slipped out the barbless hook
fly with his fingers. The fish lay still for a few seconds to be able to view,
the roguish gills pulsating, and then with a flick of its tail it disappeared
into the deep pool to find safe haven.
Our eyes met, flashing with excitement as my son let out a
whoop. The winds whispered above through the pines and the sky still reached to
heaven above. You see God had created it all and was still there watching and
approving.
The next pool was mine, as my line shot and looped,
searching for a rise. The sun was now silver on the water and the eagle soared.
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