There's No Limit to Where a Pair of Jandals Will Get You (Struan's Foreign Report No. 9)

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There's No Limit to Where a Pair of Jandals Will Get You a.k.a. Struan's Foreign Report No. 9 Struan Little "Take your fishing rod! You'll regret it ify you don't. "We were headed offt to the US of A for a holiday and in between planning on how manyhundred miles a day we would drive and the quality ofthe barbecue, I had mentioned that Montana was famous for its fishing. I knew this because the Montana Department of Tourism brochure had a guyin fatigues modelling a fly rod on the cover. do a little fishing with all the hallmarks of the gifted The real purpose of our trip was to head to Yellowstone amateur. Unfortunately, I'm stronger on the amateur National Park and soon we had entered its hallowed than the gifted. once caught a trouti in the Hutt River, portals. We enquired about hiking trails at the Ranger but the satisfaction was tempered by the fact that I was Station and I was surprised to find that it was possible trying to untangle my line by floating it through a rapid to fish all of Yellowstone's rivers. With dreams of hikes when the sad creature became attached to my fly. along the riverbank with the odd flick into the water, I So with little enthusiasm, pushed the section of PVC queued for my licence. pipe that is my rod case down into my over-stuffed pack The customer in front was being warned that due to a and tossed a few essentials such as a bit of line into the dangerous parasite, fishing in one part of the Park retop and flew across the Pacific. quired carefully scrubbing all your gear to prevent its As our flight from Salt Lake City to Bozeman, Mon- spread. It was the hazardous New Zealand Mud Snail. tana bumped its way over the mountains, my naïve fish- When my turn came to confess my details, I debated ing optimism began to return. Despite my inability to the merits of claiming Australian citizenship. But, I am land other than sub-normal fish in the mighty Hutt River, pleased to say, the diatribe directed toward my nation Ibecame confident that Iwould discover trout that leap about the damage caused by a snail l'd never heard of onto the bank at the sound of a footfall. Maybe I would was preferable to self-identification as an Aussie. be the only one standing on the side of a wilderness The Yellowstone River itself was beautiful and looked river. After all, l'd never heard of Bozeman until l'd like prime fish country to me. Yet there was not a perbooked a ticket. son posted on its banks. Maybe this was because it was These rosy thoughts were brutally dashed as the plane raining. This wasn't going to stop me, since my entire shuddered to a halt outside the terminal. In an instant, a gear consisted of shorts and jandals. plane-load of athletic, tanned blokes behind polaroid There was a certain satisfaction in dropping your line sunglasses leapt to their feet and lovingly lifted a pha- into American waters and trying in some small sense to lanx ofexpensiver rod cases from the stowage bins above. restore the balance of all those good Kiwi trout slain by These people were here to fish! visiting anglers here. Unfortunately, my satisfaction was This impression was confirmed when spied the statue short-lived as it began to snow rather heavily andl found outside the terminal: a life-size bronze of an over- my shorts and jandals a trifle spare. This ended my first equipped fisherman completing a backcast. To complete effort, but by now I had the bug. the scene, a doggy bronze Labrador waited patiently for lalso had a secret plan. We were doing an overnight the cast to be completed. I could see that I was out of tramping trip that would bring us out to the Firehole my depth and resolved that my PVC pipe and its con- River in Yellowstone. Our car would be parked a few tents would not creep outside my pack. kilometres up the road. So I slipped my rod into my But I did have to browse in the specialist trout pack with the intention of allowing Marjory the luxury outfitting shops on the main street of Bozeman. It be- of walking back to collect the car while I would have came clear that in Montana fishing is not a sport, it is a about an hour to have a few flicks in the river. lifestyle. Racks of gear competed with the latest Fall fash- One look at the Firehole and I was ecstatic. A small ions for après fishing, while patrons dripping wealth la- river with riffles and slow moving pools surrounded by zily discussed insect life cycles. low grassland and the odd quizzical tourist looking for I gathered up enough courage to ask a shop guide geysers. - donated Marjory the map, indicated how to about access. I assumed that to fish in Montana you get onto the track that would take her back to the car, would need permission to access private land. and loaded my rod. It was simply magical with a superb "Where dol I go?" "Well, I drive my 4WD until I see a river, wildlife wandering along the banks, and a warmgood spot and I walk over to the river.' ing sun. Most important, after a few minutes with nymph I wondered if this was a cruel joke perpetrated on I noticed that fish were rising to take insects off the foreigners as they drove halfway across Montana look- water's subsurface. With victory assured, I reeled in my ing for a bit of road that didn't say: Private. Keep Out. line and changed flies. Imagine my surprise to see a Trespassers Shot. despondent Marjory reappear. She had managed to get Tramping and Mountaineering 1998 lost. We would now have to hurry to meet our car mileage quota. dejectedly packed my gear and plodded back up the track to the car. Cunning plan defeated. My third attempt occurred on the Snake River. I had already decided that the Snake would be too biga and too crowded for me. However, one morning outside of Jackson Hole faced a dilemma: I couldj join Marjory clopping along on a horse trek or go fishing. As my opinion of horses is similar to my view on dung beetles, elected for the closest bridge and the water. By the bridge found a gravel road that followed the river and almost instantly I was alongside about a kilometre of river without another fisherman to recoil at my unconventional attire. The banks were gravel offering unobstructed casting from the shore and the water was superb. Full of certainty began with wet fly. As Ifaded into mere optimism, I tried nymphing. As dark doubts descended, I reachedi into the film container that comprised my fly box and pulled out a single grasshopper. My first cast and as the hopper tumbled down some rapids, I saw a flash as a trout struck from the depths to attack my hopper. Nirvana! Trembling, I cast again upstream, but this time my hopper dragged through the current. With A lack off fish in the Yellowstone River Struan Little a sick feeling I realised that I had no fly floatant and that my hopper wet fly was not going to do the trick unless foul-hooked To cut a long story short, I neither saw nor experithe fish. Now, however, was excited. I knew there were enced a whiff of fish. Iwas more likely to hook a passfish here and I knew that hoppers were on the menu. ing buffalo than a trout.. After a couple off fruitless hours, Success was only the next tackle shop away. Imournfully retrieved my beloved hopper from the cur- Armed with two new hoppers and a bottle of Gheke's rent and regretfully concluded that my American catch Gunk, I moved my battleground to the Gallatin River. success rate was going to equal my New Zealand one. More horse riding gave me a morning to harvest the But for all you readers who actually have some fly waters. There was not another soul on the river for miles, fishing skill, I can't recommend that part of the world which allowed me to pick the most likely stretch. Along- highly enough. The water is lovely and during October side a cliff were a series of deep pools interspersed with there were relatively few competing anglers. The scenruns. eryi is magnificent and you have easy access to a range Istrolled downriver, aiming to work my way back up. ofr riversi in Montana, Wyoming and Yellowstone Park. It As Iwalked noticed that hoppers werel leaping in panic would have been nice to say that I caught a fish, but I over my jandals and a fair number leapt too far and fell certainly can report with a straight face that I had a most with a satisfying plop into the river. I compared my imi- enjoyable time. tations with the bounding insects and was delighted to So if you get the chance to get out into that part of find no difference except for a barbed hook. I kept tell- the Rocky Mountains, take your fishing rod. You'll reing myself not to be greedy. Catch and release. gret it if you don't. Tramping and Mountaineering 1998