You may have worked out by now that Chris is a bit of a hunter-gatherer. He loves to shoot rabbits & make them into casseroles (delicious) and catch fish to cook fresh.
Since we've been in Montana he's been looking longingly at every stretch of fast flowing water and sagely pronouncing that "these rivers smell very fishy". So on our trip to Cody, Wyoming last week we stopped into a fishing shop and asked about the best time of year to fish here.
"Every month but June" was the expert's reply. Oh dear. This June has been particularly tricky because they've had a very snowy winter & wet spring so the rivers are high and muddy. No fishing then...
Ah, but Chris isn't so easily put off. There appeared to be one possibility: The Bighorn River, a convenient 2 hour drive from the ranch. And so I found myself goin' fishin' for the first time.
Now I'm a woman and an optimist. I pictured a lively scene surrounding said river: Perhaps a few bars & restaurants, some shopping opportunities and the chance for me to relax with my books and laptop while Chris indulged his love of fishing - perfect (not).
When we arrived at Fort Smith on the Crow Indian Reservation it amounted to a collection of trailers, a few cabins, some fishing tackle shops and a lodge. Added to this, I'd completely got the wrong location and was looking for the Bighorn Lake, which turned out to be 100 miles away in Wyoming.
Keeping my disappointment to myself, we drove up to a mountain resevoir, ate a hamburger and returned to Fort Smith to prepare ourselves for the fishing trip. Having revised the situation I decided to accompany Chris on the river (since there wasn't anything else to do).
Arriving back we found a steady stream of keen fishermen back from a day on the river. Chris was in his element talking flies & casts and the ones that got away. I realised why we were there (for him) and settled down to enjoy the stories of these men who'd travelled from all over the States to fish the Bighorn River.
It turns out this river is one of the top 5 places to fish in the world! What luck to find it so close to where we're staying.
The friendliness and curiosity of the Americans we've met is one of the best things about our visits to Montana. The Montanans especially are open and genuine with a directness that is refreshing in this day and age.
After a very stuffy night's sleep (the Mosquitoes were biting so no open windows & the air conditioning unit sounded like a V8 engine) we awoke to a steaming hot day. The temperature was set to rise to 100' - phew.
I leapt out of bed having spotted a real coffee shop. I've only had one cappuccino since we arrived in the States and I was beside myself at the prospect of another. At 7am I joined two lovely ladies from Idaho who had decided that "if you can't beat them, join them" and were fishing with their husbands.
Having 'visited' with them for a while it was soon time to meet our guide - a delightful man called Jim who'd been fishing the river for 25 years and who's kids all loved to fish too. Off we set, packed lunches in hand, for a day traversing a 12 mile stretch of the Bighorn.
And what a pleasure it was to be out on the water and sharing the enthusiasm of these avid fishermen. The banks were lined with Cottonwood trees and sweet clover, we saw Herons and Cranes and a Sea Eagle, and the gentle breeze off the water kept us cool and the Mosquitoes at bay.
Chris spent 6 hours standing in the hot sun casting & 'mending' and catching fish. I don't think I've seen a bigger grin on a man's face, and when he caught a succession of Brown Trout and Rainbow Trout I thought he was going to expire in ecstasy.
A total of 8 fish were caught (and at least 20 lost) by the end of the day. And no fishing trip would be complete without the one that got away: a 2 feet, 10lb Brown trout that bit through the line - perfect.
On returning to the ranch we were fortunate enough to have Buffalo Mike Montana (so named by me because he's called Mike, comes from Montana & cooks Buffalo once a week in a Dutch oven, just like the cowboys of old) offer to serve up Chris's catch.
Cooked in the embers of a campfire, the Trout tasted like heaven.
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