Montana River Adventure: Smith River

The state of Montana is well known by anglers for its long-standing tradition of vast public land access, including nearly all waterways that lie within its borders. It can be considered a safe bet to drop a pin on any decent-sized stream in Montana and expect that you would naturally have the legal ability to float that water. According to the Montana Stream Access Law: "all surface waters that are capable of recreational use may be so used by the public without regard to the ownership of the land underlying the waters." This language offers an extremely flexible boundary from the high water mark to the water itself. No barrier to entry, streams across Montana are free to access and require seldom more than a dream and plan to execute. Upon research, you will find this decree generally reigns true, with one exception - The Smith River.

The Smith River is a Missouri River tributary flowing North from its headwaters at the Castle Mountains to its drainage near Great Falls. Aside from private farmland and the occasional riverfront cabin, the roughly 59-mile float runs through remote wilderness featuring tall limestone canyons, thickly wooded mountains, and extensive grassy banks. The float features only one raft put-in and take-out, so overnight camping is a necessary facet of making the trip. Due to the immense popularity and use of the Smith River, Montana FWP (Fish Wildlife and Parks) requires permits obtained through a lottery system to access the river by watercraft. Aspiring floaters can purchase lottery tickets online, choosing their top three launch dates in hopes they will be one of the nine lucky float parties admitted to the stream that day. The odds to draw vary by date, but as you can imagine, the prime trip days are extremely difficult to hit. With a relatively short floating/weather window, successfully securing a float trip on the Smith River can seem unlikely if not downright impossible.

Enter - Brady Schultz

In early 2022, I didn't know the Smith River existed. At the time, I was more focused on fishing within the vicinity of my new location, Bozeman. The past four years had been spent tracing blue lines on maps around Missoula, but with the move, I was forced to re-focus on learning this extensive new land. During this time, I was also in the early stages of dating my now-fiance, Meg. Fortunately for me, Meg being the delightful and charismatic type of person she is, warrants plenty of equally wonderful friends. On a late night out at a country bar on the outskirts of Bozeman, I was introduced to some of these friends, including a newly engaged couple, Brady and Lindsay. Brady was up quickly game for some good laughs and a few drinks, so we caught on immediately. As is historically the case, it didn't take long for me to start talking fly fishing, and I was glad to learn that Brady is quite the angler himself. In fact, I could tell he knew a hell of a lot more than me. "You know what, we are putting together a river trip for this coming summer. We are full right now, but if someone drops out, you would be welcome to join." - Brady. Excited about an opportunity to fish with an experienced angler and to take to the boats for my first time, I offered to keep the bench warm for him.

"Hey man! You're in."

As I got more details on the trip, I learned that I would be taking part in a five-day float trip on the Smith River with Brady, Lindsay, and a mix of ten or so strangers, ultimately led by Brady's dad Dave. Brady and Dave had been lucky enough to pull permits for the Smith River on multiple occasions, so they had the process down to a science. The preparation included a full packing list, set campsites for each day, rafts, and even housing in White Sulfur Springs for the night before takeoff. Over the course of a month, I prepared my equipment and did my research on the Smith River. It was only then I finally realized what a unique opportunity I had at my feet. This was a potentially once-in-a-lifetime chance at floating the iconic Montana river, just gifted to me by a guy I barely knew. It sunk in how generous an offer this really was, and I still very much appreciate Brady and his kindness for inviting me to this day.

Day 1:

Arriving at Camp Baker, we started unloading rafts and gear from our cars, trusting our keys to the local shuttle drivers who we counted on to drop our cars off over 50 miles at the takeout. I had limited rafting experience at this point, so I was nervous about where my abilities on the water would stand. My float partner for the trip would be Andrew, a fellow fly angler living in Bozeman with some limited experience rafting. Limited was still better than none, so I was confident in our abilities as a team to tackle any obstacles we would face on our trip. One by one, our rafts were set in the stream, and the Schultz party set off on our adventure down the river. 

Andrew and I were near the back of the pack and took to fishing almost immediately. We began our float on June 23rd, so we were amid Spring runoff with high waters and low clarity. The water had a chocolate milk tone to it, which is common for floats this time of year. Without witnessing any action on the top water, we adjusted our tactics to subsurface methods of nymphing and streamers. Even for a dedicated fisherman like myself, I couldn't stop from looking up and shifting my attention from the water. The natural beauty of the Smith is breathtaking. The initial push took us through modest grassy hillsides and farms, but now we were entering a tighter mountainscape. Our world became enveloped by state forest land, and the dense environment rose to our sides. The Smith twists and turns, steadily meandering through the confines of this hidden place, offering a new horizon of majesty at each bend. Sheer rock faces begin to jut from the ground, leaving room for only the most determined trees to maintain residence through their cracks.

After my first fish of the trip, a mountain whitefish (not all heroes wear capes), it was time for me to commandeer our watercraft. I've got this. No, shit, wait, no I don't! We slammed into a canyon wall, turned completely around, then slammed into the next one. This was starting to cause me stress and concern when faced with the fact that our entire trip's worth of equipment was packed on board. If we were to lose important gear such as food, tents, or sleeping bags, this trip would turn miserable astonishingly fast. As I worked my full body violently to pull us out of the strong current, my knee shot down and snapped my fly rod in half. I was devastated. It was only day one! What was I going to do? On top of that, this was a sentimental gift from my father. A custom-made RMEF rod from Libby, Montana. This was certainly not the start I was hoping for.

Shortly after this traumatic experience of destroying my most important fishing tool, we pulled off at our first campsite. Limestone cliffs towered above us, and we watched the glow of the sunset illuminate the rock walls with powerful shades of yellow and pink. We ate a full dinner, then enjoyed some well-earned beers as stars dazzled, immune to any source of light pollution in the clear sky.  Not a bad consolation for a broken rod.

Day 2: 

With a relatively early start, the Shultz crew all gathered for some breakfast and took to the boats shortly after. Although I was shortsighted in bringing only one fly fishing rod for this excursion, Lindsay was not. She was prepared with multiple rods and offered to let me use one for the remainder of the trip. Again, an example of the unfaltering generosity of the folks I was dealing with.

Today, I was to be joined by Brady in my raft. Andrew didn't seem to mind; I think he was about ready for less romantic time with me and more with his girlfriend (now fiance!). This was the time I was looking forward to with my experienced friend. I wanted to learn how to most effectively control a boat, how to best fish from a boat, what water I needed to be targeting, etc. Brady was exceptionally patient and answered every question I had with genuine intent. Taking to the oars, Brady proceeded to guide me through some promising stretches of water, giving orders on where to cast and when to adjust. Next thing I knew - FISH ON! I fought to get it near the raft, made a silly mistake with my line, and the fish disappeared into the brown depths. I was distraught, but Brady immediately lifted my spirits and kept me focused. Next cast. FISH ON AGAIN! This was a nice fish for me, and I managed to fight it to the net, and finally to hand. This was my first sizable brown to date, and I was ecstatic. The work was paying off, and my guide was equally as thrilled.

After an absolute downpour of rain later in the day, we closed in on our next campsite in which we would be spending our next two nights. Our second camp was a comfortable site with a long open bank leading to tree cover where we would place our tents. That night I slept with ease, exhausted from the previous two days on the water.

Day 3: 

It was decided that day three would be a day without travel, meaning we would stay put until the following day. With some time to kill on our free day, Dave Schultz organized the official fly-casting Olympics. Multiple buckets were placed to mark distances, and casting competitions from accuracy to range ensued. The casting Olympics were a blur to me. This could either be due to the afternoon of drinking my fair share of Coors lights, but most likely due to the fact that I got absolutely smoked by Dave and some other members of our crew. Placing a piece of yarn in a bucket 25 yards away was no easy task for me, but our few veterans of the game made it happen with ease.

After a beautiful and relaxing day, I took to the shallows and submerged my body in the cool, running water of the Smith. It was hard to argue with the life we were living. Pancakes and bacon every morning. Fly fishing among some of the best scenery Montana has to offer in the afternoon. Drinking smooth whiskey with new friends by the fire in the evening. I reflected on the past few days and contemplated the remaining time I had on this trip. As I dried off and prepared for the night, I concluded that I had better not take a moment for granted on this trip. To be fishing an esteemed river with such quality company might be all I could ever really ask for.

Day 4:

The soft morning air promised a warmer day ahead. Happy to throw on some lighter clothes and allow my "translucent skin" (thanks Lindsay) to finally see some sun, I geared up for our next adventure. Back with my original partner Andrew, we took to the boats and floated just downstream of camp to a pull-off for a hiking trailhead. What made this trail special was the cave at the top of the mountain, containing ancient paintings drawn by tribal people native to the area. As we made our ascent up the trail, the landscape expanded below in magnificence. Small rafts could be seen taking their time through the valleys, tracing the path we just took. For the first time, we could see a significant portion of what lay ahead. The river would continue to curve below a vast range of mountains, and we would likely camp once more within the confines of the forest.

The cave is a truly remarkable geologic feature, with a wide opening that coarses deep into the vicinities of the rock. Red shapes littered the walls, resembling humans and animals, written in a language lost to time. The view from the cave was astounding and made for some fantastic pictures and unforgettable memories. After a snack and a much-needed water break, we departed the cave and descended back to our rafts below, making way for our last camp of the trip.

Slow fishing encapsulated day four, but with some persistence, I was able to land a small, healthy-looking rainbow at the base of our camp. When I walked back to my tent, I noticed someone had left their rod leaning up against it. Apparently, when a few members of our crew were walking through the water, they stumbled upon a sunken fishing rod, hostage to the Smith. They wanted to gift the rod to me as a replacement for the rod I broke on day one of my trip. I was honored that they considered gifting this rod to me, it is still the rod I continue to use to this day. The Smith taketh, and the Smith giveth, I suppose.

Day 5:

All great trips must come to an end. It is a strange feeling as a meaningful experience comes to a close. There is almost a tangible aura in the air while the bags are being packed and we know the next destination is home, back to ordinary life. The final stretches of the Smith River felt the slowest to me, almost like the river itself was reluctant to say goodbye. The mountains fall back in the rearview, and the distance to the take-out is characterized by rolling farmland and high winds. I was able to get a few final casts in before we landed, to no effect. The final fish had been caught, and the trip was just about over.

Leaving the river behind was certainly difficult, but saying farewell to this group of wonderful people was even worse. This community of close friends and family accepted me as a stranger, and treated me with respect and kindness for the entire duration of the trip. I cherish the relationships I made on the river, and I am incredibly fortunate for the opportunity to share this voyage with each one of them. The Smith River was truly the river trip of a lifetime, and it remains a journey I look back on with high regard. It was a great privilege for me to experience the exceptional beauty of this area, and I am crossing my fingers for another chance to take to its waters in the future.

Lessons Learned: From Montana to Wisconsin

Montana has always been my fly fishing comfort zone. For the past six years, it has also been the place I called home. This great state is where I cut my teeth each day on the river, learning how to fly fish. Then there were the countless hours of intimate research, scouting trips, walking the banks, casting lines; all of which contributed to an overall picture of what I can generally expect from fishing in the area. I could usually count on my favorite fishing holes to produce, and always had an arrangement of plan B's just in case. I knew what the trout were feeding on, and what river would likely produce the densest hatch. This knowledge gave me an understanding of what river seemed to be the most productive given the conditions and time of year. Western Montana had become a stable place I could rely on to catch trout year-round, and shaped the angler I am today.

But the time came that would force me to truly challenge myself. My fiance, Meg, came across an exciting new job opportunity to work in Green Bay, Wisconsin. Working in a new environment would help expand her job portfolio and qualifications, giving her more overall experience to build her career as an ultrasound tech. I understood this was an adventure we could not pass up, so after agreeing to join her on this journey, we began to pack our lives into my Ford F150. As I loaded my belongings, I couldn't help but wonder; What is my new fly fishing situation going to look like? My initial assumption was that Wisconsin meant lake fishing. I'd heard tales of massive Northern predators, musky, or aggressive smallmouth bass that lurk in the depths of the number of lakes in the state. But fly fishing on lakes was concerning to me because A) I don't have a boat, and B) we were going to arrive in the fall. This means that most lake fish begin resigning their time to deeper depths, making fly fishing for them a far more difficult task.

When the day came for us to leave Montana, I felt a wave of nervous energy. Sure, I was looking forward to a change in scenery and all that the Midwest had to offer. But I was leaving comfort behind. We would be a long way from friends, family, favorite places, and fishing spots. With a sense of great anticipation and uncertainty, we passed the "Thanks for Visiting Montana" road sign. The time had come. No looking back now!

Crossing into Wisconsin in September was a true sight to behold. Driving through the mostly barren landscapes of North Dakota and Minnesota, there was a relatively stark contrast as we hit Wisconsin. All of a sudden, trees began to appear, slowly enveloping our setting as we made our way deeper into the state. The green shades were bright and booming as the sun created a glow reflecting off this leafy environment. Traveling through the coniferous country was a foreign scene to us, as Meg and I were so used to the abundance of pines that shadowed our mountainous land. We began passing over small streams and were notified of various hidden lakes only known to our GPS. All of this presented a wonderful new world for us to experience, and my brain began to stir about the fishing potential in a beautiful new location.

Our first stop in Wisconsin was actually a slight detour, to a brewery in the quaint town of Chippewa Falls. My Dad being from the Midwest, always told me stories about the fabled "Leinie Lodge" of which he was a prestigious member. The Leinie Lodge is the tasting room/gift shop wing of the Leinenkugels brewery, where you can get the ORIGINAL Leinenkugel beer on draft - only poured in Wisconsin. After Meg and I tried our first Wisconsin beer, ate a delicious pub pretzel, and joined the elite Leinie Lodge membership (2x points earned on purchases during happy hour), we returned on our mission to complete our three-day journey to Green Bay.

Green Bay, Wisconsin is an industrial town with a proud attitude. Boasting an NFL team, the Green Bay Packers, this town of roughly 100,000 citizens is built upon the foundation of hard work and commitment to community. As you cross the mighty Fox River by bridge, you can expect to see fishermen in their boats below casting for walleye, amidst a skyline of packaging plants, illuminated by the gleaming G of the legendary Lambeau Field. Churches riddle the town strewn with busy restaurants and quaint gift shops.  Everything is Packers-themed: from sports bars, to fire hydrants, to garbage bins, and even entire homes! The townsfolk are dedicated to their team and to each other, prompting Meg and I to quickly determine this is the friendliest place we had ever lived. "Midwest nice" may be just a saying according to some, but it is certainly present in Green Bay.

Within Green Bay, there is no better example of "Midwest nice" than its local fly shop, "Tight Lines". It only took me a few days to discover that there was indeed a fly shop in the area, so I rushed to the store to gather some intel. It was apparent that I had no idea what I was looking at when I paused by the ginormous musky flies and the bass poppers, so it didn't take long for a conversation to start up between the staff and me. I admitted that I was completely clueless when it came to fishing in the area and really had no idea where to start. Instead of disregarding me or leaving me to my confusion, they broke down the entire area's fishing. My fly fishing expectation was immediately flipped on its head. I learned of Great Lake salmon streams in the area, timeless small-mouth bass rivers up North, and world-class trout fishing in the Wisconsin Driftless region. With a few of the shop's favorite streamers and a wish of good luck, I was off. Looks like I didn't need a boat after all.

My first impression of fishing in Wisconsin was how scenic it actually is. Montana is a state of incredible beauty, and I was under the naive impression that there is no other form of scenery that could possibly compete. But as Meg and I entered our first stream of choice, we were enthralled with the natural beauty that surrounded us. Colorful leaves of fall fell to the water, being gently carried along the stream. Tall trees and rocks decorated the banks, and an antiquated bridge from days past loomed overhead. We worked our way downstream to a narrow, deep run with fishy characteristics. Only a few casts in, then BOOM! Something was on the line, and as it shot out of the water I was able to quickly identify it to be a small-mouth bass. This creature fought hard in the current until my line inevitably pulled him to hand in my net. A nice little green slab, I shook my head and started laughing. This was the first sign that I was about to have a very fun fall of fly fishing in Wisconsin. Maybe five minutes later, another quick tug, and now Meg had a fish on. These bass were here to stay, and they were clearly not afraid of what we had to show them.

Near the end of our day of fishing, I was stripping an enticing sparkle minnow when I hit an underwater snag. Until this snag started moving. As it thrashed around and showed its side, I couldn't believe my luck. I had hooked into my first salmon. This fish was far larger than any of the bass I had been fighting that day, and it displayed sheer strength in a series of circles and runs across the water. Meg ran over to assist with netting, and with a quick swoop, this fish was mine. I couldn't help but admire the similarities between this pink salmon and its trout cousins, but I was duly in awe of the hump on its back and the teeth in its mouth. What a strange creature, fit for the unique river in a new place I was lucky to be fishing.

As the fall has turned to winter, I have had many opportunities to fish these rivers for an abundance of species I never could have considered if I had never left my comfort zone. My home waters of Montana taught me many lessons, but Wisconsin introduced me to a new world of fly fishing I never even knew existed. Without taking a chance to see something new, to adventure to this incredible state, I would not have had these wonderful experiences I cherish so much today. I am unbelievably fortunate for my new friends at Tight Lines, special moments shared in the Wisconsin outdoors, and for the journey I have shared with my fiance. Sometimes it takes a leap into the unknown to evolve in your life and passions, and I couldn't be happier that we made the jump.

Fly Fishing Alpine Lakes: Trail Lake

Trail Lake is the first installment in a series I will be working on titled "Fly Fishing Alpine Lakes". Creating this series is a tribute to my adventurous fiance Meg Hornby and her family of relentless mountain alpinists, accredited with coaxing me into demanding hikes up daunting peaks to hidden lakes. Although I may not always be quite as enthusiastic as them on the hiking portions, I am often dumbfounded by the extraordinary fishing these mountain lakes have to offer in incredible settings. These irreplaceable experiences I have been fortunate enough to have would not have been possible without their encouragement and guidance. For this, (and much more) I am extremely grateful.

Tail Lake

In the remote Lolo wilderness of Western Montana lies a quiet mountain lake deemed Trail Lake. I was alerted to this lake's presence upon conducting research to find nearby alpine lakes containing brook trout. Brookies are not a native species to this area, so my opportunities to target them had generally been slim to none. Although considered a somewhat uninteresting species of trout by some, this general scarcity generated my personal interest in pursuing them. I also consider brook trout to be one of the most visually stimulating of the salmonoid species, with their blood-red undertones, topographically striped backs, and intricate blue halos. As these fish swam in my mind, I quickly planned a trip based on old stocking reports and my new book on nearby hikes.

Access

This alpine lake is accessed south of Superior, MT, and can be located at N. 47.0051, W. 115.0420. To reach the trailhead, take USFS Road 250 for 18 miles, passing the popular Heart Lake trailhead. It is pretty easy to miss the righthand turnoff to USFS Road 388; I passed it initially on my visit. So keep those eyes peeled, and track your mileage! Please note that this is a steep, bumpy, narrow one-lane road with a massive dop off. It took me a bit of courage to make my way down in my Ford F150, but it is manageable with any vehicle capable of decent vigor. After nearly 3 miles, you will turn to USFS Trail 156 at the North Fork Trout Creek Crossing. From there it is only 1.5 miles to a small parking clearing, with the trailhead on the left just after the bridge.

The Hike

The hike is nearly 5 miles long on a relatively maintained trail in a thickly forested area. It is slightly overgrown in spots, including a few downed tree crossings, but nothing that requires an arduous effort to pass. The trail begins at a mild grade, slowly climbing until the final mile where the grade increases to a steep push. Trail Lake is not a difficult hike by mountaineering standards, but will certainly make the angler break a sweat on the final ascent to the lake itself. Be sure to grab your bear protection, as this is grizzly country. My fiance and I had a slight spook towards the end of our hike as we could hear a large animal nearby who refused to be deterred by our calls and yells. We cautiously passed, never determining exactly what we had hiked by.

Fishing

As you approach the lake from the trailhead, you will find yourself at the North end. When my party of two arrived, we immediately walked to the water to take a look. The alpine scenery is gorgeous around the lake - steep mountainsides booming with green brush, flanked by a resting rockslide with boulders the size of cars. To our backs, dense forest pushing us to the lake, with sparse, modest campsites to our side tucked tightly in the woods. After a moment to catch our breath and take in the atmosphere, we quickly plotted our attack strategy.

Finding a comfortable spot to fly fish was a tricky task. Floating logs prevented wading possibilities to True North, so we began our hike Southeast along the edge of the lake. There is a shallow stretch of water near the campsites on the Northeast corner that allows for about 20 yards of wading, but lacks structure and quickly gains to chest-deep levels. As we approached the Southeast corner of the lake, we began to observe more fish activity and structure, but the thick tree cover eliminated any casting possibility. Taking a deer trail, we made our way to the Southern bank of the lake, realizing this position offered the best mix of trout water, casting ability, and (slight) standing room. With a steep mountain incline directly behind us, and deep water immediately in front, wading ability leaves something to be desired.

Casting technique comes into play if you are planning to fish Trail Lake on your feet. Brook trout are typically willing and able to attack a fly, but presentation is made difficult by limitations inflicted through the alpine environment. We began by side-casting and roll-casting attractor dry flies below trees and brush to our right, only being met with success on our very best of casts. Brookies were slow to inspect our flies, but quick to grab them once they came to a decision. Splashing the water, these feisty trout attacked with vigor, and were brought to the net with immense struggle despite their small size. Although entertaining, the catching was generally few and far between, so we looked to move positions once again.

My fiance and I began to work our way to more open water containing deep underwater boulders and logs, but were met with disinterest from the resident fish when it came to the attractor flies. It was time for a change, so we switched tactics to dark woolly buggers, hoping to incite instinctual violence. We found this strategy to work with ease. Brook trout slammed our streamers, being particularly fond of the purple color. These trout increased in size too, and we began pulling brookies of sound strength and length to the net with consistency. Their haloed sides and topographic backs shimmered in the sun as they came to hand, and made for excellent pictures before they were released back into the water to fight another day.

As we approached the later afternoon, my partner and I decided it was time to leave this secluded gem; hopefully to return for another fantastic day of fishing at a later date. 

Final Thoughts

Trail Lake is a wonderful alpine lake to target a multitude of decent-sized brook trout in a land where they are seldom found. It is a rarely used lake, boasting mild difficulty to access, and should be obtainable to most outdoor enthusiasts with a free day. Next time, we plan to bring a personal pack raft. The hike was not demanding enough to constitute leaving the raft, and it would be an extremely helpful tool to improve fishing conditions across the lake as a whole. Also, it would be helpful to bring bug spray. We went in July, and small black flies were biting us relentlessly which made our standing position all the more uncomfortable. 

All in all, this is a lake I would recommend anyone visit in the area, especially those looking for a quiet and beautiful sanctuary. Trail Lake offers great fishing for those up to the technical challenge, rewarding all visitors with more than just a bountiful catch.