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.