“8:00 am, Wise River Club, definitely bring waders. When you get into Wise, I’ll be in the blue Dodge diesel with a blue NRS parked at the bar. There’s two bars but only one surviving at the present so I shouldn’t be hard to find.” These meeting instructions have been muttered from my lips countless times in the past ten years and nobody has ever screwed them up. And when I’m telling this to two ex Army Rangers I know they will be precisely where I’ve determined and not a second late. They actually beat me there, ten minutes early, which is to be expected from guys of this caliber.
Throwing in the upper Big Hole as the first boat on a rainy morning got my blood pumping fast. These guys can fish and handle weather, and probably most anything myself or mother nature can throw at them, so I’ve got myself some good sticks for this one. And sure enough, bam!, big browns right out of the gate to get these guys pumped to fish hard for me today. Busting ass through rain, wind, cold, and altogether rotten weather conditions, my fishermen held in there to fish a long hard day with me barking casting and mending orders on every bank and slip stream.
Sometimes buggers, sometimes drys, never really nymphing, we put together one hell of a day on our fourteen mile journey down the Big Hole. Fishing slowed considerably during the afternoon, but just when I’d get desperate some PMDs or drakes came to save me from the slump and bring a few trout up to the surface. Nothing like a heavy overcast and some bad weather to get the bugs and fish going for the weary fisherman out there toughing it out. When those clouds dip low and dark and cold drizzle fills the skies, line up the six weight and wader up cause this might just be that day when things are gonna bust loose.