In January in Montana, you never know what kind of weather you’re gonna get. And so far this winter, we’d gotten just about every possible combination of crazy weather imaginable. After a super cold December, it was nice to feel the warm air for a couple of weeks, even if it meant 40 mile per hour winds that felt like they’d blow the house right off its foundation. But when the wind finally stopped and the warm air stuck around, we got two of the most beautiful days we’d had in months. And then it dropped back below zero and snowed. But that’s not important. What matters is that short warm window that allowed me to get the earliest start to a season since I’d began fly fishing.
It first came to my mind when I was working on a mountain-fed stream that afternoon and saw a fish rise. I hadn’t a clue what the water temp was (I never seem to remember the important things like a thermometer), but the warmup was enough to get a few bugs going, which, conveniently, seems to get the fish going. It really got my blood flowing. We were out in the 55 degree sun watching fish rise on this stream and I suddenly wanted nothing more than to have a fly rod and a few hours in that spot.
But with work to do and miles to go, the fishing had to wait a few hours. I burst in the door when I got home and raced for the closet. My fly rod was just as I’d left it last fall, and needed some re-rigging. I threw on some clothes, grabbed food, and drove the short hopto the fishing access site down the road.
It had warmed up, but the water was still cold enough to know better than to try fishing any place other than the long, slow pool that has been my winter fishing mainstay for some time now. Most self-respecting trout stick to that hole this time of year. Nobody messes with them (most are too crazy to flyfish here in January) and they can hang out in the slow water where it doesn’t take much energy to maintain position. And they feed on small nymphs when the opportunity arises – more so when the water temp bumps up a bit like it had today.
I rigged up a thing-a-ma-bobber a few feet up the leader and tied on a small pheasant tail nymph. It must have been the second or third drift through the lower end of the big pool that I got my first brown of the season. They kept coming after that, but I believe I lost more than I landed in the hour and a half of fishing. The bites were pretty subtle, and I was probably pretty rusty. I didn’t notice it though…..I was too busy enjoying fly fishing a mountain stream in January.
Like I mentioned earlier, it got super cold the next day (the temp dropped about 50 degrees overnight) and the fishing is now shut down until the next warmup. Time to get back to tying flies and hoping for the next chance to get back on the creek. I’m hoping for the warm weather not just to fish…..we’re starting to run out of firewood here!
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