Sometimes you just need a drive. To get in the car, point it in the vague direction of familiar water, and go. The road and the river… sure remedy for what ails you. After an unexpectedly challenging return to Bozeman late this past week, I’ve been needing a break from the editing computer and the constant “ding” of incoming emails.
Coffee mug securely ensconced in the Subaru, camera riding shotgun, I headed up the Gallatin Canyon this morning, not quite sure what stretch of water I was aiming for. I just knew I needed it. Dodging the collegiate bros and collective tourists, I finally wound my way up to an old favorite — usually quiet, safely tucked away from most anglers, and nearly always productive. Sure, it’s a popular bear area, but after dodging sharks last week in bluewater I figured bears are relatively known territory.
Gearing up in two inches of mud (spring seems to finally be creeping in), I walked to the river and lazily cast into the water, eyes on the cliffs above. This particular stretch of the Gallatin has been an escape for nearly ten years… sure, it’s changed and I’ve changed, but some things stay the same. Paying more attention to an eagle lazily circling overhead than to my rod, I made a more casts, mind drifting.
It was as the third cast swung to the end of its pendulum when I felt the tell-tale bump on the end of the line. A few minutes later this nice rainbow came to hand. Not a big fish, but for the upper reaches of that river, healthy and happy. And I was happy. Sometimes the river just fixes things.
Hell of a change from GTs and mahi mahi earlier this week. Fresh or salt, I was again reminded of the reasons we fish. Forget the politics, the posturing, the egos. At the end of the day, all it takes is a lonely river, a trout, and that trickle of water to set the world right again.
