Like most family photo albums, mine contains pictures of me as a child sitting next to roadkill. Now, before you dismiss this as just another small-boy-hangs-out-with-dead-animals-found-on-random-roadsides piece of nostalgia, let me boast about one particular photo, in which 4-year-old me, uncertainly holding a banana, is...
As we took what our map told us was the final turn, the gravel road became rutted dirt that would turn to impassable gumbo if the clouds gathering in the western sky produced any rain. We hadn’t seen a ranch house for miles. I reminded...
I used to fish the Blackfoot Indian Reservation and its array of prairie lakes every spring, just as the ice came off the surface of those waters and wads of giant rainbows cruised their shorelines. This was a targeted hunt for one giant fish — something...
The first time I raised a steelhead to a skated fly, I nearly wet my waders. That’s because I wasn’t really expecting a take, and when it happened I pulled the fly right out of a 15-pounder’s mouth. I didn’t get my hands on that fish,...
I can’t blame the guys for figuring I wouldn’t show up. I mean, for two years I’d told them I might meet them at their elk camp on the west side of Montana’s Madison Valley … and never did. This time I told them to...
The first sandhill crane I saw close up was mounted in the corner of an old hotel in Jackson, Wyoming, the top of its head and its back covered in dust, and the skin on its legs peeling off, as if some ornery, 40-pound housecat...
I’m not one to tease about physical limitations, or take advantage of someone because of them, but last year I found the perfect moment to capitalize on a friend’s frustrations. We were fishing a river in Idaho, just over the Bitterroot Mountains from Missoula, Montana, and...
I grew up along the Pacific Northwest’s coastal salmon and steelhead streams where it was easy to spot the rookie anglers: These were people who proudly posed for photos with fish that had begun the inevitable freshwater deterioration process, indicated by their dull gray scales,...
You really can’t blame the northern pike for living in Western Montana’s waterways; these fish simply rode in on the helping hands of anglers, decided they liked the scenery, and chose to stay. If this sounds familiar, you may be thinking about our beloved non-native rainbow...
The ups and downs of hunting whitetail in Montana...