A Quickening of Waters
by
Don Kelly


                                                   
The time for renewal  has returned to the land where rivers change
direction. The grim and lifeless currents of winter are beginning to yield
to the fecund waters of spring.  A brief window of stable flows between the
valley thaw and mountain runoff has once again come to south-western
Montana. This is an ephemeral time when one fishes with the full knowledge
that the edge of the tranquil pool where you stand knee deep today may be a
torrent of frightening strength before the week is out.

This year's bitter winter, with it's mounds of hand shoveled snow still on
exhibit in the front yard, has left me charged for a reunion with the water.
Over the last couple days, a self imposed respite from the responsibilities
of life provided the opportunity to merge anew with the entrancing liquor of
the Big Hole.

Driving over the Continental Divide, the views seem even more beautiful than
usual.  Snow has receded to the point that the elk have vacated the fields
around Divide, and have started their annual trek back towards summer range.
The high country is not yet ready to accept them, but they no longer lay
beside the interstate highway for all to see.

Newborn Hereford calves celebrate in the sun; oblivious to the corpses of
kin who died in last Friday's blizzard. They prance ineptly on tottering
legs.  Two geese shamble around a slough.  The mallards are pairing off.  A
swarm of blackbirds rises from a clearing unsettled by the appearance of a
plump doe.  Signs of unfolding abundance are unmistakable.

The river is low and clear.  Rim ice still clings to an embankment bordered
by slow current.   Word is that the early stones have awakened to once again
to pursue the continuation of their kind.  I knot a suitable nymph to my
tippet, adding a small beadhead to an in-line dropper as an afterthought,
and begin the hike up river to locate some good early season holding water.

At this time of year, trout in local freestone rivers are concentrated in
relatively few spots.  Developing the ability to recognize this holding
water is crucial to success.  Casting to the runs that held fish last August
is not likely to be productive.  Slow to all but slack currents combined
with depths of 4 to 6 feet seem to be favored lies.  Deep eddies can be
particularly prolific areas.   A few large rocks strewn about the bottom of
these hideaways adds to their allure.

A quarter mile upstream from my parking spot I encounter a long slow pool
with the deepest water located at about the midway point between riffles.
On the third cast I detect a subtle take but fail to hook up.  It is an
encouraging sign and serves to focus my attention.  A few casts later the
line twitches again and I lift the hook into the mouth of a large mountain
whitefish.  I am not too disappointed.  Whiteys are a fine fish in their own
right and give a good account of themselves in cold water.  Progressing up
the pool, the fish continue to cooperate.  A small brown, followed shortly
by a fat 17 inch rainbow accept my offering and are landed then quickly sent
home.

As I approach the head of the pool, I notice a fairly large and slowly
swirling eddy along the right bank. It lays parallel to the last 20 yards of
swift water upstream.  Large rocks are visible within its depths.
Anticipation is high as the first cast unfurls.  The curling water is full
of fish and for the next thirty minutes the rod is bent more often than not.
A gaunt winter weary nineteen inch brown is the finale and I head towards
the next likely pool.


The fishing is grand all along the river.  Numerous bows, browns, and
whitefish are brought to hand.  The pattern of the day is a size 8, 3x long,
seal fur bodied, golden stonefly nymph. It sports  goose biot split tails,
brown plastic ribbing, and a simple turkey wing case.  A size 18 beadhead
pheasant tail runs a close second.

As the afternoon ripens, I spot a fish or two rising and succumb to the
temptation to try an old Skwala dry give to me by a freind from past springs
on the Bitterroot.  Repeated casts over the last place a protruding nose was
sighted are fruitless.  Back to the nymphs and an indicator.

The classic down and across wet fly/nymph drift is nearly useless this time
of year.  The most effective presentation is accomplished by thinking of
your strike indicator as a dry fly; casting upstream and drifting down
totally drag free.  Early spring fish are damn near as cold as you are and
are in no mood to chase their food.  Hitting them head-on and right in the
snout may well results in more than enough hook sets to make for an
interesting day.

Using strike indicators is frowned upon  by some of our fly flinging
brethren.  For the first 20 years of my career as a long rodder I was in
complete agreement and thought that only sissies used "bobbers".  I finally
came to the conclusion that standing like a heron poised to strike, with all
muscles as taut as piano string trying to detect takes was not that much
fun.  The visual aspect of upstream nymphing with an indicator is very
enjoyable and more relaxing than the old tight line method.

As the day wares on, the trout persist in mistaking my flies for edibles.
The afternoon wanes. I stand in the quickening life-stream of water and
raise my voice to honor the day.  I am the only human being on the river.
My legs are numb from the knees down and I don't care.