Snow from the last day and 1/2 Jan 19,2012                                                                        
Guiding fly fisherman can be interesting.  Over the years I’ve tried to jot down accounts or instances on the water that were funny,  weird, spooky, anything different from the ordinary comments or actions (like: “Nice fish Bob, boy he hammered the hopper, lets get a look at him!”).

     I’ve been fortunate enough to meet these great ladies from Washington who fish together.  I get them in my drift boat every couple of years.  These ladies have been fishing longer than I’ve been alive and I’m 40 so here you go.  Weird stuff often happens with these ladies so I’ll share a couple of days we fished.
    I am not embellishing, and don’t make things up, this is how it went down JACK!!

Clark Fork:
     I had floated this section of the Clark Fork a lot prior to this day.  I had one big rainbow pegged but he was in a tough spot.  Previous anglers had made this shot, and had him eat but whiffed every time.  This trout was lying under a mostly sunken log that was lodged, at the tip of a real fast outside run.  There was a rock/rip rap bank below it and all the river pushed onto this bank. This particular day we had tough luck getting the hook to stick, and  had missed pretty much every fish that ate the fly up until this point.
     “Anne, Sarah, there is a big trout that lives at the top of this run.   Cast up stream, and two feet above  the log, but not past it and keep mending”  I yelled while rowing my ass off trying to keep my drift boat set up.   We’ll have a slim but not impossible chance to stick this fish that I had seen rise on previous floats.
     “We’ll only get one shot at him” I say. As I skull stroke and pull the stern mid river to give my back angler a shot and Anne, my front angler makes a perfect shot right to the log.
     “Good shot leave it , small mend, leave it, leave it, SET, SET, SET”  I Scream as this 20 inch bow inhales her fly.
   She eventually sets it, fish on, and I’m  rowing as hard as I can to slow the boat down and also keep us off the rock bank.   The trout runs upriver and jumps over the log hanging up all of the leader and a couple feet of the fly line.  The river is going full force and line is screaming off Anne’s reel and all I can do is slow down the boat slightly.  The river is too fast to stop here.  Anne tries to break her line but lets go of the rod and it catapults into the river as we’re floating downstream.
   I float downstream maybe 50 yards or so, where is is relatively safe to pull my boat over in a small back eddy.  The bank is steep, high, and rocky.  I pull over drop anchor and say “Anne, Sarah I’m going to walk back upriver, try to swim out and grab your rod, reel, line or whatever I can get a hold of.  Stay here, its pretty steep and dangerous.”
     I’m not much of a rock climber but I scale the cliff, work my way back where I can see Anne’s rod swinging back and forth about 10 feet off the bank.  I go upriver a few feet and manage, to snag the fly line.  I’m then able to pull her rod/reel in.  I’m also able to walk back up to where the trout flopped over the log.  I can see the leader with the hopper still attached to the log where the trout spit the fly, gotta love 2x.  I reach out, grab the fly to head back, then wham, another toad rainbow slams a live hopper 5 feet upstream of the log, maybe 15 feet from me.
     I don’t get the chance to fish  often any more so I thought why not, I’ll make one cast since I’m here and those ladies probably could use a minute or two from me.   After all I just risked my life to retrieve Anne’s effing rod.
     I look downriver, maybe 75 yards and I can only see the bow of my boat with Anne watching me.  I make one cast and look back down river and there it goes.  I see my boat kick off the bank.  Sarah, who is not real tall, apparently got out of my boat to do something and pushed it off anchor and into the river.  She then made a leap and didn’t make it and was hanging on the front of my boat legs kicking.   She was casually attempting to get back in my boat as its floating toward the Pacific Ocean.
     “Help, Help”,  Anne yells.  I grab Anne’s rod and line, and run downriver as fast as I can above the rip rap bank.   My boat is floating away and spinning like some sick carnival ride.   One lady is hanging on the side and kicking water while the other is, I swear to God, not helping  but sitting there in the front seat taking pictures of  the other while she takes her afternoon boat ride/ dip.
     Later Anne explains that she didn’t think she could have helped Sarah get back in anyway!
     I drop Anne’s fly rod on the bank and dive into the river, swimming as hard as I can to catch my drift boat with these hapless ladies aboard.  Luckily the river slows here and I catch my boat, climb in, and row back to shore.  This time I securely anchor my boat and walk back upriver maybe 300 yards or so and retrieve Anne’s fly rod.  This rod has been a pain in the ass today.
  Just another day guiding in Montana!!!.