Where A River Runs Through It and the Beautiful Rock Creek

At first, we planned to fish the Smith River next, but Carol called the hot springs near the Smith to see if they had camping and was informed that the road from Helena to where we wanted to get on the Smith was closed for the weekend for a bridge replacement. The only other way in was a long and rough dirt road, so we changed our plans and decided to head west and fish the streams around Missoula first.

The Blackfoot River (Saturday July 19)

The great book A River Runs Through It by Norman Maclean and the equally great movie created by Robert Redford tells a story of a minister's family living near Missoula and fishing the Blackfoot River. What really makes the book and movie great in my mind is how it tells the story of why people love fly fishing for trout.  As a longtime trout fisherman I had to go see the waters of the Blackfoot and maybe drop in a line even though the Blackfoot is not on my Top 100 list and even though the movie was not actually shot on this river. Carol and I carefully read through the book again and noted  the spots where Norman Maclean mentioned in his book that he, his dad and brother had fished. I already knew the Blackfoot had been neglected over the years, but local trout fisherman and Trout Unlimited have been making efforts to bring back this once great stream.

Our first stop took us along a stretch downstream of where the Macleans fished. We travelled along a dirt road (worse than the one in Surber) in hopes of finding a wilderness campsite. Unfortunately it was Saturday and all the campsites were full of rafters who were floating, or planning to float the river in rafts and inner tubes. The water was beautiful but I did not want to fish a river full of rafters. We stopped for lunch and took a few pictures. At one point Carol broke me up in laughter as a couple of rafts full of kids in their teens or twenties drifted by and she said, "Can you see if any are texting?"

The Blackfoot--Anyone texting?

We next stopped at a point near the Clearwater Bridge where the Clearwater Creek confluences with the Blackfoot. To get there we traveled along a dirt road fenced on both sides by farmers. Here and above the Blackfoot River is where Norman says in his book his family most often fished. Parking was a real problem as there were only 8 parking spaces and we got the last one.  As we walked down to the rivers, we encountered a large family with many children playing  in the sand. Where the other car occupants were we don't know. I presumed they were fishing the river and I didn't want to fish with a crowd. We made other attempts to get to the river but all were in vain. I left the river feeling a bit sad and pondering how things had changed since the time the Macleans had fished these waters. (Carol's note: Of course, if we were rafting instead of fishing this time, we would have loved it!)

Rock Creek

We drove a short ways east from the Blackfoot along I-90 in the later afternoon to the entrance to Rock Creek, next on my Top 100 list. Near the intersection we found a lovely campsite setting right along the river (Ekstrom's Stage Station Cabins and Campground). Carol noted during check-in that they had a nice restaurant set in an old log building being run by a family who were the seventh generation of owners--it was actually a 150-yr-old stagecoach building that they had dismantled and reassembled, along with several other old frontier log cabins, on this pretty site. The grandparents down to the grandkids all work here. We decided we would finally get to celebrate Carol's 65th birthday in style (the style we like!) with an evening dinner here. After setting up the RoadTrek, I suited up and made off to the river to fish. I managed to hook a small brown trout, but was discouraged by the lack of caddis flies that I had expected to come off in the evening.

Evening fishing just behind our campsite. Where's Waldo? Can you find him? (I.e., Jackie the Fisherman)

We had a great dinner of grilled rainbow trout washed down with a nice chilled glass of chardonnay. For dessert we shared a large piece of warm huckleberry pie topped with vanilla ice cream. We both love blueberry pie, but it was the first time we'd had huckleberry pie, that we can remember. (Huckleberries are related to blueberries and they grow wild in this area on the mountains--Carol and I both always called the little wild blueberries in our area "huckleberries" but it turns out they're really wild blueberries, not actual huckleberries.) As I write this Monday morning, we will soon head over to the restaurant for huckleberry pancakes. (Carol's note: they were FABULOUS, as was the old-fashioned sausage patty on the side! Doris, the grandmother of the Ekstrom family, is an inventive and wonderful cook,  having entered and won numerous national, state and regional cooking contests over the years. For example, she won the regional and state Pillsbury Bake Off in 1965, and qualified for the Nationals, with her Shrimp Boat Supper recipe. This is one among many of her cooking honors.)

The restaurant where we celebrated Carol's 65th birthday, in an old log stage station building.

Carol savoring a bite of huckleberry pie a la mode.

An interior view of the dining room that used to stable stagecoach horses.

The next morning (Sunday July 20) I visited the nearby flyshop (Fishermans Mercantile) to get advice and flies. The owner was really friendly and obviously wanted to help me select the best flies. He also told me I had not stayed late enough on the stream last night for the caddisfly hatch. He said they don't start coming off until it's almost dark. I made a note of that. He also recommended a spot up river that he liked to fish.

Carol went to church at a little community church that was recommended to her by the folks at the restaurant/campground. (While driving there, we passed an osprey nest on a telephone pole overlooking the river, with both parents and a nestful of babies in residence.) After church, we headed for Rock Creek and an afternoon of fishing.

Ma and Pa Osprey and their four babies posing for my camera.

Clinton Community Church, on a dirt road. Reminds me of back home, with its small and friendly congregation.

The drive up Rock Creek is wild and wonderful. It quickly became obvious to us that this creek  had been carved long ago by a glacier. Both sides of the creek were lined by scree (giant piles of rocks of about 150 pounds each and smaller), chewed up by the glaciers and strewn along the bank several hundred feet high. Of course there are massive fir trees along the river. A dirt road runs along the stream for 35 miles or so. This is the most gorgeous stream I have fished. It made me ponder what makes a great trout stream. Obviously beauty is in the eyes of the beholder, but for me a great trout stream is a fast flowing stream of crystal clear water set in a gorgeous wilderness with many accesses and few fisherman. It helps if the stream is filled with trout that are protected by the state. There are four species of trout in this river: rainbow, cutthroat, brown, and bull. You must immediately return all rainbow, cutthoat, and bull trout. You can only keep a few brown trout as long as they are less than 12 inches. It would be fair for me to say that I adored this stream. Far, far away from the madding crowds of cities and suburbs.

That's me in the river. Trout hang out behind those boulders. No other fishermen in sight.

Rock Creek treated me nicely. I first caught a 8-9 inch wild rainbow. Hard fighting little fellow. Then I caught an 18-19 inch rainbow who fought so hard that I wasn't sure who was going to win the fight. I hung on because I didn't want to lose my rod. Both of these fish were caught on a bead-headed purple prince nymph that the owner of the fly shop had recommended. A great afternoon.

Just below this spot is where I caught the large rainbow trout.

While driving back to our campsite, we passed another herd of Rocky Mountain bighorn sheep, this time with a ram in the herd. All the other groups had been just ewes and lambs, so it was neat to see the bigger horns on the male.

Roadside buddies.

To top off the day, when Carol and I returned to camp, I waited until very late in the evening to go back to the stream near the campsite. Just as evening sky started to turn into darkness, caddisflies started coming off the water. A well-placed dry fly that I got from the nice owner of the flyshop was dropped onto the water and immediately taken by a 14-16 inch brown trout. As I released this trout, I realized I had one of the best fishing days of my life.