This Creek Could Be the Best Fishing of Your Life

“If you go there, it could be the best fishing of your life,” Conor said, “two guide buddies and I got on the river above the private property line and fished straight through to the other side, then hitchhiked our way back down the highway and up the dirt road to the car. It took us about eight hours of heavy fishing- one of us with a wooley bugger, the other with a dry fly- and we hit almost every hole. There are so many big Cutties in that creek it is ridiculous. Go there, and I’m serious, it could be the best fishing of your life.”

How could I not check this spot out? I’ve been fishing with Conor over a hundred times and he knows that I have fished without him a hundred times that, and still he says this could be the best fishing of my life.

I took this trip very seriously. The night before I packed two sandwiches- onions, lettuse, mustard, smoked chicken and honey ham, pepper jack cheese all on Big Sky bread. I also checked my flies, rod, leader, boots, dry fit top and bottom, bug spray, camera, and flash light (in case it takes longer than expected). Then tied some extra flies, checked the area on Google Earth, and went to bed early. The next day could be the best fishing day of my life.

It is early July in Montana so the weather is hot. They say this year is the hottest and already fishing restriction have been placed on the Bitterroot, Clarkfork, and Blackfoot. It is cool this morning, only because it is so early, but it is expected to be 107.

In the morning I drive an hour out of town then start following Conor’s direction, “take a right onto a dirt road just before town, then go past Two Bear Creek ranch, which maybe three miles up the road, and take the next right, I think, or maybe the second righ after the ranch. On this road keep taking rights until you hit a large hump- park there and follow the trail along a fence to the creek. From there you have about eight hours of fishing and hiking down stream until you hit the highway. The highway is about four miles back to the dirt road and then you still have three miles to the car. I would suggest hitchhiking or you might be out there all day.”

Once I drive off the highway in Montana it goes from civilization to backcountry within half a mile. Tall evergreens lean over both sides of the dirt, game trails make trails up into the brush, and small dark, carniverous bushes pepper the landscape. I can’t see them, but in front of me and beyond are large hills, or back home we would call mountains, that surround this valley. The only only sign of civilization is the road, the barbed wire fence and the posts that hold up the wire. Hiking and fishing in such a remote area can be very dangerous so I feel anxious to find the right road. I remind myself that when you feel anxious a half mile seems like a mile, and a mile seems like too, so I’m probably not there yet.

I pass a ranch that might be Two Bear Ranch but I have no way of knowing- it has a gate with a flag on it but no sign. The only thing I can read is “Keep Out. No Trespassing”, which isn’t any help. Conor’s directions are often given with the assumption that you know Montana and that you know certain things, like what Two Bear Creek looks like. I’m not confident about any of the dirt roads I pass so I decide to be safe and follow the road until it crosses the river, which I know from looking at satalitte pictures of the area on Google Earth.

I park the car, gear up my rod, and enter the water. A a sign on a nearby tree reads, “Grizzly country” with pictures and directions on how to tell a brown bear from a grizzly. A grizzly has a hump on its back and is generally bigger with longer talons- if you see prints, a brown bear is often darker, skinnier, and without a hump. The grizzly sometimes walks funny, if it is walking, and the hump bumps up and down with each step. Another important tip, which is not on the sign, is that grizzlies attack you whereas Black bears usually run away. This is not my first time hiking alone in bear country, and not the first time I’ve done it without bear spray, but it doesn’t make it any less scary. I spit to see if I can. I can, I’m not too scared to continue. To be safe and to warn bears of my presense, around every bend I yell, “hey”, and every wet sand and mud spot I check for bear tracks-but I don’t see any signs of bear activity.

The creek water is cold, maybe 55 degrees, and the creek is no more than ten yards wide, with water so clear that without ripples it is barely visible. Almost every thirty yards there is a turn in the river- the river hits a bank, hits a brush pile, or just turns down the hill. This makes hiking very difficult. The tall evergreen and spruces that lean over the road lean over the river and on either bank the forest is thick with bushes, tall grass, and small trees. Some of the brush piles are higher than my head and I have to go through the woods in order to get around. Entering the woods is scarier because I worry about surprising any bears. “Hey, hey”. Besides my voice, the only other human noise is an occasion sound of a car driving on the nearby dirt road. As a safety precaution, I note the characteristics of the creek where I hear the road close by. If I retreated back to my car, instead of breaking through to the highway, will allow me to bushwack safely to the road. With woods this thick it is easy to assume that the road is on the otherside so I want to make sure I am close if I do enter the woods. I have spent the first two hours of the morning hiking, yelling “hey”, and checking for bear tracks. But by lunchtime I hit the fence which Conor had instructed me to follow to the river so I still have about eight hours left of hiking the stream if I want to go all the way. I sit down to eat lunch and think decide what’s my plan.

A tree stands very close to the river, on the far side at the head of the pool and a fast ripple sweeps under its roots and into a fatter, slower part of the pool in front of me. It looks like a spectacular pool and very fishy. I must make a cast in it.

After finishing lunch, I creep towards the bottom of the eddy in casting range of where the slower water meets the fast wate.. I have a size 6 yellow and red grasshopper with an elk hair wing and plastic legs. It is a silly looking fly, it looks like a miniature fire truck- the new kind that are red and yellow. My first cast plops just where I’d hoped- on the edge of the current and the eddy line. And my fly sits, undecided, as to whether it will float down or sit on the line. Just then a head rises on my fly and I hear, “Guhhgll”, the sound of a big fish rising. Gubhgll is the best way I can describe a huge fish rising but it is a much different sounds from a small or medium fish rising sound. Small and medium fish attack flies and the sound is abrupt, aggressive, and splashy, big fish approach flies, sip flies, and gently inhale flies. This fish, unfortunately, sipped and missed. I made a couple of more casts to it but it was gone.

I took another cast at the top of the ripple and let the fly float down into the slower water. Slam! A Cuttie jumped out of the water and attacked my fly. I landed it and took another cast in the lower section of the pool. Gulp! I hooked another nice cutthroat, both small to medium sized with small to medium sized strikes.

As I pull in the second cuttie a 20-inch bull trout starts chasing the fish on my line. How could a 20 inch fish expect to eat a 14 inch fish? Bull Trout are incredible predators and their heads are big literally and figuratively. The Bull bites onto the fishes side, like a snake would bite its prey, but it has little effect on the Cuttie. I pull the Cuttie into the safety of my hands- now that is somewhat paradoxical- revive it, and let it go. In summary, I fish one pool that is maybe 10 yards long and 10 feet wide, and I just barely huge fish, catch two medium sized Cutties, and see a small Bull Trout attack a fish 2/3 its size. Impressive.

In the next pool I land a 18 inch Cuttie after it swollowed my fly while I wasn’t even looking. I fish size 4 and 6 Salmonflies and hoppers down stream and with a twitch. The Salmonfly, which sits in the water well, seems to produce more fish. I catch so many fish, and several around 17 inches, that I lose count.

As I turned another corner, around 2:30 PM, I spotted a kid fishing under a bridge. This was odd because I was on private property. We talked a bit, and it turned out this kid is the grandson of the owner of Two Bear Ranch. He told me that his grandfather- who owns about 40,000 acres and six miles of stream- is a prick about the property and that I should stay on the river. He promised, however, to drive me back to my car after we were done fishing in exchange for a case of beer. I easily agreed to this deal because according to my calculations I had about 6 more hours of hiking and then I would have to hitchhike 8 miles back to my car.

We finished fishing at around 5, and after I bought them a 18 pack they drove me back to my car. The creekh olds some huge cutthroat, and apparently even bigger bull trout, in pools no larger than a car and no deeper than my chest. The water is so clear that if anything does happen it can be clearly seen from above, it is a special place, and one that I plan on fishing again soon. The best ever though? That has yet to be seen.

It only took me two days before I returned to the creek, this time with Liz, Conor’s girlfriend, and this time where Conor had instructed.

The first pool Liz saw was the first pool I fished two days ago- the one that held a monster Cuttie and a nice sized Bull trout .

“Liz, I am going to make a couple of casts here because I missed a pig here the other day but then it is all yours”. On my third cast I hooked and landed a 12-inch Cuttie at the tail end of the pool then signaled to liz that it was hers.

“Ok, this is where I get caught in a tree and get a knot in my line,” Liz said half joking. She stepped up to the top of the pool, as I had directed, and started making a cast. She had a four-foot leader, 1x tippet, and a size 4 Salmonfly tied on with a 5-wt 9’ rod. Her third cast landed at the top of the ripple in the fastest section just above the dip and bobbed its way down the middle of the pool. As it got just over the crest where the pool deepens I saw a large body deliberately swim up, open a its mouth and sip in her fly.

“I got one! I got one!” Liz shouted. And it’s a huge one I thought.

“Ok, I’m terrible at this part, what do I do now?” She said excitedly.

“Don’t worry, just take it easy, you have a very strong leader and I retied that knot, so just take your time”, As I quickly put down my backpack and got my net ready.

The fish held lazily back and fourth just ten feet away until I netted this 19-inch cutthroat, one of the biggest I’ve seen in Montana and definitely the one I missed two days ago.

“This is ridiculous!” she exclaimed, “This is the biggest fish I have ever caught!”

After some struggle with holding the huge fish we took a picture and let the fish go. Liz was very excited and scared that the fish might get hurt so I didn’t take too much time with the picture. Liz and I both couldn’t believe that she had just caught such a big fish in just her fourth cast. It was nice to see Liz so happy and I was glad that she caught that fish. What a fish and what a creek.

We leisurely fished our way down and then fished our way back up. We stopped for lunch and a quick swim. As we got back to the first hole Liz didn’t want to stop fishing, she was having too much fun- I think she had certainly fulfilled Conor’s prophesy that fishing this creek could be the best fishing of your life.

When I got back to Missoula I called up my fishing buddy Sky and told him about Liz, the creek, and the Bull Trout. I told him that he had to get a day off from work so that we could fish it. After hearing the stories and seeing my enthusiasm he agreed- the trip was set for Wednesday. Over the next couple of days I tied large stonefly dries, similar to what Liz was using, and several stonefly nymphs, which I had seen under rocks. I also tied some San Juan worms, pink and red, and some large wooley buggers, white and green. By Wednesday I was ready to take on the creek.

On Wednesday, Sky and I arrived at the river at 9 AM. We decided to fish new water by fishing up from the highway and then back down. With the same size 4 stonefly, a huge dry fly, I caught a fish in my first pool and missed two more, the day was already looking good. This section of the river has fewer turns and the pools are wider and shallower but still exceptional fishing conditions.

The third pool was much deeper and darker than the other pools and looked very fishy. With my first cast a fish came darting up to my fly and then, just as quickly as it swam up, turned back down. I made another cast, this time giving the fly a twitch as it drifted by and again the fish shot up but went back down. I pulled in my fly and waited a minute- letting the fish rest before making another cast. On my third cast I placed it in the same spot again giving it another good twitch, and wham, the fish slammed my fly. As it took off for the bottom I could feel it was strong but then it made a turn with its tail, near the surface, and I knew it was big.

“Sky, you close? I might need a picture of this one,” I yelled downstream. Sky ran up just before I netted a nice 18-inch Cuttie. But just as Sky was about to take a picture the fish jumped out of my hands into the water and swam lively back into the pool. Oh well, I’ll get another one.

After I left that pool Sky stayed behind and fished it. Five minutes later Sky screamed for me to come down. When I got there he told me that a 30-inch bull trout tried to eat a 14 inch white fish that he had on. He had never seen a Bull Trout before and wondered how a fish could eat another fish that big? He was pumped to see such a site in such a small pool. I couldn’t help but think, I told you so, this creek is sick.

We fished our way up stream for what seemed like 10 miles. I kept pushing the pace, taking three casts, maybe four, to every decent pool and 10-12 casts to every deep pool. I knew how great some of the pools are in this creek I didn’t waste any time on the mediocre ones- even though many of them held decent fish.

At one point the creek turns into a big tub of water and then splits into two smaller sections. While Sky was tying on another fly I fished the top of the tub and had two strikes that sounded really big. Sky, trying to concentrate on tying, looked up both times at the sound of the fish. I didn’t catch it then, but on the way back down I caught it was a San Juan worm in the same spot.

Sky stayed behind while I plowed my way upstream. Another large turn in the creek produced another perfect pool. I slowed my pace, so as not to scare and fish, and got ready for a long cast towards the tail end of the pool and in slower moving water. As the fly hit the water it made a wake. The size of the fly reminded me of Largemouth Bass fishing, where I use large frog patterns that hit the water like rocks. The fly drifted a foot before a head came up and buried the fly in its mouth. I set the hook and a body flashed under the water- this was a big fish. After a couple of minutes I netted probably the biggest Cutthroat trout of my life, a fat, 19-inch fish. I yelled down to Sky but received no answer, I let the fish go without a picture and watched its large back swim slowly into the dark of the hole.

After getting up, drying off my fly, and making sure the knot was secure I threw another cast above my last one and to my surprise another nice sized fish came up to my fly but didn’t take it. It came up again to my second cast but still refused it. On my third cast it was gone.

At 3 o’clock we decided to turn back. For the past six hours I had fished just one fly, a size 4 Salmonfly, and caught numerous fish on it. But fishing, or rather catching, had slowed down in the past hour so I put on a pink San Juan dropper. Casting downstream with a mend and a twitch I started catching so many fish that it seemed like cheating. In one particular pool, a skinny pool that piled up on a bank then poured into a deeper section, I saw a nice 17-inch fish sitting at the edge of the current. I assumed it was a white fish because it was so visable but to be safe I stopped well before the pool and made a cast just above the the fish. As the fly got just over the fish it darted under water and I set the hook. Sky came over and took a picture, which I attached in this blog, of another nice 17-inch fish out of this creek.

By the time we got back to the car it was 8 o’clock and my back and legs ached. We had been fishing and walking in the river over slippery rocks rom 9 AM to 8 PM. I’ve done longer days but probably not as involved. Was it the best day of fishing? Maybe. One day Bonefishing were pretty impressive, that day I caught several 10lbs Bluefish from a kayak was top notch, and that day in Canada was unreal, but this was definitely up there.

To summarize Sky saw a 30 inch bull attack his white fish, we both caught 19 inch fish, along with over 15 other fish on huge dry flies and San Juan droppers, we both caught Bull Trout, mine 27 inches, and we didn’t see anyone the entire day. It could be the best day fishing- it was certainly sweet.