Coming off the heels of a couple of days in Montana with a buddy, I booked an experience at the Refuge Foundation Lodge, about 90 min southeast of Billings. They cater to business and non-profit leaders and try to provide a getaway where you can disconnect and decompress with a flyrod in hand. Before I could even make it to Billings, I tried some water close to the freeway and ripped a hole so big in my waders I could climbed out of them through the butt. Not what you want to see with three days of fishing in front of you.
The first morning was cold and crisp. The winding Big Horn is not far from the lodge. A pack of green but kind-hearted guides are employed by the lodge, loading up the driftboats and prepping the rods each morning. After some ribbing about my flybox and selection (why the hare’s ear was beneath them, I’ll never know), we headed to the river together.
A couple of quick observations:
1. Even as a novice, I had 50x experience than all of the others guests, and at least two thirds of the guides. I only mention this, because it led to a laughable dynamic where the other guests would cheer across the water from their driftboats when they saw my rod bend. After the first day I had earned the respect of the young 20-something year old guides, by tricking them to believe I was competent.
2. The Big Horn is a true Montana river and a much higher CFS than my home waters.
3. The stretch we were going to be in was definitely a numbers over monsters type of section. That was fine with me.
We fished all morning. I got into a dozen or so mostly on the Hare’s Ear, then we stopped on a rocky island and ate lunch as prepared by the guides. The guests swapped stories and struggles from the morning, and even though many were skunked, everyone was content to be out and in good spirits.
In the evenings, we’d debrief a bit, sharing what stood out over the course of the day. It was a mixed crowd in terms of religious convictions, and that seemed to guardrail the fireside chats to a fairly shallow dive, but the atmosphere was fantastic. Most of the other guests knew each other, so I felt a bit like the 14th wheel, though everyone was friendly enough.
On day two, we were offered the opportunity to go up to a nearby lake, and on the recommendation of the senior guide, try out a feeding creek that held huge rainbows. After some cliff diving and a few small mouth bass that we caught against the cliff faces, we worked our way to the back corner of the lake where the creek came down.
I won’t belabor what happened. Sure enough, just a short hike up from the mouth of the creek, I spotted an oscillating dark shape, a massive bow over 24″. Another of similar size was in the pool above as well. The approach and casting would be tough, but I finally got a presentation I liked, and the fish agreed. What I had not noticed or planned for in my excitement of sight-fishing, was the downed tree and the lack of mobility I would have if the fish decided to head downstream toward the lake. He did exactly that.
In desperation I threw my rod in the water and clamored downstream hoping to meet up with the rod as it flowed down. This plan worked, but in the time it took to happen, the monster had almost reached the lake. With so little tension on the line, he shook the hook and I stood there looking like a soaking wet jackass.
I connected with a guy at the Lodge that wasn’t really a guest or an employee but a friend to the foundation. We chatted about parenting and marital sacrifice. We talked about what masculinity is worth fighting for in a world that slaps down anything that looks like a man. The drive to the airport was my favorite connection of the whole trip, and I was grateful for that.
