The Missouri River from Holter Dam to the Wolf Creek Bridge

I have had the good fortune of being invited up to Montana the last few years to fly fish some famous rivers like the Smith and the North Fork of the Blackfoot River. Most trips are made solo and I return to Fort Worth with tall tales of wild trout in majestic backdrops. In fact I come back with a strong urge to only fish dry flies and Wes had never seemed to understand why. That is until he finally made it up there this past August.

My family was invited up and our family friends who have a spread in Wolf Creek, once again, encouraged me to invite some of my fly fishing pals. The stars aligned this go-round and Wes and Stu were able to make it. Now Stu worked out a trip where he flew into Jackson Hole, spent a view days exploring (when on a 14 mile wilderness hike in the Tetons) then rented a car and made the drive to Helena to meet my parents and sister. Wes and I were leaving a few days later and had been counting down the days to trout once we scored our plane tickets. Everything was arranged from lining out guides, securing drift boats for our own float, menus for dinner, etc. Mom even dubbed this trip as the New Age Corps of Discovery and anointed each member a nickname from Lewis and Clark's crew and their adventure in the early 1800s.

I arrived at the DFW Airport to find Wes giddy with excitement as he sat at Cousin's Barbecue. Ribs were a solid choice before we departed but a terrible storm in Denver delayed our flight and hopes of catching our connecting flight were quickly fading with the Texas sunset. We finally boarded and after running the numbers in our head, we realized that our connecting flight would be leaving right after we were to land in Denver.

We made it Denver with about 5 Jack and cokes in our systems and no time to spare to catch our flight to Helena. We made like Usain Bolt in a dash across the airport and I had never seen Wes move so fast. He was just a flash and darted in and out of airport patrons. I was bringing up the rear and slowly coming to the realization that our flight had left. We finally made it and the lady working the ticket counter was a bearer of bad news. The flight had left 10 minutes before we arrived at the gate and the earliest flight was not leaving until 6:50 the next morning. On top of that we would have to fly to Salt Lake City, catch a connector with 45 minutes to spare, then arrive in Helena around 11:45am. Bad words ensued.

Once we arranged flight plans for the following the day, we caught a bus to a hotel Delta arranged for us. No big deal...I just called Mitch (our guide for Thursday) and we worked out a game plane where he would pick us up at the airport so we could just drive straight to the river to fly fish that afternoon. Our bags would be rerouted and the only thing we had to worry about was catching the bus from our hotel the next morning around 5:45am.

Well, the wake up call never came and we rose in a panic around 5:30am. He hustled around the room, gathered what little we had, and made it down in time to catch the bus. My big worry was getting my boarding pass for the plane because the night before I did not realize Wes was getting what he thought was a new one. Fortunately the line was not too long when we arrived at the airport and I got my ticket fairly quick. We then went down to go through security and it was nothing more than a carnival. The lines reminded me of Wal-Mart when 578 people are trying to check out when they only have 3 registers open. I finally made it up there and they pulled me aside for a special security check since my ticket was less then 24 hours old. Wes on the other hand was denied because what he thought was a good boarding pass was not. At this point in the game it was close to 6:40am and Wes had a long haul back to the check in counter. I just nodded and did what every friend would do...proceeded through in an attempt to catch the plane.

Now with the luck we were having you would think that the terminal was close by. When I finally looked at the ticket I read that the gate was in concourse C. If you have not been to the Denver Airport it is HUGE. As you will see below, I had to catch a train and head North as I was starting in the South Pole of the airport (connect the blue dot to the red dot).

My plane was simple. I would delay the ticket taker at the gate to give Wes time to catch up. I had no idea where he was but I was going to make every effort from my end to get him on the plane. Well my attempt to delay the plane was quickly denied when the attendant kindly stated, "If you want to go to Salt Lake City, you'd better get on this plane!" Head down, I slowly handed her my ticket and took a quick glance at the Timex...6:48am.

I took my seat slower than a turtle and held out hope Wes would make it. I tried calling Wes but in his mile and a quarter sprint-train ride-sprint to the gate he did not have time to answer. Then when all hope faded as the flight attendant began to speak through the intercom, Wes came barging in at 6:51am. Relieved, I tried to lead the plane in a slow cap but nobody shared are joy. I am not sure how he did it or where he found the energy to make the mad dash but after talking with him he was able to save a tad bit of time by running up the down escalator!

So we made it to Helena and Mitch was there, drift boat in tow. He said things were looking good on the Missouri River and the trout were feeding.

Our only problem was our bags never made it to Montana. They were stuck in Denver. I took all my fishing gear in a carry on, but Wes' reels (he's a right handed retriever) were in his checked luggage. He would be stuck using Mitch's left handed retriever reels for the day.

But after he landed his first few wild trout below Holter Dam he was not too concerned about the reels anymore.

As for me, it took me a little longer to get in the mood of catching fish. It must have been jet-lag, because at one point we saw a trout take my indicator ten feet underwater and he no doubt swallowed my fly whole allowing it to pass entirely through his digestive track. My efforts were weak to start the day but I finally got on some and landed my fair share.

Wes with his backwards set up.

As the Montana sun was setting on a fun filled day on the water with Mitch, we pulled out the caddis flies and stalked feeding trout in slow moving water. Wes set up some sweet drifts right into feeding trout and took in the glory landing trout on a dry fly.

As we approached the Wolf Creek Bridge our long day was coming to an end. My cell phone had run out of battery and my Dad was calling Wes to find out where we were. Wes handed me the phone, I put my rod up, and gave Wes the front of the boat.

Soon after, Wes sent one out and a swirl that made me think it was a beaver that took his fly. I told Dad I had to go because Wes just hooked up with a monster and we would be home soon!

Throughout the day Wes had landed some nice fish but he never had to put them on the reel. He probably should have, as the fights would have been easier but he just fought'em with his hands. Now this fish he had on was definitely one you needed to put on the reel.

However Wes could not make his left hand reel the correct way and he hand fought this thing for a good seven minutes or so. At one point, Mitch turned around to me and and quickly whispered, "It's a BIG fish, isn't in?!" Wide-eyed, I just nodded yes and crossed my fingers because I did not want to jinx Wes in this epic fight.

He finally got the brown trout and he was a sight to behold.


His face says it all.


It was a fine trout and a perfect way to end a long two days. The good news was we were in Montana and Friday morning would be coming around the corner rather quickly for another day of fly fishing on the Missouri River. Wes could hardly wait to throw some more dry flies.


-Parker