Fast forward again, a longer trip is planned, this one to a riper peach. Good water by Montana standards, which pretty much ranks it as good water almost anywhere. The last part of June and the first couple weeks of July saw temperatures routinely rise into the high 90's, and with nights rarely cooling below 60. So when the forecast on the day of the planned trip called for rain and a high in the 60s, fishing could prove the best of the season since the salmonflies.
The plan was to pick Ra----, fuck I mean Giorgio up at dawn, head into Missoula for last minute supplies and head for an old haunt.
I roll up at the appointed time (well, close enough). Okay, I think to myself, let's get this show on the road. Fumble around for the sticky note list...... well shit let's put this guy to the test.
Sure enough, he has a mug of coffee, check the first item off the list-oh wait, he's packin a thermos? extra credit on number one, fuck yeah.
We throw his shit in and off we go. Where did I put that list? Doesn't matter, I know what's on the list, I just thought it would be cool to physically check shit off the list, well whatever.
Bottom out Evaro hill and approach the freeway.... wait, what? Mention of strip club? Hell I didn't even put that one on the list. Well played Giorgio, well played.
Before we even hit the Rock Creek exit, I had played some dude tunes, told a favorite joke, all of which were met favorably, if this was a test this guy was passing with flying colors...
The forecast brought out plenty of people midweek, even for Rock Creek, I admit I was more than a little worried about getting first fly on any of my favorite runs. Creep over the hill, spy the parking area, FUCKIN A! empty. Right on. Let's get this shit show on stage!
Being familiar with the water I let Giorgio hit the "good" water first. The fuck is this?? Apparently high water had altered the run significantly. No worries, just head upriver, the next run is better anyway. I slip off to hit the next run first and pluck the low fruit, I know what you're thinking, a dick move but you have to realize, this dude was still a new guy, so I was well within protocol. Not much happening yet, with the air temperature still hovering in the low 50s and the water being not much warmer everything was still a little lethargic. At least the wind came up as promised, everyone knows wind is one of the most important ingredients of an epic hatch. The rain started right on cue as well, lightly at first, then gradually turned into a downpour. A cow pissin on a flat rock is how I believe one of my gear-chuckin acquaintances refers to it. (I know, really dude? A gear-chuckin friend? No.... bullshit. Read it closely, I said acquaintance. Besides, really? The dude's a purist not a prick).
|Rainy day on Rock Creek|
Rarely do I count fish, but when the action started I figured "what the fuck" might as well see how many we bring to hand. Hell I lost count after 27, needless to say it was a good day for sure and a good start to gaining another fishing buddy. In all actuality the dude enjoys fishing with just about everybody who flicks feathers, it's just that this guy happens to be funny as fuck, turns out he's good company!
I must also admit there never was a real list on a sticky note, although it would have been a lot cooler if there was!
As much as I enjoy fishing, and plenty of times fishing alone, there is something to be said for company. There's also much to be said for company on the water. I enjoy each twist in the river and on the road of life, as well as new faces that turn into new fishing buddies!
|Giorgio with Rock Creek trout, take 27|