loose loops and wind knots
W
ith a great deal of humility, I confess I am well known among my friends for my prodigious luck while fishing and also while pursuing less important things in life. This “luck” of mine has followed me for quite some time, and I figured “it” was with me when I boarded the plane for seven days of fishing in Montana in September. Luckily, my friend Billy had moved to Bozeman two years ago and would be my host for the week. Additionally, another friend Sam, who now lived in Gillette, WY, was driving over for three or four days and bringing his drift boat. Sitting around Billy’s home the first night, we discussed the myriad of fishing opportunities and decided to try the Madison River the next day. Billy had checked with friends and a couple of fly shops earlier that day and felt like the Madison River would be a good bet. The weather forecast was great, reading seventy-three degrees and cloudy with little wind. We didn’t realize it then, but the “Haney Luck” was lurking in the shadows waiting to “open a can” on our trip. We left Billy’s early the next day headed for Ennis and Madison River Fishing Company to check again on conditions and to spend some tourist dollars on flies and other needful things. After buying maybe a half-pound of streamers, articulated and otherwise, we headed to the truck. Suddenly, as if Moses had appeared with a message for me on a stone tablet, I realized I had left my prescription sunglasses on the dresser at Billy’s back in Bozeman. The “can” had opened ever so slightly and a wisp of my “luck” had eased out. The shop didn’t have any Fitovers, so we went down the street to the Orvis dealer where I found a pair and spent an additional fifty dollars which helped the local economy but hurt mine. Getting in the truck, we
headed upriver to the Windy Point boat ramp with the day full of promise and high expectations. It was 10 a.m. when we pulled into the parking lot at Windy Point and parked the truck and boat. Quickly assembling our rods and reels, we tied on flies and loaded our gear into the boat and pushed off into the Madison. If I had not been so ready to fish, I might have noticed the wind had picked up and that there were a few dark clouds looming in the distance. Would the name “Windy Point” become an omen of my “luck” still to come? Was the “can” of “Haney Luck” in the boat? These questions were on my mind as we started the trip. Sam is young, strong and adept at the boat’s oars, and soon we were casting streamers to the banks of the Madison. An hour passed without a strike for Billy or me. Changing streamer patterns did not help and neither did nymphs or dries as the wind had picked up considerably. As the temperature had not risen
16 | Southern Trout | February 2014 | www.southerntrout.com