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The
Montana Chronicles
Three
weeks in Montana, in the middle of our winter, during the
closed season.
The idea
was enticing.
Marek
Rosin, a whitewater rafting guide from Red Lodge, had been
insisting we come over. Marek had stayed with us several times
and he had extended his hospitality to us if we wished to
take it up.
I couldn’t
help myself, I phoned Michael at Impex Travel just to get
a quote so I could continue to dream, unable to afford the
airfare. Michael came back that day, only a couple of hours
later.
United
Airlines had a deal offering that very day. All the airlines
do this, have few seats at a remarkable discount as a teaser
to get people to book. I jumped at it. Total impulsiveness
but at this great price, why wouldn’t I?
This was
the same day the English foiled a plot to use explosives to
bring down United Airlines flights across the Atlantic. Tullamarine
was chaotic, every bag had to be searched, every paste, liquid,
lotion, spray can and duty free liquor had to be confiscated.
The queues
snaked around the airport. The same routine in Sydney. Halfway
across the pacific I finally started to relax, only had to
survive Los Angeles, Denver, and finally Billings in Montana,
and I would be there.
Marek
greeted me at the bottom of the stairs with a big hug and
great delight. The news wasn’t good, rivers were low,
temperatures high, bushfires everywhere and the ever-present
effects of drought dominated.
The answer
lay in the tailwaters and the headwaters. This would be where
temperatures would be tolerable for the fish.
The Yellowstone
had been closed from 12 noon until midnight every day to protect
the fish. Fortunately the next few nights were to prove cool
enough that the restrictions could be lifted.
I must
confess that arriving in Red Lodge after 30 hours of flying
and airports, my body clock was scrambled with jet lag. The
first two days I found difficult. I had been suffering a cold
before I left and 30 hours of incubation in aircraft air-conditioning
had turned into a monster. Red Lodge was 6,500 feet above
sea level also, the air was thin and dry causing great pain
in the sinuses.
All irrelevant
because I was here to fish. I headed down Rock Creek to fish
where it ran through the town. Rock Creek is a continuous
fast flowing rapid. I fished a stretch about 200 metres for
three small rainbows. Now I could die happy knowing I had
caught fish in Montana.
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