Montana’s Gallatin River holds so much history for me that I sometimes feel like I’m wading into a fly-fishing time-warp as I rig up on its banks. From my first trout to my first shadow cast, the Gallatin has been a part of my angling life literally longer than I can remember. It is such a classic-looking Western river, and flows through such dramatic Montana landscape, that one cannot help but want to cast a fly onto its brilliant waters.

This last summer Kel (who also loves the Gallatin) and I spent a few days devoted to fishing some of the river’s less-pressured stretches. While the public access points were fairly full with Bozeman and Big Sky traffic, a bit of walking and wading often found us a quiet place on the river. One of those places still held the remnants of a modest run-off channel, but its flows were slowed to a crawl by the summer sun, and its thread-bare riffles babbled softly into two deep pools. It was there that one of my most memorable Gallatin fish was to be found.

After much youthful angling regret resulting from overly hasty approaches, I surveyed the quiet little channel with what I felt was appropriate care. My trepidation was rewarded with a slow, sipping rise in the throat of the upper pool. Despite the pool holding no more water than a good-sized hot-tub, I knew that such volume was more than enough to cover a fish as long as my arm (and that’s a sad New Zealand story for another time).

In reality, the situation I faced was classic Western spring creek: Gin-clear water, achingly slow drift speed and hyper-aware fish. It was decidedly un-Gallatin-like in its character which further made the scenario one in which I wanted to find success. I had a decision to make: Crawl closer over the exposed rocks and go for a low, tight cast, or stand my ground at nearly 70 feet and make a one-shot, slack-line cast across the stones and across the top of the pool. Looking at the breathless water and the brilliant high sun, I decided to take the long shot.

My first cast (yes, I actually did get two) was short. I could have screamed. The problem was that I had to not only reach the throat of the pool, but I had to do it with a puddled presentation that stacked slack along the length of the drifting line. The cast was so long (from a real-world, trout-fishing perspective) that I hadn’t compensated quite enough for the high delivery angle and the addition of the extra slack. I waited an agonizing 10 seconds or so for the leader to fully clear the area, and then retrieved the line back. As I did so, the fish rose again…

The next cast was what I was should have made on the first try. The line unrolled high, mostly up-and-over the river-rocks, and the leader puddled softly into the pool’s upper currents. I waited. The fly eased downstream so slowly that I began to wonder if a reverse current was in place, eating slack. That scenario would, of course, see my fly drag over the fish’s head. Drag would be as good as lining the fish in those conditions, and I then started to hope that I not done the latter along with the former. I just needed to be patient.

The little caddis emerger eased down into the belly of the pool, its wing glimmering ever so slightly in the hot sun. And then, without any pretense, a nose appeared where my fly had been. Before I could even react, the leader jumped tight, and it was “fish on!” I raised the rod fast and high over my head, and simultaneously rock-hopped toward the pool, stripping line as fast as I could. The fish felt like a good one—no arm-length brown mind you, but a decent fish none-the-less

By the time I reached the pool, I had 50 feet of line trailed out behind me. A clumsy move in most circumstances, but I wasn’t worried about a tarpon bolting for the horizon, I just wanted to get the trout on a short leash as soon as I could. Once I had close control, I held the fish tight and put side-pressure on it to make it swim harder than usual in the slow channel.

The trout soon showed itself at the surface, and while flirting with 16 inches, was not quite the bigger fish that I had hoped for. None-the-less it was a strong ‘bow and fought harder than its size had initially indicated. More importantly, though, it was a tough ‘bow, one taken under truly difficult conditions of water, sun and presentation.

That 16-inch ‘bow would never make the cover of a magazine, but it was easily my most memorable fish from the Gallatin for 2009. It was a fish that challenged, a fish that rewarded, and a fish that made for a bright way-point in my personal angling journey.