Don't forget the little guys: Fishing small streams

Published in the July/August 2008 issue of the Montana Sporting Journal

By Joshua Bergan

Thumb through any random selection of fly fishing magazines and you’ll receive a brief education on Montana’s popular rivers. The Madison, the Bighorn, the Yellowstone, the Big Hole, and on and on. And like the articles will tell you, there are, in fact, plenty of kype jaws and blustery hatches within these waters.

But these perpetually rediscovered rivers are disproportionately touted; they make up a small percentage of what the state offers in total fishable water.

Beyond the banks of these rivers lies the Gallatin River’s Taylor Fork, the Clark Fork’s Rattlesnake Creek, the Beaverhead’s Poindexter Slough, and the Missouri’s Dearborn River.

All great streams, all worth a cast.

Further into the wilderness, there are forks of tributaries, some never flowing over 20 cubic feet per second, that offer some of the most beautiful trout, within some of the most serene landscapes. The further up the hierarchy you can get, the better.

One such brook is Sixteenmile Creek.

Gathering in the Crazy Mountains, this fluvial backroad cuts through the north end of the Bridger Mountains en route to the Missouri River. It stretches around 70 miles through national forest and high desert.

Deeper yet, there’s a branch called the Middle Fork of Sixteenmile Creek, that dumps into Sixteenmile. It might be the quintessential example of a small stream with big appeal.

It epitomizes Montana in many ways – the most important of which is the opportunity it presents to fly anglers.

Its environment is a sight to behold. Bright green conifers sprout from the dry mountainside, and the sun warms the water to a level of wet-wading tolerability. The humidity hovers around zero. Chipmunks hide from raptors, and the ubiquitous black bear sign puts an ominous feeling in your cockles. Rattlesnakes are undoubtedly coiled up nearby.

But to experience Montana’s small-stream fishing, it’s worth the risk.

The entire trip here, ranchland is all you see, and except for the narrow swath of national forest, it’s all there is. There are no people. If one car passed on the road, it’d be busy.

It wouldn’t be out of context to see Doc Holliday peeking out from behind a sage bush. Run-down shanties sparsely mark the rocky hills. This land has remained largely unchanged from and is reminiscent of the days of the Wild West.

But the Middle Fork’s biggest asset is its sublime trout.

Now we’re not exactly talking about sea-run fish. In fact, they’ve probably never even pushed through a beaver pond.

But they’re refined, plentiful and eager, and if you can set your piscatorial ego aside, they can be just as satisfying as any of Montana’s trout.

These parr-marked rainbows rarely get longer than 12 inches.

A 15-inch fish is worthy of a shout for a buddy; a photo is worthy of a frame and the wall.

Their silvery sides are pocked with constellations of black spots, which scatter and fade into a pale, yellow belly. Their fins are tipped with a stroke of pure white. Ma Nature done us good with these fish.

These naïve trout startle you as you spook them. They dart through your legs while you cast to likely holding spots.

Its banks overflow with shrubbery. A back cast is usually out of the question, so the bow-and-arrow cast must be employed.

Hopper season is the time to be here. And by hopper season, I mean summer. The scrappy rainbows, and occasional brown, will pound a Chernobyl Ant, hopper, ant, Stimmie, or likewise, any time from June through September.

Fishing a nymph may draw strikes, but unless you have no dry flies in your box, or are incapable of presenting a dry, there’s no point in nymphing. You’ll draw many more strikes — emphatic strikes — on top.

The hatches are not impressive, although it’s been said that it’s the first local river to see salmonflies (it’s hard to imagine these fish trying to fit one into their mouth, but who knows – maybe it’s the bugs who get this meal).

It’s not what most people think of when they envision fly fishing in Montana. After all, why fish for small fish, when big fish are nearby?

One response might be, because, in a sense, rivulets like the Middle Fork of Sixteenmile Creek give the full Montana experience: brisk air and mountains, or cattle and wide-open spaces. And lots of trout.

Either way, you’ll find an archetypical Montana landscape.

The small streams are only open from mid-May through November, so get your casts in now.

They get overlooked, but these ‘cricks’ are the lifeblood of Montana’s big-name rivers.

Think about that, the next time you’re fifth in line to back your boat in, or when you have to hike two miles to find an open hole in elbow-to-elbow conditions, while the midday sun burns.