Just finished a six day marathon trip to eastern Montana. It was business, a delivery. Most of the water I looked at was high, silted, fast, milky, or all of the aforementioned.

As I drove back through the Gorge at night, everyone was shooting off fireworks–citizens gathered on beaches and parks in celebration, restoring the faith. We are pretty lucky to be able to drive a thousand miles and fish remote locations if we choose, without much in the way of hoops or barrels to negotiate. There are others in the world who would gladly give up the use of the left one to do that, amen?

In my regular travels I always cut out a segment and take the side road, the old highway, looking for the next secret spot. An old timer once told me that explorers take the prize, and I did say “for the most part” above. The jewel pictured is just one of those places, somewhere between Nye and Portland and north of the 45th.

So throw a few bucks in the tank, kiss the wifey ‘n kids goodbye. There’s a thin blue line on that map you’ve had highlighted for years. Wet a fly, I did.