West '05 Trip - Day 4

Posted: 2006-01-16
By: Randy Cochran

The previous night had me driving until 11 pm to find a camp site. The Delorme showed 2 or 3 campsites alongside the Teton River, but finding these proved to be a tougher task than expected. I ended up sleeping in the front seat again, with cold air and wind seeping into my trout-filled dreams and waking me prematurely right before I could net the fictional 5 lb'er that I tussled with.

It was early and morning alpenglow was barely showing on the high peaks above. I struggled to get myself prepared to face the bitter cold air outside.

The morning light slowly expanded to reveal the valley that was hidden during my nighttime arrival. A few broad, beaver-damned pools appeared in spots between the rushing crystalline flows. Cobblestone bottoms and boulders emphasized the beauty of the river.

Wind chill was such that I had a hard time getting comfortable enough to fish, and when I did manage to cast a line the wind speed and direction was enough to make presentations nearly impossible. Despite the beauty of my surroundings I pressed on towards Glacier National Park, a place I've wanted to see for a long time coming.

I stumbled onto a very interesting proposition when going through one of the many guide books I had purchased for my trip - the Blackfeet Reservation is said to be home of many lakes where fishing is beyond compare. A change of plans quickly ensued.

First I would try St. Mary's River, just outside of the park's boundary. Despite the wealth of prime water, it just wasn't meant to be. I have a feeling that I arrived too late in the year to sample this river's fishing, but to be honest greener pastures called too strongly to linger very long there.

My next stop was Kennedy Creek. I tried to locate many different access points, but could not find any of the ones listed in the guide book(s). The roads were either blocked off, in disrepair or unmaintained 4x4 roads that a Ford Focus just won't conquer. A bit dejected but still resolved, I stopped at the only bridge crossing and fished up and down a ways.

The fishing started slow, but as the sun got lower the water came alive. I threw a hopper/dropper combo to willing cutts, bows, hybrids and whiteys. For a while I could do no wrong, but all good things must end, and so it went. I hiked back out to my car and drove on toward Duck Lake and my campsite for the night.

Setting up my tent for the first time went quickly, thankfully. There were rising fish everywhere, but most turned out to be recently stocked fingerling browns. Out beyond my casting range there were a few large disturbances, yet it was too late to set up the pontoon. I snapped some pictures, put away my gear and fixed a quick dinner.

That night, off across the lake could be heard drums and chanting, along with explosions overhead that lit the night sky for a brief moment. Was it a Pow-wow? A rite of passage? Whatever it was, it sounded incredibly ominous, even if at times interesting or exciting. I have heard rumors that the Blackfeet nation is not particularly friendly to outsiders, much less white outsiders. I can't say that I saw anything to support that; nonetheless my overactive imagination got the best of me until I drifted off into an exhaustion-induced slumber.