Ramblings of a Catskill fly fisher

Fate and a first Montana trout

By TONY BONAVIST
Posted 2/23/22

To say I was a poor student is giving credit where no credit is due.

On Memorial Day weekend, during my senior year in high school, I contracted a debilitating virus while camping and fishing in …

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Ramblings of a Catskill fly fisher

Fate and a first Montana trout

Posted

To say I was a poor student is giving credit where no credit is due.

On Memorial Day weekend, during my senior year in high school, I contracted a debilitating virus while camping and fishing in the East Branch of the Delaware River, at the old Dell Valley campground near Downsville, NY. I was so sick that I missed the last month of school. At any rate, I did make it to graduation, most likely because my dear mother worked for the school system, and the staff did not wish to embarrass her.

 Upon graduation, I had no plans, not a clue for the future. I thought about the Air Force, but my parents discouraged that idea. And college, with my grades? That seemed most unlikely. So I went to work at the local textile company, just plodding along.

Fortunately for me, at Christmas that year, my friend Joe stopped in to say hi and see what I was doing. We ran cross country together in high school, and did quite a lot of bowhunting, with little-to-no success.

Anyway as the evening progressed, Joe explained that he was in his freshman year at the University of Montana. He went on to say that since I had no plans, perhaps I should submit an application. He indicated that the trout fishing was spectacular. So more on a whim than anything else, I wrote to the registrar and requested an application. The documents arrived, and with the help of my mom, we completed the forms and returned them to Missoula and the registrar.

To say I was surprised when an acceptance letter arrived in our mailbox would be an understatement. Somewhere in the back of my noggin, since I loved fishing, a major in fisheries biology seemed the right curriculum.

Although it’s been many years now, I’ll never forget the morning we arrived by Greyhound in Missoula. It was an early September day when we got off the bus, picked up our luggage, and set off for the campus about half a mile away. Joe knew the way.

We had arrived early, with the sun just rising over Mount Sentinel, when we reached the Clark Fork River as we crossed the Higgins Street Bridge. I remember looking downstream and thinking, “Wow, a big beautiful trout stream, within easy walking distance to the campus!” Boy, was I excited.

The first week of university involved orientation and settling in.

Since we were both living in the dorm, Craig Hall, it also meant meeting our neighbors. I don’t remember how soon after we arrived that I met John Peterson, but it was within the second week. John’s room was on the second floor; Joe and I roomed on the first.

When I told John that I enjoyed hunting and fishing, he said, “You have to meet my aunt and uncle, Kate and John Chamberlain. They live out by the Bitterroot River, in that part of Missoula called the Target Range.” I think the name had something to do with Old Fort Missoula and the National Guard unit headquartered there.

Anyway, one afternoon, John came to my room and said: “Grab your fly rod; you’re going to meet Kate and John.” So off we went in John’s old Chevy. When we arrived, I was warmly welcomed by these two caring, sincere people, who ultimately became lifelong friends.

When John mentioned that I had a fly rod, Kate said, “Walk down to the Bitterroot and see if you can find a trout for dinner.” I didn’t have a license at the time, so was a little nervous about fishing, but figured this was Montana; maybe I’d get lucky.

The Bitterroot was only a short distance from Kate and John’s so I walked to the nearest bridge (Maclay Bridge) and down the bank for a look at the river. At that point, a side channel came around the nearest bridge abutment. Since I didn’t have waders, I was limited to fishing the side channel.

Because it was early October, with the sun setting and time at a premium, I turned over a few river stones, found a salmon fly nymph, attached it to my number 12 dry fly hook, and flipped it into the head of the side channel. No fly fishing this day.

On the second cast my line tightened, I set the hook, and a nice rainbow of about 18 inches leaped from the river. After a short tussle, I landed the trout, knocked it on the head, removed the innards, and returned to Kate and John’s. My first Montana trout! They were surprised at my success, but happy to have a nice, fat trout to add to our dinner menu.

As I look back and replay the history of my life, I have to wonder where I would be career-wise, as a fly fisherman and a person, had Joe not stopped in to say hi over the Christmas holiday. I firmly believe that fate plays a role in people’s lives. It certainly played a role in mine. And I’ll be forever grateful for these seemingly small yet profound events, like Joe’s visit, that had a major impact on my life.

fly fishing, graduation, trout fishing, fisheries biology

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