ramblings of a catskill fly fisher

The Snowfly

By TONY BONAVIST
Posted 12/11/24

Two friends from the University of Montana, “Weed” and “Snake,” have joined me by the woodstove in a small cabin in the Beaverhead Mountains of Southwest Montana. That cabin …

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ramblings of a catskill fly fisher

The Snowfly

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Two friends from the University of Montana, “Weed” and “Snake,” have joined me by the woodstove in a small cabin in the Beaverhead Mountains of Southwest Montana. That cabin is near the Big Hole River. It’s October, in the Rockies, and the aspens along the river bottom are in their fall gold; so are the tamaracks on the slopes. There is elevation here, and while there’s no snow by the cabin, the peaks are already covered in white.

 Both men had stellar military careers; “Weed” as a Ranger with the 82nd Airborne Division; “Snake” was a chopper pilot. Both were deployed during the Vietnam war. 

In comparison, I’m a lowly fish biologist, as some of the sports used to call me, in upstate New York.

We had been fishing the Baetis (blue-winged olive) hatch on the Big Hole those last few days. While I can’t say we killed ‘em, all three of us did pretty well, with a few 18-to-20-inch trout netted. 

We are retired or semi-retired now. Those two, after completing years of military service, now work as river guides during the summer and lead elk hunts in the fall. I’m a fisheries biologist-consultant and sometime writer.

This is the first time that I’ve seen those two in over 40 years, so it’s a special time and we’re catching up. Despite the fall chill, the little woodstove is keeping the cabin comfortable. Each of us has two fingers of 12-year-old Pappy Van Winkle in our glasses, neat. One does not add water to this bourbon. “Weed” was given the bottle by a client, who must’ve had a terrific day during the salmon fly hatch, and be well heeled. This bourbon costs about $1,200 a pop, so the man must have really liked “Weed.” 

After we finish the Pappy, it’ll be on to Jim Beam, which is much more affordable, yet still provides the same glow as the outrageously expensive Van Winkle.

As the night progressed and tongues loosened, I happened to bring up a book that I had recently read, called “The Snowfly,” written by Joseph Heywood. It’s a book about mixed Russian espionage, intertwined with the mystery associated with a large light-colored mayfly that the author called the Snowfly. According to the text, the fly only appears in winter on certain rivers, during snowstorms, and has been observed by very few people. In the end and since “The Snowfly” is a book of fiction, that mayfly remains a mystery and certainly a myth. 

When I was about done with my spiel about “The Snowfly,” “Weed” interrupted and was very excited. “Wait a minute,” he exclaimed, “I seen that fly, here in Montana.”

“What?” I said. “That can’t be true.” 

“It is. Me and and another guide were out hiking a tributary to the Big Hole, scouting elk sign, and it was snowing. As we prepared to cross, I saw these huge, light-colored mayflies in the air over the water.” 

“How many bourbons did you guys have before heading out on this so-called scouting trip?” I asked.

“Well, you know, a dram or two of good bourbon from a flask on a cold, snowy Montana night can warm the body and soul.”

“I see. And you’re sure you saw these flies?” I asked.

“Absolutely—and not only that, those flies are a legend in this valley and on that tributary. Folks here have been talking about them for years.” 

“Oh well,” I remarked, thinking to myself, how interesting what a few bourbons, a lot of snowflakes and some ingrained folklore can do to support a myth like the Snowfly. Nevertheless, some legends die hard, if they die at all. Like the Yeti, the Sasquatch and even the Snowfly.

Snake just refilled his glass and shook his head. 

Nevertheless: a good story, on a cold snowy night in the Beaverhead Mountains.

snowfly, ramblings, catskill, fly, fisher

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