Montana

Montana. It's everything Colorado thinks it is.

Montana. It's everything Colorado thinks it is.

On the Big Blackfoot River above the mouth of Belmont Creek the
banks are fringed by large Ponderosa pines. read more

On the Big Blackfoot River above the mouth of Belmont Creek the
banks are fringed by large Ponderosa pines. In the slanting sun
of late afternoon the shadows of great branches reached across
the river, and the trees took the river in their arms.

I am in love with Montana . . . Montana seems to me to be what a
small boy read more

I am in love with Montana . . . Montana seems to me to be what a
small boy would think Texas is like from hearing Texans.

In our family, there was no clear line between religion and fly
fishing. We lived at the junction of read more

In our family, there was no clear line between religion and fly
fishing. We lived at the junction of great trout rivers in
western Montana, and our father was a Presbyterian minister and a
fly fisherman who tied his own flies and taught others. He told
us about Christ's disciples being fishermen, and we were to
assume, as my brother and I did, that all first-class fishermen
on the Sea of Galilee were fly fishermen and that John, the
favorite, was a dry-fly fisherman.

Of course, now I am too old to be much of a fisherman, and now of
course I usually read more

Of course, now I am too old to be much of a fisherman, and now of
course I usually fish the big waters alone, although some friends
think I shouldn't. Like many fly fishermen in western Montana
where the summer days are almost Arctic in length, I often do not
start fishing until the cool of the evening. Then in the Arctic
half-light of the canyon, all existence fades to a being with my
soul and memories and the sounds of the Big Blackfoot River and a
four-count rhythm and the hope that a fish will rise.