As a blue lining and high country fly fisher, a whole bundle of my knowledge about the creeks and mountain lakes comes from firsthand experience. It's not that I haven't asked others about such things; it's more so that not many people go out of the way to fish the little streams and hike miles up a mountain to get their fishing on in this county. Most people I know fish the Kootenai, or even more likely they tend to stick to fishing a lake you can drive your vehicle up and straight into if they wanted to. More so, if they do fish the small streams and alpine lakes, most of them aren't doing it with a fly rod in their hand.

But any information is good information. If I asked someone coming down a trail with a rod tube on his pack or a rod in his hand how the fishing was, and he goes “eh, it's alright”, it doesn't tell me much. However, how they say it tells me everything. Did their voice quiver? Did they seem like they were trying to hide something? Well, they might be trying their best to keep a honey hole up ahead quiet. Did they stare me in the eyes or even stop to talk to me to say “eh, it's alright”? I would be hard-pressed to guess that they had caught anything over 6” for their trip. If it is a guy I know all too well who is carrying their spinning rod down with a treble-hooked rooster tail on a line guide that still has worm guts dripping off of it telling me he caught a few lunkers, 16-18”, and the fishing was wild that morning, I know to either subtract ten inches off those numbers or assume that those worm guts were probably from him removing his first and only worm after getting skunked.

I have been guilty of the “eh, it’s alright” as well. Actually, I use it quite often. People will see me fishing, hiking up or down a trail, or setting up a rod at a trailhead of some of the more popular trails and they’ll ask me, “are there even any fish in this creek?” followed by, “is the fishing any good?” Then the “eh, it’s alright” comes out, and I make it sound a bit extra pitiful. It is not that I do not want people fishing the creeks that I have fished and loved, but it sure makes it nice when I am the only set of legs in a pool. Yet, it does make me feel a bit bad when it is in a deep pool that entire families tend to want to soak in. The amount of children I have nearly caught on a back cast due to me not knowing they were coming in behind me and them having the know-it-all mentality for everything five feet and below their eyes but no clue about anything above them. It is usually at that moment that I will take down my rig, shake my head at the parents who weren’t paying attention to where their kids are (and the fact that they almost got an ear piercing for free), and I will move on.

However, sometimes I do give out information for free (with hopes that they might return the favor). I have put a few fly fishers onto a spot or two on the creeks that I have fished for years and know hold good fish. Now before any of my readers blow up my inbox, the places I always tend to suggest are simple, easy to get to spots that do get traffic’d regularly. Also, I occasionally pass around some creek spots in the Selkirks that are great little native cutthroat streams but to get to the spots that I suggest, and that hold rather big fish, it takes a hike of great distance through tight canyon creeks with lots of scrambling, bushwhacking, and bee avoiding that most people will turn around well before they reach the good stuff. This is my way of being the kind-hearted fisherman who is willing to share his spots, while keeping them a bit to myself still (while my knees still work).

There are places that I will never tell a stranger, and I may only think about taking a close friend. These are the places where the water sings in tune with the bluebirds song, closed off from the world and the wind of it all, a place where a cup of coffee is damn near ethereal and the cutthroat will eat an #14 Adams any day from June to October. They are, from what I can tell, untouched by humanity for the most part with no trace of human garbage in the surrounding area and the only tracks on the banks belong to the deer. This is the true heaven, the Father's Day Creek, the closest thing to pure disengagement from the crazy reality we all live in outside from these spots.

I had a pitch last year about writing a guidebook to fly fishing all the high alpine lakes in the Selkirks–pertaining to our county only–which would include the trail guide, information about the fish in the destination’s body of water, how to fish the lakes, and what flies work best for which time of year. I had grand ideas; basically an expanded version of David Nicholl’s Trails of the Wild Selkirks with the added benefit to the fisherman. Plus, I would get to hike and camp and fish all these places in a year or two while taking pictures and writing stories all for something I could tell my wife is “work”. That is a win-win. However, as I thought about the project more, I realized that I would end up receiving a lot of flak for the guidebook as I would be blowing up every single great spot in the mountains for cutthroat, rainbow, brookies, grayling and golden trout (And yes, I don’t know why but they have stocked a few lakes with those). But if you have followed my column thus far, and have read any of my articles that deal with public land or the trash around our county, the flak isn’t something I am too afraid of. In fact, I embrace it and wish that more people who oppose my views or say that I am a part of a political ideology that I am not would actually step up and talk to me about these issues when I ask them too. But people do enjoy hiding behind their keyboards.

But no, I decided not to write the guidebook as I don’t want additional pressure at these nigh pristine areas in our beautiful section of the Selkirks that most of us hold dear to our hearts. I am not saying that the book would be popular, but even a bit more pressure by, let’s say, less careful people would be a huge detriment to what makes our local streams and alpine lakes what they are. Plus, it doesn’t take much brain power to look at Pyramid Lake or the Ball Lakes and see the giant leeches swimming around to realize that pulling a woolly bugger around might land a fish or two in your net.

That is the joy of fishing streams and alpine lakes. The fish are not as picky as the ones from the rivers who, during the peak season, see fly after fly after fly constantly (whether natural or artificial) so they can take their time picking and choosing the ones that they want to eat. Food is not as available in the creeks and lakes where hatches may or may not happen, grasshoppers or ants might jump and/or fall in, and at times, the sheer amount of competition in these waters all can lead to fish rising to the surface over anything on the top of the water that looks even somewhat buggy.

An example of these is when I was up deep in the woods fishing a decent sized pool in a stream that I have often bushwhacked to. Yes, that one where the coffee is life changing. It was about 8:30 in the morning on a warm summer day and surprisingly large hatch of small, probably #20 or smaller, pale morning duns had begun emerging and popping out of the water. I look into my dry fly box and see only #12 and #14 PMD imitations. If I was on one of the great trout rivers this time of year with a hatch identical to this one, I may be out of luck as those dumb fish we love called the cutthroat trout would prove to be smarter than the average politician and would be able to see the lie that we were laying out there for them to see. However, in this creek, the instant my enormous in comparison imitation hit the water, a 11” westslope cutty slammed the fly and took off. A bit of play on my 4 wt bamboo rod to get it away from the submerged logs on the north side of the pond and the fish was in my net. Soon after I removed the fly and it made its way back into the water, the fly was taken again before I had a chance to stand back up. This is one of the reasons that I love to fish the small creeks. The fish may be extra spooky so the fisherman has to be stealthy, but they are also voracious and ready to eat.

After I spent a few hours fishing the rest of the creek, I made it back up to my car as a truck was passing by. They stopped as I was loading my rod up to head to another spot, and I heard a voice call out over the loud exhaust: “How they bitin’? How’s the fishin’?”

“Eh, it’s alright,” I replied without turning around. The window rolled back up in their truck and off they went. Honestly, it was the best day out I had all summer. But all fishermen are liars.

Tight lines out there, friends.