We Speak Fish

With cloud cover and tricos hatching on the lower river, we headed to the Bitterroot this week with a few trips and a client who could really cast. Things would be easy, if not for the language barrier. What do you do when the guide speaks very little french, and the client speaks very little english? The one thing you can do: Fish hard and get it done. We inspected fly boxes, talked european nymphing, and we left the little fish to the other boat. Michel was after “only the big ones,” as he said with a smile on his face, and that is a game I’ll play all day. Though the morning had trico columns flying over the water, the afternoon winds kept the spinner fall from ever really catching on, and the cold snap that rolled over the hills kept the sipping low – no flashy, splashy “all in” rainbow eats today. Quick takes with only the slightest bit of snout showing when these pigs decided to eat, and a long, drag free drift was the name of the game for the big ones. On a cloudy, chilly day on the river french national Michel Boissmont found his American dream with the universal language of big brown trout hopper eats. Vive la France!

If you can put the hopper right to the bank and drift it thirty feet, you’re gonna see fish like this.
No matter the language, good fishing is good fishing and Michel B. can cast a mean fly. Only the big ones!


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