Montana Gold

I've seen the look, the one you get for passing up the Missouri and the Skwala hatch on the Big Hole to fish for carp.  I get it.  I like big trout too.  But not enough to give up a chance at casting to a fish with its head down, tail up, and feeding in shallow water.

I blame redfish and the Cape Fear Coast for that. But why carp?   Maybe, I somehow sub-consciously settled for redfish's fat, ugly cousin, carp. Or maybe, I have no standards. Or maybe, I just miss seeing oyster beds and half-submerged spartina grass off the bow of the boat.  But the simple truth is, carp are the saltiest fish I've ever fished for in freshwater.  And the last time I checked, saltwater is pretty hard to find in the great expanse between the continent's mountain ranges. But it's out there. If you don't believe me, I could suggest some delightful beachfront property in SW Montana.   You might have to wait 15 minutes for a rancher to herd 500 head of cattle across the road to get there, but trust me, it's out there.

Absent on Opening Day

In grade school that always seemed to be the case on the first day of turkey season.  It was fun until I realized that sitting in the woods, not allowed to talk or move for hours at a time, and not seeing turkeys was just as boring as sitting in class.   At least at school I could raise my hand or get up and go to the bathroom.  But once I graduated from college, gained  a little more maturity, and became a fishing guide living at home for my first winter, I really didn’t have a choice come spring in my father’s house whether or not I wanted to turkey hunt.  All it took was twenty years of coercion and a healthy dose of winter unemployment and I was hooked.  There have been plenty of memories made over the past 5 seasons with the Old Man, but looking back, it’s funny how most of them don’t actually include seeing turkeys.

Like the time we set up on a gobbler in Jones County next to an outdoor grill in a tented gazebo.  It almost worked.   I was quite comfortable in my folding chair and boots in the sand.  Or another time where we had a grandmother and her grandkid on a 4-wheeler race down the edge of the field to get a closer look at our tom decoy.  I remember thinking, “Oh boy, this could be ugly…“ as Old Man stood up to welcome our unwanted guests.  I urged him to be nice, and not use any words like, “stupid…”
  


  “We are turkey hunting in this field, did you not see my truck parked down the road?”            The Old Man said.
    The grandmother snapped back, “Well, we ride in this field all the time, our land is right across the road, been in my family for three generations.” 
             “That may be, but this is not your property and I have written permission to hunt here.” He replied. 
        “Well, you just stay on your property and I’ll stay on mine. And if I ever see you on my  property, I’m calling the sheriff.”

She sped off leaving a cloud of dirt and dust as the grandchild bobbled up and down between the handle bars.   I remember being left with the impression,  “Well, that was a very adult conversation and quite the example for her young passenger on how to resolve misunderstandings. They must be lovely neighbors.”    At least our decoy worked…



Or how on our drives home, the Old Man would often let his eyes wander to empty fields alongside the road.
“That field there, used to be full of turkeys.” He would say.
My brother and I riding as passengers would notice the opposite and equal reaction of the steering wheel. The further the Old Man looked left over his shoulder, the further we drifted right. 
“Whoa, whoa whoa…” My brother interrupted. 
     “What? You see turkeys”  The Old Man looked right and the steering wheel corrected left. 
“We were headed right for that ditch!”
“Oh, We’re fine… and that field over there,” the Old Man would continue, “I always see turkeys in there”
 My brother looked back at me and braced himself against the door handle.  I made sure my seat belt was buckled.

I woke up this morning in NW Montana and absent on opening day.  Surprisingly enough, I received  a text and a picture at 6 o’ clock in the morning from the Old Man of a dead turkey.   When did my dad learn how to text?   And take pictures?  I hope it wasn’t from a smartphone.  This could be dangerous.  Parents these days and their technology....