Beaverhead River – St. Andrew’s Corner

November 30, 2008 – St. Andrew’s Day

This day and this location have special meaning for me. It’s traditionally the last day of the season on the upper Beaverhead River. I named this section of the river “St. Andrew’s Corner” in honor of my beloved father-in-law. Our many hours together on the rivers of southwestern Montana ended here a decade ago. He was a local legend as a fisherman, catching monsters on this and other stretches of water in the region. St. Andrew, the younger brother of the Christian apostle Peter, was a fisherman by trade. Jesus offered to make him and Peter “fishers of men”. This traditional holiday is especially notable in Scotland, where St. Andrew is considered the patron saint of the country.

The day had an auspicious beginning. Determined to be on the upper Beaverhead shortly after noon to make the most of the warming day, I did need to stop in Twin Bridges at Sweetgrass Rods to pick up my Edwards-built Stoddard’s Special, which was in for repairs. I had managed to get its small ferrules stuck together during a particularly wonderful day of fishing in September on the Boulder River and, much to my chagrin, managed to crack one of the tips in my hand trying to pull it apart. Abject horror of horrors!

To make a long story short, the Boo Boys came to my rescue – and in fine fashion. The guys at Sweetgrass Rods are better known for their books and an illustrious history making rods, but they also repair rods. Specifically, Glenn Brackett, master rod maker of international reputation, repaired the tip in very short order. I’m immensely humbled by the class of these craftsmen. And that’s a term I use with great honor and respect.

Water

It’s surprising, if fortunate, that the weather cooperated on this St. Andrew’s Day. At nearly 45 degrees north latitude and over a mile in elevation, this section of the Rocky Mountains certainly can be in the throws of winter any year by this time. Temperatures were in the mid-40’s though this day and winds were mild. The river was abnormally low, as it was earlier in the month when I fished this same area.

Fishing

I arrived at the river access anxious to get out my Day Care graphite and flail the fish into submission via some deadly nymphs and streamers. Upon pulling in and after the obligatory pit stop prior to pulling on the wooly bears to keep my arse from freezing in the nearly-zero-centigrade water coming from the bottom of Clark Canyon reservoir, I chatted with an interesting fellow by the name of Bruce C. Bruce retired to Gallatin Valley from Bethesda, Maryland.

Either before or after moving to Montana, Bruce became an accomplished fly fisherman, judging by the results. Bruce so kindly and generously offered that the fish were very active on pupa larvae and offered up several in exchange (my deal!) for a bit o’ tippet that he was short on. After a great chat, we hit St. Andrew’s Corner together. Several casts and several fish later, I could see that Bruce was tiring. By then, I had rigged up and was ready to take my place at the table.

Well, it wasn’t exactly like I was knocking ‘em dead, but Bruce was right and they did like the little pupa thing. As low as the river was, it was particularly great to watch the rainbows come in to take the tiny subsurface speck slide down the chutes. I missed and lost more than I should have, but managed to catch a decent rainbow. Bruce, on the other hand, plumb wore himself out reeling in fish.

All in all, it was one tremendous day on the river. And not just any river. It was the river of my boyhood, the corner of my adulthood.