My friend Doug and I always fished these on the east Fork of the Smith River. On summer days I would walk to his house. He would grab his rod and a box of flies. Off we would go for a day of fishing next to the town.

We always waded wet with black and white sneakers. The first step in the cold mountain water left us breathless. But soon we adjusted, or just got numb.

We gave the gopher tails lots of action by twitching the line or rod. Doug was a great fisherman and could always make the gopher tails sing.

We caught browns, rainbows, brookies, and whitefish on these creations. I have no idea what they imitated but they worked.

On our way home we would stop at the light studded truck stop café for a cold drink. With sneakers squishing water and pungent river mud we would order a tall icy glass of Coke. The first sip tasted like sparkling cold neon from a fifties time machine and we would fly home with Elvis as our wings.

One summer day I got a phone call from a man who owned a large lumber company. He asked if I would guide a friend of his who just came into town and wanted to fish.

So at the age of twelve I met my first client. He drove us to the river close to town. We put our rods together and got the fishing gear ready.

He asked me what flies were working and I gave him a couple of gopher tail yellows. We fished together for awhile and then split up.

Later that evening we met at his car. He was dazed. He had caught three eighteen inch browns on my gopher tails.

A few years ago I was driving to Bozeman and saw a fresh road kill gopher. I put on the brakes and stopped. I grabbed the gopher by the tail and gave it a brisk swing. The gopher body went flying into the bushes leaving the tail in my hand.

I had fly tying material. I had been wondering if the old gopher tail fly would work on the Madison River.

When I arrived home I tied three gopher tail yellows with a gold bead head. I put them in my fly box for my next day of fishing.

A few days later I was standing waist high in one of my favorite runs. The fishing had been great and I thought it might be a good time to try my new gopher tail.

I tied one on my leader and cast upstream and across the water twitching as it drifted. Bam! A huge rainbow flew high into the air, falling back into a watery chrome jukebox when Elvis was the king. My gopher tail from that era still worked.

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Copyright © Bern Sundell 2009. All Rights Reserved.

Bill and I had stopped out driftboat at our favorite spot, the Evening Hole. Sitting in the boat looking out across the water I felt like and old rock and roll star getting ready to play the blues in a distant smoky bar.

My fly box was full of large streamers I use for special occasions. I pulled out my favorite fly, the articulated Bad Boy. It’s a streamer with neon yellow rubber legs and feathers of half a chicken. I carefully tied it to my heavy 1X tippit and I was ready to fish.

Bill wanted to fish upstream so I worked my way downstream, looking for a good casting position. I pulled out enough line to reach the hole’s secret sweet spot.

I laid out a long cast across and upstream. I always throw a large upstream mend to let the fly sink quickly without line tension. As it starts to swing I give the fly lots of erratic action by pumping the rod or twitching the line.

I cast three more times always moving a step or two downstream to fish new water on each cast. On the fifth cast the green line stopped suddenly. A huge yellow brown trout leaped into the October sky, twisting and turning as it fell back into the Madison River.

The great trout made several powerful runs and I slowly worked my way across large slick river stones toward the shallow water along the bank.

Bill had the net ready and the big trout made one more long run. With rod held hige I reeled in the monster brown and Bill quickly slid the net under it.

The trout’s head had a large hooked jaw and iridescent colors that glowed like midnight neoon. The brown measured twent five inches, a nice fish on any river.

We photographed and released him back into the Madison riffles. Smiling, we continued our journey down the river. At the last deep run Bill caught a beautiful eighteen inc rainbow, a great way to end another day on the Madison.

That evening after a great dinner I looked at my streamer collection. There many empty spots that needed to be filled.

I sat at my fly tying bench and started to gather up materials to renew my Bad Boy collection. These flies take a lot of materials and time to make, but the results are magnificent. I opened several drawers looking for pearl and root beer Lite Brite.

In the back of one drawer I found an old familiar wood box. I blew off the dust and gently opened it. There were several dozen battered flies that were chewed up and worthless for fishing. Why would anybody keep such old worn out flies?

I picked up one of the bedraggled flies. It was a gray hackle peacock that I had made over fifty years ago. As I held it up to the light I could see my father and me riding through a twisted aged pines in the Little Belt Mountains. We followed a trail through a stand of aspens to see the Tenderfoot, a stream of dreams.

We tied up the horses and had a quick lunch. I opended a saddlebag and found my father’s multi piece bamboo fly rod. I put it together and strung the lfy line.

Dad found the fly box in another saddlebag and opened it. He looked at the flies and pointed to the gray hackle peacock. I swiftly tied it on my leader.

I looked at the sparkling Tenderfoot and noticed a large stone with a quiet pool full of bubbles. I false cast several times, working out the line. The fly dropped next to the boulder.

It floated several feet and Bam! A trout came flying into the mountain air! After several fast runs I slid it into some tall grass.

When I picked up the trout I saw the bright orange slashes under its throat. I held it up in the sun for Dad to see. It was a fine fourteen inch cutthroat.

For the next hour Dad sat under a shady aspen and watched me catch a few more trout. I knew he was smiling.

All too soon we put the rod away and continued our journey through the Little Belts.

Bright headlights safely guided us back home. It was a great gray hackle peacock day.

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Copyright © Bern Sundell 2009. All Rights Reserved.

White flame mountains leaped into the pink Montana sky. Headlights sparkled in the cloudy dust as we drove down the washboard gravel road to Palisades boat launch. It was a great spring morning with promises of large leaping trout.

We parked at the rigging area to put waders on and get the boat ready for the morning float. Our fishing dog, Plato, ran around sniffing bushes and wild flowers.

I strung two six weight nine foot rods and tied on stout 2x fluorocarbon tippets. I opened my suitcase-like streamer box and eyed every row trying to make a decision.

I picked a streamer with olive marabou, olive grizzly hackle wings and a spun olive rabbit fur head. It was a sculpin pattern that I created several years ago. It had taken many trout in Southwest Montana and is always a must in my fly box.

I tied it on Lexi’s rod and put it in the back of the boat. I picked up my flyless rod and looked deeper in the fly box. Neon yellow rubber legs caught my eye.

The night before I was tying streamers and went a little on the wild side. I tied an an olive rabbit strip over the back with the neon yellow rubber legs coming out of a sparkly Lite Brite body.

When Lexi saw this creation she said, “Hey, Baby, I need my sunglasses, that fly is so bright!”

Without hesitation I plucked the neon fly from the box and tied it on my tippet.

We pushed the drift boat into the pink blue Madison. Lexi said she would row first since there was no wind. I picked up my rod and pulled out some line.

The mint colored line went shooting out across the Madison, landing behind a large stone. As I stripped it back I could easily see the yellow legs dancing in the current. I cast a few more times and thought about changing the fly.

As I pulled it through the water the fly stopped suddenly and a crimson sided rainbow came flying out of the early morning water with the yellow legged fly in its mouth. It made a fast sweeping run toward a large stone and Lexi moved the boat to keep it from breaking off.

After a few runs we were able to net it and Plato made a great victory woof. We released the fish in the hammered silver current and I was ready for more neon action.

As we floated down the silver winding path I caught and released several more rainbows and browns.

I took the oars and Lexi tried the new neon sensation with the same results. As the morning floated awa we lost a couple of flies on underwater snags and a few on the bushes. The supply was gone.

Yesterday’s Flies

Going back in time when Elvis was the King and Jerry Lee Lewis played Great Balls of Fire on his golden piano, my parents gave me a subscription to Outdoor Life as a Christmas gift. Every year the summer issue had fold out posters of game fish.

I had my bedroom walls plastered with pictures of leaping trout. An old table was set up as a fly tying bench. During that time somebody gave me a yellow and red Herter’s catalog.

I spent hours reading about various lures and checking out prices on fly tying materials I could afford. Getting a dry fly grizzly neck was the ultimate. Orders seemed like they took eternity to arrive in Montana.

Each month Outdoor Life would arrive. I eagerly read everything about fishing first. As the magazines kept arriving, one issue had an article by the outdoor writer Erwin Bauer.

The topic was the muddler minnow, a fly Don Gaden invented in the early fifties. He tied it to imitate the sculpin minnow that the large Canadian brook trout loved. After reading this article I became a lifetime streamer fisherman.

I used the muddler along with other flies for years. As I kept tying flies I became more interested in trying new patterns rather than following traditional ones. I start crossbreeding flies, taking successful elements from one to add to another.

Another Madison Morning

A week after I tried the yellow rubber leg creation we got a phone call from Marty who wanted to know if we had room for him in the boat. We said we always had room if he could row.

A surprisingly quick study, after only two days of learning, he had the rowing figured out. The next morning we fished the bigger runs close to Ennis.

Marty unsuccessfully fished several flies from his box and was frustrated. I opened my fly box and handed him one of the new neon yellow rubber legged creations. I said, “Put this fly on.”

I was rowing and noticed a nice drop off close to some fast water. “Throw your fly in there.” Wham! A huge yellow Madison River brown came flying into the air throwing water sparkles in the morning sun. The fish made a sizzling run upstream and vanished in the silver currents.

Smiling, Marty reeled in his line and said, “I like that fly.”

That evening Lexi and I were looking at the new fly. She announced, “That fly looks like it has an attitude. Let’s call it the Bad Boy.”

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Copyright © Bern Sundell 2007. All Rights Reserved.