The northern lights glittered over Patch Mountain as we sat in the north Yaak, tending a dying campfire. My 7-year-old daughter, Shasta, pulled the tip of her poking stick away from the embers, and said, “Daddy, take me fishing.”
All tagged Grizzly Bear
The northern lights glittered over Patch Mountain as we sat in the north Yaak, tending a dying campfire. My 7-year-old daughter, Shasta, pulled the tip of her poking stick away from the embers, and said, “Daddy, take me fishing.”
The early fall season is an active time for wildlife in this part of Montana. The moose are in full rut, and the elk are bugling, while working out a hierarchy of the biggest and baddest bulls. Bighorn sheep and mule deer are still in bachelor groups during the truce time before their own annual wars of dominance.
I was sitting with my back to a tree in the remote reaches of British Columbia's East Kootenay Mountains. I was with my friend, Bob Fontana, and we were watching a couple of three‑year‑old grizzly cubs in a large opening on the sunny, south‑facing hillside across the canyon from us. They were feeding on the remains of a mountain goat killed in an avalanche the previous winter.
One fine September day a few years back, I was fishing along a small stream in northwestern Montana’s Yaak River drainage. It was sunny, warm, and the fishing was good. I had already worked my way about a mile upstream from where I had parked the truck, and I continued northward, almost on automatic pilot, casting a gray hackle peacock wet fly from small pool to small pool as I moved.
Last Wednesday, I was working on a tool shed at our cabin in the Yaak in northwestern Montana. The light was fading, and I was getting a bit tired, so I turned around and headed back toward the cabin, hammer still in hand. I froze.