The float with Rick the next day was as good as any day we have ever had
fishing on the Madison. Lots of fish; some of them big. We didn't land any
giants, but we boated a seventeen inch brown and an eighteen inch rainbow.
We fished on the surface all day, so we hardly caught any of those big
whitefish that like to lurk on the bottom and suck up nymphs.
Rick is pleasant as always. A day with him is a good thing. The
conversation often revolves around fish, insects, plants, trees, birds, and
how they are all interrelated and affect the fishing. His head must be a
busy place too.
The fishing is consistent throughout the day. There are no extended flat
spots. That's unusual. The afternoon float is interrupted by a spectacular
thunderstorm. We pull over to the bank, don our raingear, and abandon the
boat. From the "shelter" of some bushes on the shore, we watch the opposite
hillside get pounded by lightning. The weather is warm and the clothes we
wear are of the quick dry variety. Not a problem.
After the storm, the fishing was on fire. We had two more hours of active
agitated fish. We got to the pullout late. Eight o'clock. An hour's drive
back to the shop to settle up, and we're on our own for dinner. Chicken
fried steak at the Café Eat was on the agenda. For a ten o'clock dinner,
though, we decided on a little lighter fare back at the Bounder.
A good day fishing. All fish released unharmed. Slightly traumatized
perhaps, but relatively unharmed.
Rags waited for us in the motorhome. He was glad to see us and told us so
repeatedly.
