It was June in Big Sky Country, and three of us had just completed the spring quarter at the University of Montana. My two friends, Ed and John, had just graduated and all too soon would be returning East, looking for job opportunities—Ed to New Jersey, John to Pennsylvania. I would stay on for the summer session to take a botany course in order to complete my degree, and to do a lot of fishing.

Although we had fished the Clark Fork, Bitterroot, Rock Creek, Lolo Creek and some other streams and rivers relatively close to Missoula, we had never fished the Big Hole River, which was a fair distance away. Since it was salmon fly time in the Rockies, we decided to try the Big Hole. John had the car.

I think it was June 26 when we left Missoula, headed south along Route 93 through the Bitterroot Valley, and climbed Lost Trail Pass. At some point along the Pass, we turned left onto the Bitterroot-Big Hole Road, which follows Trail Creek all the way to its confluence with the Big Hole River. (1)

At some point along that road, we stopped for the night, set up camp, started a fire and prepared dinner. By then, it was too late to fish. So we went about the area, collecting firewood for the morning’s meal, then sat around talking about the next day’s fishing and our hope for salmon flies. It had been a long day, with packing, driving, setting up camp and cooking supper, so we all turned in fairly early.

Sometime in the early morning hours, probably around 3 a.m., I woke up because it was cold. And thought to myself, “What’s going on here? It’s the end of June and it was 60 degrees when we went to sleep and now it’s freezing?” So I lifted the tent flap to look outside, only to find six inches of snow on the ground! 

I guess that’s what happens in Montana when in mountains over 7,000 feet in elevation; there can be snow, even in June!

By then, Ed and John were awake. That’s when I asked them what they wanted to do: stay and see if the weather improved or break camp and go somewhere else? 

Ed answered, “Last summer, when I worked as a seasonal employee for the forest service, I stayed in a cabin up near the Mission Mountains, where there are a lot of beaver ponds on the property. Plus the Jocko River is a short drive away. A woman operated those cabins, and we could take a ride to see if one’s available, and fish around there.” 

“How does that sound to you guys?” Ed asked.

I replied that it was fine with me. Once John agreed, we broke camp, packed up the car and headed back toward Missoula. On the way, we stopped in Darby and had breakfast. 

We stayed on Route 93, passed Missoula and continued north until we got close to Saint Ignatius. That’s when Ed told John to slow down so he could find the turnoff to the cabins. Soon, Ed had John turn left down a little side road that would take us to the cabins. A few minutes later, we arrived at a small log house where we could see two or three little cabins in the back. Ed went up to the house, knocked, and a woman answered. She immediately recognized Ed with a big smile, while he made arrangements for us to stay in one of the cabins. 

While the cabins were small, each had four beds and a combination wood/cookstove. After we settled in, Ed took us out back and showed us where the beaver ponds were and where to fish. After that, we had a quick lunch, strung our fly rods and went off to sample the fishing.

There were several small ponds, and each one held hundreds of brook trout that ranged in size up to 10 inches. We had a good sport with those fish for two days, before Ed suggested we try the Jocko River, which was nearby. Since there was still some runoff, the Jocko was high, not particularly suited for fly fishing. Instead, we found some bait, and Ed caught two nice Dolly Vardens that we immediately cleaned and brought back to the cabin. We had a fire going, heated a cast-iron fry pan, added some oil, dipped the trout in flour, eggs and breadcrumbs, and then fried them to a golden brown. We enjoyed those fish with baked potatoes and a tomato salad.

While we didn’t get to fish the Big Hole River, Ed’s plan to fish for wild brook trout in the Mission Valley was an excellent alternative. Plus, we did not have to deal with the snow and the cold we encountered in the Beaverhead Mountains near the Big Hole River, at the end of June.

(1) As a matter of historical record, the Big Hole Valley is where the United States Cavalry attacked a Nez Perce encampment while the native Americans were asleep. The U.S. government had been trying to get the Nez Perce to move to a reservation, away from their homeland in Oregon and Washington. Instead, Chief Joseph, the leader, was trying to get his band to Canada for refuge when the attack occurred. The Big Hole Battlefield is a national historic site, a memorial to that attack. There are a number of books about the chief.