Fly Fish Chick

From my perspective life is pretty rosy over here on the Big Hole. We spent the last two days fishing and finding all sorts of new friends in & around Melrose. Come to think of it, I always seem to meet good people in this town!

We’ve been kickstarting our days at the Sunrise Flyshop in Melrose where our new buddy Joel talked us through our float plans, gave us some intel about bugs, and helped us out with the shuttles.

Day One we actually hooked quite a few fish. Although we never landed anything gargantuan, we had a great float with plenty of action, sunshine and laughs.

In all the gluttony I even managed to hook up with a whitefish. Oh well. It was such a fun day and I was in such high spirits that I kinda liked this greasy little whitefish with the gumption to eat my dry fly on the swing when I was busy talking over my shoulder. Hey, he even hookset himself. What more can you ask for?

We celebrated with some ginormous burgers at the Melrose Bar. At first we had drinks at the bar where we engaged in an across-the-bar eyeball contest with some other fisherman. They thought they knew us and we thought we knew them. The Professor was convinced they were the guys from the Chi Wulff blog. I’m not sure why he thought that, but he almost had me convinced to boogie over and ask them. But we were distracted by the arrival of our food and so the mystery would have to wait another day.

Instead we struck up conversation with great guys with whom we were leapfrogging down the river all day. This is Scott, owner of Montana Topwater Outfitters from Missoula. Scott and his clients were super cool, on the road around Montana hitting one river after the next, just following the fishing.

Day Two on the Big Hole was a lot tougher from a fishing standpoint. The highlight was this brown that rose along the bank and buried my dry fly in the blink of a trout’s eye.

Cruising along the river we saw the guys from the Melrose Bar the night before. Apparently it’s a small world on the Big Hole. Because after our long float, we popped into the Glen Bar and there they were again.

Turns out the guy was not of Chi Wulff fame, but he is Kendall van Dyk of Montana stream access fame. He works for TU and is the Montana state legislator who marshalled the recent stream access law into reality!

We had a nice time chatting with these guys, swapping stories about a very entertaining day on the water. And then topped of a great day with a gorgeous drive home. Life is good on The Big Hole.

Rolled into southwest Montana last Friday and The Professor and I went straight to Virginia City for dinner at Bandito’s.

Do you think Justin is excited to see me or telling me to hit the bricks?

We decided to interpret it as a warm welcome. The Professor ordered up one of Justin’s badass margaritas and as always the food at Bandito’s was divine.

We timed things perfectly as our buddy Scott, also the proprieter, cruised in and we had a nice catch up with him over wine & chocoalte dipped in chili powder.

And on the way out, this poster caught my eye.

A rockin’ outlaw country band at Bandito’s on July 4th??? Well Happy Birthday America I am there! See you on the 4th at Banditos for The Dirty Shame!!

We did the mash. We did the monster mash.

After a couple of tough days on the Missouri we were prepared for a fun float yesterday, managing expectations and hoping to drag a few up from the bottom of this swollen river. We ventured out late in the afternoon and it didn’t take long for Birthday Bob and the Senator to hook up on nymphs.

I was on the oars and quickly anchored up when we spotted a single rising fish pretty tight to the bank. Bob pulled out his 4-wt which was already rigged up with a dry, a small caddis pattern. After much polite deliberation about who was going to fire away, I somehow got the bid. I didn’t have a very good angle  so I stood up on the rower’s seat and much to my surprise made a few decent drag-free casts…and he ate it.

It really was a team effort to get this fish to the net and as we were celebrating and enjoying the fun of it all, Bob let us know that not only was it his birthday, but that the rod he’d handed me was brand new, never been cast. And he let me break it in with that rainbow!

Luckily I didn’t have to feel gluttonous and guilty for long because this bank caught on in a flash. I eased down and we continued to spot single risers every so often. Using the same rod and the exact same fly, Birthday Bob proceeded to catch these ghoulish hookjaw hefties:

If it aint broke, don’t fix it. So we handed the magic rod with the magic fly to the Senator and started trying to hunt one up for him. We found a few risers that weren’t eating quite as aggresively. Then we spotted another and anchored quickly. He nailed one perfect cast in there and Boom! He got his monster brown:

Like Boris Pickett’s novelty song our dry fly afternoon was an unexpected One Hit Wonder. One rod. One fly. One bank. One wonderful monster mash for Bob’s birthday bash.

We took our celebration back to the Trout Shop Cafe where we recounted the details of our afternoon and shared many more laughs.

And now I have to hit the road for awhile, heading toward Southwest Montana to see what I can find in that neck of the woods. It might be quiet in here for awhile, I’m not sure when I will have computer access again. If you follow  FFC on twitter I will try and send some updates over there as best I can. Until then…..

Catch you on the flipside.

The Missouri continued to rage at over 11,000 cfs yesterday so we had to go low. No, not with nymphs, but to the bottom of the cooler where the beer was really really cold.

In fact while others had great success running teeny nymphs about ten feet down, we were stubbornly determined to catch them on top. The Senator spotted a pod of rising fish not long after we put on the river and we literally cast to them for three and a half hours. The currents were funky. We were anchored a little far. And the wind was having its way with us.

We threw a thousand flies at them (ok, perhaps a tinge of hyperbole but it certainly seemed like it!) These fish would not spook, but they really didn’t want much of anything we had to offer. Will everyone please quit telling these Missouri fish they are “blue ribbon trout” because not only is it a pompous and ridiculous term, it has clearly gone to their heads. They were such snobs yesterday! Undeterred, we both did manage to hook up in this pod, but man it was work.

We topped off a fun day on the water with a little nightlife in Craig, where The Senator wowed the crowds at open mic nite.

If these trout act like little blue ribbon divas again today I am going to start dipping all my flies in PBR and force feed them a dose of reality. I realize getting fish drunk is an unconventional strategy, but I think it’s got legs. I’ll let you know how it works out.

Well my first day back in Craig was everything you’d hope for — other than a raging river about 10K cfs, lots of wind, and few rising fish. But conditions aside, it was a blast to see old friends and the fishing season in Camp Craig is in full swing.

It was a highlight to run into my buddy Mark Raisler who is a proprietor at Headhunters Fly Shop and writes one of the funniest fishing blogs around. Check it out, he wrote a lovely post about welcoming me back to town. Thanks Mark!! And look for a team post we are working on in the next couple of days. Mark and I go way back in the day when it was still appropraite to shut down the Craig bar, singing with Jimmy the cowboy guitar picker. “Moonlight in Vermont” was our surefire crowd pleaser.

Here’s Mark at the Wolf Creek put-in just before he took a look at the whords of people putting in, so he called an audible an picked a different float:

I fished with my friend Randall and a great guide name Kurt. Despite touch conditions we managed to con a few fish into our domain. Nymphing was our only option in the morning. Randall caught this lovely brown right out of the gate:

I answered with a rainbow on a nymph rig but the damn fish hunkered down so low in the copious amount of water he had to work with and it broke off right at the split shot. My cast really unraveled in the wind and I was bungling the nymph rig to death. Despite the lack of fish I decided to go prospecting with a dry, simplify my setup and hopefully get my mojo back with my cast.

We did find some consistenter risers later afternoon and Randall worked his tail end off too catch one of them. Kurt must have thrown every fly in the box at them and finally found the magic bug. Randall caught a really nice rainbow from that pod.

We stopped in Craig for a pit stop where I ran into my good buddy Bob Lay:

Bob offered Randall some moonshine and we were well fueled for the afternoon portion of the float.

I was determined get one of these troutsies to look up and continued to prospect with many versions of grasshoppers, ant, grasshoper-beatle combo and even some good old fashioned caddis.

Randall pulled out another pretty rainbow on nymphs:

It was getting later in the evening and while we saw zero bugs (that’s not true, I actually saw two whole bugs) we did start to see some rising fish. I set up on a consistent pod (I define consistent in that I can bonk them on the head with my fly line and they still don’t spook) and eventually I pulled a pretty brown to the net. That felt really good after a hard day the water. Unfortunately I have no picture. But supposedly there is some video floating around with the take and everything. Stay tuned…

After fishing, we of course settled into the scene at Craig which hasn’t changed much. Guides recounting their day. Cocktails flowing. Dinner up at the bar. Seeing lots of good friends. And laughter til I though I would collapse from exhaustion.

And today? We do it all over again……I [heart] Craig, Montana.

If you’re like me, when you hear the word “convergence” you imagine two rivers flowing together to form a new body of water. But if you actually look up the word, you will find countless definitions, including mathematical, medical, lingual, social, and financial. I was particularly intrigued with the medical definition that eye doctors use:

Convergence: The coordinated turning of the eyes inward to focus on an object at close range.

Who knew ophthalmologists could be so soulful? Of course it’s a timeless and poetic notion, that sometimes instead of searching and exploring out in the world, you must look inward to truly find what is closest to your heart. In this vein, I’d like to ask for your patience while I try to tell you about two themes that have been flowing concurrent in my life lately.

**********

The first time I heard about The Texas Water Safari was through flyfishing. Several years ago I was at a local flyshop and ran into some guys who were gearing up because they were racing in The Texas Water Safari, a 262-mile paddling race from Central Texas all the way to the coast. Ugh! Sounded awful. Why on earth would you spend so much time on the water unless fishing was involved? Pah-lease.

Well, the fishing crowd here in Austin tends to overlap with this paddling crowd, so through the years I have heard more and more about this crazy endurance race. For some insane reason I have actually started daydreaming about doing it myself. Which is nuts. Nuts! Me? I don’t really like to run a mile. And this event, billed as “The world’s toughest canoe race”, takes place in the heat of Texas summer, must be completed in under 100 hours, and draws semi-professional paddlers from places like Belize.

In fact The New York Times just did an article on the history and extreme nature of The Safari. Apparently paddlers endure heat stroke, hallucinations, capsized boats, cramps, water moccasins, spiders, alligator gar, and log jams which require tedious portaging of boats.

Hmmm, hellacious is the word that flows into my mind. And yet…could I? Naw! But maybe?

**********

The first time I heard about Rett Syndrome was through flyfishing. Through the FFC blog I received an email from Bill Farnum, a flyfisher, Nike employee, husband and father whose daughter Ella lives with a serious illness called Rett Syndrome. This disease affects mostly girls, is caused by a mutation in the X chromosome, and causes problems in brain function that are responsible for learning, speech, sensory sensations, mood, movement, breathing, cardiac function, and even chewing, swallowing, and digestion.

Bill and his wife Beth are fighting tirelessly in a campaign to find a cure for Rett. With the help of generous sponsors they have created Casting 4 A Cure. Bill invited me to participate in one of the two flyfishing fundraisers and/or asked if I could use my blog to help spread the words about Rett.

My response was “Absolutely!”…but I needed a little time to ruminate on how to make the story more personal.

Enter Anna Luce and her daughter Rancey.

As you may recall, last month I went fishing in Montana with a group of women I didn’t know. On the second day or so, I heard someone make a reference about Anna’s daughter Rancey, who has Rett Syndrome.

Whoa!! Rett Syndrome!! Wait, isn’t that what Bill Farnum had emailed me about? I’d never heard of this disease before, and now that’s two times right in a row. And both in a flyfishing setting. Weird.

Sure enough, Anna explained that her 19-year old daughter Rancey has been living with Rett since her toddler years. Anna has spent the better part of two decades working with the medical community and the Rett families battle toward a cure with determination, grace and humor.

Last week when I was in Alabama I was able to spend time with both Anna and Rancey. It was such an inspired day! With all the moms and the kids and the laughter and the sunshine, the thing I loved most was that Rancey’s favorite parts of the day were in fact the truest blessings of a summer day at the beach….the feel of the ocean breeze blowing your hair away from your face, bobbing in the waves to cool off from the baking sun, the mess of a red popsicle melting faster than you can eat it.

Rancy could see what the rest of us sometimes overlook. Blessings strike close to the heart.

First sweet Ella. Then Rancey. It’s like the flyfishing gods were tapping me on my left shoulder, and then on my right. But what were they trying to say? What were they trying to show me?

**********

Suddenly it came into focus. I looked inside and saw the answer. And good heavens, I hope I got it right because this is going to be brutal.

Next June I am going to race in the 2010 Texas Water Safari in honor of Rancey & Ella, in an attempt to raise funds and awareness in the fight against Rett Syndrome.

Oh my gosh did I just say that? Can you use White-Out on a blog? No? Ah! Yes, it’s true. I am going to do it. I don’t have all the details down pat, I will share them as they unfold, but here’s what I do know…

I am going to race in a canoe with my friend, Banning Collins. Banning is a flyfishing guide, white water guide and he will be racing to fight Alzheimer’s. He’s a saint to take this on with me.

I have already started following a low carb diet to try and lose a few pounds this summer. And I started doing pilates to diagnose just how desperate this situation is. Spoiler alert: I have a long way to go.

Over the course of the next twelve months we will have to get in shape, find a canoe, secure corporate sponsors, set up a fundraising site, learn the river route, test various sports drinks and meal replacements, acquire copious amounts of gear, and log about 300 hours of paddling training.

The Texas Water Safari. Rett Syndrome. These two storylines have converged in my life and now I am at the headwaters of utter insanity – and hopefully a new adventure. I’m trying to get my feet on the ground with what to do next. In the meantime, enjoy some images from this year’s race. Feel free to start crossing your fingers now. As you can see I am going to need all the mojo I can muster.

And here is a slideshow from the San Antonio Express news that really captures the essence of the race:

Texas Water Safari Slideshow

For Ella & Rancey….

Even though it doesn’t start for another ten days, we are in full swing getting ready for summer camp. Little Chick decided she needed a little more flair on her camp trunk this year, but the only stickers I have are fishing related, save the one from our local organic market.

So forget Hannah Montana. Forget the Jonas Brothers or anything Disney. My daughter’s camp trunk looks like a drift boat. Or at the very least, a guide’s cooler.

The boys over at Buster refuse to give me my well-earned Dirtbag Badge (instead they dubbed me a ‘Hippie Dirtbag Mascot’ which I am pretty happy about, I won’t lie.) But now I’m starting to think Little Chick might earn her title fair & square. Aren’t stickers a core tenant of the Dirtbag Code?

Since apparently I’m not a full-fledged Hippie Dirtbag, I suppose I am free to operate as a NASCAR-minded, opportunistic, revenue-seeking, blood-sucking strategic marketing capitalist. So next year I’m charging for ad space on her trunk. It just might cover some of these exorbitant camp costs. Media kits will be available in the first quarter of 2010, and you should reserve space early, keeping in mind there will be a premium charged for front and the top.

Oh hell, we all know I’m too much of a softie to actually charge for ad space on my daughter’s camp footlocker! Spread the love, I say. On that note…a few words about some of these stickers and the good Montana people behind them:

Izaak’s Restaurant in Craig, MT. They work tirelessly to feed hungry and thirsty fisherman all season long, often cooking late hours in the kitchen to accommodate the diehards who refuse to tear themselves away from those late evening hatches and extended sunlight hours. This summer they are offering outdoor live music every Saturday night, and I am thrilled to report a recent addition to their lineup: This Saturday June13th at 8pm my good friend Randall Crane is playing at Izaak’s and will no doubt delight the crowd with his spot-on renditions of classic rock and jamband favorites. If you’re there, ask Randall to play “Ophelia” by The Band. He nails it every time.

406 Outfitters and Production. My buddy Lance Gleason is a Montana-based outfitter and talented filmmaker on the rise. Little Chick is a huge fan of LG. I hate to undermine his outlaw image, but he has been known to sit with her for hours at the bar in Izaak’s, treating her to Shirley Temples and playing tic tac toe. He even made this bracelet out of flyline for Little Chick. She’s been wearing it for almost a year now. Little Chick [hearts] 406 OUTFITTERS.

The Trout Shop. These guys are so good to me. As we speak, Mike Bushly is helping me out of a jam with my boat. (Thank you Bushly!) Everyone in this shop will be crazy busy through the fall, working like madmen. But don’t feel too bad, rumor has it Bushly had a pretty good spring on the Missouri:

The Alaska Chronicles. Rave reviews continue to pour in for Miles Nolte’s book which paints a raw, personal and often comedic view of his summer as an Alaskan fishing guide. If you’re searching for the perfect Father’s Day gift, search no further. This is it.

Take a look at some of these friends who make my time in Montana about so much more than just fishing. I am counting the days until I get back out there. But first….we have to get Little Chick ready for camp!

You may have noticed that there isn’t a category on this blog titled “Food & Recipes“. It’s no secret that I am not known for my culinary skills. Best I can recall, the only post I’ve ever done on my cooking capabilities was about my flyfishing cupcakes. And technically I didn’t cook them, I just decorated.

So I was really stumped on what to prepare for my meal on the Montana Girls Trip. I searched high and low for a 100% foolproof menu that would serve a large crowd and that I couldn’t possibly screw up. What could I handle making from scratch and what could I simply purchase ready-made? What to cook and what not to cook…that is the question.

Luckily I stumbled on this terrific (and EASY!) recipe for Mexican Pork Tenderloin. I made this delicious, spicy dry rub ahead of time in Austin and carried it on the plane, double-bagged in Ziplocs.

1 tablespoon paprika

1.5 teaspoons salt

1.5 teaspoons brown sugar

1.5 teaspoons sugar

1.5 teaspoons chili powder

1.5 teaspoons ground cumin

1.5 teaspoons black pepper

The colors are gorgeous!

I defied the instructions to use only 2 TB on the whole pork tenderloin and instead slathered as much of the dry rub as possible all over the entire tenderloin.

I stuck the tenderloin in the oven at 425 and cooked for about 20-30 minutes. I probably used a bit too much of the rub, as the pork had quite a kick to it. But this crowd was extra spicy so I think it fit. We served up the pork with black bean & corn salsa, guacamole, green salad, Spanish rice, and tamales that I ordered ahead from Tamale.com.

Whew. Either I tricked the ladies into believing I can cook, or they tricked me into thinking they liked the meal. Either way is fine by me.

But enough about my kitchen prowess, there were real cooks in this crowd. When we awakened on the first morning, Robin treated us to beautiful fruit-filled breakfast crepes which pretty much set the bar for the trip.

And boy, did Anna meet that bar when she created this fabulous watermelon salsa! Watermelon, cilantro and as much fresh-squeezed lime juice as the law allows. Eugenia taught us all a new trick: microwave the limes just a tad and you can squeeze more juice out of them.

Anna also wowed with this gorgeous artichoke appetizer with curry dipping sauce.

Amy scoured the deep freeze and altered her super special spaghetti recipe to incorporate the venison she found. The other tip we learned as Amy slaved away over the homemade spaghetti sauce? Place a wet paper towel in your mouth while chopping onions to avoid the tears. That is a new one!

Team Spaghetti also receives the Serving With Soul award. Some slick dance moves accompany each helping of noodles.

As you may gather, there were lots of cooking tips flying about as we laughed in the kitchen and helped each other serve up meals. I waited patiently for someone to explain “Apples, Oranges, Griiiiiind the Coffee” but we never had a formal lesson on that one. Apparently they all knew what it meant because a few girls would chant it in unison out of the blue. My own inferiority in the cooking department, I didn’t dare ask, leaning on my keen observational skills to draw out the meaning from this elusive cooking technique.

Alas, it wasn’t until after our chilly float on the Big Hole that I discovered the true meaning of “Apples, Oranges, Griiiiiind the Coffee.” As we warmed our frozen bone marrow with an impromptu dance-off I learned that it was in fact not a cooking technique, but a pretty slick dance move. Apples. Oranges. Griiiiiind the Coffee.

Every party needs a signature cocktail and ours was the Moscow Mule, courtesy of Laura and Ginna who took orders regularly and kept them flowing each evening. Super light & refreshing, a Moscow Mule is vodka, ginger beer, lots of lime and crushed ice. I’m not sure why, but it’s near critical to serve this drink in a copper cup:

Lest you think we stayed in the kitchen the entire trip, never fear. We cut our apron strings and stepped out for some good food on the go. One night we ventured to Virginia City for dinner at Bandito’s.

You may recall my small world story with Scott, owner of Bandito’s. He welcomed us with open arms and we ate and ate and ate delicious fare. If you find yourself near Virginia City, go to Bandito’s and order the Carne Asada. (For those of you Texans who are shaking their heads at me right now, don’t worry. Scott and his wife are from Texas. It’s cool. It’s legit.)

And finally, toward the end of the trip we enjoyed a very special meal at Healing Waters Lodge in Twin Bridges.

Janet Lilly blew us away with gourmet treats including a lovely pasta appetizer, shrimp and rice curry, and an incredible key lime tart. I’d like to say a special thank you to the three guys from New York who were staying at the lodge and allowed us to bust-in on them for our fun-filled celebration dinner.

For those of you who believe chivalry only exists in Dixie, I am here to attest that I saw – with my own eyes – one of these gentlemen graciously pull out Eugenia’s chair as we were seated for dinner. All three were very charming dinner partners, and they were also kind enough to join us, albeit begrudgingly, on the “dance floor” when we had yet another impromptu dance-off.

Because when you’re faced with the decision To Dance or Not To Dance….really, there should be no question.

May is a precarious time to fish in Montana. Rivers are swollen with extra water and moving high and fast. Our Girls Trip occurred just before the hatches really turned on. There were a few callibaetis fluttering about with sporadic rises here and there, but apparently not enough to get the fish to key-in on my humble dry fly offerings. There was just too much water for the fish to explore, so we were sinking nymphs and stripping buggers just below the surface.

The spring-fed creeks and ponds at McCoys are so clean and pure that the water visibility is near perfection. Even though we were dropping nymphs and stripping funky bugs, I still had the thrill of targeting fish and watching them follow, refuse and sometimes even take my fly.

But I’m afraid sharing fish pictures with you is a bit of an albatross around my neck, I just don’t have very many. I wasn’t as diligent as I normally am about having the camera on hand. So I don’t have images of the browns I pulled out of the riffles in the creeks. Or the feisty 16″ rainbow that jumped and fought like a tarpon. Okay so that’s a tinge of hyberbole, but hey, that’s how it happened in my mind’s eye and without photographic evidence to the contrary, that’s what we’re working with here.

Luckily I was fishing the pond with all the girls (and their cameras) when I hooked this brookie. I was set up with a dry-dropper combo, a pinkish Adams with a bubbleback emerger trailing below. This fish took the emerger – and put up quite a fight. I felt pretty lucky to land this one.

One day, we took leave of the peaceful waters on the ranch to tackle a big float on the upper Big Hole. When we set out for this adventure, the sun was shining and all seemed rosy. But the winds shifted and a storm rolled in by the time we reached the put-in. I don’t know which member of our party angered the spirits from the land of mist and snow (certainly it couldn’t have been I!) but man, did we all bear the brunt. Bitter wind, cold temps and incessant rain pummeled us for the entire day.

We held onto the river as long as we could. My boat partner caught a gorgeous 20” brown while nymphing. I was determined to draw them up on streamers, with virtually no reward. I tried yellow, black, rust/black combo. The only fish I moved was a brook trout on an olive streamer.

Now if you look closely you can see a fish somewhere behind my brookcicles – uh, I mean frozen fingers. I know, I look like I’m holding a cheeseburger. My hands were so numb I think I was trying to hold the fish for warmth.

It was toward the end of the Girls Trip when I heard someone throwing rocks against my bedroom window. Lo and behold The Professor was in the neighborhood! He stole me away for awhile, and we fished some spring creeks in the Ruby Valley.

We saw a few risers and I offered a dry fly the best I could, but no deal. So I resorted to a streamer and had all kinds of action. I had a number of fish crashing on the streamer and following it, but it was all so exciting I couldn’t seem to actually hook and land any of them! I did manage to land a nice brown:

And at the very end of our day I managed to land another one. It wasn’t necessarily a picture-worthy fish, but it suddenly hit me that this was the end of the line for this trip and so rather inexplicably a spring of love gushed from my heart for this whole vacation and this creek and the scenery of the valley. I just couldn’t resist snapping a pic of this guy to freeze the sentiment of the moment.

So there you have it, my verse & rhyme about the fishing on our trip.

Farewell, farewell ! but this I tell
To thee, thou Wedding-Guest !
He prayeth well, who loveth well
Both man and bird and beast.

He prayeth best, who loveth best
All things both great and small ;
For the dear God who loveth us,
He made and loveth all.

excerpt from The Rime of The Ancient Mariner, Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Anglers know something of lines. Wet a line, throw a line, mend your line, strip line, feed line. Slack in your line…or better yet, tension on your line. Lines and patterns are all around us, both in fishing and in life. If you’re a mom, you know there is a fine line between doing something selfish and doing something for yourself. Faced with any opportunity that takes us away from our kids, we have to pull out the moral magnifying glass to examine just how badly we might be crossing it.

This past week eight women emerged from below the Mason Dixon Line, headed somewhere near the Great Divide on a quest for fish, fellowship and a touch of freedom. Six of the women were from Alabama, one from North Carolina, and yours truly from Texas. All together we have 25 children and nine grandchildren. Oh yeah, these mama chickens were flying the coop alright!

Unfortunately, our great escape to Montana was no easy task. Granted the shortest distance between point A and point B is a straight line, but air travel doesn’t always follow that flight pattern. Right out of the gate four members of our crew were detained in Memphis for an entire travel day, including our fearless leader, Ginna. They spent endless hours in the birthplace of Sun Records and the music of Elvis and Cash while three of us towed the line on a different route all the way to Bozeman.

Did I mention we didn’t all know each other? Ginna had assembled a group of women whom she thought would enjoy learning to fish and other ranchy adventures of the West. We each had our own ties to her, but not necessarily to each other.

(Boy, has that since changed!)

So I wandered the Bozeman airport looking for two women I knew only by description. I did find Ashley and Robin easily enough, although locating the ranch vehicle in the airport parking lot was a challenge. Tired of searching I almost accidentally stole the wrong suburban that was also using the key-in-the-gas-tank trick. Oops. Luckily I didn’t get far before figuring it out, thus avoiding grand theft auto and a police lineup.

So there I was barreling down the road in a car that wasn’t mine with two women I’d just met. But the one thing I recognized? Montana. It was an unmistakable view and a feeling I’ve had time and time again. Following that white line down a Montana highway, drawing me back in. I loved it.

And I loved my new girlfriends! We were chatting away halfway to Dillon when Robin received a call.

Robin answered, “Hey, what’s going on?”

Her fourteen year old son was on the line and inquired, “Where are you?”

“Montana.”

“Oh, never mind.”

“Did you forget I was coming out to Montana for a week?”

“Uh… yeah, never mind.”

Robin, “You were calling for a ride somewhere weren’t you?”

Her sweet son, “Well, yeah.”

I suppose that fine line between motherhood and guilty independence shifts considerably when kids reach their teenage years.

The three of us served as the advance team with a run to the grocery store and settling into the ranch. We awakened to discover the remainder of the Alabama crowd who arrived at some ghastly hour in the middle of the night, while Laura came the following day from North Carolina. She had rented her own car because she also had to leave early for a funeral.

As you can see, it was no small task assembling this group. We had coordinated kids and dads and sitters and in-laws. Lined up diapers and playdates. Said ‘no thank you’ to other trips. Re-arranged travel to accommodate emergencies. Saved pennies and traded in miles. One member of our posse even overcame her dire phobia of flying to be a part of this trip. It’s remarkable what women can do when they set their sights on something.

I roomed with Amy, whom I’d met only once before, very briefly at a Mardi Gras party in Mobile. That said, it was as if we’d known each other for ages, discovering ties to Texas friends and Texmex food and Hatch Show Print and Montana fishing and Hill Country music. Amy, a former celebrity TV journalist and all-around brilliant media guru brought custom CDs for the trip and great movies to watch like ‘Walk The Line’. Oh yeah, my roomie’s a Cash fan.

This was, without question, one of the most fun-filled and purposeful trips I have ever been a part of. These talented, inspired women were thoroughly undeterred by the rigors of travel and were ready for the journey. Keeping the ties that bind close to our hearts, we dove into this Montana adventure with our eyes wide open all the time.

We kicked off the trip with fly fishing lessons on the ranch, where we fished most days. I was blown away by everyone’s natural penchant for casting and their innate ability to appreciate the nuances of fish and fishing.

These Dixie girls loved it all – the weather, the scenery, the trout, the waters, the flies, the guides, the whole process. I have never met a more positive group of people!

Everyone caught fish over the course of the week, and the light and energy they brought to this sport was beyond refreshing.

But it wasn’t all fishing on spring-fed ponds and creeks. Oh no. There was fishing to be sure, but there was also plenty of cooking, painting, hiking, dancing and laughing. This group was primed to soak up any & all of the local culture. We watched as they loaded cattle onto trucks. Went to the Follies in Virginia City. Enjoyed amazing music from the Dillon Junior Fiddlers and were entertained by a real live Cowboy Poet.

Did I mentioned we laughed? I mean we really laughed. I can honestly say we are leaving Montana with a few extra laugh lines.

We drank wine and ate copious amounts of food, swapping recipes and cooking tips. We had dynamic conversations about faith and religion and motherhood and art and conservation. We came to know each other through stories about our kids, husbands, ex-husbands, careers, romances, grief and dreams for what lies ahead.

It’s humbling to have been a part of such a dynamic group, and I am blessed to call each one of these women a true friend for life. I will do my best in the coming days to recount some of the stories from the trip — including some great fish despite tough run-off conditions and tricky spring weather.

In the end, we never got around to watching the movie ‘Walk The Line’. Frankly we were too busy walking it ourselves. Walk the line, cast the line, mend the line. We did it all, literally and figuratively.

I can’t claim it as my own, but one of the favorite lines of the trip was, “Just Cast On Sistah!” Which seems terribly appropriate since after all, the technical definition of a line is nothing more than a straight curve.