During my lifetime of fly fishing I have had the opportunity to fish many rivers and streams throughout the West. Some of these waters are famous trout rivers and streams of the Northwest while others are little known or known only to local fly anglers. I have some special rivers I like to fish that are outstanding rivers and grow huge trout, and I fish quite a few little creeks that I think are the best of the best. I fortunately have the benefit of being able to travel the Northwest much of the fishing season and feel fortunate to fish many rivers and streams, each one uniquely different and rewarding. One thing all these fishing hot spots have in common is the presence of other anglers, crowded boat ramps and full campgrounds. However negative that may sound, most often it's worth it to have the opportunity to catch beautiful native trout. For me it was the beginning of a fly fishing quest.

Eighteen years ago I started my quest for a body of water where no human had ever cast a fly to, where the fish were wild and had never seen a human much less a wading boot. Most of my fly fishing friends thought I was crazy, saying those places just don't exist anymore. I figured that living in Idaho I could probably find that little creek within a few years. Well a few years came and went and I had given up looking for something that I no longer believed existed. It just sunk in that there just isn't any trout water in the lower 48 that just isn't getting fished.

I think in the back recesses of my mind, somewhere among the cobwebs and empty spaces, I still thought that someday I might be fortunate to discover some little creek untouched by the dry fly. Occasionally I would spend a couple of hours at a time looking over all my maps and day dreaming about some of the little blue lines I saw coming out of those topographical mountains. Sometimes I even made a trip to some of those mystery creeks I spied on the map only to see anglers, signs of anglers or a parking lot full of cars before me.

Just when I think I've forgotten about my little virgin stream I pick up a magazine and read an article about some lost forgotten river somewhere on our earth or I'll pick up a book written by some well known fly fishing author and read about their adventures on some little stream they say must remain "unknown". Now I understand the reason for keeping their little "unknown" a secret but these authors have a knack for describing streams, fly fishing and trout with such clarity that leaves me with my tongue hanging down which is probably why they do it for a living.

I'm also fortunate to make a meager living fly fishing and I'm even more fortunate to live in Idaho where trout fishing is arguably the best in the west.I'm also lucky enough to travel quite frequently to some of the best trout rivers and stream of the Northwest. During some of these trips I might, by luck, stumble across a little trout stream from time to time that is simply a jewel. These little jewels have all the prerequisites for a secret trout stream. The only thing missing from these potential dream streams is the lack of anglers.

Sometimes a secret trout stream turns out to be not so secret at all. I have quite a few anglers who have recommend their secret stream to me and I'm disappointed when I get there. There may be a paved road alongside the stream or simply there are other anglers ahead of me. Whatever the case their secret little stream may be a secret to them but is usually fairly well known to either the local fly anglers or other anglers who claim it to be their little secret.

Therein lays the real disparity of my dream stream versus some other angler's secret stream. I must admit in most cases the recommended secret stream is everything the reference said it would be. And in most cases I can understand why it's called their secret trout stream. But those streams are not untouched by other anglers. The trout in those secret streams have been frightened, caught or scared straight by strange looking flies or fly anglers. My search has been for a trout stream untouched by other fly angers where the trout that live there have never seen an artificial fly. If there is a stream out there somewhere that can be defined as untouched it has left me with no clues to its whereabouts and is still probably hidden among all the other blue lines on my Topo maps.

Over the years my search has lead me deep into the back country of the Rocky Mountains, High Sierras and the Cascade Mountains only to find signs of other anglers pursuing the same trout streams that I was in search of. More often than not these little off the beaten trail creeks are fished more than you would expect. Many fly anglers specialize in just this kind of fly fishing. I can't blame them, the back country can be breath taking in all its beauty and I've always used fly fishing as an excuse to hike in the back country. Of all the miles of bush wacking the back country I've never quite ran across the perfect little trout stream, I've come close but not quite untouched. In many back country areas the small creeks and streams may freeze solid during the winter keeping them free of trout all together.

Fate has a way of just showing up on your door step when you least expect it. In my case it happened with a knock on the door. Our new neighbors had just moved across the street and came by to introduce themselves. Sean and Marla turned out to be great neighbors and friends and over the years we spent many a weekend camping or fishing together. Marla had grown up on one of the oldest ranches in Montana and my wife and I over the years had met with Sean and Marla at their family ranch to visit and for me to fish one of those famous trout rivers that Montana has so much of.

Marla's family ranch is a working ranch raising cattle and growing alfalfa. The ranch owns the water rights to the stream that flows through it and the majority of that water is used for ranching. Sean and Marla eventually moved back to the ranch and settled in on twenty acres next to the banks of that little stream to raise their four boys. I would visit from time to time but I was always more interested in fishing the famous rivers of Montana than I was a little ranch stream. However my interest in the little creek doubled when one year Sean took me up to the top end of the creek and showed me some small rising trout. The fact that there were trout in the creek made me want to fish it. But those trout were small and I was still fascinated by the big river trout that makes most fly angers excited.

The allure of Montana for most fly anglers is its majestic big rivers. My problem is I've been driven to fish these and other big rivers like an astrophysicist is driven to succeed in uncovering the mysteries of the universe. Over the years I have this unquenchable thirst to fish big water. I love to put my drift boat in at the ramp and fish these beautiful rivers as a free fisherman. Within these famous rivers lives large fish, fast water, adventure and amazing hatches of insects. These things and more act like a magnet, it draws you back with a power that is hard to fight.

I have seen many little creeks and streams along the highway as I've driven to famous fishing rivers that look too fishy to pass up but I do. I can't take the time to stop because it means more time away from my destination river and once I'm on the road it's hard for me to stop until I reach my destination. There have been times when the presence of a fishy creek was more than I could take and I had to pull over and check it out. In most cases I'll rationalize that it does look a little fishy but I have to get on the road so I'll just plan on fishing it on the way home. The trouble is I never stop on the way home. It's usually late in the afternoon or evening and I just want to get home.

Even though I knew Sean and Marla had a little trout stream running through their ranch, I just never set aside any time to really fish it. Usually when I'd stop by the ranch to visit it's usually a busy time between family, ranch duties and catching up on each other's lives. Then if there is any time left over it's usually off to the river to do an afternoons worth of fishing or if we're pressed for time maybe an evening at the pond. Sean is an avid outdoorsman and a pretty good fly angler himself, he had noticed that his little stream was showing all the signs of something very special. You see, the State of Montana had worked out a deal with the ranch to increase flows in the creek and let the ranch use canal water, which was nearby, for most of their irrigation needs. So for years their little stream just got healthier and the trout got fatter.

My wife and I took a trip to Montana this past summer to spend some time renewing old friendships. Of course when possible I'd squeeze a little fly fishing in if time permitted. We stopped by the ranch for a couple of days and after hearing about how well the little stream was doing I decided to walk on over and take a look. The little stream was flowing as if it was fresh out of the mountains. It looked healthy, full and fishy. I spent about an hour just turning over rocks and collecting numerous may fly and caddis nymphs that were so numerous that I just couldn't hide my excitement. When Sean returned for the day I couldn't hold back in my excitement to tell him how great the creek looked. He took one look at me and said "Let's go fishing"

Nobody in recent memory had fished the stream, I had been to the upper section and had seen numerous small trout feeding, so I was anxious to see just how well the stream would fish. Sean and I threw our rods and gear into the back of his truck and off we went down some of the ranches back roads to a section that Sean was anxious to fish with me. Where we stopped and parked the truck you would have absolutely no idea there was a trout stream off to the right because the creek blended in so well to the surrounding foliage that it just disappeared.

I could hear the creek loud enough but I just couldn't see it. Sean took the lead and started bush whacking his way to the creek bank. There was no trail, It was like no other angler had ever walked along the banks. I followed Sean as he picked his way down stream through swampy sloughs and a jungle of willows and brush. After about fifteen or twenty minutes, and a few hundred yards from the start, we managed to finally break open to the creek bank. What lay before me was a dream come true. Upstream from where I was standing were pods of large brown trout sipping caddis emergers not fifteen feet away.

Wow! Feeding trout just fifteen feet away, no chance of any other angler around and I didn't have to be anywhere else except right there standing in a trout stream staring at feeding trout. It was just at this moment when it occurred to me that this very experience was truly a dream come true. Without any expectations or planning I was on the cusp of the elusive trout stream that has haunted my dreams for over eighteen years. With that epiphany also came the realization that I should try and slow time down and enjoy every moment, smell every smell and cast to as many trout as I could.

At the spot where we finally broke free to the creek was also where the creek forked into a few braids that seemed to wind their way around each other. The grass was waist high or higher along the bank for no cattle were allowed to graze near the creek. Tall cottonwood trees and willows lined the bank. At a few of the places we stopped to fish, Sean and I had to clear old dead snags either laying in our way in the stream or hanging dead over the creek hindering our cast. As we geared up our rods for what I hoped would be some terrific battles against the trout we saw rising it became clear to me that my little stream was not only alive with trout but was alive with aquatic insects. It was early evening and the caddis flies were zooming all around the creek at every angle. Rising trout could be seen dimpling the surface in every stretch of creek that could possibly hold trout.

When you are living your dream then all the rules are thrown out and with a dream like cast I put my caddis emerger right on the inside edge of water where numerous trout were rising. Using an elk hair caddis as a strike indicator, just above my caddis emerger imitation, I watched as my flies meandered down the current edge for about two feet before the water around the elk hair caddis exploded. When fishing emergers I strike at any fish that is foolish enough to strike near where my emerger imitation may be and in this case the stream exploded with violence when the brown trout realized it had been fooled. After about a half dozen jumps the big brown settled in to a new strategy of tug o war.

Sean at this point had sat down on the edge of the bank to watch the show. I managed to leverage the big brown over and away from main current to where Sean simply scooped him up. I held in my hand a beautiful brown trout taken from a creek that had never seen a wading boot or an artificial fly. I looked up at Sean with the look of "Do you know what you have here"? Sean looked back at with the sly smile and without saying word I knew his answer. The next couple of cast were answered with hungry brown trout while Sean ceased to be an angler and instead became my guide.

Sean led me through some of the most wild stream bank I had ever seen. Deep bogs, chest high grass and thick shrubs made walking nearly impossible. The islands between braids were so thick with brush and grass that you couldn't see your own feet. We were walking blind until we were finally able to find the edge of the creek. Finding the creek again was like heaven, clear water and cobble stone make fishing easy. However the overhead casting at times was a challenge, but with Sean around it was "Get out of the ay I'm going to clear this so you can cast" and five minutes later I could cast unencumbered. Sean had led me to a channel where the creek was about ten feet wide and about three feet deep on the left side moving across to about one foot deep on the right side.

The sun had already set and what little light that was left was still enough light for me to fish effectively. As it turned out I didn't need much light because my first cast shot out about thirty feet up stream. As the current pushed my fly line over to the left bank I saw my caddis emerger disappear into the mouth of a nineteen inch rainbow trout. When I set the hook I knew I had him because of the dull weight I felt at the end of my fly line. However the rainbow didn't know he was hooked until I began to apply pressure to bring him into shallower water. That's when the battle began, with a quick sequence of athletic jumps my rainbow bulled straight up the creek almost to the bend. I quickly gave reverse pressure and brought the rainbow's head back down stream. Now it was a frantic attempt by me to bring in as much line as I could as the rainbow turned around and ran right back to me.

Just when I thought I had lost him he made one giant leap in the air so high and hard that he sailed a good three feet onto the bank and disappeared into the grass and bushes lining the left side of the bank. Sean, like a true guide leaped and jump like a trout himself along the wild bank until he dove head long into the brush. This all happened in a matter of seconds, I couldn't see Sean but I could hear him slashing and bashing about as he laughed and giggled out loud. Finally through the brush and grass I could see emerging a hand holding a huge rainbow and with a Rebel yell Sean tossed him fly, tippet and leader back into the creek where the battle resumed. After a couple of long runs Sean eased him into his hand and slipped the tired emerger from his upper lip and let him slowly swim away. A quick high five to Sean and it was, "Let's get out of here before we can't see" and we made our way back to the truck.

I'm lucky enough to have a good friend who knows what a wonderful gift he has flowing by his house. Sean also knows that he must try to keep his little creek wild and free while delicately balancing a working ranch and all that goes with that. Sean is well aware of how special and fragile that little creek is, he knows that with good management he'll keep my little creek wild for the next fifty years just like the previous fifty.

As for me I now know that dreams do come true. I have truly found that stream that has never seen a wading boot or an artificial fly. Trout that swim in my little creek have never seen an artificial fly let alone a fly angler. Of course I also have to keep my little creek a secret if Sean is going to let me fish it again. I think the next time I'm up in Montana visiting Sean and Marla I'm going to avoid the famous trout rivers of Montana and instead cultivate a lovely affair with a little trout creek that will forever remain my little secret.