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the Beaverhead, bamboo, two bums-and a girl

by Zac Sexton

He hadn't been fishing in quite some time. "I'd love to go with you. I haven't been since, well, let me think…" He had to think about the last time. It had definitely been too long since Jerry Kustich had been in the company of a river.

I fish just about every day I don't work-which works out to about half the year. I felt bad for Jerry always working in the shop. I could see his want of rivers in the way he stooped over rod blanks. He just didn't radiate the way he used to, smearing glue on bamboo.

I drove to Twin Bridges from my home in Buffalo, Wyoming, to visit the 'Boo Boys, pick up a rod from Jeff and fish as much as I could. The rod I was to pick up from Jeff is an unbelievable fishing partner, eight feet long, in three pieces and prefers to cast a five-weight line. The 'Boo Boys donated the rod for me to use during the Cuttie-thon, a 27-mile, fly fishing marathon I do to raise money for native fisheries and diabetes research. I am a type I diabetic.

The first cast with Jeff's rod, before the Cuttie-thon, made me smile. "Oh my god. Look at that loop! I don't even have to do anything. Wow!!!" I still smile casting Jeff's rod. I loved the rod so much, I bought her. I had no choice.

I got to the shop and visited with the Boys for a while, and looked over their shoulders while they worked. I had built one bamboo rod and am working on others, so any bit of advice given by the 'Boo Boys is like a drink of ice water in a burning desert. After learning all I could in a day in the shop, I planned to fish Jeff's rod with Mojo, my English Setter. But Jerry looked at the clock just as I was preparing to leave the shop. "Well, how 'bout we go fish the Beaverhead. We'll just walk up from the shop."

"Are you serious?" I asked. "You sure you can leave?"

"Yeh," Jerry said. "I've got done what I wanted. Besides I haven't fished in months."

"What the?…" Are you serious? Well let's go."

We walked briskly outside to get our gear and go. Jerry had a rod ready in the back of his rig, and was ready to fish in about five minutes. That included the time spent B.S.ing with me. I had my stuff packed in the back of my car and took a good twenty minutes to get ready-B.S.ing the whole time.

Jerry wasn't sure how the fishing would be, but said it would be good to be on the river, anyway. We might catch a few. We climbed the steep bank to the river and started working our way upstream. Jerry suggested I try a run on the far bank, under some willows. He would go upstream a bit.

"That's usually a pretty good run," Jerry said. "You should get at least one out of there."

I waded down a bit and began to work my stonefly dry, under the willows. Nothing happened. I put a beadhead dropper below the stonefly, walked back to the head of the run and tried again. Nothing. Now I was feeling kinda inept: Jerry's words, "You should get at least ONE out of there…"

But, the rod cast so sweetly. It wasn't an easy cast to slide my two-fly rig under the willows. I brought my back cast up a bit, and dropped my forward cast, sliding my rod parallel and just a couple feet above the water's surface, to get the line to flip just perfectly under the willows. Some weren't perfect-I assume, but I don't remember those casts.

Even with the wonderful rod action and good-looking cover, I wasn't catching anything. I gave up and waded upstream to catch Jerry. Mojo followed along, checking the slack water for minnows and frogs. He seemed to be having more luck than me. Afteral with years of drought now decimating the area's rivers, I shouldn't expect fish to be everywhere - right?!

I found Jerry around the next bend. "Catch anything?" I asked.

"Yeh got a few," Jerry said. "Not real big but I got a couple."

"Well, at least there's fish in here, eh. I didn't get anything."

"Really? Well, let's work upstream - there's some nice holes up there."

Scandalous clouds began to roll in off the Ruby mountains, bringing a welcome cool breeze. The next series of river bends brought promising, deep holes. Jerry and I had both switched to wet flies. Jerry used a black wooly bugger and I used my Marathoner pattern, in brown and yellow. We both started to catch fish regularly. Most fish were healthy Rainbows and Browns in the mid teens. Jerry said he landed one that was a bit better than 18 inches.

"Wow," Jerry said. "I haven't had fishing like this on the Beaverhead in years."

"Really?" I asked. "Fish aren't in every hole, but I can usually get a couple every other hole or so."

"Yep, that's how the Beaverhead usually works, it seems."

We continued alternating holes upstream and worked upstream to a point Jerry had only been once before. It was so long ago, he had forgotten he'd been there. And the water twisted through a number of holes enticingly. Jerry stopped on a deep green hole, and I watched as he pulled two fish from it. I wandered upstream and fished a smaller hole. I twitched the Marathoner behind a boulder in the hole's middle, on my third cast. My line paused and I set the hook. Instead of immediately pulling the fish in, this fish ran to the head of the hole, then back to the tail. I worked it with side pressure trying to slow it down. My rod bent fully and reverberated energy from the thrashing fish, to my hands. Jerry walked up behind me while I fought the fish.

"Looks like you got a nice one," Jerry said.

"Yeh," I gasped. "I think it is. Can't git it in. Might be the fish of the day."

After a few minutes I finally got the fish to me in slack water. It was a beautiful Brown around 17 inches. After getting Mojo untangled from my fly line, Jerry took a couple pictures of the Brown and I. That Brown made my day. I think it flushed a little pink as I kissed, then released it.

The evening continued with many fish falling to our offerings. Jerry fished below me a bit and mentioned off-hand, "You know it's not often you have two writers from Buffalo (Jerry's from Buffalo, New York), fishing the same river."

"And they both have beards," I added. "And they both love cutthroat trout. And they're both kinda funny lookin'. It is strange. Or, we're strange."

Jerry and I do have similar lives-at different life times. We fish as much as possible and love writing and bamboo. And as much as I love bamboo and fishing, I had a dilemma. I had a date with an attractive woman in Bozeman later that evening.

I was torn between finishing the evening catching fish on the Beaverhead with Jerry, or meeting a very attractive woman at a bar in Bozeman. And I still had to get back home to northeast Wyoming. Think, think, think…I stayed a half hour longer than I should have.

"Well, Jerry, I hate to do it, but I think I better get back and see about catching a woman for an evening."

"Yeah. Well, if you don't mind, I'm just going to stay here for a while."

"No, I don't mind. I'd rather fish, too, but I get about four dates a year. I better go see what happens. Besides I fish way more than you do."

"Thanks for reminding me. I haven't had fishing like this…well, this might be the best fishing I've had on the Beaverhead."

"Well, take care, Jerry. Leave some for me would you?"

"You too Zac, it was good to fish with you. If it wasn't for you, I probably wouldn't have gone fishing."

We said our good byes and Jerry kept casting his way upstream. I trudged back to my car, in a hurry to make my date on time. The whole way, I thought about the great fishing, how sweet my/Jeff's rod is, and wondered how many more fish Jerry would catch. I thought about those things through most the date, too.

Below: Jerry fights a Brown trout on the Beaverhead, just behind the Sweetgrass shop.