Coffee sloshing, I left at 5am for the Anaconda-Pintler mountains, 15 miles to the west. I had woken at 4:30, hungry, and got it into my mind a breakfast of fried brook trout was what I wanted. 45 minutes later I got to the place where I knew had abundant numbers of the things, a tributary of the Big Hole, around 7,000 ft elevation. It was just as the sun was hitting the meadow, it had rained the previous evening and a few wisps of clouds and mist clung to the doug firs.
If you look closely mid-way down on the left, the stream is visible. Notellum creek I call it. It has another, real name, but it's my place, so.....
I have been here many times over the years, sometimes with one of my girls when they were visiting. I've seen moose before, it's a springtime calving area. And once I saw a grizzly, loping away up into the timber.
I rigged my dad's bamboo rod, this is about the only place I'll use it, it's 80 or so years old, and I don't like to strain it against larger fish. Half an hour later I had two of these and walked out.
Probably the only trout I'll keep this year, and a fine breakfast it was.