Madison River “Fish Story”
By: Rich Goates
“ My best estimate was that this Rainbow was in the 28-30 inch range and around 8-12 lbs... I almost immediately understood that without pictures, it was just going to become another fish story and some might just chalk it up to an exaggerated fabrication. I understand that, but the story is all I have. And that’s good enough for me.”
Rich posing with a bow that came in “2nd place” in comparison to this story
Fish stories have a reputation of being exaggerated and fabricated. The fish always seem bigger and the fish counts always seem higher. Even non-fisherman started using the expression “sounds like a fish story” to call out someone who was telling a story that was unverifiable and likely untrue or exaggerated. It puts fishermen in a lose-lose position constantly. How do I express one of the most exhilarating experiences of my life in way that preserves the experience while at the same time trying not to sound like an untrustworthy and wide-eyed lunatic? This is the conundrum I find myself in after my experience on the Madison River.
It’s my turn to be on this side of fence today, but believe me, eventually all fishermen find themselves in this position at some point in their fly-fishing journey. This is the core of why fish stories exist and why they are told and retold. The advent of the smart phone and the built-in camera have somewhat lessoned the need to rely on telling fish stories, but that only helps when you were actually able to land the fish and were able to capture a decent shot of these monster trophy fish we all chase. When fishing alone, it’s almost impossible to get a good picture of a trophy that fairly represents the fish and proves the proportionate size of the beast. So, fish stories have survived and here is mine.
It was our first trip to the Madison River in Montana. There were seven of us—two brothers, two sons, two nephews, and me. With a little bit of a larger group, it didn’t take long for me to realize that in the best interest of me and the group, it would be better for me to wade in off the shore and give the group a little more room to operate. My son, Alex, is a young entrepreneur and as part of his efforts with the company he started in high school, Uinta Life, he was filming much of the trip. Wading away from him and the group, left me vulnerable to the speed and depth of the water, but also put me at risk to disappear from the video and risking looking like the one who “didn’t catch anything.” It also pulled me away from any viable “net man” to assist in netting any trophy fish I might encounter on a river like this. These were known risks, but the prospect of getting my own water to fish seemed worth it.
I fish for a lot of reasons. For one, I love the actual fish. They are beautiful creatures and to feel one tugging on the line is as addicting as any substance on earth. Second, I love the experiences that it gives me with people I love. Getting away from the distractions on the hustle and bustle of everyday life to enjoy God’s most beautiful creations is a special treat for all of us. Lastly, and somewhat related, I love being alone with my thoughts and connecting spiritually with my creator. Almost paradoxically, I love fishing because I can do it with the ones I love, while also loving doing it to get away from everything and everyone. In this case, the urge of going off alone was more than enough to pull me to the middle of the river.
The Madison River Experience
The Madison is a bigger river than I am used to. Growing up in Utah, I spend most of my time fishing stillwater in the Uinta Mountains and fishing smaller streams and smaller rivers like the upper Provo. When I fish, I’m used to wading from side to side to get the best angle for any hole. The Madison was most like the Green River in Utah, which historically had been a little intimidating for me.
Still, with experience, I have gotten better and better at nymphing and I had gotten more comfortable with these bigger rivers. As I waded mid-thigh high into the Madison and felt the force of the water, I knew that I was taking a bit of a chance. Undeterred, I knew there were fish that I would have access to in the middle of the river that the rest of the group wouldn’t from the shore. So, in I went.
My theory proved accurate as I was the first to catch a fish. Nothing crazy, but that first little Rainbow proved that there were fish and that my set up of a Pat’s Rubber Legs and a “shiny and tiny” dropper 12 inches below that would produce fish. Fishing, like a lot of other activities, is somehow strangely more productive when you have confidence. Once you have put a fish in the net on new water, confidence increases. While the others struggled from shore and became frustrated, I got into a nice little groove in the middle of the river, catching fish consistently as I slowly worked my way upstream.
As I picked my way up the river, I was gradually making my way towards a major landmark. It was a giant boulder in the middle of the river roughly the size of a big camp trailer. The river parted around it and I could see the channels got very deep on both sides. The closer to the boulder I got, the more clearly I could see that the risk of being sucked in and swept away was very real. I worked myself parallel to the boulder but safely about 10-15 feet away.
I was most interested in the large rock (though much smaller than the giant boulder) 30 feet upstream from the boulder that created a perfect eddy with a calm pocket right behind it. Experience has proven over and over again that it’s pockets like that which produce some of the best fish.
I placed a cast perfectly in the eddy and within a second, I felt the tug of a good-sized fish. I’ve always been amazed at how quickly fish can find and take a fly in the water. It happens so often that I know it’s not a complete fluke. Still, it’s a mystery I hope to one day figure out.
At first, the fish just hunkered down, not wanting to move away from its calm water behind the rock. The lack of head shakes made me wonder for a moment if this fish had somehow wrapped me around an underwater stick as some big fish learn to do, but as I inched towards him, taking in some of my line, the fish darted into the fast running and deeper water on the far side of the boulder.
In that moment, and I had only a moment, I had to decide whether I was going to let this fish break me off or whether I was wading after it into the deep and fast water.
I’d consider myself a fairly safe person. I’m the one that doesn’t feel the urge to cliff jump at Wall Lake with the rest of the boys. I’m not a huge fan of heights and I’m not a strong swimmer. But, in a moment of pure adrenaline and the prospect of a giant trout, my judgement become a bit clouded. Almost without realizing what I was doing, I was waist deep in some fast water. With each step I was losing contact with the ground and drifting several feet down stream with each stride. Talk about growing closer to my creator. Those silent prayers in moments like that really draw you closer.
While I was making my way through this deep channel and quickly drifting down stream, the fish was taking line. By the time I got to firmer footing, the fish had slowed and I was trying to get him turned. I kept making my way downstream to catch up to him. At this point, I didn’t know what was on the end of my line, I just knew it was a big and powerful fish. I worked my way about 100 yards down the shoreline, stumbling and bumbling along the way. I was quickly coming up on a couple fishing. The woman was first. She looked the part of the fisherman, all decked out in waders, but she acted like a novice when she didn’t even attempt to move, assist, or really do anything after seeing my epic struggle. She was fishing 10 feet off the shore and by some miracle the fish swam behind her as to not tangle my line with hers. I had this fish almost licked and nearing my net. The woman, still in the exact spot, exclaimed, “Oh, that’s a big boy!” I thought to myself, “Yeah, no crap! A little help would be nice!” The fish was ready to net. Rod in my right hand, net in the left, rod tip up with significant “bendo”. My 18-inch net was woefully inadequate, the rim of my net hit the fish’s mouth, and the fly popped out. This giant rainbow flopped off the rim of the net, back into the current and was gone.
I had fought this fish through the river, almost died(!), and chased it 100 yards down the shoreline from where I hooked him. I have caught my fair share of big trout. My best estimate was that this Rainbow was in the 28-30 inch range and around 8-12 lbs. This was my “River Runs Through it” moment and didn’t have so much as a picture to cement the memory or to prove that it had actually happened. All I had to show for it was a fish story. I continued downstream to meet up with the rest of my party who was working their way upstream. It’s impossible to try to put in to words an experience like that. I think I fumbled out “I just caught the biggest rainbow of my life! I lost it before I got any pictures!” I almost immediately understood that without pictures, it was just going to become another fish story and some might just chalk it up to an exaggerated fabrication. I understand that, but the story is all I have. And that’s good enough for me.
