To Fish or Not to Fish
Fish! Definitely Fish!!
Written by Stu Hoefle
Photography contributed by the Hoefle Family
I really can’t remember when I started fishing, but I do know why. The “when” stretches back over 60 years -as soon as I could lift a fishing rod. The “why” is my dad. He loved the sport and wanted to share with his boys one of the many adventures he enjoyed as a Montanan.
Dad started us out lake fishing because it was a lot easier to contain his boys in a boat versus on a river and I’m sure it helped prevent us from snagging everything in sight.
My greatest memories of those days are on the big lake in Yellowstone Park where Dad took us dozens of times. We caught Cutthroat Trout as big as we were, keeping enough for either a shore lunch or dinner at the Old Yellowstone Hotel. Dinner at the Lake Hotel was always a treat as the waiters would bring out big silver trays with our day’s catch, baked and presented upon beds of lettuce. It sure got the attention and the envy of the other guests in that big dining room.
When I was old enough to fish rivers though, especially the Yellowstone, (the Stone) the sport took on an entirely new life. This was long before Robert Redford brought “A River Runs Through It” to the big screen. The Norman McLean story, about a family growing up fishing, was one of my favorites. Unfortunately for us native fishermen, the movie was the start of the invasion of “pretenders” that flooded Montana’s streams and rivers and changed the makeup of fishing on our waters forever.
“It all comes down to the simple things that matter, and I look forward to the summer and the chance to float away into another new memory.”
In the 70’s, as teenagers in our endless pursuit of adventure, my buddy Jack and I bought a surplus inflatable rubber raft, a couple of wooden oars, and life vests from the local Army/Navy store and set out to be river captains. From then on, most Sundays in the fall were dedicated to chasing after big Rainbows and Browns on the Stone.
Our gear was simple: high top Converse tennis shoes, a couple of cheap rods and reels and a small tackle box with a few lures. With parental permission to borrow the family car, and a cooler full of sandwiches, we were set.
We cut our teeth on the stretch from Springdale to Big Timber where we learned how to read the river for both floating and fishing, figured out where the different species of fish hung out and how to catch them. A quarter-ounce, brass Thomas Cyclone usually did the trick.
It was a full-day float, and we probably cast a thousand times and had just as many laughs. Back then we owned the river. We seldom saw another floater and in those days, it was about catching and keeping - and the bigger the fish the better. Jack's dad joined us at times which usually led to small wagers for the first, most, and biggest fish caught. What great memories!
After high school we went in different directions, and I didn’t get back to fish the Stone very often, but I always managed to find somewhere to fish and with new waters came new techniques - like flyfishing.
I started playing with a fly rod when I was about 12, but I didn’t develop the patience for it until I got a bit older. After I caught a few fish, I was “hooked.” It was a whole different experience. I still loved spin fishing, but in college, flyfishing became my passion. When I should have been studying, the many rivers close to campus called to me and there was a lot to learn. I started to change my attitude toward keeping fish as well and began releasing more than I kept. It was a lot easier to release them off a fly and it felt good to watch them swim away as I smiled to myself thinking, “Thank you for the fun!”
My favorite type of fly fishing evolved into throwing hoppers. They are easy to see, big fish love them and when you hook up - the adrenaline starts pumping. One of my favorite hopper outings was with my wife, one summer day years ago. We were just above Reed Point on the Stone and the fish were going crazy. I only fished two or three holes but caught Rainbow after Rainbow after Rainbow - big Rainbows! They’d hit that hopper like a missile and then they’d jump and run and run and jump until I could net and turn them loose.
Years later, when I was back in Billings, working on a career and starting a family, it was my turn to give back what I had learned. What fun it was watching my wife and kids try their hand at handling first a spinning rod and then later a fly rod.
My son was about two when I bought him a little rod and reel, and for the sake of memory I stood with him on the bank of Yellowstone Lake and showed him how to cast. He even caught a fish. That was probably the moment I passed a lifelong love of fishing to him.
As my family grew, fishing and being on the water became one of our “go-to” adventures. I have fond memories of all the days we spent together doing something so simple. It warms my heart to know I passed on to them something that was so generously given to me. I’m not done either, my grandkids are getting to that age, and who better than the Old Timer to get them started?
Now, after all these years, having fished a lot of different places, I’m as passionate about the sport now as I was as a teenager - just a bit slower. Like the early days when it was a great adventure, it still is, but now it’s a place where I also find peace. Fishing is a chance to escape all the confusion and the noise of life, especially when hoisting a fly rod. It's a chance to concentrate on the very simple task of the casting motion, presentation of the fly and waiting to see if I can outsmart a fish. It all comes down to the simple things that matter, and I look forward to the summer and the chance to float away into another new memory.