I’m sure a few of you reading this are football fans like me. Seattle seems to have had a generally successful run since about the 2010s, with obvious jubilation in 2013, followed by tear-jerking (or, in my case glasses glasses-throwing across the room and breaking them) despair in 2014. To those Millennials and older, or perhaps some Gen Z and below anglers who are dialed into their football history, the Monsters of the Midway elicit memories of imposing dominance. The 1985 Bears. Coach Ditka. Mike Singletary. Richard Dent. Refrigerator Perry. Icons in the football world. I couldn’t help but call back to that imposing connection on our latest fishing adventure on the Madison River in the Madison River Valley of Montana.
We connected again with our good friends Ed and Jeanne Williams of the Rainbow Valley Lodge in Ennis. Of course, we talked about fishing, but also some updates on life: their trip to Disneyland with their grandkids, the most recent trip to Argentina, among other things. Down-to-earth hosts who enjoy seeing their guests enjoy themselves.
The plan had been to fish the Jefferson River, to the north of Ennis, and explore the Jefferson River Canyon. Unfortunately, the weather didn’t cooperate, and the river wouldn’t make for a productive fishing day. Having had as much success as we did on our last episode on the Madison, a quick audible was in order. Fishing again with Hunter and Sam, outfitting out of the lodge, we knew we’d get into some beautiful country and big fish.
The first day was wet. Very wet. Like, I’m glad we have our rain gear, and no wonder there wasn’t anybody else on the water kind of wet. It made me appreciate the professionalism and love for guiding the river I saw from both of our guides for the trip. Both Hunter and Sam are what I would describe as “good dudes”. Easy to talk with, personable, and genuine. That, paired with their knowledge, patience, and excitement for the water, made them the guides I’d absolutely recommend if you head to Ennis to fish in a beautiful part of the country.
The fishing produced some great memories and tons of fish. My buddies Ty and Alex were in the second boat helping with filming, and between both boats, nearly 40 fish were caught that first day. Nonstop action with each angler trying to outcatch the other. Our guides instigated the goading as we came together - “Add three more to the scoreboard”, “Well, we got a 19’er, how small were your fish?” The solid number of fish was one thing. Getting bit non-stop is always fun.
Again, nearly double-digit fish were caught by every angler. But the size of these fish is what was most impressive. Routinely, we were pulling in fish in the high teens. Browns, rainbows, and whitefish all with shoulders on them the size of linebackers. While the one legendary fish didn’t come, I was never disappointed when I hooked up. Every fish was seemingly in the respectable 13-15-inch range, with some bigger chunkier fish encroaching on the 20-inch size. And the fight? World-class. It was like being in a phone booth with a big offensive lineman. At times, the fish would seemingly be pulling the boat with it as it swam, dove, and jumped during our battles.
Ironically, one of the more memorable fish was a small one that I didn’t even land. Like a quarterback scanning the defense, I did my best to set myself up for a positive play. 15 feet out from the bank, approaching some tree roots, I had an excellent line on the fish.
The hook set was decisive. But this fish was tenacious. Immediately jumping out of the water like you’d hope from a classic rainbow trout battle. It must’ve jumped at least half a dozen times. It ran at me, seemingly knowing the weak spot in my offensive attack. On its final jump, it spat out the hook and swam back to safety, having bested me. All I could do was smile and chalk it up to a well-executed play by my opponent.
The second day was a completely different experience. Like going from a dome in Dallas to the frozen tundra in Green Bay, it was sunny, comfortable, and a day where you’d be just as happy doing yard work outside as you’d be fishing. Well, maybe not quite as happy as fishing, but you get the idea. My coach, Hunter, wanted to change strategies and get into some technical fly fishing. He tied on some streamers for us, and away we went. Varying my retrieval, we hoped to get into the larger fish you’d expect from using streamers compared to nymphs. Within my first three or four casts, I hooked into a solid fish. Unfortunately, the battle was short-lived, and I never saw it surface. But I think it had the potential to be that 20+ inch fish that had eluded us.
Not to be outdone, we kept floating down the river. A multi-play, methodical drive marching down the field, catching the same solid-sized fish as the day before. Towards the end of our float, we reached a slower pool of water that Hunter said had historically held some big fish. A guide’s knowledge and experience came to my benefit.
Like my first missed fish, within only a few casts in this new water, I hooked the fish and was locked into a one-on-one battle. Some pulling, some steering, and some muscle later, we landed what was close to a 20-inch fish. Impressive enough in size and more than formidable as an opponent, it led me to reflect on the past few days of fishing and the fables that come with it. Monsters of the Madison indeed!
