It was my fathers 50th birthday, quite a milestone in ones life, and we both agreed to go somewhere completely new in honor of good health and the magnificent place we get to live. Late June in Montana, at 9,000ft above sea level, our trek up the trail lead us beyond pollinating evergreen forests, green meadows, emerging mushroom clusters, and many plants in their first stages of growth emerging from winters cold bite. What seems to be a nice trail at first , eventually shows its true character.

As we go further up the mountain, more snow reveals itself, and the trail diminishes under many feet of snow for about a mile until we see open skies again. Much of the mountain is still sleeping under five to ten feet of snow(or more), which was still solid enough to walk on with great caution. A time of great transition in the alpine country, we walk with much care, as one never knows what to expect in natures wild presence. Through perseverance and strength, we made it to open skies, and water that greets us in harmony for our diligent efforts. Large ice bergs still thrive around much of the lakes surface, melting quick as the suns rays cut through their transparency.

My anglers eye peers out and beyond into the lake, looking for a sign of any trout activity. As time went on, not a single signal of life showed. Not a rise and not a sight of any cruisers. If any fish were in there, they would occupy the sunny portions or ice edges, where food is available. Great flies where cast out there, with little to no results. During some of the first casts, a nice sized silvery shape came up towards the fly from the dark depths. Slightly tapping or mouthing the fly, the fish quickly lost interest and disappeared. This had probably happened three times, then all action had ceased. No conventional fly tactics were productive, no fish were even hooked. This was one of those great examples that even a great fisherman that I am can come up empty handed if the conditions don't fare or fish just arent present and co-operative.

Aside from my enticing angling pursuits, the lake is magnificent for its bountiful scenery, clean and clear blue water and rewarding environment. The trail was very manageable compared to other places we've been, but longer in distance than expected for hiking. The sun lowers towards the ridgeline, and some dark clouds threaten our calm and sunny weather. In frustration of the unsuccessful angling opportunity, it was really hard to put the fly rod down after walking all this way with all this gear that I didn't use. It's very hard for me to be skunked, but it is what it is.

As we hiked back down to the lower elevations from the lake, we remember the meandering creek through a lush meadow. We went to investigate, and find more life in the creek than in the lake which it comes from. Comfortable pools and flowing water is home to small Westslope Cutthroat Trout. A well placed elk hair caddis makes the small and pretty trout jump out of the water for the bug. Nostalgia and authenticity is what we love, and all my stress was relieved.

Our redemption in a good place reveals about ourselves, in which stress negates us from what we need to see. Pauses in life make experiences more thoughtful and meaningful. All the aches and pains are worth looking back at, because all that's left is the words, pictures, and memory of what was truly worth it. Being a snowpack pioneer is one epic venture we will remember forever.........