Camp Water

Tucked away off the beaten path in Montana is the little town of Craig. I'm not sure if that definition would hold true in other parts of the world, but here in Montana four stops signs, three fly shops, two bars and one river do indeed define a town. A town where the number of residents is only slightly higher than the number of drift boats parked awaiting their next adventure.

This time of year the stops signs seem irrelevant as the traffic of summer has come and gone. The fly shops are kept open by the dedicated, but even the bars fail to attract much business. As winter slowly envelopes this sleepy Montana town it is the river that still draws attention. Beneath its shimmering surface are large Trout that bring hoards of anglers during the summer, but only handfuls of enthusiasts during the colder months.

I find myself temporarily dropped into this unfamiliar and somewhat unusual place to spend time on the river and bond with a few of my industry peers. Over the last four days we've fished hard, ate far too well, told outrageous stories and collectively cast an obscene amount of new tackle from Rio and Sage. When the boat is on the trailer this evening and the day is recounted I'll pack my bags and start the journey home to much more familiar surroundings. I'll take with me memories of big trout, new friends and several spectacular sunsets. I'm not sure if the sky is any bigger here in Montana, they just seem to have more of it.