Casting Back in Time: A Glacier National Park Fly Fishing Story

Glacier National Park, Montana, USA had always been on my bucket list for National Parks, but not necessarily for fishing. This trip was more about the mountains, the alpine air, and soaking in some of the most stunning vistas the American West has to offer. Still, I knew I couldn’t go without packing a rod. The Sage ONE 590—my old single-hander—got the nod. It doesn’t see much action these days since I’ve gone headlong into the world of Spey casting. But something about this trip felt like the right time to return to where it all began.

It wasn’t a dedicated fishing trip, and honestly, with the amount of hiking and sightseeing on the itinerary, I knew I’d have to squeeze in casts where I could. But that was part of the appeal. No pressure, no checking-off boxes. Just me, some dry flies, and a handful of opportunities to fish some of the purest waters left in the lower 48. Even though Glacier doesn’t require a fishing license, I bought one anyway. It felt right. These waters belong to everyone, sure—but if I was going to enjoy the resource, I wanted to give back, however small the gesture.

One of the standout hikes was Avalanche Lake. It’s not a secret by any means—it’s one of the most popular trails in the park—but for good reason. The trail winds through ancient cedar and hemlock forest before opening up to the lake, framed by towering cliffs and thin waterfalls spilling down their faces. It’s the kind of scene that makes you stop mid-sentence. I brought the rod just in case. A few onlookers gave me curious glances as I strung it up, but I didn’t mind. There were a few fish rising close to the outflow, a log jam of sorts, and I couldn’t resist. I tied on a classic elk hair caddis, floated it out, and within minutes, a nose poked through the film.

What came to hand was nothing short of perfection—a West Slope Cutthroat trout, possibly the most pristine I’ve ever seen. It wasn’t massive, maybe 8 inches! The colors were brilliant, almost surreal. These native fish have been fiercely protected in Glacier, and seeing one up close, wild and pure, was a reminder of why. No sign of hybridization, no dull colors or faint slashes. Just the real thing. A half-a-dozen more came to hand during the next half hour, while others were long released. It was time to head back to the car and honestly that moment alone would have satisfied me for the entire trip. But a few days later, I found myself wet wading the Middle Fork of the Flathead River, just outside the  National park in West Glacier. It’s a busy, touristy little area with a river more popular for floating than fishing.  Luckily, I wasn’t there to float! As my wife gift shopped and read her novel, I ventured off. The summer flows were decent, water extremely cold, no signs of adult bug life, it’s early afternoon, the Sun high in the sky, rafts with tourists splashing water, you could imagine my expectations of hooking up were slim! 

Again, the Sage ONE 590 came alive in my hand. I felt like a teenager back on the southern Colorado lakes I learned to cast on, before I ever heard the word “mend” or knew what a two-handed rod was. Back then, it was just about casting as far as I could and waiting for a stripped wet fly or dry fly drift land and get eaten! That joy hasn’t changed. To my surprise, the fishing Gods managed for me to touch a few more trout that afternoon—nothing huge, but each one a gift. Rising fish on a dry fly, a classic rod, and the sound of the Flathead moving through the canyon. It’s hard to ask for more.

Driving away from West Glacier that afternoon to the airport to head back to PDX, I found myself wondering: Should I have brought the 4116 trout Spey? There were runs that looked perfect for swinging soft hackles or a small sculpin pattern. I’ve got to admit, that the water begged for a two-hander in spots. But at the same time, I didn’t regret it. There’s a certain intimacy in fishing with a single-hand rod, especially one with years of memories embedded in the cork. Spey casting is elegant, efficient, powerful—but this trip wasn’t about efficiency. It was about reconnecting. With the mountains. With wild fish. And with the way I first fell in love with fly fishing. I guess the big question remains unanswered: Should I try trout Spey in Montana? Probably. Eventually. But for now, I’m grateful I kept it simple. The rod may not get used as much these days, but this trip reminded me why it’ll never be retired.