Hi families,
The Final Dispatch from the Bob and Beyond
Some trips wear you out. Others work their way in deep and stay there. Our expedition through the Bob Marshall Wilderness—from Lodgepole Trailhead to Meadow Creek—followed by a few float days on the Blackfoot, was the kind that rearranges your sense of what it means to be out there.
We kicked things off in a familiar blur: grocery runs, last-minute gear checks, and one final stop at the fly shop. A scouting mission up the North Fork helped us shake off the noise and settle into river mode. Then we headed for the hills.
The first day in the backcountry was all hiking. Packs were heavy, legs were fresh, and anticipation was high. A few fish were caught that evening—some cooked over the fire, others released with a grin—and we drifted off to sleep with the sound of the river in our ears.
By the time we reached the confluence of Youngs Creek and the Danaher, the trip had truly begun. With the hardest and heaviest hikes behind us, the fishing came alive. Wild, eager cutthroat rose to dries like they’d never seen foam before. We split up to explore—some boys straight to the Bull Pen, others upriver into tight, untouched water. Quinn hooked something big that never made it to hand, but left behind a story worth retelling.
A layover day there gave us time to fish hard and fish smart. Early risers hit legendary runs at first light and came back with cold hands and wide smiles. Leo found a willing bull on his own and only needed assistance bringing him to the net. Others poked up side channels or climbed high to analyze water from above. The Danaher fished like a dream—pools, riffles, cutbanks—nearly every piece of water held fish.
We moved on to Big Prairie, where the river spread wide and the fishing stayed hot. Kids were calling their shots, sight-casting to cruisers, and landing the biggest cutthroat of their lives. We weren’t just fishing—we were learning the river, reading the water, building rhythm.
At the White River, we were met with big gravel bars and slower, deeper runs. A visit to the ranger station offered Tang, cookies, and a warm welcome that felt like something out of another era. Liam’s visual on a grizzly off the trail reminded us that the wilderness doesn’t take days off.
Some of the crew struck out on a backtrack mission, hiked miles upstream, and bushwhacked into new water. Two rods broke, but no one complained—the fish made up for it. Others stayed close and cleaned up on the evening rise. The fish were vibrant, strong, and unpressured. Every cast felt full of potential.
The push to Salmon Forks brought new water and fresh challenges. The current was quick, the seams were tight, and the trout were tucked in and hungry. That night, Liam’s fish-and-cheese fry-up became instant campfire legend. We climbed to Salmon Lake and found fish holding in deep, still water—a peaceful contrast to the river’s pace.
At Black Bear Cabin, the canyon walls rose steep, and the river narrowed into fast runs and boulder-strewn pockets. We swam, fished, explored, and soaked in the feeling of a place that still belongs entirely to itself.
Finally, we hiked out through Meadow Creek. Dusty, tired, and sun-baked, we climbed into the bus with river-soaked gear and full hearts. We hit a pizza joint in Hungry Horse, celebrated with a quick stop at a water park that felt like a strange dream, and crashed at Russell Gates Campground.
The Blackfoot gave us a perfect send-off—first with an easy float from Scotty Brown to Russell Gates, full of good fishing and even better conversation. We had our banquet dinner at Five Guys: hefty burgers, bags of fries, and milkshakes—just what the doctor ordered. Then, one last lazy tube float to the Clearwater—no rods or flies, just sun, laughter, and the soft current pulling us downstream.
Nine days in the backcountry. A handful more on the Blackfoot and North Fork. Dozens of wild cutthroat brought to hand, with numerous bull trout in the mix. Broken rods, breakthrough casts, campfire jokes, and a group of young men who learned how to read a river, how to cast with intention, and how to find joy in wild places.
This wasn’t just a fishing trip. It was a reminder—that out there, with a pack on your back and a rod in your hand, you can still feel small in the best kind of way.
Until next time—
Tight lines from the Bob Crew!
Drew, Owen, Adrian
