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FLY FISHING
THE MOUNTAIN LAKES

Gary LaFontaine

REVIEW QUOTE

BOOK EXCERPT

Gary LaFontaine likes to enjoy fly fishing and learn something new at the same time. Fly Fishing the Mountain Lakes delves into a worthy subject—one that LaFontaine tackles with zeal, packing in loads of equipment, including scuba diving gear, to do his research. The book's chapters alternate between stories about the "fun" of fishing mountain lakes with hardcore, how-to fishing lessons.

LaFontaine brings his quirky wit and iconoclastic vision to problems inherent in fly fishing mountain lakes. With characteristic enthusiasm, he and his band of mountain lakes fanatics (including Chester the Wonder Dog) peel back the mysteries of this fishery, including distribution of fish, primary food sources, and feeding patterns. Gary distills this research into a captivating amalgam of hard information and entertaining anecdote. Fly Fishing the Mountain Lakes will make you think and make you laugh. And you might catch a few more fish on your next mountain lake expedition.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Three of LaFontaine's books, The Dry Fly: New Angles, Trout Flies: Proven Patterns, and Caddisflies (Lyons Press) have won the Fly Fishing Book of the Year Award. LaFontaine is on the editorial boards of Angling Report, Fly Rod & Reel, and Trout, and has written countless articles for these and other publications. Fly Rod & Reel named him Angler of the Year in 1996.

REVIEW QUOTE

"For fifteen bucks, you'll find more tips per dollar in Fly Fishing the Mountain Lakes than you will in most books costing twice that amount. It's intriguing, it's informative and it's a kick to read."
—Ralph Cutter, California Fly Fisher

"The scientific experiments . . . revealed how, when, and where to fish these waters. The startling part is that these revelations were often totally at odds with current thoughts."
—Matt Quinn

"At first glance, Fly Fishing the Mountain Lakes doesn't resemble a typical Gary LaFontaine book. It's not the large format, hardcover, 300-page-plus tome that has been the hallmark of his in-depth work over the past 20 years. This book is a compact softcover book that might fit nicely into a backpack, but don't be fooled; it is vintage LaFontaine. Nobody can identify, analyze, isolate, and solve fly fishing problems better than LaFontaine. You'll get more ideas about fly fishing high-mountain lakes from this single book than from all the other books you've read on the subject combined. LaFontaine alternates chapters between stories about the "fun" of fishing mountain lakes with hardcore, how-to fishing lessons. The how-to premise of the book revolves around the need for a mountain lake fly fisher to be a knowledgeable stillwater fly fisher who, in addition, has a passion for hiking. There is only one thing I like better than learning about LaFontaine's new-fangled ideas on fly fishing, and that's reading about them. He's a fine writer. Some of this books best chapters are the ones where he details his "adventures" in the mountains. There is a delightful thread throughout the book about "the World's Smartest Fishing Dog" (Chester) and LaFontaine's unbounded pleasure and delight in just being in the high country, whether he's fishing or not."
—Ed Engle, Fly Fisherman Magazine, September issue 1999

"Frustrated trout anglers scarcely could do better than to pluck a few gems from Fly Fishing the Mountain Lakes, a new book by Gray LaFontaine. Exceptional insights run through this rare inquiry into trout fishing in still water."
—Ed Dentry, Rocky Mountain News, 12/9/98

"LaFontaine, author of Caddisflies and other well-known fly fishing books, has produced what may be the first comprehensive book on how to fish the high lakes. Follow his recommendations and you'll almost certainly improve your catches this year."
—Fenton Roskelley, The Spokesman Review, 1998

"Much like the ad for the brokerage firm, when Gary LaFontaine talks, I listen. Few people in the flyfishing world impart more knowledge than the Montana resident. Certainly that's the case with his recent book, Fly Fishing the Mountain Lakes. Using anecdotes to soften his instructional approach, LaFontaine dispenses a wealth of useful stillwater tips – mostly the things the rest of us never even think about."
—Charlie Meyers, The Denver Post, 1/20/99

"I had a notion that Gary was knowledgeable—that has been confirmed. LaFontaine knows his mountain lake fishing; seasons, tactics, flies . . . the works. But I had no idea that he was entertaining too. This book has taught me that."
"Imagine a serious book where the smartest dog in the world and several pack goats all named Rufus play a major role! Such a book can't be boring. So be prepared for an entertaining and educating journey as LaFontaine takes you through the year of a high mountain lake freak."
—Martian Joergensen, Global Fly Fisher, 4/26/99

"Stillwater lakes set in high mountains present challenges above and beyond those encountered by more traditional stream and river fly fishers. LaFontaine's expertise comes from years of experience and study in this environment. Recommended for large fishing collections and where regional interest warrants."
—Library Journal, 12/9/98

"Gary LaFontaine is well known for his wonderful book Caddisflies, as well as Challenge of the Trout, The Dry Fly: New Angles, and Trout Flies: Proven Patterns.
He is perhaps less known for what must be his true passion – fly fishing mountain lakes seldom visited by man – or even the local mountain goat.
Just released, Fly Fishing the Mountain Lakes is the first in a series, that Gary is calling the Summer of Discovery Series. Quoting from the book, 'Each summer season for me is a chance to learn and a chance to have fun. One without the other would make it a wasted summer. The books in this series are about the very good summers of my fly fishing life.'
This book is laid out in alternate chapters – the even-numbered chapters are the how-tos, and the odd (hmmmm) numbered ones are about the fun of fishing the lakes. The fun parts really are! Check out an excerpt in this weeks Lightside. I'm not going to mention at all his preference to a short pack animal – a goat! You need to read that for yourself.
Of particular interest were the chapters on techniques and the gear Gary uses in various lake fishing situations. He really has doped it out so he rarely gets skunked. In some cases it requires packing in two rods, and nine different lines. The specific use for each line is detailed.
Gary says the how-to parts of the book are based on the premise that 'a fly fisherman can't be a good mountain lake anglers without being an all-around stillwater fanatic.' And a backpacker. To that purpose, he includes a section on getting in shape – and the standards for 'in shape' at various ages. (For both men and women.)
The period in early spring, called 'ice-out' is full of opportunity for the fly anglers. Gary and his friends experiences chasing the elusive possibilities for hitting this occurrence provide a fascinating insight on how determined die hard, avid lake anglers can be.
Also included in Fly Fishing the Mountain Lakes is a super list of recommended books for anyone interested in fishing these remote lakes.
One more plus, Gary's list of the 'Basic Twenty-Six Patterns For Stillwater Fly Fishing.' You will have to buy the book to get the list – but it does include 11 dry flies, 3 emergers, 2 wet flies, 7 nymphs, 2 streamers, and 1 egg fly. And yes, the tying recipes are there.
I read Fly Fishing the Mountain Lakes last weekend, and thoroughly enjoyed it. It is an easy to follow book, with technical stuff in plain terms. The mix with the humor is great, and does give your mind a break between the more technical chapters. I highly recommend it!"
—Dianna Birkholm, Fly Anglers On Line, 9/28/98

BOOK EXCERPT

"Never doubt the courage of the French. We're the ones who discovered that snails were edible."
Bernie Samuelson looks at the escargot, watches me eat one, and stares again at the serving plate. At Chico Hot Springs they serve the best escargot in Montana, which is like serving the best prime rib in Paris; but I've had escargot all over the country and this is good. Bernie has to be as hungry as I am—simple meat-and-potatoes boy or not—and he will try one sooner or later.
He puts one in his mouth, chews carefully, and says, "Not bad."
"Sweet meat."
"I wonder if Rufus would like snails?"
After what that goat did for us, I would gladly buy Rufus a plate full of escargot.

Bernie Samuelson and his pack goat, Rufus, are legendary among high-mountain lake specialists. For most of the summer he travels the state searching not just for fishing lakes but for fishing lakes at ice-out. When he goes high enough—up over 10,000 feet in the Beartooths—he can find ice remnants in late July.
There's something about legendary outdoor characters. They don't get their reputations by doing things the normal way. Simple fanaticism isn't quite enough. They do things that sane men marvel at but have no wish to emulate. They like to tell stories about the times they almost died—and if those stories aren't exaggerated too much, you're in the company of a legend.
Legends get nicknames. Jeremiah "Liver-Eating" Johnson? The man didn't get the nickname for table manners. Bernie Samuelson doesn't need a nickname because he has a goat. That's enough to tell him apart from all the other Bernie Samuelsons in the world.
After today I call my buddy, "Bernie 'the-goat's-the-smart-one' Samuelson."

Bernie hits more high-mountain lakes at or just after ice-out than any other person alive because he doesn't wait for the "sure thing," the "window of opportunity," or even the "long shot." I can't prove it for certain, but I'd bet that he has trekked up to some high lake after a few warm days in January just on the chance of a miracle thaw.
We drive to the end of the Buffalo Horn Road, already sliding through snow patches, and Bernie says, as we stand at the trail to Ramshorn, "There's a fifty-fifty chance the ice will be breaking up."
I let my two dogs out, Chester the Wonder-Mutt and Zeb the Rottweiler, and Bernie unlatches the trailer and leads Rufus out. Zeb looks at Rufus and doesn't know whether to mug him or mount him. The dog sticks his nose in the goat's face and Rufus licks his snout—they're friends for life.
We load up Rufus, settle into our backpacks, and start up the trail on a quick day trip to see if the ice is off. As soon as we start to climb we hit snow. Within a mile we stop and put on our snowshoes and the sprint to the top becomes a slog. I huff, my snowshoeing legs getting their first workout in years, and the dogs wallow in drifts. Rufus high-steps easily and Bernie smiles like a fool in paradise. I can't figure it out but soon I'm grinning, too, even though every muscle in my body is starting to break down.
"We just need a rim of open water around the edge," Bernie says. "A few feet."
Hours later we reach Ramshorn and it's frozen solid. A cautious man would drive a semitrailer across it without a second thought. Bernie jumps up and down on it just to be sure and the ice doesn't even quiver.
We build a small fire for a quick meal and sit there on a tarp, looking at the lake. Neither of us regrets the trip in. Anyone who can't understand this may be a fly fisherman, but they're not a high-mountain lake fly fisherman.

It starts snowing and it is already nearly dark when we start down the mountain. The drifts seem deeper, harder to clamber over with the snowshoes, and impossible to break through. In the gloom of dusk and blowing snow only Rufus knows where the trail is; and with little tinkling bells he leads us out.
Chester, longer legged, keeps up, but Zeb bogs down in every deep drift. He watches me with a mixed look of fear and love—as if I'd ever think of leaving him—and I struggle back to pull him through. After the fourth time I fall flat in the snow. With a flashlight in his mouth, Bernie helps me rig a shoulder harness on Zeb, and we tie a rope from Zeb up to Rufus. The goat walks steadily until the rope tightens and then, as if he knows why he is doing it, he slowly edges ahead until Zeb pops free from the latest snow drift.

We sit in the restaurant at Chico, eating an appetizer of snails and drinking beer. A friend, Ron Ruddig, sees us and comes over. "How was Ramshorn?" he asks.
"Ron," Bernie replies, "We nearly died up there. We got hit with the worst spring blizzard I've seen in thirty years out here, the temperature dropped forty degrees, the wind howled, and it got dark hours before it should have."
"It's the word-for-word truth," I affirm.
"Rufus saved us," Bernie says.
Ron just nods, "Uh, huh."
"But I think that the ice might break up on Ramshorn next week," Bernie predicts.
And, a week later, I go back up there with him. The lake is still frozen solid.