Spring Break Spraycation 2017

For this year's spring break (which will likely be my last for a very long time) I took a leave of absence from the barren wastelands of the Front Range and set sail for the land of milk and honey. I split my time between Driggs and Bozeman, pretty much fishing and skiing as I pleased with my best friends. The first leg of the trip was spent in Driggs, where Eric and I got our asses handed to us on the Henry's Fork and then rebated the East Face of Buck Mountain. Our original plan was to go across the pond and ski the Skillet, but since I live in a place where winter never materialized I was convinced that Jackson Lake wouldn't be frozen enough for safe passage. Turns out I was fucking wrong. 

Me fishing to a 12" riser for half an hour on the HF. Hooked but did not land, "He says you fish poorly."

Our journey up Buck ended up being one of the most straightforward days I have had in the Park, thanks to the try-hards that set the skin track and boot pack up the east ridge. If your not drinking beer at Dornan's by 10 am then you don't deserve to call yourself a Jacksonite. 

Heading towards Buck, photo by Eric (they all are)

The snow was isothermic up to about 10,000 feet and then after that a mostly stable concoction of a trace of new on top of wind-buff (or wind fucked) snow persisted to the summit. Eric an I caught up to one group of 2 in front of us but never managed to catch up to the first group of two that had to do all of the hard boot packing. I guess that's what you get for recreating on the weekends.

The north face of Static in the background as I gain the east ridge of Buck

We left Driggs around 3 or 4 (I can't remember) and gained the summit by around 11, and we were back to the car by noon.

Me clearing the last of the exposed bits on the ridge.

Eric had to go to work the next day so I guess it was good that we finished early enough to grab some pizza back on the Idaho side, behind the Spud Curtain. 

Eric blasting the Jams on our way back to the Death canyon parking lot.

The following day after Buck I slept, tied flies, and did some homework in preparation for heading north to Bozeman to do some fishing on the Madison and then meet up with Jake for some skiing.

Meat muffin

The fishing below Quake was as good as I have seen on the Madison, and I hammered almost 2 dozen on peanut envies in around 5 hours. 

Meat burglar 

It was probably the best streamer bite I have ever had in the bright sun and it lasted from noon until 5. The water was clear yet high enough for most of the fish to be tight on the banks in pretty skinny water. 

Even some rainbows got in on the Meat Monsoon. 

I even caught so many fish on one peanut envy that the articulation point in the middle broke, splitting the fly in two. There was no way it had anything to do with the intoxicated state in which I manufactured that fly. 

Had to switch to a double screamer after my fly busted.

That evening I rolled into Bozeman later than expected due to the fishing conditions, and since Jake (and company) and I hadn't seen each other in a second we had some libations (he much more so than I). By 12:30 we were ready for some toxic dreams and a 5 am departure for Alex Lowe peak.

Looking at the Hellmouth from the Blackmore saddle. 

I had skied the Hellmouth 2x before, and the last time was sub-optimal. It involved me loosing a ski in an avalanche and then spooning all night long under a rock with one of my best male friends. Wasn't really looking to repeat on those fronts. 

Jake sliding down the upper face, shitty coverage as per usual

This foray to Alex Lowe was probably my smoothest yet, and we gained the summit just before noonish. The upper face was thin, the second rappel was clean to ski through, and the lower choke was not filled in, so it was a real mixed bag. 

Jake at the top rap.

For some reason we didn't bring any rock protection, so the last short rappel was sub-optimal. We reasoned that since the rappel was around 10 ft through a narrow choke we could probably splat unscathed into the couloir below.

"Into the Mouth of Hell we March!" Trivium kicks ass.

 The snow inside the chute was mostly soft but very supportable, and the apron below was straight up pow. Like fucking pow bro.

It was dumping pretty hard by the time we got to the apron. 

After our day in Hyalite Jake had to go back to work for the rest of the week, so I slept in and then headed out for a day of fishing on the Madison. 

Olive peanut eater from between the lakes.

It was snowing pretty hard and I fished a little different zone than the previous days adventure but managed some nice streamer fish, again on jigging style patterns like the peanut envy. 

Beefy

The following day I fished the lower Madison down by Three Forks. The original plan was to fish the Missouri by Tosten but thanks to the Jeff the river was blown to smithereens. I mostly fished a triple dungeon of various colors all day (pretty much just a few hours in the afternoon), and got skunked. But it was ok because "I was trophy hunting with streamers". Yeah, never heard that one before. There is no excuse for not catching fish other than you suck at fishing. 

Triple D and a dead sculpin I found

I made back to Bozo in time to enjoy some La Pa with the fam, but Bill was policing my fun and wouldn't let me go bar hopping. So we got some sleep and headed out to ski at Big Sky with Weston. After a solid half day at Big Sky (and I mean fucking solid) we went to a show at the Filler. After taking various drunk people home and to their towed vehicles after the show I got some sleep in preparation for fishing the next day with my sister and John. 

The Sphinx

We decided to float from Mac to Varney, and overall it was tough. We each managed some fish, but I insisted on mostly fishing streamers and with a cold frontal passage throughout the afternoon the fish were not in the mood. It was windy, and if we weren't in John's skiff we would have never made it to the ramp without crying. 

Lobsters of the prairie. 

The next day I drove back to Driggs (after sampling some of the finest Town Pumps in Montana) and then the following day I returned to the Front Range to finish what I started and put a definitive end to my existence as a Callmeradbro.