Hidden in Plain Site

A cast-and-run multisport at Williams’ Bridge FAS.

Here in Montana, we’re lucky to have a stream-access law that allows anglers to wade to their hearts’ content below the high-water mark, assuming they’ve accessed the river legally. To help with that, Montana Fish, Wildlife & Parks maintains 334 parcels of public land, known as Fishing Access Sites, throughout the state. Some contain boat ramps and developed facilities, while others are simply river-adjacent dirt parking lots.

From Bozeman, there are dozens within a day-trip radius, but last summer one in particular caught our eyes: the 2.3-acre Williams’ Bridge FAS on the Jefferson, not far from Three Forks. Dirt roads for runnin’, metal bridge trusses for jumpin’, and a river for fishin’. What else could you ask for?

The brown trout charged into the current, jumped once, and snapped my old, weakened leader leaving me fishless and flyless.

We didn’t make it out of town until well after 2pm, but the long June day would still provide plenty of daylight. It was about a 30-minute drive, and as soon as we hopped out of the car, Adam spotted an abandoned football in the bushes. “Go deep!” he called, and the rest of us scattered down the road, shoving, pushing, and fighting like elementary-school kids for the ball. From there, the game devolved into a series of all-out sprint races down the dirt road heading north from the bridge. Once a clear winner had risen to the top—not to name any names—we jogged back and broke out the fishing rods.

Peter rigged up and immediately disappeared upstream. I set up my trusty five-weight before realizing I had left my fishing bag at home. Digging through the car, I managed to find one rubber-leg stonefly nymph. It would have to do. I tied it onto the stubby butt-section of a leader left over from my one fishing trip last summer (read “Best of Times, Worst of Times,” O/B Summer 2024), and meandered upstream with Fischer.

Plying the murky waters with a weightless rig proved futile. While spring run-off was just winding down, the water still had a dark tea coloration and was churning at a fast clip. I was about to throw in the towel when a hefty brown trout rocketed out of the water just a few feet from the bank to snatch a fluttering caddis. I threw my nymph just upstream from the splash, kept my rod tip high, and immediately came tight to a fish. The brown charged into the current, jumped once, and snapped my old, weakened leader leaving me fishless and flyless, all while Fischer snapped photos of the whole scene.

Dirt roads for runnin’, metal bridge trusses for jumpin’, and a river for fishin’. What else could you ask for?

Eventually, Peter reappeared out of the bushes and we meandered back to the bridge with ambitions of diving in off the high, steel trusses. Peering down, though, we could spot chunks of concrete and rip rap poking up, and the bottom at the deepest part was obscured by the murky water. We opted to pass on jumping, but agreed to come back later in the summer once the water had dropped and cleared up.

An obligatory stop on the way home at Bridger Brewing in Three Forks for pitchers of our collective favorite, Bone Dust, capped off an already excellent afternoon. Though only a short excursion, it was a reminder of the opportunities afforded to us by the Fishing Access Sites splattered across southwest Montana. We’d made an entire afternoon out of 2.3 acres. A worthy investment of state money? We sure think so. Check one out this summer and decide for yourself.