Igor the Iggle

Czar of the Big Hole.

At dusk, the full moon bounds up and down the mountains as we journey west along I-90. While the guys sleep off the travel day, the Man on the Moon keeps me company. I turn off toward the Wise River exit, and the golden orb shines brightly in the rearview mirror. Though my superstitious side cringes, my rational side is hopeful that the full moon won’t jinx a great fishing day on the Big Hole tomorrow.

The next morning doesn’t disappoint as it brings caddis thick overhead like a fog moving through the sunshine. We trail pods of trout while they trail the clouds of bugs. Making an errant false cast scares the fish, so we throw cautiously. Miniscule adjustments to the oars by Lance keep them unfazed to our presence. We cast larger patterns trailed by smaller imitations, but the sun’s glare makes it tough to see either fly. A flick of water, a “there, there, there,” and a quick hookset, however, usually results in success.

The eagle’s broad plumage planks through the air. This diurnal hunter waits on something, maybe a fish meal from us.

With no other rafts in sight, we bask in having the river world to ourselves. After an hour of solitude, we detect curious company with a swoosh high above us. A hefty eagle buzzes closer overhead and circles the raft a few times. Even over the sounds of the water, we can hear his high-pitched peals. The eagle’s broad plumage planks through the air. This diurnal hunter waits on something, maybe a fish meal from us. After further encircling swoops, the eagle flies back to his nest high in an ancient conifer. Lance dubs him Igor the eagle, though our Pittsburgheze makes it sound more like “iggle.”

The sun inevitably drops in the sky, and the evening includes a few nicely painted browns, a grayling, and a respectable hog at the take-out. Content on having one more day on the Big Hole, we head to the Wise River Pub to round out the night.

The bartender hands us three copper mugs and exclaims, “Montana Mules on the house,” using us as an excuse to test out his newest mule concoction. After more than a few, we butt in on a conversation between the bartender, the servers, and the patrons about an out-of-towner buying the land on the middle of the Big Hole, where Igor makes his home.

“Hear someone’s buildin’ a castle down around the bend.”

“Yep, things are gonna change.”

“Hope he doesn’t tear up the land and screw the fishing.”

As most conversations go at this time of night, we think we have all the answers.

Igor ziplines down from his perch toward the raft. After a surface splash, he clutches the whitefish in his talons and opens his wingspan, ascending high into the sunlight.

The next day on the ’Hole produces less bug activity, but hovers of trout cooperate. Mid-day, we pull off to hit some side channels. After locating active fish and catching every willing one, we break for day-old sandwiches and Trout Slayer brews, making inflated plans for the next fishing trip while we eat. Back on the raft, Peter catches a whitefish on his first cast and stores it in the cooler. A fast-food meal in case our eagle friend shows up again.

Soon, we float through Igor’s territory once again and spot his nest with anticipation. In contrast with the branches and pines, his white head gives him away. Lance lugs out the whitefish, waves it, and lobs it into the air. We watch as it belly-flops onto the riffles, and Igor moves into action. He ziplines down from his perch toward the raft. After a surface splash, Igor clutches the whitefish in his talons and opens his wingspan, ascending high into the sunlight. We watch him bring the fish to his nest and hear the cries of single-toned peeps. Unable to catch sight of the eaglets, we assume Igor has shared his whitefish meal with them and even a mate.

We drift past his nest and continue the latter part of the float. As darkening weather moves in and the fish turn on, we double up on the count. Calling it a day in an attempt to outrun the storm, we begin rowing as Igor glides up and down the valley. He welcomes the approaching storm to rest his wings and uses the pressure to soar.

Before the take-out, we break down the rods and behold Igor’s grace and beauty: the true highlight of the trip. Though his land may change hands, it will certainly maintain a watchful eye.

Igor stands guard and protects this land and water. Igor owns this piece of the Big Hole.