New Angle on Pampering : A fishing lodge that caters to couples, brings luxury to the sporting life

As a bass fisherman’s daughter and a sportfisherman’s wife, I suppose I should be consumed with the desire to seek and score piscatory treasures in all kinds of waters. Instead, my craving for fish runs more toward the culinary . . . lightly steamed in white wine with a sprinkling of fresh dill and tarragon. And although I relish the adventure of uncovering nature’s bounty in its raw, unaltered state, my idea of roughing it is a hotel room with no mini-bar.

So fishing camps have never conjured up vacation visions in my eyes. My husband’s orbs, on the other hand, sparkle at the mere mention of an upcoming mayfly hatch. Wishing to present my fish-aholic mate with a conjugal adventure on the fly for our 26th wedding anniversary, I consulted a little gem of a book titled “Best Places to Stay in the Rocky Mountain Region” by Roger Cox (Houghton Mifflin Co., $16.95). That’s where I discovered the Complete Fly Fisher, a secluded hermitage on Montana’s Big Hole River that caters to couples.

Run by the Decker brothers, David and Stuart, the Complete Fly Fisher, devotes itself to the tutelage of the inexperienced angler, while at the same time offering the rabid fisherman endless fishing--until dusk and beyond. The enclave has five modern cabins and supplies the amenities of a five-star hotel, from fluffy beds and spiffy bathrooms to fresh-cut flowers and gourmet evening meals served by candlelight in the lodge. Fishing is known to be superlative on the Big Hole, which teems with brown, rainbow, brook and cutthroat trout as it flows north in southwestern Montana about 45 minutes from Butte.

Each of five couples--guests for a week that runs from Sunday to Saturday--fly-fishes daily from an Avon raft with a personal instructor/guide whose tutoring and patience puts both seasoned anglers and rank novices, like myself, in the vicinity of fish. Or, as anglers say, “onto the fish.”

The first July day of our stay dawned sunny and light-jacket cool. Secreting polka-dot biker shorts and matching halter beneath a T-shirted layer that tucked into long nylon pants, I topped my less-than-chic ensemble with a ventilated long-sleeved light-cotton shirt and a camera-laden fanny pack. Packaging my feet in a pair of borrowed neoprene socks and felt-soled rubber and canvas wading shoes, I exuded all the class and style of a bag lady ready to play pickup basketball.

Dressed for success, I met my guide for the week, Matt Lyng, the masochistic mentor whose mission was to effect my metamorphosis from the Eliza Doolittle of fly-fishing to Fair Lady of the river. Tall, lanky, and droll--a la Clint Eastwood or the Marlborough man--Matt redefined the word patience. Casting lessons began on the lawn of the Complete Fly Fisher, for throwing a fly is a precision art requiring concentration and repetition: wrist remains stiff; elbow bends, taking fly rod up to 12 o’clock; arm brings rod down to 10 o’clock; line and fly roll out like the tongue of an iguana. Theoretically child’s play.

But like tying your shoes for the first time, practice reveals a scenario less disciplined: arm takes fly rod back to 3 o’clock; wrist snaps rod to 8 o’clock; line curls up at feet like a drunken snake.

Guiding my arm repeatedly through corrected motions, Matt trained my reluctant brain channels in the rhythm of the cast. Then as tendons started to whimper, he moved to the end of my fly line, simulating a fish. He pulled. I “set the hook” responsively as he “ran” with my line, chanting instructions all the while. Raise the tip of my rod. Yes! Strip line. Yes! Tip up. Yes! Reel. Yes! Let the fish run with the line. Yes! Reel him all the way in. Yes! Got him . . . a 6-foot, 4-inch, blue-eyed, blue-jeaned Montanan. I was ready to hit the river.

From our launching spot upriver, I settled into the front “novice” seat of the Avon, Matt manipulating the currents from the middle of the raft, my husband in the rear. Camera pack strapped to my stomach like a 6-month fetus, rod at ready position, ripples of current swirling over the sun-struck rocks like shimmering jewels, I drank in the beauty of the Montana wilderness. Scrambles of wild purple lupine, yellow heads of arrow leaf balsam root, and slashes of giant red Indian paintbrushes peppered the riverbanks. Craggy mountain ranges belted the river basin like shining agates--the Three Pioneers and the Pintler and Beaverhead ranges.

Although the wind helped my casting, I still managed to hook my husband’s leg, Matt’s hat, and my own hair before finding my rhythm on the river. And, I quickly realized that successful anglers do not gawk at the scenery: As my tiny dry-fly bobbed in and out of the eddies, Matt spotted a hit and shouted directions to his hapless student. I miraculously set the hook and stripped in the line, which tangled around my feet like a mass of spaghetti. And with a hearty measure of beginner’s luck, I reeled in an iridescent 14-inch rainbow.

Matt reverently released the trout back into the river. Montanans genuinely love, respect and protect their environmental riches. They know what they have and strive to keep it pristine. Guides at the Complete Fly Fisher and their angler guests do not remove the fish from the water if at all possible and never, ever touch the trout to the side of the blazing hot rubber raft. They hold the trout gently under water until the fish is ready to swim away, a practice known as catch and release.

Lunch each day is spread stream-side--a colorful fabric tablecloth laid over the cooler with cloth napkins, real cutlery, nonbreakable plates, and a vase of fresh flowers. The chef at the Complete Fly Fisher tucked a quote of the day in our daily picnic for inspiration, though the midday repasts--such as smoked turkey, cucumber, and sprouts salad along with cheese and crackers, giant molasses cookies, and a bottle of icy cold mineral water--were inspiration enough. Once sated and reclining in the mint-scented tall grass, we witnessed a sunlit symphony of clouds prismatically radiating across the sky. When duty called, local custom dictated a stroll in search of a tall-tree toilet or a long-grass loo. So civilized.

After lunch, my lessons accelerated to the double wet fly, which lingers under the surface of the water instead of resting on top, as the dry fly does. Gingerly picking my way through the briskly cold water and clinging to Matt’s arm like a refugee to a life raft, I forded the river, tenuously stepping on submerged stones slippery with algae. Stripping, casting and mending (looping the line back upstream after each cast), we searched for the fish, constantly moving several steps downstream and toward the bank so as not to repeat any territory. The trout remained elusive, hit and run artists all.

The guides at the Complete Fly Fisher don’t watch the clock. The angler determines the length of the day. “If they came back at 5 o’clock, they’d probably be fired,” joked Christine Decker, lawyer wife of owner David Decker. It is not unusual for a devoted angler to fish from 9 to 9, going directly from raft to refect, in this case, the gourmet dinner at the lodge. Novices like myself can choose to fish only part of each day if they wish. The pros at CFF send transportation to a predetermined riverside location to fetch the short hitter back to base.

As the raft floated by our cozy cottage at about 3 o’clock, the vision of a hot shower, a sizzling novel and the porch rocking chair beckoned me off the river. Bidding Matt and my husband “adieu” and “tight lines,” I trudged to our cabin.

After several hours of well-deserved R&R;, I joined the other dedicated gastronomes for chef Mary Taxiera Creagh’s nightly epicurean extravaganza. The evening meal at the lodge seems to create the perfect counterpoint to an adrenaline-pumping day of twirling, dodging and weaving amid the rocks and rapids of the Big Hole in search of the cagey brown or rainbow. Guest anglers and occasionally David or Stuart Decker gather family style at a huge rectangular table that perches on a glass-walled porch overlooking the mellifluous river.

There were multi-course meals night after night, and a good selection of wines to mellow the medley. From spinach and portobello mushroom soup and grilled bourbon-soaked pork tenderloin with huckleberry cabernet sauce to pepper-crusted salmon on a bed of “grandma’s” ratatouille, and pineapple-nutmeg sorbet with maple-pecan cookies, each sampling seemed to get better.

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Althought I have not personally visited them, there are other classic fishing lodges in western Montana that reputedly offer a similar mix of teaching and pampering.

Anglers fishing at the Firehole Ranch in West Yellowstone cast lines in three states--Montana, Wyoming and Idaho--all within an hour’s drive of home base. The individual guest cabins feature wood-burning stoves or fireplaces and sit directly on the shores of Hebgen Lake. A trio of chefs create the meals. Built as a dude ranch in 1947, Firehole adds horseback riding, mountain biking and canoeing to the angling mix, and Yellowstone National Park is a scant 16 miles away.

Surrounded by the Beaverhead Mountains and the Ruby Range, near Dillon, Mont., Five Rivers Lodge hosts anglers on the Upper and Lower Beaverhead, Big Hole and Jefferson rivers as well as creeks and several private ponds. Five Rivers prides itself on letting anglers determine the scope of their day on the river. They fish as long into the evening as they like, with gourmet repasts served on demand. Guests also can devour a 10,000-volume library, and photography buffs are invited to use the lodge’s black-and-white darkroom.

Two Montana fishing lodges are offered under the umbrella of Forrester’s Frontier Travels: Bighorn River Resort on the Bighorn River, and Summit Station Lodge, at the top of Marias Pass on the edge of Glacier National Park. On deeded land surrounded by the Crow Reservation, Bighorn resort employs many Crow guides; at Summit Station, guides include members of the Blackfeet tribe.

As a recent convert to fishing vacations, I feel I’ve discovered the recipe for the perfect marriage of sport and sabbatical: Begin with a paradisiacal river dance, mix with a convivial assortment of anglers, add superb food and drink, and top with a healthy dose of pampering. Tight lines!

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GUIDEBOOK

Big Fly Country

Getting there: Delta Airlines has connecting service only (Salt Lake City) to Butte, Mont.; fares begin at about $190 round trip.

Fishing lodges: The Complete Fly Fisher, P.O. Box 127, Wise River, MT 59762; telephone (406) 832-3175. All-inclusive packages (guided fishing, meals and beverages, lodging, airport transfers from Butte, horseback riding, guided nature tours), five days/six nights, $2,250 per person based on double occupancy.

The Firehole Ranch, P.O. Box 686, 11500 Hebgen Lake Road, West Yellowstone, MT 59758; tel. (406) 646-7294. All-inclusive packages are $225-$275 per person per night, double occupancy, including transfers from West Yellowstone airport; package minimum three days/four nights.

Five Rivers Lodge, 13100 Highway 41 North, Dillon, MT 59725-9533; tel. (406) 683-5000, (800) 378-5006 fax (406) 683-6470. All-inclusive packages range from two days/three nights at $995 per person, double occupancy (two anglers per guide), to six days/seven nights at $2,295 per person.

Forrester’s Frontier Travel (Big Horn River Resort/Bighorn River, MT, and Summit Station Lodge/Glacier National Park, MT), P.O. Box 470, Hardin, MT 59034; tel. (406) 666-9199, (800) 665-3799. All-inclusive packages from $950 per person for two days/three nights to $1,975 per person five days/six nights.

For more information: Travel Montana, 1424 9th Ave., P.O. Box 200533; Helena, MT 59620-0533; tel. (800) VISIT-MT or (406) 444-2654.