A few weeks ago we took one last skiing trip for the year to our mountain home in Big Sky, Montana. Spring skiing is always a crap shoot: sometimes there is no end to the fresh powder, or warm, sunny skies can melt the snow base, resulting in bare, icy slopes. This trip began with 8 inches of new powder and one great skiing day, and then it turned into spring on the mountain. We like to say that a bad skiing day in Big Sky is still better than a great day back home; we turned our attention to other things, like reading, card games, walks, relaxing, and food. When you find yourself on a vacation with fellow foodie friends who also know their way around  a kitchen, you know you are in for some kind of treat! Just to whet your appetite, here is a sampler of what we ate (and drank!): 

One morning at breakfast, we received the sign of the double yolked eggs; there were actually three of them in a one and a half dozen carton.

Just like "Field of Dreams", ("If you build it, they will come."), our sign said, "If you go to the Gallatin River and fly fish with a guide, you will catch." So that is just what we did. We landed Nick Lawton, a wonderful guide with Wild Trout Fly Fishing Outfitters, located 1/2 mile south of the turn off to Big Sky on Highway 191. This area in Montana happens to be the epicenter for some of the best trout fishing in the world. Unless you only want to fish and not catch, a knowledgeable guide is paramount when fly fishing; there are so many variables and needed techniques to convince the trout that the feather weight fly on your line is actually a mayfly or caddis, which has morphed from an underwater, crawling nymph to a winged adult, just emerging from the water. The goal is to "match the hatch", or convincingly mimic what is happening naturally on the river where the fish are feeding. It is so highly specific that the fly you use and the depth you set it on your line, may literally change over the course of one afternoon. In our group, there was a spectrum of skill levels. This was obviously not Tim's first water rodeo; he knew his way around a fly fishing knot. Laura had fly fished before and was a quick learner. Larry, the neophyte, used his beginner's luck to snag a trout with his first cast. I myself, am still a fly fishing virgin, but hope to mend that line soon. On this excursion, I was the designated photographer. 

Nick was an excellent instructor; he knew which flies would make the fish bite, he was a nimble knotter, and he knew how to describe the techniques of casting, mending, and setting the hook in plain, simple terms. I took it all in from the river bank. :) When my time comes, I will be ready. I loved what Nick called the most important part of fishing: the dance! This is the heart racing interlude between setting the hook and seeing that trout scooped up into the net. It can go on for some minutes, depending on the size and fight of the fish. When the fish is fighting, you give it all the line it wants and let it go. As soon as you feel it let up, you rapidly strip the line and get it closer. You and that stunning water creature tango back and forth until you are finally able to reel him in and meet face to face. By this point, you and the fish are deep into a relationship and have bonded. Eye contact must be avoided if you plan to have him for dinner. (Ok, Nick did not say all that, but he did call it a dance!)

Of course with the guide, it was all catch and release. We decided to go back the next day on our own and try to catch our dinner. It was a pristine day: near 60 degrees, the sun shone brightly in a vast, blue, Montana sky, causing the Gallatin to sparkle like a million diamonds scattered over the surface. Giant evergreens encircled us, standing as a silent guard. Rugged, rocky mountains lay beyond, still white capped with snow. A bald eagle soared high overhead.  The fish were biting and the fishermen were catching! We had a splendid riverside picnic, half way through the day.

Uncork the tartar sauce; dinner is on the way! With Tim's expertise, we had a sumptuous feast of grilled trout. First the rainbow beauties were gutted and cleaned, but otherwise left intact. Next they got a light drizzle of olive oil and a sprinkling of salt and pepper before they made their way to a medium hot grill. About 20 minutes on the grill, with one careful flip half way, and those babies arrived on a platter on the table. It was a meal fit for royalty!

And yes, someone with blue eyes even had a leftover fish the next morning for breakfast. I wouldn't say that I am hooked yet, but next time, I will try to take country singer, Lee Ann Womack's advice: "And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance, I hope you dance."