Brook trout have always been a mountain fish to me. From my early years backpacking into the Beartooth wilderness, I remember camping in meadows and along creeks. Sharing time between catching brookies and cooling my feet in the ice cold streams they inhabited. Brook trout are granite peaks and snow lingering in grey rockslides. Long sunsets in Montana’s big skies above deep green and purple grasses. Lungs full of mountain air. My mind empty of worries. Talking with Nate, about his love for Maine and its many fisheries that hold wild, native brook trout populations, I felt connected. Reminded that these fish not only tie us to our own memories, they tie us together.
I fished the Bighorn River in August of 2018 with my father and brother. It was my first time visiting a river after my last combat deployment to Afghanistan. At the time, I did not know that it would be my last deployment. My decision to leave the A-10 behind after fourteen years deeply impacted my life. That trip to the Bighorn was cathartic. The fishing was excellent. The room was great. The food was outstanding. Everyone we talked to was genuine in their desire for us to have a great time.