Luxury Fly Fishing Is A Thing — Where To Cast In Big Sky, Montana

Forbes

25-07-2025

Big Sky, Montana Montage Big Sky Resort
I can't fish. At least I couldn't until last month's trip to Western Montana, where the days are as long and brilliant as the sun's morning rays. Normally I have zero interest in fishing, and to describe me as an amateur would be kind. But for many years, I have longed to spend time with my older brother in nature, where we might steal the chance to form new memories and honor the bond we had as children.
It is he who is the expert angler, and the one I now realize was always right in placing a premium on time spent in the great outdoors. But just before this trip began, he suffered the sudden loss of a loved one and couldn't come. Then he asked me the most sacred of questions: ' Would you take my son ?'
And so it was that I and my 21-year-old nephew, who we'll call Slim, found ourselves at Bozeman airport, hitching a ride to a place that not only takes fly fishing very seriously, but takes pride in teaching others how to do it well. This is Montage Big Sky Resort, which many Americans consider to be a bucket-list destination for winter skiing. With direct access to 5,800 acres of skiable terrain via Big Sky Resort high in the Rocky Mountains, it is second in the nation behind Park City, Utah.
Morning light in summer at Montage, Big Sky Jennifer Leigh Parker
But I chose to come here in June, which they say is the best time to fly fish in the style of A River Runs Through It by Norman Maclean. They aren't wrong.
We barely have time to let it sink in that we're here before being swept up into the 'luxury' fly fishing experience, which has been a thing out here ever since Kevin Costner in Yellowstone convinced wealthy Americans that Montana is 'the last best place'.
Setting the scene are the two best resorts in Big Sky: Montage and Lone Mountain Ranch. By November, One & Only will make its U.S. debut in nearby Moonlight Basin. And on Thursday, Big Sky Resort announced that Michelin-starred Chef Grant Achatz is coming out to run a restaurant called 'M by The Alinea Group' from mid-December to the end of March, during ski season. So restaurants are finally catching up to the real estate gold rush. And local fishing outfitters are very much here for it.
Stepping into the Montage lobby, we're served cool huckleberry spritzers, our luggage is swiftly stored in a junior suite and it's time to commence our first lesson: 'the Art of Fly Tying'. Boy, this is going to be tough , I think, as I watch our teacher work magic with a contraption called a vice; used to contrive tiny fake flies out of wire, scissors, threads, a whip finishing tool, and a bobbin. It's a delicate business, and I manage to break the thread countless times during the 90-minute session before we each come away with our own hand-tied flies meant to mimic midges. Slim promptly pockets and pats them for safekeeping. There's a superstitious quality to his move, and I can tell he's thinking: I hope we catch us some mermaids tomorrow!
Fly fishing in waders on the Gallatin River, Montana Jennifer Leigh Parker
Montage won't let us fish on empty stomachs. So we head to dinner at the Italian restaurant Cortina, and fortify ourselves with tender venison steaks, creamed kale, and a fat glass of Napa Cabernet, followed by firepit s'mores for dessert. Slim decides to try his first White Russian, which is essentially an adult milkshake with a splash of vodka, and sure enough, he starts telling me about his life: a summer internship, college in South Carolina, duck hunting and even a few career aspirations.
I delight in hearing it, but every time he smiles or laughs, his honey-brown eyelashes fan out like peacock feathers on the tops of his cheeks, and I feel I'm looking dead straight at my brother. This happens again on the rivers, where the fisherman's son will show me just how much his father taught him.
At daybreak, Montage drives us out in a Cadillac Escalade to the Gallatin River Guides shop, which looks like a 19th century trapper's den, but happens to be a premier outfitter in the fly-fishing capital of America. Montana Angler also serves the Bozeman clientele, but Gallatin is the main player in Big Sky. In the 20 minutes it takes to get there, we spot elk trotting across a meadow of white wildflowers — yet another reason to be here in summer.
A blond, blued eyed guide named Tommy Flitton from Salt Lake City, Utah, helps us into our waders (big galumphing rubber boot suspenders designed to keep the water out of your socks). Slim looks like a natural, whereas I look like Billy Crystal in City Slickers . I can't take anything seriously in this get-up, except state rules: no fishing without a license, which we'd pre-arranged, and if you're going with guides, it's catch and release. When Tommy mentions today's objective: to catch rainbows, browns and cutthroats, I nod and smile as if I know the difference.
Well, at least I know where we're headed: The famed Gallatin River, which originates in Yellowstone national park and flows north through Big Sky into a town called Three Forks, where it meets up with the Madison and the Jefferson. It's a great one to wade into because it's a 'free stone' river, meaning there are no manmade dams altering the natural flow. Where it runs fast, you can be easily swept off your feet; and where it's slow, the afternoon heat might lay your fish low. Either way, it promises adventure. And its majesty is not something that can be captured on camera.
My first Rainbow trout of the day. Jennifer Leigh Parker
Tommy is impressed that we tied our own midges, so these are the first flies we use. More accurately, these are the first flies Tommy ties on the top-of-the-line Redington and Orvis rods he's rigged for us, which are in the back of a truck filled with everything an angler could possibly need, including a packed lunch and cold drinks (lunch can be as simple or as high fallutin' an affair as guests pay to make it). The appeal of 'luxury' fishing guides is they handle all the logistics; packing, parking, and paperwork. And every time you cast into a tree or get stuck on a rock and break off your flies, the guide will re-tie them for you, which requires the ability to intricately sew standing up in a river or on a drift boat, facing the elements. So you can spend your precious time out here actually fishing. (Or in my case, half fishing, half trying to stay upright on slippery rocks).
Of course, there's also the matter of the lesson. Tommy teaches us that once your fly is in the water, the idea is to match the speed of current, or 'mend the line' to mimic the natural flow of the river. Then 'high stick it,' meaning lift up your rod so it's not too slack (fish will see this and wise to your presence). When your bobber dips, that might mean a bite, so set the hook hard into the fish's mouth, as quick as you can, because these suckers wriggle off easy.
Standing at enough distance to let us learn by doing, Tommy repeats the drill: Cast. Drift. Hook set. Fight. It's the same routine at every hole, which we walk to or drive to depending on where the real nymphs (adolescent flies) are buzzing. 'Set it or regret it,' he says, wading deeper into the cold clear water of 'The Meadow' (one of the prized public-lands of Big Sky). 'Don't reel in right away. He's feisty, so let him run, get him tired. This is the dance. You have to be patient with them.' He speaks with a slight twang, like life is a country song. Or at least, fishing is.
A box of Tommy's hand-tied flies. Jennifer Leigh Parker
By one in the afternoon, Slim has caught seven, and I've caught only one. But my single luminous rainbow trout was enough to earn me a stripe with Tommy. As we finish our sandwiches on the banks of the Red Cliff campground, he shares his favorite fishing spots with me. Though it's typically a closely guarded secret, he can tell I won't drop the subject until he talks. 'Come in the early morning to Swan Creek Campground. You can find slow, deep water when it's cold. That's where those fish are gonna be… On the Madison, there's a float section from Lyons Bridge to Ennis lake, chock full of brown trout, rainbow, cutthroat, and whitefish. And, of course, the Meadow.' He's referring to Meadow Village, where we hiked through a stunning wildflower meadow to fish for rainbow trout on the Gallatin. He concludes with a caveat: 'I really do think you can catch a fish anywhere on this river. It just depends on what scenery you're looking for.'
My personal favorite spot we fished is called Taylor Fork, a tributary of the Gallatin, where two streams merge into one in the shadow of a vast pine covered mountain range. Here, I lay on the rocks and let the sun warm my face. I felt small and insignificant, in that way that grants you freedom to be big. I think that's why they call it Big Sky.
Around four in the afternoon, we call it quits and head back. For the record, my count was one and Slim caught 10. I tell myself it's only day one. And my spirits are lifted knowing what's on the agenda for the evening: An unforgettable sushi dinner. Sure, it's catch and release: But what would a luxury fishing trip be if you didn't get to eat fantastic fish? The Omakase Experience
Chef Wei at Backcast Restaurant, Montage Big Sky Jennifer Leigh Parker
To kick off the summer season and compete with the burgeoning food scene in Bozeman or 'Boze-Angeles,' Montage has welcomed Chef Wei Chen to turn Backcast, their ski-chalet style glass house facing Lone Mountain, into an omakase restaurant. Normally, Wei works in Los Angeles as a personal omakase chef to Hollywood stars under the brand Omawei. But for this brief time, he's luring Montage guests with a menu that could stand up to any renowned big-city establishment, like say, 15 East or Sushi Nakazawa, where he started as a line cook in 2015.
Over 15 courses, we're treated to a dazzling parade of only Japanese fish (flown in and served within 36 hours), like bluefin tuna, yellowtail, hotate scallops and anago eel. With dish after dish, Wei impresses us with passion and precision, but what I love most is listening to these two guys — who couldn't possibly come from more different backgrounds — argue about the relative value of rockfish. Slim insists it's a 'garbage fish' in Florida and the Carolinas, but Wei sides with the Japanese, who consider it a 'prize'. Who's right? It doesn't matter. I'm buzzed on crisp cold sake, listening to them riff about fish for a full two hours, like drummers in dueling rock bands.
When we leave and are out of Chef's earshot, Slim turns to me and says: 'That was the best meal I've ever had.' At this moment, I feel like the world's proudest aunt and the size of my heart doubles. Because if there's anything I can teach him about, it's the art of fine food. Just before he becomes his own man.
The next day, drifting down the great Madison River in a slick Hyde Montana skiff boat oared by Tommy, I finally managed to catch some fish.
Beneath magnificent limestone cliffs carved by ancient glaciers called the Palisades, where Native American tribes ran the historic Madison Buffalo Jump, the wind picked up. A squall came upon us. Suddenly, we were wet with rain, and while I'm grateful Tommy is rowing us through it, I wonder if our chances for glory are dashed.
Then they start biting. Brown trout, rainbow trout, whitefish galore. As if the fleeting raindrops themselves were fat, lazy flies. And all you had to do was set your hook fast enough. I look up and realize there is no greater happiness for Slim then when he's got a fighter on. And again, I'm looking dead straight at my brother. The squall quickly passes. There isn't a sound except the wind and the river, and the splash of Tommy's net scooping our beauties out of the grey nickel blue. Twice, we 'land' our trout in the boat at the very same time, which in angler parlance is called a 'double header.' We admire our catches and take pictures to prove the magic happened. For the day's record: I caught five. Slim caught 18. Of course, the numbers don't matter. I had taken my nephew fishing in Montana. And what we held in our hands was beautiful.
When our day is done, we return to the Gallatin River Guides shop. There, on the bathroom wall reads The Testament of a Fisherman :
'I fish because I love to… Because mercifully there are no telephones on trout waters; because only in the woods can I find solitude without loneliness; because bourbon out of an old tin cup always tastes better out there; because maybe one day I will catch a mermaid; and finally, not because I regard fishing as being so terribly important but because I suspect that so many of the other concerns of men are equally unimportant — and not nearly so much fun.' John Voelker
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