Kayaking For Trout: Ennis Lake

   

            I didn't know what to expect when Mark said he wanted to take me out on Ennis Lake. The thought of eighty-five degree rays of sunshine pounding me nonstop had me on the fence. There wasn't much of a breeze nor any trees for shade, temps to climb. I can handle the sun and heat but can the trout? Would they be willing to bite on a day I would typically hit the much colder Gallatin River, or even stay inside until things cooled off? On the other hand it was an opportunity to learn new water and take a ride in a top of the line kayak. Of course I had to go, there was no choice! Lately I have been a pretty avid fly fisherman, however, I was told to bring spinning gear along on this trip as well as fly gear. The hunters would be white Zonkers, Marks Muddler in olive or purple, and gold/silver Vibrax spinners. There would be little to no nymphing or dry fly fishing. It was four o'clock and we were fishing into dark.

        The Montana air was calm when we set out from the launch. The lake was still and looked like glass. I was eager to make the mile long paddle in a vessel I had little experience with. I was pleased to be gliding across timid water and not thrashing through two foot white caps. The kayak was stable and a pleasure to pilot so far. The lake was fairly clear, at times only three to four feet deep. Strands of vegetation rise up from a sandy colored bottom. An occasional submarine would dart out from under me, effortlessly gliding into the deep. I was seeing four and five pounders every hundred paddle strokes. "What was this madness?" I said to myself,  "a lake not full of fifteen inchers?" I beat the temptation to stop and throw a trolling line out as I was eager to find some structure. The paddle in only took twenty minutes. I looked back across the vast space we had so effortlessly conquered. I could tell this  particular location was difficult to get to by foot and impossible to reach by car. I put down my oar and slid quietly across the water. I was taking it all in when I heard Mark's rod clunking against the bottom of his pirogue. The lake was behind me as I was looking at the long and desolate shore. There beyond my left were pieces of land sticking out into the lake, each like long fingers almost anatomically perfect to a human hand. Each finger protected from view narrow strips of tributaries that were dumping cold water into the lake.

Snapshot of the days big brown trout

        Mark and I started throwing spinners to the bank and it wasn't long until we both got on the board with above average fish. I gave standing up and fishing out of the kayak a try. The craft was remarkably stable. I could even kneel down perpendicular to the bow and stern. The way our surroundings looked and the sense of standing gave me a similar sense to that of flats fishing down in the tropics. The advantage I had, getting over the glare angle and being able to see farther away, made whole setting highly gratifying. We both slowly worked our way to an inlet and began fishing all the structure we saw. Fish after fish were averaging seventeen to eighteen inches. It was in one of these inlets that I pulled in my biggest brown to date. Granted, she wasn't caught on a fly rod, but that didn't make anything less exciting nor intense. It was a ten foot cast right next to an undercut bank that instantly led to a fight to remember. As soon as I could close the bail and begin to reel, the water boiled. This fish made a mad dash for me, and then right past to whip the kayak around. Again, after feeling the tension of the line, the huge brown hauled me around once more. There was a dark torpedo rapidly strafing back and forth, fighting for its life. She tried relentlessly to get into the undercut bank but I was stronger. It wasn't but a few moments later and she was in the net briefly before quickly tumbling back into the water. I was baffled by the whole scene, only to be left wishing to have spent a few more moments to admire the size and beauty. I quickly shrugged and began maneuvering deeper into the maze of cuts and braids.

        An hour or so of some of the best trout fishing later and Mark and I began paddling our own ways within this delta-like environment. Knee high, lush green grass dominated any land along with a few short trees and bushes. The grass on the banks dropped off to fist size river rock, that, if not undercut, would slowly taper into the shallow channels. A few islands were here and there making for good structure.  I pulled up behind one of these islands to eat a snack and recharge. I'd flip a spinner through an eddie with a sandwich in my hand and pull in a hog. I could ever so often hear a fish break the surface from Mark's rod as he was a hundred yards down. The wind began to pick up making for some choppy water, which I love to fish so I changed to a Belly Bouncer streamer AKA Zonker. I really knuckled down and tweaked my "swing" technique until I was hauling in the big boys. I stood before a section of current as I was knee deep, cast forty-five degrees downstream, and let the current swing my streamer down. As it rolled through the rocks a flash would be emitted from the lure, resulting in a ferocious, self-setting hit. I'm sure Mark could hear me yelling as my adrenaline took over. Again and again the fish leaped out of the water. The fight went on for a good five minutes. The last fish of the day ended up being a nineteen or twenty inch rainbow on my five weight rod. One of the best fights I can remember. The time was only six-thirty.

Average trout 

       As I was getting ready to head up into the unknown, Mark was paddling my way. The wind was blowing rather hard at this point. As an inexperienced kayaker  and lake fisherman I was unsure how this would play into our day. By the time that thought was over Mark yelled "We've got to get out of here man, sorry to cut your day short but the lake is looking pretty bad". I didn't argue when I looked down and saw two foot rollers pushing against our way home. The earlier calm and friendly lake turned into a grey beast churning and spitting. I knew it would be a rough paddle. I stowed my gear, we put our heads down and pushed back through the winding narrow sections we came through. The moment we got out into the main body I knew we made a good choice getting out before dark. The spray from whitecaps taller than the kayaks felt like a constant rain and not rolling over was a goal. The headwind was so bad that stopping to rest would result in the loss of fifteen feet in a few moments.  I wanted to troll a spinner on the way back but catching a fish would lose me twenty minutes of paddle time.The paddle back took us twice as long and three times the effort.

       The day ended at eight-thirty and overall was one of the best days of fishing I've ever had. We had both quality and quantity in a relatively short period. The rough paddle back was only the toll for an epic day and part of the whole adventure. I will surely get back there but unfortunately the only way to reach it is by kayak or canoe. The kayak, for me, was a whole pleasure within itself. The ability to silently glide into position and remain stealthy while fishing is a great advantage when fishing for trout. Rafts, catamarans, and belly boats are great for rivers or small lakes, but the Predator MX takes it when it comes to paddling long distances with ease. A big thanks to Old Town Canoe, Dave Howlett, and Mark Lyon for making this experience happen. The video of this adventure is below. Tight lines everyone and thanks for reading! -Mike