My favorite part about this weird fly-fishing world is the people we meet along the way. I’ve been able to connect in random fly shops, fishing bars, and boat ramps with some of the best humans I’ll ever know. A few weeks ago you read about my friend Jake and how we met working a summer at Headhunters Fly Shop here in Montana.
A big part of Jake and I becoming friends was Marley, a Border Collie with a mysterious background, a penchant for herding the shop vacuum, and a crippling fear of cars (until Jake worked through that with her). I’m not really a dog person. But I’m a Marley person, hard and fast. Over the years Jake, Marley, and I have gone on countless adventures, from sub-zero days swinging flies in Bear Trap Canyon to hot summer days chasing carp. Here’s a bit of her (and therefore his) story.
She came to us in the pre-dawn light of a Montana summer morning. Midsummer in a trout town means long days—early mornings, endless afternoons and late nights. Working a fly shop on the banks of the Missouri river, the schedule showed no reprieve from late spring through fall. The world narrowed into a steady rhythm of rise, see clients logged and guides off to the river, manage boat rentals, sell flies, cast rods, clean cabins, shuttle rigs. Rinse (or not) and repeat. Sleep if desired and the fishing allows. Newsfeeds consisted of the latest hatches; and grocery shopping became grabbing a Clif bar while on a shuttle run to Cascade, the nearest town with any kind of market.
Focus contracted, and the rest of the world seemed to blur.
Perhaps that explained why, when a shy Border Collie turned up on the front porch of the fly shop early one morning, the steady routine of summer was subtly rocked. Too busy with morning chores to do much else, we let her inside, watching her curl up in a corner of the shop as the morning’s guides began to roll in. It was nearly mid-morning by the time a shy licorice-button nose peeked around the edge of the counter.
She was quiet; seemingly intent her own routine yet obviously habituated to people and well trained to basic commands. Bearing no collar that might lead to her identity, “dog” was accepted into the shop on the premise that, with the aid of stray dog signs and strategic phone calls to neighboring ranches, her people would soon be found.
A week later, no one had laid claim to her. Wizened ranchers replied tersely to calls, saying, no, all their dogs were accounted for. Fisherman camped along the river denied knowledge of any lost animals. One joked the only thing he lost was his mind, and chugged another PBR.
Days passed.
A bag of dog food appeared on the shelves under the surfboard table previously designated for UV-curing knots and consuming post-fishing beers. A salvaged bucket was kept on the back steps, filled consistently with clean, fresh water, though none of us would lay claim to having changed the water. Adair, one of the owner’s daughters and a steady presence at the shop over the hot summer months, came back from a run into town bearing a pink collar and matching leash.
Names began to be floated around. While more traditional dog names like Spot and Kelly bounced off the walls of the small turquoise shop, shop crew member Jake made his decision and went for it. Marley. The plucky little Border Collie would be dubbed Marley.
During the first week we left Marley to her own devices at night. Ensuring food and water were left out (and still uncertain how much of it was, in fact, being consumed by the litter of kittens born under the building) she was free to explore the streets (you can count them on one hand) of Craig, Montana. Bouncy Jake, a nineteen-year-old, fish-obsessed Bozeman kid, was sleeping in the back of his Jeep at the time, and it seemed fitting to the rest of us that two seemed to take care of each other. She wouldn’t go near the vehicle; leaving us to hypothesize that maybe she had fallen out of a truck or had some other harrowing vehicular close call.
When the morning shift showed up to open the shop and turn the percolator on, Marley would wander up, tail cautiously wagging.
Jake followed not too long after, usually wearing the same sun shirt and ball cap as the day before. As guides rolled through the shop, picking up clients, flies and coffee, Marley bounced around the yard, seemingly eager to help as drift boats were hitched to the shop truck in preparation to be dropped off on the river. As the truck pulled away she’d settle under the remaining boats, keeping an eagle eye for the rumble of the Tundra’s return.
On one notable summer morning, Jake blearily hitched up a boat in the early morning hours and drove it to the ramp beneath Holter Dam. I looked out the shop window, taking a brief deprive from the daily spiel of “yeah, use that fly. Two of those. Skip that, go for this,” and saw Marley tucked under a rental boat, on guard.
The rental boat that was supposed to be on its way to Holter.
I called Jake, luckily catching him in one of the rare areas that offered cell service.
“Sure, I’ve got it. Backing it in now,” he assured me, ever cheerful. But sounding maybe a bit tired after a nocturnal fishing bout the night before. “Totally good.”
“Jake,” I said, looking out at Marley under the drift boat. “You have the wrong boat.”
“Nope, nope, we’re good.” He sounded distracted; I could imagine him on the phone as he backed the boat down the already-busy ramp.
“Jake, wrong boat.” It was too early for this. I needed more coffee.
“Huh?” Now there was a bit of confusion.
“I am looking at a blue boat. What color is yours?”
Silence.
The blue boat was supposed to be dropped at Holter, not being guarded by a stray sheepdog.
Jake arrived back in Craig in record time, apologizing profusely as he dropped the first boat off and picked up the second. Marley, perhaps sensing the minutely panicked tone of the moment, hopped in the back seat like it was second nature. Her apparent fear of vehicles disappeared the moment her compadre needed her.
She joined in on more and more boat drops as the season progressed. No one came to claim Marley, leaving the rest of us at the shop to adopt her into the motley group. An adoption that came very naturally. Soon she was a constant presence; underfoot as we spooled reels, herding the vacuum as we cleaned before closing shop each night, helping keep the hose in line as we washed boats.
While she had no idea how to play with a ball or a Frisbee, the moment someone wandered near the hose spigot, she was present and ready to play, tail wagging and eyes narrowed at the offending hose.
As I think we all somehow knew would happen, Marley and Jake adopted each other over the course of the summer. She went on her first ride in a drift boat, uncertainly taking in the motion of the boat and warily sniffing her first brown trout. When we returned from shuttling vehicles she would be wading in the water at the boat ramp, making new friends and looking for old ones.
By the time summer’s green grass faded into the brown of fall, Marley was allowed into Izaak’s restaurant and was a regular at the bar.
She went fishing, she helped with boats, she drank at the bar with the rest of the trout dogs. Marley became a Craig fixture, nestled within her own little fishy family.
You never know who will show up on the front porch in Craig.
2027 trips are now fully booked, and I have a handful of 2028 hosted trip dates. These trips will continue to be limited availability—jump on ‘em when you see one that intrigues you!
Fish Partner’s Highlands Lodge, Iceland: June 26 - July 1, 2027 (Week 1) and
July 1 - July 7, 2027 (Week 2). SOLD OUT - WAITLIST AVAILABLEKendjam Lodge, Brazil: August 28 - September 4, 2027
SOLD OUT - WAITLIST AVAILABLERio Marié Headwaters Camp: September 5-12, 2027
SOLD OUT - WAITLIST AVAILABLENEW: Return to Tsimane: Heli Fishing in Bolivia: July 15-22, 2028
ONE ROD REMAINING | Heli and Hybrid ProgramsAlabama Coast Saltwater Fly Fishing: August 7-12, 2028
TWO RODS OPEN | $5,800 per angler | Read more HERE
It’s hard to not come back to fisheries like this one. I’ll be bringing a group back to heli-fish this golden dorado paradise in July 2028, and a lot of the anglers who were there with me a few weeks ago are already booked in again. Come chase trophy golden dorado, as well as pacu, yatorana, moturo, surubi, and more. All options include 6 full days fishing / 7 nights at Pluma Lodge.
July 15-22, 2028
Hybrid Program (3 days Heli, 3 days Classic Experience): $16,250 USD
Heli-Fishing: $19,750 USD
Only ONE spot remaining
Spots are going very fast for this return to Bolivia, so email me with questions.
Join me on a curated trip to the little sliver of Alabama coastline that’s home to great fishing for redfish, speckled trout, drum, and more. I’ve put together a small hosted trip for August 2028, and only have two spots remaining. If you’re looking for a fun fishing escape with a relaxed vibe, no international travel, and a small group, this is one to eyeball.
Read more information here. Only two spots remaining.
August 7-12, 2028
$5,800 per angler, shared room and guide
4 full days fishing, 5 nights
Want to learn more about any of these trips?
Send me a DM on social media or shoot over an email.
Read about surreal late nights chasing striped bass in “Astronaut Training,” which just ran in the Field Ethos Journal.
Russian readers can pick up a copy of нахлыст and read a feature article about Argentina’s El Encuentro Lodge.
“Class In Session”—a feature story and photo essay about the Native Guide School at Rio Marie—just ran in the latest issue of The Fly Fish Journal.
Pick up the latest copy of Hook & Barrel Magazine for a feature article and images about my time at Kendjam Lodge last September… a proper jungle adventure.
The annual Fly Fishing Issue of The Big Sky Journal just dropped, and inside you can spot a couple familiar images of both grayling and aerial Idaho river scenes.
H20 Magazine featured a piece (and a cover photo!) about backcountry fishing for Yellowstone cutthroat in Montana in the latest U.S. edition of the magazine.
Grab the most recent issue of Fly Fisherman Magazine to read the story of Chip and Skylar Lamont, who are building a fly-fishing lodge in remote Alaska.
Australia and New Zealand’s FlyLife Magazine just ran a print feature on Iceland and (surprise!) a cover photo as well.
If you’re not already, follow along on Instagram, LinkedIn, and Facebook.
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