My 1st Missouri River Love

My first couple years on the Missouri were certainly a learning experience. I did not have enough knowledge or wisdom to fill up a fly cup. I did not know what a mayfly was. I did see pictures and heard tales of east coasters that had wonderful and varied mayfly hatches...Catskill patterns, Beaverkill flies, etc. It wasn't until a couple local guides befriended me and clued me in on what flies and where to fish, what kind of water to look at, the many mind blowing stages of mayflies and so on. My personal naievity did not stop at just the fishing...it included such things as the subconscious attraction to tail waters, small fishing villages, gals with fly rods in the hands casting in the front of drift boats, fun filled evenings and mornings with fuzzy heads. The true reason for this entry has nothing to do with mayflies, but it has a lot to do with my first love on the Missouri. Her name is Heather Filipowicz; a dreamy blond with an infectious laugh.

If you have spent any time on the river in the last 20 years you have invariably bumped into one of the sisters. There are four, I know three...1 blond, 1 brunette, and one red. Dreams are made from a scenario like this. You cannot make this shit up. It's true. Unfortunately for the fella's in town, they all have moved to greener pastures. They have all worked for local restaurants, fly shops, and in any other fishing town businesses while attending Montana Universities. Super neat gals, well adjusted, very funny, who all liked to laugh. These are the type of girls that encouraged skinny dippin' at the lake...and any boy who was within earshot raced to the locale to participate.

I was working at the Dearborn Inn as a cook and my first Missouri love was a waitress. I immediately fell in love. As many of you know, trout bums exhibit this behavior on a daily basis. She certainly did not have the same attraction. What a surprise. A dead end dude flipping burgers at a roadhouse, X's in his eyes, and fantasizing about freely rising trout. What's not to like. Heather and I worked at another cafe together after the eminent demise of the Dearborn...and consequent burnings which the fire Marshall described as fire's with unknown origin. I'll let you figure out that riddle and come to the inevitable conclusion. The doomed business is still not open...not because folks have not tried. It is an outstanding piece of land. Big ideas and pipe dreams. I believe there is lots of bad Ju-Ju associated with the property. There has to be. It was a camp site for the Corps of Discovery July 17th 1805. L & C named Eagle Rock from this very site...maybe some bad shit went down that fateful evening? Who knows. If you know me at all, you understand I cannot tell a short story, just ask my close friends. As I digress...

The way I remember it, it must have been a couple years after our first meeting, and we had become friends...I expressed to Heather that she was my first love on the Missouri. She smirked, tried to suppress her laughter, couldn't. She stated that she was not my first love on the Missouri. I vehemently disagreed. I explained that she was definitely my first attraction here in the canyon. She said to me, now straight faced and brutally honest, "The river was your first love, not me." Well, sometimes the truth hurts. In this case I appreciated the insight that many females have. They know man, even when we believe we have it all figured out. She was spot on.
I saw Heather this morning. It was great to see her. She is a Nutritionist in Salt Lake and succeeding/exceeding in her profession. As are all the Filipichicks. We chatted about this very moment in life. Again she laughed and I joined in the hilarity too.

My first love was the Missouri, the river itself. It still is. She was right all along.