I took Highway 212- the Beartooth Highway, up to Red Lodge. Not a spectacular fishing highway, but you go through the Beartooth Plateau, which has some great fishing and gorgeous scenery. A great deal of it was self-serving- in two weeks I was to pick my friends up at the airport in Billings, and I needed to determine whether it was faster getting there from Cooke City through Yellowstone and Gardiner, or from Cooke City through Red Lodge to Billings.
The roadtrip was gorgeous, and I can see why it’s frequented by so many bikers. One of the few times I’ve wished I owned a motorcycle. And Red Lodge doesn’t seem to rate high on the destination agendas of many anglers, but it seemed a worthwhile venture- Rock Creek, Clark Fork of the Yellowstone, Rosebud Creek and the Stillwater River- that’s enough water for me.
I got in my car and drove upstream to the next access. It was quieter, and the water looked
better, but I still caught no fish. The wildlife helped soothe that, though. A six point mule deer in the parking lot. Wild turkeys gobbling from the overhanging cliffs. It was a nice place, and I still miss it.
No fish, though.
The roadtrip was gorgeous, and I can see why it’s frequented by so many bikers. One of the few times I’ve wished I owned a motorcycle. And Red Lodge doesn’t seem to rate high on the destination agendas of many anglers, but it seemed a worthwhile venture- Rock Creek, Clark Fork of the Yellowstone, Rosebud Creek and the Stillwater River- that’s enough water for me.I stopped in Red Lodge, which seemed to me one of Montana’s most fun towns- the number of bars per capita is truly outstanding. But it was lunchtime and I was on a mission, so I wound up just getting my Montana license at the local True Value and heading over to the Stillwater River.
I drove up a long gravel road more or less following the river, grasshoppers 
still smashing against my window and getting stuck in the wiper blades, smearing against the glass as though someone had egged my car. I pulled in at Cliff Swallow fishing access, which had a number of available campgrounds and only two or three groups of others. 
I soon realized, however, this wasn’t the place I want to be. Investigating the first decent-looking water led to the discovery of three or four trout carcasses and a pile of beer cans. Three girls in their early teens, maybe fourteen or fifteen, were about eighty yards downstream of where I was fishing, horsing around in the water. No big deal, until two of them crossed the river where the third couldn’t. This wouldn’t be a big deal either, except for the third girl breaking down midstream, sobbing and screaming to the other two to come help her cross, stumbling along on the cobble sobbing. I couldn’t help but feel like shit.
still smashing against my window and getting stuck in the wiper blades, smearing against the glass as though someone had egged my car. I pulled in at Cliff Swallow fishing access, which had a number of available campgrounds and only two or three groups of others. 
I soon realized, however, this wasn’t the place I want to be. Investigating the first decent-looking water led to the discovery of three or four trout carcasses and a pile of beer cans. Three girls in their early teens, maybe fourteen or fifteen, were about eighty yards downstream of where I was fishing, horsing around in the water. No big deal, until two of them crossed the river where the third couldn’t. This wouldn’t be a big deal either, except for the third girl breaking down midstream, sobbing and screaming to the other two to come help her cross, stumbling along on the cobble sobbing. I couldn’t help but feel like shit.I got in my car and drove upstream to the next access. It was quieter, and the water looked
better, but I still caught no fish. The wildlife helped soothe that, though. A six point mule deer in the parking lot. Wild turkeys gobbling from the overhanging cliffs. It was a nice place, and I still miss it.No fish, though.
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