We reluctantly left Bozeman and headed south of Livingston to a small town called Emigrant, Montana.  Our friend, Mark, owns a chunk of undeveloped land with frontage directly on the Yellowstone River.  Because we all know that even an idiot could catch a large cutthroat trout on the mighty Yellowstone, right?  Well, not exactly, but more on that later.  After we located Mark’s property and wrestled with the barbed wire entrance, we piloted the rig off the shoulder of the road, dodged cacti and sagebrush, and nestled the rig as close to the Yellowstone as we could get it.  What a spectacular piece of land, Mark.  You are fortunate to own it, but you should know we have our attorney actively looking into squatter rights for the state of Montana.  We really enjoyed a few peaceful nights on Mark’s land.  We made a day trip up to Tom Minor Basin at Mark’s suggestion, and we were not disappointed.  What a beautiful spot in the heart of grizzly country.  We were not fortunate enough to see the Grizz from the comforts of our rig, but you could just tell he was out there.  We popped into Chico Hot Springs for a couple cocktails and a soak in their hot pools.  What a cool spot…if you are ever in the area, go there, it’s very unique, and it’s been around since 1897.  You can actually soak in the pool, jump out and walk 20 feet, and order a drink at the bar window.  Our kind of place for sure.  Chico Hot Springs is also a second home for a ton of highfalutin fly guys, like our good friend, Captain Bob Hines.  Just to the north of Chico are the fabled spring creeks of the Paradise Valley, awesome waters to hunt large trout, which is exactly what the captain likes to do. Speaking of trout, I was unable to bring a Yellowstone trout to hand, and it wasn’t because I didn’t try hard enough.  I dredged nymphs in the quick water and found a pile of Whitefish eager to swallow my flies.  I found a pod of hungry fish sipping midges one evening in the slow water above Mark’s property.  Surely trout, right?  Nope, they were Whitefish too.  And then I brought out the big gear after a consult with Johnny, Two-Hander Halnon…my 6-weight, 12.5 foot spey rod.  I rigged up a very large and flashly muddler on a Scandi line, and swung that baby in perfect spey water below Mark’s property.  After a dozen swings, bam!!!  I played the fish like it was a small steelhead, gloating the entire way, only to learn that it too was another Whitefish and not a trout.  I am still not sure how that fish was able to fit that fly in its mouth.  I immediately returned to the rig, disassembled all my rods, and admitted to myself that the Yellowstone wasn’t going to play easy.  Yes, I am stubborn, you all know this, but it was time to move on.  After all, the next stop was to pay a visit to the big, dumb fish of Yellowstone National Park, because after all, EVERYONE catches fish in YNP, don’t they?  Another day, another river, another fish…