Fly-fishing lures Hauck back home

Like many fly fishermen in Western Montana where the summer days are almost Arctic in length, I often do not start fishing until the cool of the evening. Then in the Arctic half-light of the canyon, all existence fades to a being with my soul and memories and the sounds of the Big Blackfoot River and a four-count rhythm and the hope that a fish will rise. Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world's great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of those rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs. I am haunted by waters.

-- Norman Maclean, "A River Runs Through It"
 

A river also runs through Big Timber, Mont., where Bobby Hauck, the new UNLV football coach, grew up. "Four or five of 'em," he says.

They all flow into the Boulder River, into which Hauck could almost cast a stone from the backyard of his boyhood home. The Boulder River originates in the Absoraka-Beartooth Wilderness Area at an elevation of 8,800 feet just south of Big Timber. It flows for 60 miles into the Yellowstone River, forming the Boulder River Valley -- aka Bobby Hauck's stamping grounds. As well as some deer and antelope, one would assume. And Brent Musberger. The famous sportscaster also hails from Big Timber.

The Big Blackfoot River, where Brad Pitt and his movie brother dipped their poles into the water, or whatever fly fishermen do, in "A River Runs Through It," is about 200 miles west of there as the crow flies. There is a lot of air space in Montana for crows to navigate, which might be why they call it the Big Sky up there. If you've ever felt the sting of an Arctic wind blowing off the eastern Rocky Mountains during winter, you know the Big Sky isn't always a Friendly Sky. But the rivers mostly remain constant, soothing the soul while merging into one, as Norman Maclean put it. Just be careful during the spring runoff.

I have seen the movie, and I have seen pictures of Boulder River. Maybe Robert Redford can tell them apart. I can't.

Both look serene. Lots of trees that turn gold-orange in fall. And canyons. And other beautiful stuff that one normally associates with Montana and its multitude of Big Sky.

"You fished those waters?" an impressed city slicker says to Hauck during a recent visit to his office.

"I did," he said.

And still does.

He's doing it right now, in fact.

Somewhere under the Big Sky, Hauck is standing in a cool stream, sporting a floppy fishing hat, probably even smoking a cigar, because that's what Brad Pitt did in the movie, because that's what fly fishermen do. He might be with a brother, a cousin, an old pal. Most likely, he'll be with his dog, a Springer Spaniel named Piper. Brothers, cousins and old pals tend to talk too much, and that only interrupts the tranquility. Piper mostly listens for birds.

The weather will be warm, but not too warm. The breeze will be cool, but not too cool. Hauck might hook a trout, he might not. It doesn't really matter. He can't remember the last time he kept one, anyway.

He says some guys golf when they feel a need to get away. Guys in Montana fish. Like Bobby Hauck tells wife Stacey when he's trying to explain why she should keep an eye on the kids while he stands knee-deep in a cool stream, waiting for a fish to rise over rocks splashed with timeless raindrops, it's therapeutic -- a lot cheaper than seeing a psychologist. If only she knew how much his gear cost.

"It's relaxing, and most of the places you go to are pretty scenic," Hauck says, conjuring up kaleidoscopic images of his Montana childhood.

"Fishing for trout, standing in a river, some place nice. I'd stand in a river in the middle of a blizzard, if that's what gets me out."

I asked Hauck if he ever came up with the idea for a football play, something Idaho State never saw coming, while fly-fishing. Nah, he said. He never thinks about football when he is fishing. How about another anecdote, then, some thought, deed or action inspired or provoked by a peaceful easy feeling on the river. Not really, he said.

A Bruce Springsteen lyric popped into mind, about the dream of life coming to somebody, like a catfish dancin' on the end of his line. Substitute a 20-inch brown or rainbow for a catfish, and maybe that's what fly-fishing is like. You do it enough times, you find the dream of life.

Maybe that's why Bobby Hauck would stand in the river in the middle of a blizzard.

Maybe that's why Brad Pitt told his movie brother he would never leave Montana.

Las Vegas Review-Journal columnist Ron Kantowski can be reached at rkantowski@reviewjournal.com or 702-383-0352.