Book Review: A Cast Away in Montana

Like many of us, I’ve read Tim Schulz’s work in Hatch Magazine for years. I’ve always enjoyed his take on fishing. It’s not quite blue-collar, but it’s decidedly less highbrow than some, and has a relatability to it that you don’t often find in our current era of travel-centric outdoors writing.

A Cast Away in Montana is Tim’s second book (The Habits of Trout—And Other Unsolved Mysteries was his debut) and first published by Lyons Press. Nick Lyons himself has a quote on the cover, which says “The book is filled with joy, surprise, and unforgettable anecdotes. I loved it.” The cover, by the way, is illustrated by Bob White, and each chapter features a Bob White pencil drawing, as well.

At its simplest, Montana is a chronicle of Tim’s first time fly fishing in Montana. He’s from the Upper Peninsula, so rivers like the Big Hole and the Madison had always been caught in the fly fishing mythos for him. He spent three weeks touring southwest Montana, and this book recounts the highs and lows in a way that’ll have you remembering your own first time in the Big Sky state.

“You don’t just drive to Montana and say ‘Hello, my name is Tim. I’d like to catch some trout, please,'” Schulz writes. “You need a plan that answers two fundamental questions: Where will you fish? And where will you sleep?”

Montana is overwhelming because there are so many places to fish, so many legendary rivers to see, that you can easily spend an entire three week road trip driving from once place to another without fishing much in between. Tim deals with some of that indecision at the beginning of his trip, going from the Big Hole to Rock Creek quickly, and spending very little time at Rock Creek. It’s behavior I relate with, because I’m guilty of wanting to see what’s around the next bend as much as anyone. It’s heartening to know I’m not the only one who can think myself off the river sometimes.

Tim largely avoids the trap that makes much of fly fishing literature a chore to wade through. He doesn’t look for meaning where it doesn’t exist, and he doesn’t try to spout philosophies that aren’t his own. This book is uniquely personal: you get a wonderful sense of Tim’s devotion to his wife, Roxanne, as well as an entire chapter dedicated to their ailing dog that Tim worries might not live to see his return from Montana. In those moments, Tim offers his two cents—as any good writer should—on what fly fishing might mean, or perhaps more accurately, how it helps us process other parts of life. It never feels overdone, it never overstays its welcome, and Tim briskly moves back to the fishing in due time.

The fishing stories are well-paced, and Tim does an excellent job of painting enough of a picture that you feel like you’re right there with him. If you’ve fished the Big Hole, Madison, Rock Creek, or other famous Montana rivers, you’ll likely feel right at home with Tim’s apt descriptions of the water and the fish.

“A confetti storm of bugs hovers in the air and drifts on the water now, and I’m in a race with darkness,” Tim writes of one evening on the Big Hole.

“In Justin’s hand, the fish shimmers like a piece of stained glass an artist might sell at an Ennis gift shop,” he writes of a rainbow caught on the Madison River.

For his three weeks in Montana, Tim spent two days with a guide. The final day of fishing—and the last chapter in the book—are with Tim’s son Daniel. That stuck with the most, I think, because any son who’s fished with his father understands how special those moments are, and it’s heartening to see how much Tim appreciated it.

I could go on, but this really is a book you should dig into on your own. It’s not like any fishing book I’ve read recently. Montana is more personal, more self-aware, and warm than almost anything you’ll encounter in magazines or online. In many ways, it’s fishing writing like it used to be, when we told stories simply for the joy of telling them, instead of selling ad space for waders or thousand-dollar fly rods.