The editor’s cast
Andrew Flitcroft visits a unique fly-fishing and music festival in the heart of Montana
IT’S EARLY September and I’m sitting on a bench by the Bob Jacklin casting pond in West Yellowstone, Montana. The pond, a communal facility in the middle of the town, is testament to the region’s fly-fishing heritage. Visitors hone their casting skills here, and the fly shops — there are five in West Yellowstone alone — use it to demonstrate their wares and give lessons.
Today, the town is hosting the annual two-day Wretched Mess Festival. Launched in 2023, the event honours David Bascom (aka Milford “Stanley” Poltroon), a Montana resident and founder of the quirky, satirical fly-fishing magazine Wretched Mess News from the ’60s to ’80s. The festival’s organisers pay tribute to Bascom’s creative legacy by celebrating the things he loved — art, music and fly-fishing.
I’m watching the single-hander casting competition organised by the Anglers Academy and the town’s Big Sky Anglers outfitter. My host, Simon Chu, a Montana and New Zealand fishing guide and part of Loop’s Ambassador and US Sales Team, is standing at the other end of the pond, judging.
Let me tell you, with a canister of bear spray, she would have been The Terminator's worst nightmare… in a frock
Watching young guns and old masters go head-to-head in both distance and accuracy is an eye-opener. I’m familiar with the accuracy part — trying to land a fly in hoops positioned at random distances (up to 40ft) — but was reluctant to try it for fear of embarrassment in the main event: the distance category. This was unorthodox for a dry-fly man with a relaxed casting stroke. When I push things too far, it often ends badly. But it’s fishing, not casting, right? What these guys were doing was more like a workout.
Rather than using a five-weight line on a five-weight rod, some competitors loaded a 9ft eight-weight with a five-weight floater. The idea is to use a fly-line with a very long belly, keeping as much of it in the air as possible to load the heavier rod and achieve maximum distance. Think about it: as soon as the loop in the belly of your line straightens during casting, the line stops shooting. Why then would you choose a short-headed line, when a longer-headed line keeps unravelling and shooting line at a greater distance? It sounds straightforward when put like that, but try it yourself. I did when the crowds dispersed and I could time it perfectly with a gust of wind. I soon realised that I wasn’t cut out for it.
Goings on at the 2026 Wretched Mess Festival in West Yellowstone, Montana.
Andy Hardman Photography
Distance casting requires a technique that takes many moons to master. Competitors maximise tip speed by ending both the back and forward cast on the horizontal, then power forward on the final delivery with maximum body momentum — like that of a javelin thrower — flinging the thing as far as possible towards, in this case, a charging bear at the other end of the pond.
The remote-controlled bear was at the Yellowstone National Park Rangers’ stand to demonstrate the use of bear spray. A group of us had an initial briefing from two rangers. First, attach the canister of spray in its holster to your belt, where it’s instantly accessible. “You won’t have time to take it out of the holster — shoot from the hip,” said the ranger. “And whatever you do, don’t run. Keep calm and stand up to the bear. If it keeps running at you, give it a few squirts of spray, aiming at its feet (aiming high puts the wall of spray above the bear). If that doesn’t stop it, give it the full canister.”
Forget a remote-controlled RC Monster Truck; this was a grizzly on wheels. The ranger loved it. He sent it to the end of a patch of scrub and turned it to face me. “Are you ready? It’ll come quick. Do you have bears in England?” he asked. “No!” I replied. Within seconds, the bear was on me, and I’d barely given it a quiff with my spray. “You’ve got to be much quicker,” he said. “This thing travels at 25mph; a real bear runs at 35mph!” I was far from ready for the real thing, but who is?
Next in line was an older lady, just 4½ft tall, sweet-looking, with white locks and a floral dress. Let me tell you, with a canister of bear spray, she would have been The Terminator's worst nightmare… in a frock. She pretended to empty the whole lot with a piercing scream. I nearly hired her for our next day’s camping trip.
I left the rangers’ stand with a potential missing limb (or worse), picked up my waders from the Patagonia stand — no repairs needed, thankfully — then headed back to the Loop truck and trailer to have one last wiggle of the new, gorgeous 13ft seven-weight Ström Traditional, which will be out by the time you read this.
The festival ended with a cast-off, where the competition’s four longest casters went head-to-head. The crowd then dispersed to the bar, and the fabulous Livingston-based bluegrass band North Fork Crossing entertained as the sun set over West Yellowstone.
The sight of an ageing, bearded man in dungarees, a little worse for wear and dancing solo in the park until the small hours will always be a reminder of this most special fly-fishing town.
