Idaho & Montana! - August 2019

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Part Two of our big summer adventure

Back On The Farm

Oregon passed by just out our windows as we drove toward Idaho. Driving gave us the opportunity to practice our Montana sign language skills just as Muir Trek taught us. When vehicles in rural Montana meet on two lane roads, the drivers communicate with each other by lifting a number of fingers on the hand gripping the top of the steering wheel. One finger up translates to a simple, "Hello." Two fingers raised and it becomes, "How you doing?" Three fingers raised and it is, "How's the wife and family?" Four fingers means, "Stop and let's talk." We wanted to be ready when we entered Montana and wow the inhabitants with our confident communication skills.

Our friends - the new Montanans - spread is in the Stevensville area south of Missoula. Our favorite route through Idaho is up highway 12 along the Clearwater and Lochsa Rivers and into Montana at Lolo Pass. It is scenic and each trip allows us a bit more exploration of this wonderful area. We wanted to get up the corridor as far as possible so we could visit two special spots before dropping into Montana's Bitterroot Valley the next day. Our overnight stop was the O'Hara Campground along the Selway River. For an overnight, it was pleasant.

We set off early the next morning as we wanted ample time for a couple of hikes. Our first stop was a hard to find small turnout and trailhead. The trail led up the steep gradient of a small tributary to the Lochsa. We found the hot spring pool vacant with no one around. It became our special little bit of paradise. The hot spring water flowed down from the source into a pool built into the smooth granite perched above the creek.

The water was oh so just right.

Our next trailhead was well marked.

An incredibly well built suspension bridge spanned the Lochsa River.

The well worn trail led us up Warm Springs Creek. This is a well known and popular location, as it should be. This is a special spot.

The first pool was down a very steep trail and captured water from a spring flowing down the cliff face.

Another hiker on the trail called it a "private pool" and said there were people using it that could use a bit of privacy. I used the magic of photoshop on the above photo to give them privacy.

The main hot pool was along a flow of hot spring water just above the creek. 

The hot water flowed into Warm Springs Creek and various small warm pools were created that allow alternate dips between warm and cold water.

This is a pretty neat and beautiful spot.

Our topo showed another hot spring a bit further on and that is where we found the Minnesota Girls. They were nice and happy women. The Lady complimented their cute swim suits as they asked if I would take photos of them in the hot spring with their phones. The girl in pink explained, "It's our girl friend's suit. We are out from Minnesota visiting her and as soon as I saw the suit I had to borrow it for today. She's working today. We're exploring!"

I took several photos for them and asked them to check my work so we could retake as needed.

"You two sure scored on having this pool to yourselves," the Lady added. "This is the nicest one!"

They were so sweet and invited us to join them. We thanked them and said maybe, after we explored the area a bit more.

There was one smaller hot pool further on. We returned to the Minnesota Girls and I asked permission of a photo for us.

We were starting to feel like protective grandparents but knew these two could handle themselves. We shared travel stories, Midwest stories, other hot springs visited stories, and I had to ask, since they were from Minnesota, did they know our friend, takesiteasy? "We know lots of guys who take it easy, some even way too easy, but not the one and only takesiteasy you ask about."

As we parted, the Lady asked, "Where you off to next on your way home?"

"Mount Rushmore!"

With two wonderful hot spring adventures behind us, we entered Montana. Arriving back at Muir Trek and Outdoor Woman's farm is like coming back home. These two are simply the best.

If you recall from our previous visits, we show up to work and help out with chores and projects. The first chore was heading to the mountains to pick huckleberries. We could do that.

The new addition to the farm was "The Girls."

"What are their names?" the Lady asked.

"I don't name something I'm going to eat someday," Outdoor Woman explained. "When one stops laying eggs, it's dinner."

We toured the Mennonite built chicken palace - there is an local community of Mennonites with excellent farm/ranch/building skills. The Girls are free range during the day on the spread. They follow Outdoor Woman around like she is their mom.

We tackled several projects. The Lady helped Outdoor Woman with scraping and repainting porch posts on the rental house. I helped Muir Trek with a couple of maintenance and repair issues on his small Kubota tractor and mower. With the little tractor up and running, we hauled out log chains and chain saw to the edge of the property and started in on clearing up downed trees - until a woman named "Cat" got in the way.

Muir Trek and Outdoor Woman recently moved up items from their prior home in California. This resulted in a large pile of packing boxes, padding, and other supplies someone else could now use. Outdoor Woman had an ad up on Craigslist - free, come get it. Pay it forward.

Muir Trek was handling the phone calls. "Cat" was on her way and was having difficulties with directions, and to be kind, life in general. Fill up the chain saw with bar oil and the phone rang. More directions were given.

"I don't think she is writing anything down," Muir Trek said and rolled his eyes.

"Can she read and write?" I asked. I'm not near as kind as Muir Trek.

Fill up the chain saw with gas and the phone rang.

"There is no Ambrose Lane!" Cat yelled. Muir Trek patiently explained that there is a large sign on the main highway that clearly reads, "Ambrose Lane."

Just get ready to start up the tractor to move the tree and the phone rang.

"Okay, there is no Ambrose Lane," Muir Trek calmly said. "Where are you now?"

"I'm in the parking lot of the Burnt Fork Market," the voice on the phone answered, sounding irritated Muir Trek didn't already know that.

"Stay right there!" Muir Trek countered. "We are bringing everything to you. Stay there!"

The look on Muir Trek's face was priceless. "Will you help me?" he asked me. "We're driving into town after loading everything up and getting this over with."

"I wouldn't miss this for the world," I answered with a smile.

In route to town, the phone rang. Cat's voice asked, "Where are you? When will you be here?"

Muir Trek calmly answered, "We are driving down Ambrose Lane. We are about ten minutes driving time from your location. Stay there and what are you driving?"

"A Prius with a flower on it." Cat answered.

Muir Trek looked over at me after ending the call and asked, "What do you think this woman looks like?"

I answered, "Five bucks says it is exactly the same picture you have in your head."

The Prius with a flower on it was easy to spot in the parking lot of the Burnt Fork Market in Stevensville, Montana.

"I'm getting kicked out of my apartment and I have to move!" was the first thing Cat said to us after Muir Trek tapped on the driver's side window and jolted her away from the screen on her phone.

I tried to put myself into her shoes. I'm getting kicked out of my apartment. I need to pack up and move all my belongings. I'm driving 45 minutes one way to pick up a large stack of boxes and padding a kind soul is giving away free to help others. Would I show up with a Prius three quarter filled with useless personal items? No.

Muir Trek and I started moving much much faster than Cat could move. No way she could get in our way. It was absolutely amazing how many boxes two motivated men could stuff into a Prius. And how fast they could do it.

I wouldn't have missed it for the world and we wish Cat the best of luck.

Even with the interruptions, we got much accomplished project wise. Outdoor Woman was putting together another wonderful dinner for us.

"Where's Muir Trek," she asked.

"He's down at the far end of the hay field sitting in Dawn's new tractor, that beautiful New Holland! Do you want me to go get him?" I offered.

If you'll remember from past visits, Dawn is the woman who leases their fields for hay production. Dawn is the hardest working woman in Montana. She deserves a new tractor.

"No! You stay right here." Outdoor Woman said to me then turned to the Lady. "Julie, will you please go get Muir Trek to get cleaned up for dinner?"

She turned back to me. "If you go, you'll just climb up in the tractor with him and one of us would have to get both of you."

Dinner was out on the deck that night. The cool of the evening settled in around us. The Girls were back in their chicken palace. We were having salmon. The last of the afternoon thunderstorm was clearing. The air was fresh.

Earlier in the day our friends asked us if we'd like to play bingo. The community was raising money for a senior center. A monthly bingo game at the fire house was one of the fund raisers.

We had never played bingo before. We had no idea what to expect. This was like stepping onto foreign soil. We learned there are people who are really serious about their bingo.

We each paid for three bingo cards. Some players had six or more. Those were the ones that never smiled. I sat next to Muir Trek and he oversaw my plays and helped. Outdoor Woman did the same for the Lady.

During the first game I heard Outdoor Woman whisper to the Lady, "You have it there!" and pointed.

"That's a bingo? Should I say bingo?"

The Lady won the first game. A nice woman handed her money.

The second game was something called "postage stamps" where you fill two non adjoining squares on a card. Keeping track of three separate cards is work but it looked right after a number was called and I called out, "I believe I have it!"

"Say Bingo!" my unsmiling neighbor to my right with six cards pointedly directed. A nice woman gave me money.

The evening continued like that. Bingo! was the Lady's and my new middle names. Murmurs started in the back of the room.

"Tell those two to never come back."

"They better come back so we can get a crack at getting our money back."

A nice woman kept giving us money.

The last game was called black out. All the spots on a card need to be filled. An extra pot of $75 was added if you succeeded in filling a card in the first 59 number draws. I passed a note to the Lady, "If either of us win the big pot, quickly announce we are donating it all to the senior center building fund or we won't get out of here alive."

There is a bit of exaggeration in the bingo story. All these Montana locals were indeed very nice people. I've taken a bit of liberty with some of the details, but not about the winning and the need to donate the big pot.

Our time in Montana with our friends was over far too soon. The farm could easily become a second home. I think it has. The proprietors are some of the best people we'll ever know. This place is a little slice of heaven.

With huckleberries and farm fresh eggs, we left the next morning for Wyoming. 

Our big summer adventure story continues here -

Green River, Bridger Wilderness Wyoming - August 2019

Steens Mountain, Oregon - August 2019

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Part One of our big summer adventure

Family & Fly Fishing

Pie, my cousin, the Big Guy, loves fresh baked pie. So when the Big Guy planned a meet up with us for fly fishing - a shared passion - we knew the best surprise we could give him would be pie. The Lady and I scoured photos online of the interior of the cabin he rented at Steens Mountain Resort to confirm it had an oven for baking. The unbaked, frozen pie rode in a place of honor as we headed north from home on a familiar route. We passed through Hallelujah Junction and Alturas, places filled with memories of past travels. Our overnight spot was the remote Hot Springs Campground on Hart Mountain National Antelope Refuge.

It was Wednesday afternoon. Pronghorn were about.

Why was the place so busy, especially midweek? We took the last remaining campsite. Our nearest neighbor's campsite was filled with equipment trailers, ATVs, easy ups, tables and tents. Proudly flying over the compound were US and Texas flags. All the vehicles had Oregon plates.

"They must be Texagonians," the Lady observed.

They were friendly - "I'll have coffee on at five tomorrow morning!" the probable alpha male of the group offered as we walked by - but they were also unpleasant neighbors. Whinny country music droned and covered the natural sounds of wildlife and the flowing creek. They could not quietly walk to the bathroom. An ATV roared to life and announced another run to the crapper. Their evening conversations ratcheted up in volume as alcohol kicked in.

We could put up with it for a night and we also have the knack of wandering far away and disappearing into the natural surroundings. The vast sagebrush steppe of Hart Mountain is awe inspiring and spectacular in the evening.

Marsh hawks flew low on their hunt. Deer quietly moved through the draws, does with fawns. Mother quail herded their almost grown chicks. The natural world was alive all around us, so much more rejuvenating and refreshing than "Falling into a burning ring of fire," the country golden oldie we left behind at camp.

"Why is this place so busy?" the Lady asked a National Fish & Wildlife ranger who stopped to chat as we returned along the road.

"Tomorrow, August first, is the opening day of archery season," he explained.

"That's why this place and people are so different from our other stays here." the Lady acknowledged.

An interesting side note was the hot spring pool was virtually unused. Two other non hunting couples were here for the hot spring experience.

The Texagonians tipped over fairly early and our night was quiet. Coffee was not on at five at our neighbor's camp the next morning. They started to stir around the time we drove out after our long early morning walk and breakfast. No crack of dawn start to archery season this year for them.

We had lunch at the trailhead at Page Springs in the Steens Mountain Recreation Area. We enjoyed a hike up the Dunder und Blitzen River, or "The Blitzen", named for thunder and lightning during raging thunderstorms.

The Big Guy arrived, we moved into our cabin - home for three nights, and got the pie in the oven. An apple pie baking in the oven is absolute heaven.

The Big Guy suggested meeting at Steens Mountain because both he and I have fished there many times. My last fly fishing trek down to Wildhorse Lake two years ago was a classic for me. Therefore Wildhorse Lake was our first day of fly fishing.

The Big Guy had concerns about the hike. He lives at sea level and the trail starts at close to 10,000 feet near the summit of Steens. It is also a down and up hike so the climb out would be at the end of our day.

The hike down to this alpine gem of a lake above tree line was through a lovely garden profuse with wildflowers.

This is a beautiful small glacial cirque we will enjoy revisiting time and time again.

We assembled our rods and started in fishing. My first cast - a size 16 bead head pheasant tail nymph pattern under a strike indicator - brought my first trout to the net.

The Big Guy quickly caught his first trout. The trout were smaller in size - in length and weight - then I caught our last two visits. There is no natural reproduction habitat available to spawning trout in this cirque. Wildhorse Lake is a "put and grow" fishery for Lahontan Cutthroat Trout, one of the native trout of the Great Basin. From my experience, I sensed that the lake was replanted last year with small cutthroats and it will be a few years before they reach the size I enjoyed catching two years prior. We have it on our calendar to return in 2022.

We still enjoyed a day of challenging fishing here.

"I know why they are skinny," the Big Guy commented after releasing another trout. "They are such picky eaters!"

He was correct. We found no fly that consistently produced takes. My best success was with a size 16 foam black ant pattern. I would get a take from a fourth of the fish I watched approach and only if another trout was close by. The take was driven by competition for food. A long fine tippet helped with fooling these picky eaters.

No big cutthroats but a good day. How could it not be at a place so special as this?

It was time to hike out, Although a bit worried on how he would do on the climb out, the 78 year old Big Guy did well. The beauty of the landscape and the abundant wildflowers did more to take our breaths away than did the physical exertion.

We relaxed a bit after reaching the top and took in the alpine terrain.

The next day of fly fishing will go down as one of my favorites.

"Goddamnit!" The Big Guy's outburst was explosive. It can stop you in your tracks. His is a percussive booming voice, especially when it comes to "Goddamnit!"

He had warned us about all the vegetation. It was thick, damn near impenetrable. "It will catch your fly and then not let loose!" he had schooled us.

My first cast put my grasshopper pattern on the water through the slight break in the curtain of shoulder high grasses overhanging the creek surface, four feet lower than the ground I was standing on. I let it drift into the undercut bank invisible below me. The "gulp" was scary. Did someone drop a bowling ball in the creek? I missed the fish. It took me by surprise although the Big Guy also said there could be big trout and related stories from the past about 26 inchers that broke off heavy tippet with a sound like a rifle shot.

The Big Guy's first cast brought about the aforementioned "Goddamnit!"

The Lady went to help. It is her nature. We could not see him but the shaking grasses pinpointed the Big Guy's location along with another well punctuated "Goddamnit!"

"Are you on your knees? The Lady asked. "I hope so because if you are on your feet, no way I'm going in that hole to help!" A fly rod came up out of grasses on the end of his long arm followed by the answer, "I'm on my knees." The Lady took the fly rod.

"You need 5x tippet at a minimum," the Big Guy had counseled. "Anything smaller and you are just breaking off fish."

The downside is that it takes a 26 incher on a run to break it. That means when your fly is snagged in impenetrable weeds you cannot break it off. You are going in after it.

"You had better wear your nylon long pants!" the Big Guy had also directed before we left the cabin that morning. "No shorts! The grasses, teasel, stinging nettles, and thistles will cut your legs up." We wore our long pants.

We worked our way along Bridge Creek and an irrigation canal that delivered Blitzen River water to valley agricultural fields. The Lady led the way. No way to see our feet through the thick grass. It was carefully feeling your way through with your feet. The Lady is an expert in tough terrain. We followed her, looking for any small opening over the water that offered an opportunity to get a fly on the water.

The Lady got to thinking. She carried the ghost net. "How in the world are you ever getting a big fish to net if you catch one?"

"You'll have to jump through the grass into the water and net it for us." the Big Guy answered. "After the long drop the water could be up past your arm pits."

"Why me?" the Lady asked.

"I'm too old to do that anymore. You're the youngest," came the answer.

"Be careful here!" the Lady pointed out as she led. "The bank drops off here to the creek and you can't see it. Go off my path even an inch and you're going in." I went in. After they both determined I was still alive.........she followed up with, "I told you. You need to listen to me."

It was hot, I'd say 90°. A good day for rattlesnakes to take cover in the deep grass. We stepped slowly and carefully.

We reached an old weir on Bridge Creek. Below was a riffle and the only opportunity to enter the water after a climb down. It would have been easier to fall again. The Lady was upstream with the camera as I cast up and let the hopper drift through the ripple.

The Lady loves to watch the entire sequence, studying the water, the cast, the drift, the trout rise, the take, the fight, and the release.

We both caught trout, not many and not any large enough to necessitate the Lady launching herself with reckless abandon into the water up to her armpits with the ghost net. Maybe next time.

We climbed out of the tangle and found shade under a couple of junipers. We looked downstream as we ate and marveled that we had managed to fly fish and catch trout.

I am truthful when I say I had a great time. It was indeed a challenge. It took patience and determination. It was like climbing a mountain, one step at a time. We moved through the day. Time flowed by like the creek alongside us and in a whisper a good day had passed. Would I return and do it again? Absolutely.

How many times did I hang up a fly in the weeds? I said a few "Goddamnits!", just not as loud as the Big Guy.

We said our goodbyes to the Big Guy the following morning along with making plans for our next fly fishing meet up. Hugs were all around as we parted. The company and pie were fantastic.

We were on our way to Idaho and Montana.

Our big summer adventure continues in the Part Two -

Idaho & Montana! - August 2019