Water Crossings 2

I haven't had to make a serious water crossing since I moved to Arizona, and frankly I miss them. There isn't anything as exciting as fording a freezing cold, fast flowing river.

You may be wondering why Steve only has one pant leg in this picture. He smashed his knee on a rock pretty badly, and it was bleeding all over the place. When we stopped to doctor it up he took his pant leg off, and kept it off for easier access in the future (since the band-aids kept falling off). Plus, he didn't want his pants soaked with blood, being that we were in prime bear country in Montana.

Okay, here we have a semi-serious crossing at Fossil Creek in Arizona. It made for a nice rock-hop.

This photo of Cave Creek is typical of most of the water crossings you have to make in the desert. The water level is low, and the water itself is stagnant.

Backcountry Fishing

 I love fishing, especially in the backcountry, where most of the time you have an entire lake to yourself. I'm the type of guy who appreciates solitude. I would prefer a day of catching pan-fries alone in the backcountry to a packed lake choked full of boats.

Fly-fishing on No Name Lake in Glacier National Park

Steve fishing on Heart Lake (I know I've shared this before, but it's one of my favorites).

In the backcountry most of the fish you catch are pretty small...

... but every once in awhile you land a lunker, and yes we ate this for dinner that night.

Northern Exposures 2

Coeur d' Alene River - Idaho Panhandle National Forest, ID

Selkirks - Near the Pack River

Hole-In-The-Wall -- Olympic National Park, WA

Unknown mountain poking through the clouds - Glacier National Park, MT

Solitary Man

I love nature photos, but I love photos of people in nature even more. A person in a picture can tell a story that might not be there otherwise. I can really imagine what they are thinking and feeling...

Luke looking out over Saint Mary Lake - Glacier National Park, MT

Stevie and the low tide - Olympic National Park, WA

Roby at Buttenhook Bay on Lake Pend Orielle - Farragut State Park, ID

Steve at Heart Lake - Great Burn Wilderness, MT
 ( I know I've shared this shot before, but It's one of my favorites and I had to post it again).

Trail Days

Sarah & Jimbo - Mt Baldy Wilderness,  Apache-Sitgreaves National Forest - AZ

Jesse, Luke, & Steve - Glacier National Park, MT

Deb - Nez Perce National Forest, ID

Seven Devils - Hell's Canyon Wilderness, Wallowa-Whitman National Forest, ID

Northern Exposures

I don't always get around to editing all the photos I've taken over the years. Here's a few of my most recent edits. Enjoy.

Descent from Cube Iron Mountain - Lolo National Forest, Montana

Capa Alava sunset - Olympic National Park, Washington

Two Medicine region - Glacier National Park, Montana

Mountain reflection in Upper Stevens Lake - Idaho Panhandle National Forest, Idaho

Don't Feed the Deer

Yeah I know deer are so cute and cuddly, but they aren't always that way. In fact if you've ever had one make themselves at home in your camp, shoving their nose into your tent or rummaging through your gear, they can be downright scary. I know it sounds silly, but hear me out. Even a doe can weigh well over a hundred pounds, and when they aren't afraid to just walk right up to you and start sniffing around it can make your heart beat a little faster, and I'm pretty sure a large deer, male or female, can kick the crap out of a human being.

Two summers ago I was camped on this lake shore in Montana and this big white tail doe did just that. She strolled confidently right into our camp and started poking her nose into everything. At first it was like a novelty. I got out the camera and started taking pictures. It was a beautiful animal to be sure. The problem was she wasn't afraid of humans at all. She walked right up to us as if we were just one of the herd.  Eventually we grew irritated and tried to drive her off, but she wouldn't budge. She looked at us like she couldn't care less that we didn't want her around. This went on for about an hour, and finally we had to resort to throwing rocks and sticks at her. I know that sounds mean, but a large animal waking you up in the middle of the night sniffing around your tent can be terrifying, especially in Grizzly country. 

She thought she was going to find an easy meal in our camp, but it didn't happen.

The point is, don't feed the deer, or any wild animals. It's not natural and it's not right. You know that saying, "A fed bear is a dead bear", well it can be true for deer as well. When wild animals lose their fear of humans, and begin to associate them with food, they can become unpredictable and aggressive, and that's when we people get killed.

Does it get any better?

Mu Uncle Steve fishing on Heart Lake in Montana

Nothing beats fishing a mountain lake, even if you're only catching pan fries. At Heart Lake one morning in Montana's proposed Great Burn Wilderness my Uncle Steve fished for a couple hours only to catch one little 8 inch trout, but the smile on his face told me that he loved every minute of it. When you're in a place as remote and as beautiful as Heart Lake, it's just being there that counts.

In the Clouds

 I shot this in Glacier Park last year. We were standing in a cloud on a mountainside around 7,000' and there was just enough break in the clouds that I saw some mountaintops peeking out from the other side of this huge valley. It was pretty epic. Actually, it was magical.

The King of Badger Lake

Fly fishing for me has always conjured a certain image in my mind...

Of a mystical Montana river winding purposely through an old pine forest. Swarms of insects fill the air, whirling about in a frenzy just above the waters surface. A lone man stands knee deep in water near the bank, and unlike most men of our age, he seems to belong. His earth-toned clothes and full brimmed hat match the shade of the evergreens, and compliment the deep orange bark of the huge Ponderosas. He holds a rod in his hand that he rhythmically whips back-and-forth, sending a line soaring gracefully through the sky, like a leaf on the wind, over his head and out to to his front, and back again...

If that sounded eerily like the movie “A River Runs Through It” it's because that's what I'm describing. Brad Pitt as Paul Maclean, fly fishing Montana's famed Blackfoot River in one of the classic guy movies of all time. It also happened to be my only concept of fly fishing.

Fly fishing on Badger Lake

So you can imagine my confusion after I was invited by the President of the Spokane Fly Fishers, Mike Berube, to go fly fishing on a lake, and from a boat. It wasn't quite what I had pictured in the minds eye, and being a total rookie I didn't have any gear. Again I was reminded of “A River Runs Through It”. The scene where the story telling brother-in-law shows up late for fly fishing, drunk with a can of worms.

Not that I was planning on showing up drunk with a can of worms, but I didn't want to be that guy. You know, the guy with no gear, who doesn't know what he's doing, who the others have to babysit. Luckily Mike was nice enough to supply most of what I needed: pontoon boat, flippers, life vest, rods and reels, flies, and a “crash course” in the art of fly fishing. 

It was a beautiful day on Badger Lake. A few clouds drifted lazily through an otherwise clear blue sky, and a slight breeze blew over the calm lake. Mike started me off with an Olive Willy fly and a sinking line. Still too shy to attempt a cast I was sure would make me look like a buffoon, I dropped the fly in front of my boat and released more line as I paddled across the water.

Not much action on the water. No fish jumping. I passed (and almost crashed into) several anglers from the club. “ Any luck?” I would say. “Had one on, but he got away” they would reply. It would be a reoccurring theme.

An hour went by and no bites, and as the sun crept toward the western horizon the lake was quiet except the sound of chatting fly fisherman. The Spokane Fly Fishers take trips together like this frequently. Throughout the year they fish some of the hot spots the region has to offer, like Badger Lake, Williams, St Joe River, Clark Fork, and even the mythological Blackfoot. With about 300 members they seem like a tight group. They talked about flies and lines, and fondly reminisced about fishing trips past. They asked politely about the wife and kids. They admired the beautiful day and were thankful for the sunshine. They wondered where the fish were...

That's when I heard it. A huge splash behind my boat, so loud that it startled me awake from my contemplative state. I turned around to see a large bird of prey lift off from the waters surface. It was big. A wingspan of four feet easy. It beat its powerful wings and climbed back to the sky, where it circled once and landed on top of the tallest tree on the lake shore. It sat there like a king on a throne, head turning from side-to-side, surveying his domain.

The King of Badger Lake

We watched the Osprey throughout the afternoon, circling the lake and diving in on unsuspecting trout. A dozen times it hit the water at high speed, sometimes coming up with a fish, and sometimes not. “At least someone is catching fish” I thought. Then it occurred to me. If the Osprey is catching fish then they must be at the surface.

I switched to my other rod set up with a strike indicator and a Bloodworm to fish near the surface. My pathetic cast landed only a few feet from the boat, and as I was paddling my feet to put some distance between me and the fly, a fish hit. I pulled up on the rod and a magnificent trout sprang from the water, the sun glistening off rainbow colored scales. Heart racing I reeled and jerked the rod. The fish fought like hell, repeatedly leaping into the air in a desperate attempt to break free. For a brief moment I felt like the old man in Hemingway's “The Old Man and the Sea”. I'm not that old, Badger Lake isn't exactly the sea, and a small rainbow trout isn’t exactly a marlin, but that’s how I felt. As I drew the fish ever closer to the boat I could hear Mike hollering, “Hold on Mike, I'm coming,” but before he could reach me with the net, my marlin spit the hook and disappeared.

I blew it. My moment of glory undone by my clumsy handling of the unfamiliar rod and reel, and a tenacious fish. As the sun faded and the temperature dropped, the action on the lake picked up. Trout who seemingly lay dormant throughout the day suddenly sprang into action, and everywhere I turned they were jumping. I would like to tell you that this is when the slaying started, but that was not the case. There was only one trout slayer on the lake that day. He wasn't fly fishing, or trolling a spinner, or sinking a worm from a lawn chair on the shore. He was spying fish from the treetops and diving from the sky like a bolt of lightning from heaven.

In the parking lot at the end of the day, a few of the fly fishers were chatting over cold beers. The talk was of why the fish weren't biting. Someone theorized about a full moon and a mix of low and high pressure systems. “The osprey did alright,” I said. The general consensus was that he caught at least five. I thanked Mike and shook hands all around. Alone with my thoughts on the drive home, I kept coming back to the Osprey. He gave us all a fishing lesson today. He was the King of Badger Lake

Badger Lake

Rocka Rolla: Dawson Pass Loop Day 2 - Glacier National Park

Not long after we left the moose behind, it started raining.  The forecast actually looked really good, calling for a chance of rain Thursday but partly cloudy Saturday and Sunday with highs in the 70’s.  Despite all the times the weather forecast has been wrong, I believed it like a fool, and packed accordingly.  So you can imagine the look on my face a couple hours earlier at the Ranger station when I stood bemused while the Ranger was contacted by radio and informed right in front of us that an arctic storm blowing across Canada would hit the park that night and last for two damn days.  Here it was early August and Glacier Park was expecting 2 inches of snow…

 So when the rain started, all I had for protection was a pack cover and a rain jacket, which usually would be fine in a regular rain storm… But it rained hard and never stopped.  By the time we got to camp at No Name Lake I was soaked. My feet were soaked through waterproof boots, my whole upper body was soaked through a waterproof jacket, and my pants were so wet I could wring them out like a dish rag. I’ll be honest; it made me rethink the quality of my gear.  The really crappy part was that because fires are illegal in most of Glacier Parks backcountry, we didn't build one. We sat in the rain and made dinner, and the first time the rain broke, we hurriedly pitched our tents.

Finally the rain did let up and we all went down to the water and did some fishing. The dreary overcast sky was darkening with the coming of twilight, and as we fished at the waters edge a thunderclap exploded in the sky overhead.  It boomed like a howitzer and the violent crash of rolling thunder stampeded from the mountain side onto our beach and shook the ground beneath our feet. And there it remained, unwavering, beating against our courage and filling our bones with dread. Our eyes were fixed on a massive sheer cliff towering over our beach like Point du Hoc, and with eyes wide open we could see stones and boulders violently tumbling down its doom lit face and smashing into the rocks below.  It was a sight to behold, the raw power of nature. Jesse looked at me and for the second time today asked, “Should we be standing here?”

Luke fly-fishing No Name Lake

It rained all night and the next morning.  At breakfast we discussed our course of action. Luke and I were so sick of the rain. We have been rained on every backpacking trip since April. It seemed we couldn't escape it and we were both feeling like we just wanted to be dry. But Jesse came to the rescue with words of wisdom that really got moral turned back around, “Overcoming adversity like this is what makes you a better and stronger man, we need to finish what we started.” Of course he was right, and a half hour later we were packed up and heading west toward the continental divide.

Bear Bait: Dawson Pass Loop Day 1 - Glacier National Park

Within 30 minutes of walking we ran into a group of hikers going the opposite way, who warned us of a black bear ahead of us on the trail…

I kind of slowed down, and was intently scanning the forest in front of me looking for it, trying to make sure that we wouldn't surprise each other. The woods were thick with spruce, and pine, and fir, and even aspen, and all I could see were a thousand shades of green and brown.  Two Medicine Lake, I knew, was maybe a couple hundred feet from my left shoulder, but I couldn't even see it through the trees. I couldn't see squat. I felt like the point-man on a U.S.  Special Forces team in some southeast Asian jungle, trying spot the enemy first before I stumbled into an ambush.

 I know the bear isn't my enemy, but  frankly I didn't want to surprise the hell out of it and get attacked by the damn thing. I kept thinking about that poor hiker in Kentucky last June who was almost eaten by a black bear. If he hadn't been rescued by another group of hikers he would have been dinner. But I had some companions with me, so I wasn't too worried.

We were being loud. We sang some Tom Petty. We clapped our hands. We called out “hey bear” and “coming through bear”, or even the occasional enticement “people steaks” and “Special tonight, leg-of-Larson, come and get it”. It was pretty amusing coming up with funny little quips to yell into the woods to ward off bears…  And in this particular instant it didn't even work.

I had just about given up. I thought the bear must be gone and I wasn't going to see it.  I glanced to my left and my eyes locked with the eyes of a bear that was standing about 15 feet just off the trail in front of me. He was staring right at me, watching me coming, and I didn't see him until I was nearly right on top of him. The instant I saw him, I was startled, which in turn startled the bear, who jumped just as a person would when you scare the crap out of them, did a lightning  fast 180 degree turn, and took off into the woods. He got about 30 feet before he ran into some huckleberry bushes and sat down for lunch.

He was big and black and the light gleaming off his manicured coat looked like something a rich woman would have worn back in the day. He paid no attention to us at all, just sat there eating like we weren't even there.  I took some pics, and soon we were on our way again. I couldn't help but wonder how the outcome might have been different if it was a 500 pound grizzly instead of a 150 pound black bear (that’s what it looked like to me). Not that 150 pounds is small. I remember Luke remarking that it was just the size of a big dog.  Well 150 pounds is a huge dog (and coincidentally also the size of the bear that mauled that dude in Kentucky).  I remember my old dog Bruener (who I compare all big dogs too), he was about 110 and scared the holy crap out of everybody, and could have killed just about anyone if he wanted to. Seeing the bear up close like that was surreal, but it wasn't scary. I realized 5 minutes after we left him that I didn't even reach for the bear spray I had on my hip.

About 15 minutes later we had another encounter that truly did scare me.  Jesse was up front, and somehow spotted a bull moose off the trail to our left about 60 feet or so into the woods. I t was by far the biggest animal I have ever seen in the wild. His rack was 5 feet long from end-to-end it looked like a damn school bus. I know that I’m exaggerating, but I was kind of freaked. It just stood there holding its ground staring. It’s like it was sizing us up. I remarked to the guys, “That thing is gigantic and it’s staring right at us” and Jesse goes, “Yeah, should we be standing here? Let’s go!” I took a couple heart pounding (it was so huge) pictures and we boogied.