Fascinating as you might find our dietary preferences, I suspect most readers would rather have a fishing report. So, in a nutshell, the fishing was tremendous. The catching could have been better, but that’s the breaks. So, I’ll just report things as they occurred, with the predictable tangents I am prone to.

Besides huckleberries and an overdue family vacation, the main reason for our Flathead trip was to celebrate my daughter’s 16^th birthday, which propitiously fell on August 16. We wanted to make it a memorable occasion for her, and it was. We rented a cabin at the North Forty resort between Columbia Falls and Whitefish for two nights. We wanted to stay flexible for the other two nights, and weren’t quite sure where we’d wind up anyway, so threw in a minimal amount of camping gear.

Thursday we got a late start, and I wanted to stop and check out a horse at an outfitter’s place between Whitehall and Butte. In an earlier phone conversation it’d come up that we both have horses we’re interested in parting company with, and we both seemed to think there was some potential we could have use for each other’s. The thought of a straight-across trade, satisfaction guaranteed for both parties, is definitely attractive, especially since his is 7 years old and mine is 18. Well, after having been bucked off once in the prior twenty years, I was dumped twice last week! One of mine did also, which is a long story in itself that I’ll spare you. The potential tradee is an ex-race horse, and apparently takes a dim view of strangers who want him to run, but then stop, as well as respond to commands and other annoyances. I was not in bronc riding mode, and was taken completely by surprise when he started going vertical, and found myself grounded after three or four jumps. I thought the outfitter, his son, and a friend, plus my own family showed real restraint by not collapsing in hysterics…. Did the cowboy thing, and got back on, though. He was still about half uppity, but I was ready after that, with a death grip on the saddlehorn. Oddest, I’m still considering the trade….

After that episode, and bite to eat in Butte, we were running out of daylight and so pitched the tent at a KOA in Deerlodge. The next day was Kristen’s birthday, and touring the old prison just didn’t seem like a fitting birthday activity, so we headed up the road for the Flathead.

We took some back roads coming and going. On the way up we departed I-90 at Drummond, and took a road that crosses the Garnet Range into the Blackfoot Valley, coming out near Helmville. It’s immensely scenic country, but the condition of a few scattered ranches along the way is a constant reminder that Montana is in the midst of a transition from an agriculture, timber, and mining based economy into something yet to be determined. Like Bruce Springsteen sings, "Foreman says these jobs are going, boys, and they ain’t coming back…" I exited college with a degree in economics, the "dismal science" (although just saying that always makes me smile), and will make an effort to keep macroeconomic tangents short. You’ve heard of comparative advantage? They can grow cows in Iowa, or just about anywhere for that matter. Grizzly bears, bighorn sheep, and other wild country residents small and large require specific qualities in their home ranges that we have in abundance here, and that is where our advantage lies. Not to mention that sort of country is inspiring to humans also, and once you look past the decaying remnants of Montana’s extractive era, our real treasure is still out there. OK, enough already....

Once we hit the Blackfoot River, and passed over several most enticing looking tributaries like the North Fork Blackfoot and Monture Creek, it became apparent it was a lucky thing the most rabid fishermen in the car (my son & his buddy Aaron) were asleep or we would have encountered resistance to our plan to make it to the Flathead that day. I was wondering myself, but it was Kristen’s day and fishing is not a big thing with her. So down the road we went, turning up the Swan Valley at Clearwater Junction. Views are tremendous the whole way, but from the time we hit the Blackfoot, it was impossible to ignore the increasing purple tint to the landscape. Knapweed is way out of hand in that country.

That brings up another tangent that bears touching on. Knapweed and Leafy Spurge are major problem weeds, which are proving difficult to impossible to control. The amount of knapweed in western Montana is appalling. Not only is it completely unpalatable (to most species, more on that in a moment), but it releases chemicals into the soil that inhibit growth of more desirable plants. Widespread chemical control is not the answer, as it’s expensive and wreaks environmental havoc of its own. However, sheep and goats will eat knapweed and spurge, in preference to other plants. For better or worse, widespread goat ranching never really caught on in Montana, or anywhere else for that matter…. No aspect of agriculture can be said to be thriving, but the sheep industry has been particularly hard hit, and is pretty much DOA. A new program from USDA is going to attempt to encourage small-scale sheep production once again, though. They’ve reportedly budgeted about six million dollars, and the program is being administered by the father of a friend of mine. They are long-time sheep men, and my buddy put himself through college shearing sheep (another vanishing skill). Details are still being worked out, but it appears USDA will finance the purchase of flocks by individuals (200 head is minimum, reportedly). The sheep will be grazed on lands with a knapweed problem during the summer months, at little or no cost to the owner. USDA retains a percentage of the wool proceeds, and after five years the debt is retired and the producer owns the sheep. Plus, a lot of knapweed gets eaten in the process. Reportedly, sheep can completely eliminate a stand of knapweed over about a six-year period. Leafy Spurge can never be eliminated, but it can be controlled with yearly grazing. I don’t know how many readers are interested in raising sheep (just think of the potential for humor, if nothing else) but we could sure use an environmentally sound means for controlling knapweed, and hopefully this program will provide at least some benefit in that regard.

Enough about sheep, though…. The rest of Kristen’s birthday was great fun; starting off with lunch at Moose’s Saloon. Taking three teenagers into a dimly lit drinking establishment, one with sawdust on the floor and the tables and walls covered with several generations worth of carved autographs is not as bad of parenting as you might think… Moose’s is an institution in the Flathead. Late evenings still get wild, but the lunch crowd ranged from infants to elderly. Most interestingly, Kim reminded Kristen that a little over sixteen years prior, we’d seen the name Kristen carved in a table at Moose’s, which planted the seed for her name in our minds. So, lunch there on her birthday was immensely appropriate, and the boys added to the carvings. Not too many places anymore where that is not only tolerated, but expected. When in Kalispell; Moose’s is not to be missed.

The rest of the day included touring & shopping around Kalispell, Whitefish, and Bigfork, a birthday dinner at Serrano’s, cake back at the cabin (my wife had arranged for birthday cake and balloons to be delivered!), followed by a drive-in movie. Drive-in theaters are yet another vanishing species, and one of the few remaining ones in the state is by Columbia Falls. Unfortunately, it occupies prime real estate on a main intersection, and I see the property is for sale. I suspect we may have attended our last drive-in….

The next day we visited some friends and went boating on Flathead Lake, ostensibly fishing for Mackinaw. These lunkers aren’t nearly as common as they used to be, although the reasons why are not clear and are a regular source of debate in the Flathead. Whether the fish are biting or not, boating along Wild Horse Island is a fine activity. My friend’s boat is mostly a fishing proposition, and we’d promised the teenagers raw power and speed, so we also rented a speedboat. Forgot the camera on that venture, blast it anyway, or we could have shown you various failed attempts at water skiing. ‘Twas immense fun, anyway.

The original plan was to cross the Going-to-the-Sun road in Glacier Park, and return to Bozeman along the east side of the mountains. But, those enticing streams in the Blackfoot were singing a siren song of flyfishing, so late Sunday we headed back up (down, south, whatever) the Swan Valley and wound up camping on Monture Creek. Fishiest looking creek I’ve seen in some time…. Being the Dad, most of my time that evening went to setting up camp, but Cody & Aaron returned at dark with tales of encountering a big bull moose, and not much fishing success. Those two boys are rabid and quite accomplished flyfishermen, so if they weren’t connecting….

Tried it again the next morning, with similarly limited success, so we packed up and headed up the road. We fished the Blackfoot in a couple of spots, and doggone it, got skunked altogether. Maybe Norman MacLean wrote that book about it, and yes, the river does still run through it, but personally I know of lots better fishing spots than around those parts.

So there you have it. A treatise on failed industries, deteriorated fisheries, knapweed, and rank horses. You might think we didn’t have any fun, but you would be grossly mistaken…. It was the funnest family vacation we’ve had in a long time, maybe ever. At this stage in the parenting gig, it’s blessing abundant that our kids not only still enjoy our company (and vice versa), but they’re turning into pretty interesting people themselves….

Fresh Snow on the Peaks

This morning the high country around here is looking distinctly white, and it seems like Mother Nature must have skipped August and went directly to September. The Spanish Peaks, and even Sacajawea and Hardscrabble in the Bridgers are wearing more than just a dusting of snow. Yesterday afternoon it seemed a little chilly in the office, and I about fell over when I checked the thermometer and saw it was only 43 outside. This is early August; it’s supposed to be somewhere above 80! Not to complain, it beats the blistering heat and tinder-dry conditions it looked like we were on track for early this spring, that have been the case the previous three or four Augusts. Still, anybody backpacking through the high country yesterday was probably not having too much fun.

We saw a few snowflakes ourselves on a packtrip up to Expedition Pass in the Madison Range two weekends back. Mainly, though, we experienced every increment of rain from drizzle to deluge, as well as hail (twice, no shelter around the second time) and intense lightning. Last weekend we got wet again on another backcountry venture to the Sphinx, also in the southern Mads. The goal was to climb the 10,876’ Sphinx Mountain, as well as tour the neighborhood. True to form, for this August at least, it socked in and poured rain. We persevered anyway, and got soaked for our efforts. Again, not to complain, it’s gorgeous up there, but Kodak moments were in distinctly short supply. The plant growth is tremendous this summer, and the trails up there don’t exactly see a lot of traffic, and once it starts raining it doesn’t matter if you’re hiking on or off-trail, you’re soaked from the waist down. I know, rain pants, but I only had a pair of chaps (chinks, mid-calf length) and my son had forgotten his rain pants altogether. So, we just got wet. At least we had nylon pants on, which dry rapidly. Blue jeans would have been even more miserable.

One upside to the moisture levels and profuse plant growth is the berry crop. Wild raspberry and strawberry plants were everywhere. Most of the raspberries were either already gone or not ripe yet, but my son found what was quite possibly a world record strawberry, which he promptly consumed. Someday, we’re going to collect enough of those to bake a pie. We’re thinking that will be at least a $500 pie, which we’re also going to consume after brief admiration. We also found a reasonable number of huckleberries, which are somewhat rare in this part of the state. My wife and I both spent significant portions of our childhoods in the berry patches of Glacier Park and the Flathead, where under the right conditions the bushes can be absolutely black with berries. That sets a high standard, and when acquaintances in this part of the state start expounding about abundant huckleberries, I get skeptical. I’ve never seen berry patches even remotely matching the Flathead anywhere else, and true to form, the ones we found up Bear Creek were scant in comparison, but still the best I’ve come across in these parts. While they lack in abundance, they give up nothing in flavor, which emphasized how much I’ve missed huckleberries on my morning granola. We’re planning a trip to the Flathead next weekend, & hopefully will replenish our supplies.

Back to last weekend, though; Sunday morning when I got up to put the horses out to graze, there were blue skies with only a few wisps of fog drifting over the top of the Sphinx. By the time I got the picket ropes moved and the ponies staked out (about five minutes worth), a wall of fog had rolled in and it was pouring again. That left not much to do but go back to bed and listen to the rain beat on the tent.  There's worse things, lots worse things....  A couple of hours later the rain stopped, and we rallied to at least partly blue skies.

So, we decided to head out and take our chances on the weather. The trail out of Middle Fork Bear Creek ascends about a thousand vertical feet to a saddle between the Helmet and the Sphinx, from which point it’s another couple thousand vertical to the top of the Sphinx. The views from the saddle are great, and the Helmet is a pretty impressive spire itself. We thought better of ascending higher, though, as more rain was probable. The thought of being on top in a thunderstorm lacked appeal, not to mention descending a considerable expanse of wet rock, plus if I’m going to expend that kind of effort, I want photogenic weather on the summit. A solo climber ahead of us apparently discounted those concerns, though, and was making record time toward the summit last we saw. As it turned out, the weather stayed nice, but I don’t like getting a late start on ventures of that nature, and don’t feel bad about our decision. Next time….