This was the much anticipated and carefully planned 2013 Road Trip that would take us over 640 miles to remote but spectacular parts of Washington State, Idaho and, ultimately, northeastern Montana in the foothills of the Rockies. My old ADB buddies, Rich Schatz, Wayne Rusch and I were all pumped up for the big adventure.
We
would fish by boat for salmon, large mouth bass, rainbow trout and perch at the
legendary Lake Mary Ronan; and then wade deep into the frigid waters of the
famed Yaak River to do some dramatic fly-fishing. This was the stuff of dreams.
And our dreams did come true. We caught almost 40 magnificent fish including rainbow trout, large mouth bass and brown trout that ranged from sleek 8-inchers to a whopping 16-inch rainbow trout that would hardly fit into our packed ice chest. Unfortunately, none of these fish were caught in Lake Mary Ronan or in the Yaak River. They were mostly caught in Bussard Lake about 30 feet from Rich’s front door; and in Waitts Lake just a few miles away from the aforesaid door!
But wait, it gets better. Wayne caught 25 of those fish all by himself in less than an hour when we got back from our great Road Trip on Saturday evening; and the rest of them were caught by all three of us in just over an hour before brunch on Sunday morning.
No compelling answers were found--even after consuming several bottles of wine, shooting guns at logs in the lake and smoking seductively smooth Zeno cigars on the deck on Saturday evening. However, no answers were really needed. The enduring wonder of our annual road trips is that no matter what happens, we have the time of our lives, surrounded by some of the most magnificent scenery in the world. What more could you ask for? Fish, maybe?
You have to be philosophical about fishing. One day you catch nothing for reasons that are unfathomable. The next day you catch a load of fish for reasons that are equally unfathomable (except for one's innate fishing prowess). I think that our lack of success at Lake Mary Ronan and Yaak River was due to the savage heat. We really didn't see many other fishermen around; but we did fish in the most splendid country and just imbibed the sheer beauty of it all. End of philosophical musing.
After fishing Waitts Lake on Sunday morning and eating a hearty brunch at the Valley Cafe, we went off to watch a small town rodeo in nearby Springdale. So, instead of worrying about fish, we worried about all the the bucking broncos, the raging bulls, the wild cowgirls and whether any of them were going to come crashing through the flimsy railings and kill us in a frenzy of flailing legs and thrusting horns. Although it was a small town rodeo, the whole thing was carried off with great flair and amazing agility. I have only seen two other rodeos but this was just spectacular. Once again, Rich had shown us City Boyz how life was lived out West. Hey, D.C. seems tame after that!
If you want to hear about a near-miss bear attack, the ravishing Jana of Montana, the problem of ordering a Manhattan cocktail from a deaf barman and why I can remember the names of at least two NBA players, just read on. The real activity is just beginning!
Rich is the principal equipper for all our road trips. Through his generosity, Wayne and I get to stay in a beautiful lakeside house, use his lake, boats, fishing poles, fly rods, truck and benefit from his local knowledge which is truly amazing. He seems to know every neighbor within ten miles and the history of their families, properties and current status. Quite literally, we would be lost without Rich. He had been "prepping" for this trip for weeks and had everything loaded up ready to go--truck, boat, poles, bait, flies, ice chest, an electric motor for the boat (so we can creep up on unsuspecting fish) and plenty of beer. Let's hear it for our camp counselor, fishing tackle expert, boatman extraordinaire, and local guide!
We took the back roads (so beloved by William Least Heat-Moon of Blue Highways fame) through Washington State, Idaho and into Montana. We had booked at the Lake Mary Ronan Lodge in north-eastern Montana, near Polson. Their website does admit that it is "more of a glorified campground than a fancy resort" but also represents that "fishing is excellent--the lake is stocked with salmon, trout, bass and perch and....we have all your fishing needs". Sounds fantastic, right?
We met up with Mike, a bearded, slow-moving guy we found sitting at the bar that also served as the check-in counter. He "thought" we were in Cabin 7--the best accommodation at the Lodge. We later found out that he was the husband of Megan, the owner. Megan, by far the better half of the duo, told us that people had been catching salmon, brown trout and rainbows--but no perch. That last item of information (no perch) turned out to be the only accurate part of the sentence! She told us the best places to fish and we were all set. We asked Mike what bait to use and he sold us some maggots (in dried corn) which he told us to add to the worms and flies. I don't think any of us had ever heard of using maggots for bait before. Maybe that should have alerted us to the fact that something was definitely fishy about this place.
We pushed out onto the lake at about 4 p.m. and stayed out there until about 9 p.m. No fish. It was about 91F and felt stinking hot even in the evening. The next day it was 93F and after four hours in the morning and three hours in the evening we still had no fish. I think the poor fish were expiring in this unaccustomed heat. We did break for an excellent lunch on the shores of Flathead Lake that day to avoid the worst of the heat. The Lakeside Lodge was definitely a rather upscale place after Lake Mary Ronan Lodge which someone (Wayne?) described as "rustic trending towards dilapidated".
In spite of the lack of fish, Lake Mary Ronan was a rather colorful neighborhood. We had to go obtain our Montana fishing licenses from Camp Tuffit just down the road. We were really intrigued to see the sign for this camp at the entrance. While we did see one or two young ladies in bikinis, we never did find out whether you could get more than a fishing license at Camp Tuffit.
Cabin 7 had been built in 1927 and was a bit dark and dusty. It had four large double beds, a kitchen, big dining table and a shower with a shower head that only came up to your stomach. However, showering was optional on this trip and we had a ban on shaving so that we would fit in with the mountain men and other desperate characters who inhabited Lake Mary Ronan. The whole cabin was covered in graffiti but we did not add any of our own. The bed I slept in had a head board which bore the inscription: "Elly Win Slept Right Here" with an arrow pointing downwards. I will not tell you what the inscription below said because this is a family website. Suffice it to say, I did not rest well in this bed. However, I would not be writing this blog if we had stayed in one of those soulless, "fancy resorts." We take a perverse pleasure in finding places with "character". Plus the people are real characters too--friendly and genuine--except when discussing fish catch rates.
On both nights we ate at the Lodge because we were a captive audience and didn't dare try Camp Tuffit at night. The barman (Bert?) turned out to be stone deaf. Wayne didn't know that when he ordered his Manhattan. The barman was not familiar with this drink so Wayne explained that a Manhattan had two shots of Jack Daniels and one shot of sweet vermouth. What came back had two shots of sweet vermouth and one shot of Jack Daniels--causing Wayne to go into a sugar-induced coma. I don't think the bitters or the maraschino cherry made it into the drink either. When Wayne remonstrated with the barman he said he couldn't find his cocktail book but would try to remember the next time. Was he being sarcastic? Naturally, old Bert thought Wayne was a little on the fey side.
But there was no next time. The following night, Bert was replaced by a very ample barmaid. She said her name was Jana--"Jana from Montana" (pronounced Janner from Montanner). She informed us that she was a mixture of Filipino, German, Czech and Irish. I am not sure what had happened to the Filipino part but she did appear to have an oversupply of the other nationalities.
Several teeth were missing, she could put down a mutiny all by herself and she came from Alaska--where she had bred over 150 Husky lead dogs for the annual Iditarod sled races. Quite a character. She could also roll dice that always came up with the winning numbers for a free drink. So she rolled for us and we got a free drink each! She knew how to make a Manhattan; but to Wayne's horror she shook it instead of stirring it. He kept quiet because she looked like she could kill all of us with one blow.
Megan, the owner of this paradise, gave us an outline of the ups and downs of running the resort. She did say that it was actually up for sale and told us that it was a steal at $825,000 for 360 feet of lake frontage, seven cabins, an RV park, a house, the Lodge and 25 acres. I think she thought that we might be potential buyers--I mean, Wayne looks wealthy and does drink Manhattans. She stood talking for a long, long while and we had to excuse ourselves to go to bed before we all fell asleep on the bar.
Megan did seem to be carrying out every job in the resort and indicated that Mike, her errant hubby, was not partial to work. I found him on the slot machines early the next morning when I went to pay. His drink did not look like a traditional coffee. We all agreed that if Megan did manage to sell this outstanding property, Mike would be history.
Here is the Yaak River. It is a magnificent river and a great fly fishing destination. I need not dwell on the fact that the fish must have been on an outing that day but we did pass an idyllic three hours in the rushing river casting with great passion and commitment. It was like a scene from "A River Runs Through It". Come to think about it, Wayne does have a passing resemblance to Robert Redford. And, if I remember clearly, I think Rich said that his Dad had fished here many years ago. We will return in the cool season one day. It is just spectacular.
All the time that we weren't catching fish, we were talking about our loved ones, telling endless stories, describing books we had read, bemoaning the state of the world, reminiscing about the good old days (always a winner) and talking about basketball, American football and other sports about which I have only a passing acquaintance (everything from Automobile Racing--NASCAR--to Volleyball and Wrestling).
On the basketball front, I have been able to remember the names of at least two NBA players. One guy (Adam Morrison) came from Spokane so that sort of stuck in my mind (as did the fact that he also played for Red Star Belgrade and a Turkish team, Besiktas Milangaz). The other guy (J.J. Reddick) was dating (I think that was the term used) a stunning beauty from Tyler's school who became Miss Maryland, the runner up to Miss America and then Miss America when the earlier Miss America became Miss Universe. I always find it refreshing to discuss sports and will now be able to hold my own with Paul and Adrian when we get onto the subject of the NBA. And I do know who Phil Mickelson is. He's an English golf player who just won the British Open.
I should tell you how I nearly had a heart attack on our last night when we were returning from a wonderful dinner at Linda's (Schatz's sister) house in Chewelah. We were almost home when Schatz suddenly says he wants to show us a new “road” that has just been cut through his property at the side of Bussard Lake. I say "road" because it was the product of a $75-an-hour guy with a bulldozer ploughing through the underbrush to create a rough pathway through thick forest. It went around in pretty violent curves to avoid trees and went up steep hills and descended down very steep slopes on the other side. My dinner was being hurled around and the V8 engine in the Toyota Tundra pick-up was working overtime as we climbed up and slid down sizeable hills.
We came to the end of the “road” and Schatz suggested that we get out to look at some historic survey post that had been hammered into the ground in the late nineteenth century. He said that we might be lucky enough to see a bear or bears because they tended to collect in this area at dusk—drawn by the smell of honey that was being made by his neighbor's bees just up the road. As soon as we got out, we were attacked by a savage horde of mosquitoes. They were biting like crazy. I was more worried by the possibility that we might get deer ticks on us but Schatz assured us that the ticks disappeared for the year after the temperature got beyond 85F.
I was just pondering the veracity of this last remark when I heard a sound behind me. I was horrified to see something vaguely brown barreling towards me. It was almost totally covered by the undergrowth and foliage so I had no idea what it was. The word "BEAR" entered my subconscious and was rapidly uploaded into my fully conscious mind. Did brown bears run at 30 mph or was it black bears that climbed trees? That was all I had to time to think before I was seized by primordial terror.
Wayne was just in front of me but he must have heard something in the undergrowth too. He turned around and saw the look of horror in my eyes. He immediately went into panic mode too and froze as this brown mass of muscle with an ugly black snout burst out of the foliage and leaped up at me. I raised my arms to ward off the beast and suddenly realized that it was Bobbie, Schatz’s crazy boxer dog. He must have seen the car turning up the "road" near Schatz's house and had hurtled along after us. I almost collapsed with relief but was afraid to get bitten by bull ants on the ground.
Bobbie is a very sweet dog but I swear I came as close to a heart attack as I will ever get. This is the type of stuff that makes our "road" trips so memorable. I am going to carry a defibrillator with me and make sure that there is a nurse with us at all times in the future.
We will be back next year for another road trip. A huge THANK YOU to Rich for all his hospitality, great pancakes, good humor and patience with us D.C. lawyers. And a big thank you to Linda, his sister, who cooked us such a delicious dinner on Sunday evening. We are truly blessed. We will be doing this for the rest of our lives or until our loved ones refuse to push our wheel chairs around Bussard Lake any more!
NOTE: The original blog was published on July 24, 2013.
On both nights we ate at the Lodge because we were a captive audience and didn't dare try Camp Tuffit at night. The barman (Bert?) turned out to be stone deaf. Wayne didn't know that when he ordered his Manhattan. The barman was not familiar with this drink so Wayne explained that a Manhattan had two shots of Jack Daniels and one shot of sweet vermouth. What came back had two shots of sweet vermouth and one shot of Jack Daniels--causing Wayne to go into a sugar-induced coma. I don't think the bitters or the maraschino cherry made it into the drink either. When Wayne remonstrated with the barman he said he couldn't find his cocktail book but would try to remember the next time. Was he being sarcastic? Naturally, old Bert thought Wayne was a little on the fey side.
But there was no next time. The following night, Bert was replaced by a very ample barmaid. She said her name was Jana--"Jana from Montana" (pronounced Janner from Montanner). She informed us that she was a mixture of Filipino, German, Czech and Irish. I am not sure what had happened to the Filipino part but she did appear to have an oversupply of the other nationalities.
Several teeth were missing, she could put down a mutiny all by herself and she came from Alaska--where she had bred over 150 Husky lead dogs for the annual Iditarod sled races. Quite a character. She could also roll dice that always came up with the winning numbers for a free drink. So she rolled for us and we got a free drink each! She knew how to make a Manhattan; but to Wayne's horror she shook it instead of stirring it. He kept quiet because she looked like she could kill all of us with one blow.
Megan did seem to be carrying out every job in the resort and indicated that Mike, her errant hubby, was not partial to work. I found him on the slot machines early the next morning when I went to pay. His drink did not look like a traditional coffee. We all agreed that if Megan did manage to sell this outstanding property, Mike would be history.
Here is the Yaak River. It is a magnificent river and a great fly fishing destination. I need not dwell on the fact that the fish must have been on an outing that day but we did pass an idyllic three hours in the rushing river casting with great passion and commitment. It was like a scene from "A River Runs Through It". Come to think about it, Wayne does have a passing resemblance to Robert Redford. And, if I remember clearly, I think Rich said that his Dad had fished here many years ago. We will return in the cool season one day. It is just spectacular.
All the time that we weren't catching fish, we were talking about our loved ones, telling endless stories, describing books we had read, bemoaning the state of the world, reminiscing about the good old days (always a winner) and talking about basketball, American football and other sports about which I have only a passing acquaintance (everything from Automobile Racing--NASCAR--to Volleyball and Wrestling).
On the basketball front, I have been able to remember the names of at least two NBA players. One guy (Adam Morrison) came from Spokane so that sort of stuck in my mind (as did the fact that he also played for Red Star Belgrade and a Turkish team, Besiktas Milangaz). The other guy (J.J. Reddick) was dating (I think that was the term used) a stunning beauty from Tyler's school who became Miss Maryland, the runner up to Miss America and then Miss America when the earlier Miss America became Miss Universe. I always find it refreshing to discuss sports and will now be able to hold my own with Paul and Adrian when we get onto the subject of the NBA. And I do know who Phil Mickelson is. He's an English golf player who just won the British Open.
I should tell you how I nearly had a heart attack on our last night when we were returning from a wonderful dinner at Linda's (Schatz's sister) house in Chewelah. We were almost home when Schatz suddenly says he wants to show us a new “road” that has just been cut through his property at the side of Bussard Lake. I say "road" because it was the product of a $75-an-hour guy with a bulldozer ploughing through the underbrush to create a rough pathway through thick forest. It went around in pretty violent curves to avoid trees and went up steep hills and descended down very steep slopes on the other side. My dinner was being hurled around and the V8 engine in the Toyota Tundra pick-up was working overtime as we climbed up and slid down sizeable hills.
We came to the end of the “road” and Schatz suggested that we get out to look at some historic survey post that had been hammered into the ground in the late nineteenth century. He said that we might be lucky enough to see a bear or bears because they tended to collect in this area at dusk—drawn by the smell of honey that was being made by his neighbor's bees just up the road. As soon as we got out, we were attacked by a savage horde of mosquitoes. They were biting like crazy. I was more worried by the possibility that we might get deer ticks on us but Schatz assured us that the ticks disappeared for the year after the temperature got beyond 85F.
I was just pondering the veracity of this last remark when I heard a sound behind me. I was horrified to see something vaguely brown barreling towards me. It was almost totally covered by the undergrowth and foliage so I had no idea what it was. The word "BEAR" entered my subconscious and was rapidly uploaded into my fully conscious mind. Did brown bears run at 30 mph or was it black bears that climbed trees? That was all I had to time to think before I was seized by primordial terror.
Wayne was just in front of me but he must have heard something in the undergrowth too. He turned around and saw the look of horror in my eyes. He immediately went into panic mode too and froze as this brown mass of muscle with an ugly black snout burst out of the foliage and leaped up at me. I raised my arms to ward off the beast and suddenly realized that it was Bobbie, Schatz’s crazy boxer dog. He must have seen the car turning up the "road" near Schatz's house and had hurtled along after us. I almost collapsed with relief but was afraid to get bitten by bull ants on the ground.
Bobbie is a very sweet dog but I swear I came as close to a heart attack as I will ever get. This is the type of stuff that makes our "road" trips so memorable. I am going to carry a defibrillator with me and make sure that there is a nurse with us at all times in the future.
We will be back next year for another road trip. A huge THANK YOU to Rich for all his hospitality, great pancakes, good humor and patience with us D.C. lawyers. And a big thank you to Linda, his sister, who cooked us such a delicious dinner on Sunday evening. We are truly blessed. We will be doing this for the rest of our lives or until our loved ones refuse to push our wheel chairs around Bussard Lake any more!
NOTE: The original blog was published on July 24, 2013.
What a wonderful read!!! Lots of chuckles here. Loved it.
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