Adventure 493: The Sleepy Saint Joe--Sheer Deprivation and Thin Gruel

Frac nestled in at the "Joe".

For the fourth time in our lives, we spent time with Ed and Deb Drouin camping on the St. Joe River, a piece of God's wonder nestled in the mountains between St. Regis, Montana and Avery, Idaho. Renowned as a fly fishing mecca, the rippling waters of the Joe flow in a  maze of twists, turns and wide slow flutters. Along the way, the water has carved "holes" that the cut throat trout like to hide in. On any given day, a spattering of hip-wading fishermen can be seen delicately whipping their thin lines so that the tiny fly on the tip lands lightly and then flows with the current to just above a waiting trout hole. All fishing is catch and release, so the fisherman treat the area and the fish with great respect. We're not fishermen. We go to hike, lounge around camp, take siestas, enjoy each other, eat well, and most importantly, watch the light as it changes the green of the tall trees on either side of the gorge. We were lucky enough this time to return to our favorite sight at Conrad Crossing, a designated camping area located at mile seventy-five (Counting from St. Maries). We prefer the camp ground because it has a well maintained bathroom, fresh water from a pump, and nearly complete privacy. The only caveat it that in order to occupy this particular site, a camper has to be willing to let rafters launch from the site. We don't mind at all, even if there were rafters, which is less likely this time of the year because the water is low. So, here's our day, repeated three times. Deb and Ed arrived at our house Sunday morning about 9. We loaded their stuff: a huge tent (Taj Mahal), two full foam mattresses, a furniture blanket, sleeping bags, pillows, lantern, two coolers, a travel suitcase, a large purple athletic bag, tow large reclining folding chairs, and a box of dry goods. We added that extra thousand pounds into Frac, and the four of us headed on the freeway to St. Regis, Montana. The trip takes about two and a half hours. We got gas, where Deb bought an extra package of Smores fixing, and we were off up Gold Pass, which on the Montana side is fifteen miles of washboard dirt road that winds itself up, over, around, and drops into the St. Joe drainage. We bubbled with excitement, hoping that our site was open. It was: Hooray! We set up camp. By the time we finished, it was cocktail hour, so we sat by the river sipping our gin and tonics. First night dinner was a low country boil that we did over the fire. Tradition holds that we eat breakfast in the trailer, so the next morning we enjoyed huckleberry pancakes and bacon. Ed gets up early to start the fire. Judy gets up early to make the coffee, which she hand delivers. We're usually ready to hike by ten. Back from the hike, we do various things: Judy knits; Deb and Ed take siestas, I sit in a  folding chair in the creek and paint water colors, or this year, I created some rock art. Cocktail hour begins around four. Second night's dinner was London Broil, which Deb cooked over the fire. We sipped Bourbon after dinner. Second morning breakfast was egg in a nest, but the nest was a large onion infused bagel. We also had fruit salad  and sausage. We walked further the second day: almost five miles. The same patterns occurred in the afternoon, except that I received some unsettling family news, so I tried to drive to where I could get cell reception. Third night dinner was the classic dogs and beans, and finally, our last morning we enjoyed a vegetable scramble with fresh "Judy" bread smothered with huck-raz jam. We took our last walk, and headed back out of the mountains. We arrived home about four after a late lunch at Roger's Ice Creamery in Coeurd'Alene. Deb and Ed packed their stuff. Judy and I washed Frac. and we tucked her away until the next adventure. In all, we had four days and three nights living where life was good. We're thankful.

 The "Taj Mahal".

 The afternoon session.

 We all took a turn at rake therapy.

 Boiling the water for the "Low Country Boil" (Tin foil didn't really help prevent the blackening of the pan).

 The view down river from the camp site.

The morning coffee session.

 The Drouin's awaiting breakfast.

 Huckleberry pancakes with bacon.

 Deb giving us her "Heidi" pose.

 My Bunny.

 A fat cookie for a treat at the turn around spot.

 Water coloring.

 Rock art: the St. Joe water snake.

 Deb working the grill.

 London Broil, fresh beans, tortellini salad.

 Some of our hikes included shade.

 Day two cookie break.

 St. Joe selfie: Me and my Bunny sitting with our feet in the water.

 Dogs and beans

 Bourbon.

 Smore: Kel Babe style.

 A tongue for the snake.

   Good bye Joe.

Adventure 492: Home Sweet Home/Tale of the Tape

Breakfast; Cager wins the Sloway Open

The 2018 FOMO Trip is officially over. A good time was had by all. After a leisurely morning in the Sloway Campground outside Regis, MT, we arrived home none the worse for wear about 11:30. The tale of the tape shows the following:

19.5 days on the road.
9 days to get to Little Eden on a high line route through the Upper Peninsula of Michigan (1900 miles).
7 days at Little Eden Camp. Weather excellent, company excellent, experience excellent (120 miles on the bike).
3.5 days to get home (1895 miles total: 369, day one; 658 day two; 725 day three; 135 day 3.5).

As I've mentioned, I'm a creature of habit, some of which are good. One of my good habits is to use the road jitters after a trip to clean the gear. As a matter of habit, we also clean house before we leave on a trip, so it's pristine upon our return. It always feels good to walk into a clean abode. So, I did my usual as soon as we got home. First, I stripped the trailer of dirty laundry and food stuffs. Second, I washed the truck. Meanwhile, Judy set to work on her garden. Tomorrow, we'll clean the inside and outside of the trailer to get it ready for its next adventure, a trip to Priest Lake, which will make Frac happy. I'll have the oil changed in Fric on Thursday, so he'll be happy. We'll be rested by the weekend before we go up to the lake, so Judy and I will be happy. In short, we're all happy, which makes life good, especially today.

P.S. Thank you, Lord, for traveling mercies.

 Vacuumed, dusted, washed, and waxed. Oil change and tire rotation Thursday.

 Frac scheduled for cleaning tomorrow.

 The driveway tomato patch is bursting with young potential.

 The patio pots are flourishing.

 The Milpa, my ancient Mayan corn, beans, and squash planter is happy.

 The cherry tomato patch is bursting.

 So are the herbs.

 We missed the roses, but the bush beans, the carrots, the basil, and the summer wild flowers are going bonkers.

 We'll squeeze in a Fourth of July pizza feed with our good buddies, the Ulmens and the Drouins tomorrow..

 Norton Latourelle's cardinals are happy.

 The Milpa.

 One fragrant rose remains. Smelling it made us happy.

Our Happy Home.

Adventure 491: Good Bye Rapid City/Hello Sloway

Thank you, Lord, for traveling mercies.

720 miles in a day is a new record for Fric and Frac, which is quite something considering our number one rule in the charter is to not make traveling a driving event. But the barn calls (Garden, that is), and besides, we're eager to prepare for our next adventure with nearly our entire family next week at my cousin's place on Priest Lake. We consider ourselves lucky to have the opportunity. We're also grateful for traveling mercies. We slept well, had a good breakfast, and the Cager managed a win this morning. We still pulled out of our slot at Cabela's at 6:05 A.M. Thirteen hours later we arrived at Sloway Campground just west of Superior, Montana. Our very good friends had stopped on their way home from Red Fish Lake to reserve a spot for us. Not only did they pick a "cherry" site, but they also had the makings of a fire prepared, a table cloth, flowers, and a surprise of two Dead Guy beers, a La Croix Soda, and a full bar of dark chocolate. I belly laughed with joy when I turned over a box to discover the found treasures. I talked some time ago about my world view. It comes in no small part from "lived experience". Our lived experience with our friends over the years has defined love. It has defined caring. It has defined us. We're part of the fabric of America that is great. It's a woven fabric kept together by common concerns, shared empathy, and a sense that no one is more special than the other. We're all special. We're all blessed with gifts that we share in the common good. I see this everywhere we go. At Little Eden I witnessed an entire family gathered around a story book. On the ferry across Lake Michigan, a man came up to me and asked where I was from because my Gonzaga Bulldogs shirt was the same mascot and same colors as his home town in Wisconsin. Hours upon hours of driving led us to NPR radio. On one show, we listened to a  journalist couple who have scoured the country, mostly in places that have been hit with economic adversity, to see what makes their communities strong. Their book, Our Town, summarizes the notion that people in local communities put aside personal differences in the interest of what unites them. They're the direct opposite of the commotion promoted by cable news pundits and  our double dealing Washington plutocrats who pretend to act in our interest but who in reality act only in self interest. For my part, I believe that life is about my local relationships. I try not to be sullied by power mongers. I live with those whom I love. I care for them. I nurture them. They nurture me. In this we are great together, and that, my friends, is why life is good, especially today.

Beelining as we were, we didn't have time to see this guy in person. Maybe another time.

 The Cager wins (With humility).

 We saw a sign in Wisconsin: Wind power is not the answer. These blades beg to differ.

 The Bitterroot Mountains, an early sign that we're nearing home.

 My view from the driver's perch.

 Liz Ulmen left us a big hearted love rock.

 Dave Ulmen and his trusty dog, Scout, prepared this fire, complete with instructions.

 And they prepared our table.

 I belly laughed when I turned over one of the boxes Dave carries wood in. Under was two beers, a soda, and a bar of dark chocolate. Talk about camp warming!

 Here at Sloway, a mere 130 miles from home, we'll lounge, smell some roses, and relish the good life.

 I'll drink a toast to my loved ones.

And that will be by the fire.