Taking time to rest

AAA (ambivalence, anger and appreciation)

While my friend is in surgery, I'm sat here with mixed emotions. Mostly I'm angry.  I'm angry with myself, that I didn't keep a more careful watch on my dog. Second guessing all the choices of yesterday, I think about what should have been done differently, for instance, what if I'd shouted 'stay' rather than 'no?' Or if I'd just been more attentive and set up camp where Bud had wanted to stop.

I consider ending all this nonsense. 'What a stupid notion: crossing a country on foot. Where's the benefit, the profit? It certainly hasn't benefited Buddy, has it?'

I'm extremely upset with the driver who could have stopped, but didn't. I admit, a dog shouldn't be on a highway, but if you can avoid hitting it, for goodness sake, have a heart.

I'm angry with Buddy. After almost a month of demonstrating exceptional discipline, never a paw on the concrete without permission, what was he thinking?

I'm frustrated about the impact this will have on the journey and the unexpected costs incurred.

HOWEVER, after all is said and done, I'm grateful.

I'm thankful for Buddy's unconditional friendship, that he's put up with all of my demands and only ever wanted companionship in return (well, that and food). I'm thankful that he's still alive and pray that his story will be one of success in the face of adversity.

Also, I feel deep appreciation for all the wonderful people who've gone out of their way to lend a hand. Actions truly speak louder than words, and I'm humbled to be the recipient of many gracious actions. I would...

...Breaking news! Dr. Carlson just rang to say that the procedure is finished and that everything went well. They're going to keep Bud overnight and then he'll be free to go in the morning. I'm about five miles from the clinic, organizing a new form of transportation for my friend to use while the soft tissue heals. Off to see him now. Then, I'll be going to the Kiwanis camp area to set up a place for us to rest and let Buddy get used to this change.

A tragic day

Up with the sunrise, I take advantage of the shower house while Buddy takes advantage of my sleeping bag in my absence. Once things are packed and we're just about to head out, Michael, who I'd met the previous evening, offers to make me some breakfast. So both us sojourners enter Mike's camper, his pudgy Boston Terrier gracefully allows Bud to go through its basket of play toys. Bud picks out some rawhide to chew on, and Michael serves me a tasty skillet. We part ways after getting to know each other a bit better, and I head to the gas station to fill my coffee cup before we go. Unknown to me, Glo had left instructions for Sunday's cashier, Linda, not to accept my money. Wow! If there's one thing I hope this journal emphasizes it's this: America is still full of good people, those who believe in hospitality and helping each other when times get tough.

This belief has been put to the test in more ways than one. We have a great day of puffy white clouds and blue sky. I stop from time to time to take photos of the amazing landscape and to let Buddy enjoy Glo's beef jerky treats. We've just gone passed Moccasin and are starting to think about places to camp. At one point Bud suggests some tall grass near some horses, but I say, 'That's no good. It's much too close to the road.'

Then, around 1530 one of my worst fears for this hike was realized. I'm in an upbeat mood, singing Elvis' greatest hits and Buddy's off the shoulder exploring in his usual way. We come to an overpass with train tracks beneath Buddy goes below as he has done before, but when we get to the other side, Bud's come out on the right instead of on my left (We walk facing traffic). The horror unfolds almost in slow motion. I see approaching vehicles in both lanes and shout NO! But it's too late. Buddy's already coming toward me. There's a yelp, and he's down. I run out and pick him up, bringing him back to the left shoulder. He can't stand and he's whining. The lady who had hit him says she's got to go, she's left some water running. So I put my dog on our cart and push as fast as I can, praying the whole time: 'Jesus please heal Bud. Don't let him die.' I get to a bar in the town of Hobson and I'm thinking, 'Ironic, Hobson's choice. I've got one option: get Bud to a vet. How am I going to get him to a vet and what am I going to do? I don't have a car. I'm hundreds of miles from anyone I know.

But Mary, the lady at the bar, starts making enquiries immediately. She finds a vet who's available on Sundays. Then, a guy named Levi who was there when I came in says he'll give us a ride 25 miles into Lewistown, to a Dr Greg Carlson. We all get in his car and make it to the place. In an act of further generosity Levi won't accept any money. Your act of kindness won't soon be forgotten my friend.

Dr Carlson takes ex-rays and finds that Buddy has had a serious break at his left knee joint. The growth plate is completely detached from the femur so that mending it would be quite difficult. The recommendation is amputation. I feel slightly ill when the words first come out: 'I would amputate it.' But I'm glad Buddy is alive and apparently in no immediate danger. Also, the doctor's prognosis is encouraging. He says that this procedure has had positive results numerous times, and he feels that Bud will go on to enjoy a high quality of life even with three legs. When I suggest that he won't be able to heard cattle like he'd done yesterday, Greg suggests that he'll do it just fine. He then generously offers me a lift to a nearby motel so that I can update those of you following along.

So, I'm left here now to consider the possibilities and to ask, 'What's your plan in all of this God?'

Ideas? Suggestions?

Buddy's spending the night at the veterinarian's. He's on pain meds, and I'm hopeful that he'll be alright until I go to see him in the morning.

Kindness and generosity

All night long the rain had poured down in buckets, but my little tent kept us warm and dry. The wind is brutally beating against the tent now so I figure we'll wait and see if it calms down...no luck. It actually picks up so that by 11:00 it's a consistent 45 mph. Talk about a challenge!

Anyways, we make it into Stanford and stop in at the convenience store so Bud can eat out of the wind and I can get some coffee. Glo (the lady at the counter) thinks I'm a bit crazy, but she donates some beef jerky to show her support. Bud's always thrilled to receive the blessings that people bestow. Boy, his tail starts wagging the moment he senses a treat's in store.

From there, we cross the street to an RV park hoping they'll let us pitch a tent for the night. The ladies in the office are really nice and interested in the journey. I'm just about to pay when Alverta declares: 'I'd like to pay for you. Bobby,' she says, turning to the owner, 'I'll pay for this young man.'

'Well, thank you.' I say. 'That's awfully kind of you.' I give 'em both cards so they can follow the trip, and they give me some good info about being on my guard as I get closer to Glendive and N Dakota.

I choose a spot behind a fence that partially blocks the ruthless eastern wind, but even so, it takes twice as long to erect the tent and get all the gear situated. I leave Bud to rest and go to the restaurant across the road. I'm eating a burger and learnin' about the area from a guy named Bob who's sittin' opposite me and listening to the banter around the room.

Mind you. I don't often make an effort to listen in on other people's conversations, but sometimes the volume is at a level where no effort is required. From the discussion that ensues with the table to the right, I'm left to believe that most of the men in these parts are 'sons of bitches.' And although I'd probably find other adjectives to describe friends or colleagues, somehow it kind of fits the setting here.

I finish up and make a quick jot next door to see if Glo's got any ice-cream bars. She donates a strawberry short cake bar with the pretext that she hates 'em and sends me off with a couple of sausages for Bud. (Thanks Glo! He devoured the dogs with an amazingly voracious tenacity.

Now, listening to the howling wind and the trucks as they plow on by, I've lost feeling in my upper digits, which means, it's time to mummy up and and let the vapors condense on the inner lining of my bag.

Reminiscent of childhood

We struggle along the highway 16 or 17 miles, battling miserably vicious winds until eventually arriving at the town of Belt, presumably named after the Little Belt Mountains, in the shadow of which  it lies. An informative plaque in the commercial district says that coal was discovered here in the 1870s and became a springboard, launching this little canyon town into prominence.

We enter the Fort Ponderosa Campground on the east end of town and I sign in with Mike, the newly appointed proprietor. Apparently, he's come with his wife May to get things up and running again. Because the owner passed away and the grounds haven't been tended, several things are in need of repair.

Well, our camp's up in a jiff, so I decide to walk the grounds and check things out.

There's an engraved sign above a door that reads 'scullury,' but the red paint is peeling badly revealing decay in the wood, and a cadmium foam sealant oozes from all the seams alleging that this kitchen hasn't seen a cook for a while.
The barn is decorated with a great number of antiquated tools, bits and bops left from a simpler, agrarian age.
The bathrooms have a scent reminiscent of a camp I vaguely recall from my childhood, sort of a musky, damp, earthy smell, and scattered on the floors are the same roughly woven rainbow colored rugs that my grandma used to have.
I envision a once elaborately constructed entrance and hear the excited voices of thousands of children exclaiming:

'We're here! We're here!'

Now those voices are faint echos. An insipid island with a few barren trees tries to welcome visitors, but its moat is devoid of water and cracks in the concrete are visible in places where leaves and dirt have failed to clothe.

Someone once invested  a tremendous part of his life to make this campground a vibrant and magnificent get away. I suspect that he probably poured his heart and soul into this place, making it a joy for countless families.

Looking at the run down playgrounds with its broken seesaw and rusted old maypole, I feel a deep sense of remorse.
I hope Mike and May can make it shine again for a new generation to enjoy.

Another long day

22:00

'Ahhhh! A shower is a wonderful thing,' I think, leaning against the wall and letting the hot water run over me. In my younger days I would have considered 9 days without a shower as just another bohemian freedom of hippies, but now I've determined it's just gross. At the end of a long day, Bud's passed out on the carpet; I crawl into a warm bed and drift off to sleep.

8:30 am that morning

Starting me off in the right direction, Curtiss points to the coffee and we have a small chat. Buddy's outside playing enthusiastically with a new friend (a black lab that appears to have chewed through his restraints). Today the goal's to go a mere 18 miles to the junction at Vaugn, so we're not in a huge rush. On the road by 9:45, we've got some clumsy company tagging along. I'm glad Bud's found a friend, but this Lab seems downright dumb, walking back and forth in both lanes and stopping traffic by standing in front of oncoming vehicles. Bud goes on the leash for a while cause I don't want him imitating that kind of behavior. However, after about 5 miles the other dog dashes off into a field and doesn't come back. So, Buddy's free to roam off the shoulder again.

We stop for a break after about ten miles at a sort of independently run wetlands that's being drained due to the constant badgering of environmental protection agencies, weird right? Anyway, along comes one Mr Doug Rorr (spl?) who's brought some delightfully good strawberry cake the Mrs sent. We get to talking, and he shares a little bit out of the wisdom of his experience and encourages me to finish this trek and get it out of my system. I thank him, and we part ways amicably.

Not too far away, Bud finds what looks to be a pond, so I tell him to go grab a drink. When he comes back, he's stained a dark navy blue that I recognize from childhood trips to Prineville and the chemicals we dumped in the outhouses.

'Oh Bud! What have you done?'

It looks like he's rolled around in the filth, and the smile on his face seems to say that he's quite happy with himself. When we get to the gas station in Vaugn, Kathy Dunn, the cashier, tells me that that's the septic pit for the town. Would have been nice if the city had posted a sign.

Well, I wash him off as best as possible, and decide to keep going on to Great Falls since there's not really a place to camp in Vaugn. Outside of the city we meet Bridget. She'd seen us walking all day and pulled over to see what was happening. I give her a card and she's very encouraging toward the cause. Even offers to give us a ride. But we politely decline and she pulls away shouting, 'Rock on!' (I think.)

Then, only a few minutes later and we're talking to a group of guys at a crossroads. They offer some cash, but I refer them to the card and explain about the work FH does. So they promise to check it out.

By this time it's dark. We've gone at least 30 miles, we're tired, and the KOA is on the other side of the city. So rather than going further, I stop there on the fringes of town at the Starlit Motel to see if we can get a room that will fit my budget. Pure providence! The owner, Darrin Davenport, is very accommodating and when he learns about what we're doing, he donates all kinds of goodies, including a big elk sausage processed somewhere nearby.

There are awesome people everywhere.

The Divide is behind

One word for today: grueling. All the way from mile post 96 to Simms, we climb up then go down...Must have done it eight or nine times. Oh well, at least there's a strong tailwind to help give a little extra momentum to the cart. We stop in at Curtis's Service Stop around 20:00, where the owner graciously allows us to put up our tent on a soft area of grass without charge. I finish my last can of pork and beans watching the sun fade over the now distant mountains.

Up and over

Brrrrrrh! There's a definite chill in the air this morning, but the sky's perfectly blue and just a slight breeze is blowing. The ladies at Lambkin's make sure that both Buddy and I don't leave on an empty tank--actually, Buddy got a double portion with his regular kibble added as a second course.

Anyway, we pass a dilapidated cabin describing that so-and-so had been born here in 1904, and I start to think that in his day this little journey of ours must have been quite common, probably in the opposite direction though. We cross the continental divide at Roger's Pass (elv 5610 ft) before 1500. I guess few people do the on foot anymore.

Going toward the pass

Looking back at the Continental Divide

By mile post 96 both me and the dog are pooped. So I pitch tent right off the highway and heat a cup of coffee as the setting sun casts golden beams on the mosquitoes that are just beginning the rise from the grass. They glimmer and shine like would-be fairy folk come to dine on our juices.

Doorway to the wilderness

The sound of rain on the tent at night is a comfort, and even though it's a wet one, the temperature seems far warmer than some of our more recent nights. Getting up, Buddy gets aroused when he finds a Whitetail doe staring at him from no more than ten feet away. He dashes to catch it, but neglects to stretch. Oh darn! A cramp. He hasn't even come close to catching one despite how freely they walk around Lincoln.

I get some breakfast at Lambkin's (a scrumptious order of biscuits and gravy) while Bud looks on longingly from outside. The cook generously prepares a special box of scraps, however, so his wait is well rewarded.

The wind picks up, and the temperature drops by ten degrees. Hail begins falling and I exclaim, 'Enough of this Bud. Let's head back to Hooper Park.'

Back at camp the walls of our tent are being pounded by the gusts and the tall trees bend and creek. The bitter chill numbs fingers and noses. 'Where in the the world did this come from?' I wonder. 'Guess it's a fitting point to stop and take a day of rest.' Bud certainly doesn't object, as he assumes a fetal position under his pile of blankets.

After hours of howling wind, the night is calm. I step outside the tent at 2200 and am in awe as I stare into a boundless sky of shining stars.

More dogs than people

We get into Ovando, MT this afternoon and stop by Trixi's, your quintessential small town bar/restaurant, for a bite to eat. The decor inside is rustic, hunting trophies overhead and old pictures of days long passed. I'd parked Bud outside, and he does his usual thing of getting up on the nearest picnic table and laying down. Well, seems that gets the attention of some of the patrons and buys him some credit with the owner cause she says he can come in. Bud's instantly the centre of the conversation. Everyone pays him the typical compliments while I work on scarfin' down a delicious burger. Bud's thrilled to be indoors, a luxury not often afforded him, but sadly the good times end abruptly when one of the fellows in the bar decides he doesn't care for me and makes it pretty clear that I'm not welcome. Shame. I guess there'll always be someone with a bone to pick. Fortunately, my experiences have shown that those are the exceptions, not the rule.

A little further on down the road Bud's delighted to find a deer leg. Since the thing's to cumbersome to chew on, he does the funniest thing by running on ahead 'bout 50 meters; then, he lays down to chew, waiting for me to catch up. Once I'm there he does it over again. This cycle continues for a while until his old nemesis (the ground squirl) reappears to provoke him with a squeaking taunt. Instantly, the deer leg is out of mind as Buddy goes charging after his foe--though this has been going on since we entered MT, he has yet to catch one of those little guys.

It starts raining pretty hard, and Bud does his moan, signaling that it's time to pitch the tent. Once inside, out of the inclement weather, he bellows his other moan, which I've taken to mean: 'I need a belly rub.'

Big skies; cold nights

Wow! It was a cold one last night. Must have been in the teens. We sleep in late, trying to remain insulated, but around a quarter to 11 I unzip the tent door since the first rays of sunshine are finally making it over the mountain. Buddy lunges forward with a deafening bark and suddenly there's a German Shepherd in my face. Some girls-- I suppose they were college students--had found our hidden camp under the pines, or it would be more accurate to say that their dog had.

Bud proves to much for the elder canine whose initial offensive is relegated to pitiful yips from a distance. The girls seem frightened, so outwardly I scold my companion: No, no Bud! None of that now!' But inwardly I'm saying: 'Way to go boy, you whooped him!'

We do about seventeen miles in the day in spite of our late start. At a small petrol pump/store we stop for a break and I order a burger. Jess, the girl at the register, takes some interest in the trip so I give her a card. She kindly offers some chocolate bars and cinnamon buns as a contribution, oh, and doesn't even charge me for the coffee, which I'm now enjoying as I type a few meaningful memoirs to a setting sun. One more night beneath the pines. Ominous clouds approach from the east. I wonder if we'll wake to snow.

The start of a long stretch of highway

Last night an owl perched right above our tent and called out so frequently that it came as quite an unpleasant shock when the 'hoo, hoo hoo' was replaced with numerous 'cawhs' from a group of crows that came to drive the owl away. By seven o'clock I can't stand the irritating noise any longer so I get up and head for the toilet. Buddy's content to stay bundled up in the tent so I leave him for a while. The morning air is frightfully cold, and my fingers turn numb half way to toilet.

Camp's packed up by nine and the two sojourners head east again with just one stop to make: Walmart. Another 16 lbs of Kibbles & bits ought to keep Bud happy till Great Falls.

We get to highway 200 and head into a narrow canyon that cradles the Blackfoot River. Rough crags and misshapen granite appendages protrude upward from the hillsides. If we're lucky perhaps we'll see some BH sheep. A couple of ladies point us in the direction of good spot to set up for the night. Buddy likes the area cause there's lots of tall grass for him to run through. A few rafts pass by, the passengers wave and I respond in turn.

The sun's disappeared now. I've got a cup of Jo bubbling on the burner, and Bud's head is resting on my lap, no scratch that, he's changed position.

Stocking up on food

So we're in Missoula now getting some rest and stocking up on more provisions for the 175 miles to Great Falls. Lots of doggie treats and kibble are needed, as well as more stuff for me to eat. Luckily, there's a Dollar Tree here.
We're camping at the KOA on the north side of the Bitterroot River. It's a lovely place with its wood swinging chairs and gazebos. There are even some quaint cabins available if tenting isn't your style.
The proprietor, Smokey, says that when the grounds were established some forty years ago, Reserve Street (that's what you'll take from the city center) was just a dirt road. Now this whole place has been swallowed up by 'suburban sprawl.' Still, it maintains much of its charm.
I've done most of my washing, and the dog has just enjoyed a chicken and potato salad picnic with me. Nothing to do now but build a fire and hope these clouds blow off so we can watch some stars under Montana's legendary wide skies.

One down, seven to go to St Louis

On the road again. It's cold...first morning I've put on mittens. A 'smoke jumper' (sorry man, I've forgotten your name) pulls over to find out what up. Evidently, he'd seen us walking several days earlier. Anyway, Buddy's intrigued by the gift of mocha flavoured almonds. Not sure he quite appreciated being a recipient of the blessing.
Four miles from where we break camp, we get to Powel Junction. There's a pretty camp here equipped with rustic cabins, a restaurant, and a general store. Inside, I meet a cheerful girl named Kelly who helps provides me with caffeine, and in an awesome gesture of friendliness, donates some simple (but delicious) carbs to the trip.

.
Full of energy, Buddy and I conqueror the Lolo pass (elv 5233) and enter into Montana.

It was the plan to camp seven miles down the mountain at the Lolo Springs, but they say that they're gonna charge an additional 15 dollar pet fee to an already steep camping price--no amenities. I'm all for good private businesses, but at some point you ought to know where to draw the line. Unable to justify the extortion--alright, I know I'm ranting--we go five miles farther and pitch the tent at a pretty place along side the Lolo creek.

Cold and wet

Buddy's on the alert and sounds his baleful alarm to let me know that someone's stirring around the tent. Getting up, I meet Eric, a guy who's been camping at Weir Creek. Creek. He's finding it therapeutic in helping him kick the cancer sticks.

It's raining harder now, and to be honest, I don't much feel like breaking camp, but the thought of the pass getting blocked drives me to push out. Eric lets us know about how far the next couple potential camp sites are, and provides some good info about Missoula. As we start getting higher, so does the snow. We stop at Wendover Park and actually haul the cart over the gate which has been covered. Finding a fairly good place under a giant Fir, I feed Buddy and brew my last bit of coffee. Tonight the dog sleeps in the fully enclosed portion of the tent. Although it's a little cramped, we both benefit from each other's warmth.

Nature's spa

Ah, we've found that hot spring that AJ'd mentioned. Brilliant find, cheers man! We'd never have know that such a perfect little gem exists if you hadn't recommended it.
I set up our tent just a little ways up the trail as we're getting into some snow, and it's kinda hard to pull it through the soft stuff. A little less than a mile up and a wondrous alcove of peaceful rejuvenation appears.



At first Buddy's uneasy about getting in the pool, but after a bit, he decides to step in. Then, standing in the shallow end with a look of ambivalence on his face, he does his typical moan as if to say: 'you humans find pleasure in the oddest things.' However, it only takes five minutes or so before he's laying in the water with a big ol' smile on his face, panting away like pooch in heaven.

A Snickers addiction begins

We find a nice sandy beach in the evening after 12 or 13 miles. The wood is all wet cause it's been raining on and off through the day. But, there's this beautiful old cedar there, and breaking off some of the pieces, I find that the oil is highly flammable. So, it's pretty simple to get a fire started. Buddy comes over and settles down to get warm, when a passing angler named AJ drops in to see if anything will bite. 20 minutes or so, and the guy hasn't had any luck. We talk for a bit and he recommends a hot spring further on called Weir. A Snickers Almond bar and some boiled fruit, and I'm ready to sleep. It's nice to doze off with the rushing sound of water nearby.

New friends on the Clearwater

So, getting up early, we grab some breakfast and hit the road. Buddy's getting better at knowing where his boundaries are. I don't feel a leash is necessary, and it's obvious that he loves the freedom to go off the shoulder exploring scents he's never experienced.

I've met some lovely people today, who've offered helpful advice about where to go and extended hospitality beyond the common courtesies. First off, we go 'bout ten miles down the road, and come upon a beautiful little gift shop right on the river called 'Bear Hollow.' Mary, the lady running the establishment, makes a splendid latte and has a wonderful smile. She's been running a kennel there for quite some time with up to 20 dogs, and as I understand it, she's fought quite the legal battle in the high courts to allow dogs access to the Clearwater area. So, I want to say thanks on Buddy's behalf. He loves being out here unrestricted, and much of that is possible because of your efforts. Cheers!

Later in the day we come around a bend and find some nice tall pines on the river with a grassy knoll just perfect for setting up camp. Because there are a few houses close by we climb up the hill to ask permission. There we meet Willie and his son. They're happy to let us stay at that spot 'no problem,' and they even go out of their way to bring an abundance of dry firewood. It's a great great night to have a fire since a light drizzle peppers us until we finally turn in around 2200.

Changing mindset

'It's raining. Oh well, guess I'll just sleep in a bit longer,' I think to myself. My new tent is working wonderfully. Not a drop on either Buddy or me. By a quarter to nine, Bud starts getting restless, so rain or no rain, we break camp and hit the road. I feel incredibly invigorated. Maybe it was the bath in the river I'd taken the night before, or perhaps it's just the gentle drops coming down bringing such an intense verdure to this rugged country.

Within an hour my tune changed. A full out deluge has soaked me thoroughly, every time I move off the road to avoid an oncoming vehicle my tires get stuck in the mud, and to top it off, Buddy's getting on my nerves.

Now if you take no solace in spiritual matters, you'll find the next part hard to relate to. But for me, this kind of of mind altering approach to living is becoming increasingly crucial. I say, 'I'm not very happy, God. In fact, I'm pissed off, and don't even know why. But I'm going to force myself to rejoice, regardless of how I feel. I start singing aloud despite my bad mood, and I kid you not, within a few minutes the clouds in the sky part, and a glorious array of light beams highlights the glistening moss that covers the granite cliffs on both sides. And in that moment all I can think is 'It's good to be alive.'

We make it into Kamiah around 16:30 and check into a cozy little motel called 'Clearwater 12.' The rates seem quite affordable, and the Manager, Judy, doesn't have any issues with Buddy joining me. He was filthy from his earlier escapades in the mud, so he gets a hose down and dry off before entering the room. Once inside, he proceeds directly to his blanket and flops down with a bellowing grunt (I think of approval). We'll be headed through some high forest country for the next five to seven days and won't have Wifi access, but once in Missoula, I'll be sure to place updates and, I hope, some exciting stories.

 

Prospectors

It's 8:00. Buddy's morning alarm comes without warning and I nearly rip my sleeping bag as I jump up. 'Baaroooh,' comes the call once again as I poke my head out the tent. Two gentlemen greet me, 'Mornin'. How ya doing?' they ask.

'Not too bad,' I respond, 'You guy's lookin' to do some fishing?

'Nope, we're checkin' to find out where the waters have brought the gold down,' they say. 'Spring's good time to pan on the Clearwater, and if you got a little dredge, you can pull up quite a lot, when it's allowed that is.'

'Uh hun!' comes my response with skepticism, won't that ruin the ecological balance for the fish?'won

'Heck no!' one of the guys protests. 'That's what they teach in those liberal arts colleges. Truth is, salmon spawn better when you remove some of the sediment, plus it stirs up the bottom sos that all the little fish come 'round to feed.'

'Okay, I didn't know that. You've taught me something new.'

We part ways, though Buddy does so reluctantly (He likes just about everyone he meets), and walk about ten miles to a rest stop just before Lanore. The groundskeeper invites us to pitch tent anywhere and enjoy our stay--far cry from most of the park rangers and hosts I'd met in Washington.

After getting things situated and Buddy fed, we go down to the river for some exploring. Later on we both settle in and the pooch quickly drifts off to sleep. Travelers come and go all through the night, and like a good watch dog Buddy sounds the alarm every time he feels someone's come too close to his territory.

Windy

On the road and through the canyon, blowing powerfully, the brisk wind numbs my face and hands. I try to get some feeling back into my fingers by rolling the sleeves of my sweatshirt over them; it does little to help ease the discomfort. I'm wishing I'd stayed in my sleeping bag a couple more hours.

'After all,' I think, 'it's not as if I have to be up and out the door by six.'

All the while, my dog is whimsically darting in and out of tall grass, running up and down the embankments that lead to the river almost without effort, and flouting an enraptured look on his face, as if to say: 'I've died and gone to heaven.'

'Well, at least one of us is happy,' I think as another gust from a passing semi blows off my hood.

About nine o'clock things begin to warm up and my attitude becomes more grateful.

Off to a good start

Laid back but inspiring' That's how I'd probably describe today. We hadn't gone more than ten miles down the Clearwater when I find a peaceful little spot to stop. As usual Buddy immediately heads off to explore and I get the urge to whittle. Now I rarely carve anything but this sorta feels right given the surroundings. So, choosing a smooth piece of drift wood, I begin to form the material. Then, to my dismay, I see that rot has got into the wood and has created a decaying vein right through the center. My first impulse is to throw it away and get another piece; however something insightful occurs. Bear with me for just a moment, I think there's a parallel to be drawn. You see I'm tremendously far from a perfect canvas. In fact, if the external 'me' were transparent, you'd doubtlessly see a whole network of rottenness. That said, I don't believe my creator will choose to throw me away. He chooses instead to remove the bits that don't bring glory to His artistic concept. Similarly, I decide to continue cutting away at the flawed chunk of wood in my hand, and even though the end result isn't what I'd planned, it's beautiful nonetheless-at least I think so.