There would be no recovery. You would think the rod was an heirloom based upon the tantrum that followed. To the three year, old it didn’t matter that it was a freebie from a local thrift store.

Fixed wing Cessna’s buzz in and out. Dust flies from the prop wash. Eager boaters hurriedly shuttle dry bags, boats, and kitchen boxes to the water. Moving like ants each group seeks to ready it’s craft.

Six days, five nights and one of the most impressive rivers in the lower forty eight. Cut through the Frank Church-River of No Return Wilderness, the Middle Fork of the Salmon is as good as it gets.

For our next trip the kids demanded we bring two sponges, I’m more than happy to comply with their demand.

My roots are in the mountains, where life afoot requires a compromise between ease of cooking and ease of carrying. But on the river, it’s a whole new ball game. With everything floating downstream, you can rack for bear. That frees you up to high-grade your meals, and with them a big part of your backcountry experience. We’ve recently started doing that by, Read More

Mark reached under his pillow and pulled back the hammer of his pistol. My eyes are heavy as I started to drift off to sleep. I barely hear the pickup rolling into camp. More shocked by the pistol than the pickup, I urge Mark to put away the gun. Throwing on a shirt I get up, Read More

We pointed the truck south without a single rod or gun. Instead we had the whole family, one canoe, a weeks worth of food, and visions of life on a desert river. It didn’t disappoint. River living is hard to beat. The pace of life slows down. Water sounds drown-out front country distractions. The gentle rhythm, Read More