Forest Rangers and Bears

On my way out I decided to stop by the Ranger Station to see the place I had been calling for the past year to get updates.  It was a sprawling campus with dorms, a mess hall, heavy equipment and administration buildings. It was now 5:00 and the office was just closing. I took a short walk around the grounds to see what was there. A friendly young man approached and asked if he could help me. I told him I just wanted to see what goes on at Spotted Bear Ranger Station.  We chatted for about twenty minutes and I learned that he worked for the Forest Service conducting bear surveys. I had seen the signs at the trail head that described barbed wires on certain trees that were there to gather information on bears. He described how bears pick out trees with certain characteristics and use them as back scratchers. By strategically attaching a strand of wire, the rangers could collect hairs that the bears rubbed off. Through the magic of DNA science, they could use the hairs to determine the gender, age and type of bears.  This is a giant leap forward because prior to DNA the rangers could only estimate populations based on sightings and educated guesses. Now they can determine how many unique bears are in an area without ever trapping, tranquilizing or even seeing them!  He said they make about 3 trips a summer to all 600 bear trees to collect hair samples. It was fascinating to talk with him, and he was very willing to take time out of his day to talk with me.  When I had learned all I could retain on the science of bear surveys, we parted ways. I snapped a photo of a strange looking moth on the mess hall door, and then set out on the long drive towards civilization.

Huckleberry Jam

I didn’t know it at the time, but apparently Montana is a popular place for Huckleberries. On Highway 2 near the Spotted Bear Reservoir are four different tourist shops that sell cheap souvenirs and huckleberry Jam.  I had passed a few huckleberry bushes along the trail and sampled the purple berries. They look a little like blueberries and are quite tasty, but the bushes themselves are not overly prolific. Unfortunately, I didn’t take any pictures of the huckleberries but I found one that is a good representation.  I bought a jar of huckleberry jam to bring home. Turns out I’m the only one who likes it. Guess you had to be there to appreciate it.

Montana Hotel Rooms in the summer

When I drove out on day 8, I figured I would just get a cheap hotel room in Kalispell.  The Motel 6 was only about $60 on the way in, which sounded like an especially good deal after a week in the wilderness. But I was winging it on the way out and didn’t have a reservation. How hard could it be to find a room in a cheap dive somewhere?  I had to ask.  Turns out every hotel sells out every room on every weekend in the summer in Kalispell.  The Motel 6 is an especially popular spot with bikers, but they start with the cheapest rooms and only move up when they are all sold out. I went from one no-vacancy sign to another until I had covered every place in town.  I was hoping to get a shower and put on some clean clothes before going to a nice restaurant, but it was after 8:00 o’clock and Missoula was a 2 hour drive. But at least I could still get the hot shower and hotel room, right?

Missoula is larger and has more hotels, but that doesn’t mean any are available at 10:00 pm on a Friday night. Who knew Montana was such a summer hotspot?  I drove from one end of the town to another, checking at every place I could find. No vacancy anywhere.   After getting a ‘no’ at over 12 places, I pulled in to the dimly lit Super 7 hotel (a step below the Super 8).  I can safely say room #2 of the Super 7 in Missoula, MT is the worst place I’ve ever spent the night. The AC didn’t work, the floor wasn’t level, I had to move around in the shower to get wet, and a 2 inch gap below the door let me see the people in the next room walking around. I would have been worried about break-ins, but Gus was ready to discourage anybody who tried. I got my shower and my bed, and all for the low price of $57.  But if you are going to be in Missoula or Kalispell Montana in the summer, I strongly suggest you make a reservation before you get there. And stay away from the Super 7. Spend the extra $10 and get a room with working doors.

Montana State Troopers

When I got to Missoula on the night of my 8^th day, the city was buzzing with young people. It’s the home of University of Montana, but plenty of college age kids visit the night spots even in the summer months. I saw what looked like a 60’s hippie bus parked outside a strip of bars with a mob of people wandering around the streets.  Police cars with lights flashing were on every other corner as they made a show of force to keep anyone from getting out of hand. Somewhere between my 6^th and 10^th no-vacancy notice I broke down and hit the Burger King driver through. I sat in the car and wolfed it down before pulling out of the parking lot to the stop light. No sooner had I come to a stop when I saw the flashing lights in the mirror. I waited for the light to turn green and then pulled off to the side. A Montana State Trooper pulled in behind me.

“You turned onto the road without using your signal” he said in that police intimidation voice. “May I see your license and registration”?  I pulled out my California driver’s license and handed it to him. “Is this a rental car”? He asked. “Are you on vacation here?”

I explained that I had spent the last week in “The Bob” and had just hiked out.  Then came an interesting exchange of questions and answers.

Trooper: “Were you fishing?”

Me:        “yes”.

Trooper: “Fly Fishing?”

Me:        “yes”.

Trooper: “How long of a rod did you use?”

Me:        “Nine feet”.

Trooper: “What kind of rod was it?”

Me:        “Well, I brought two: A G. Loomis 5 weight and a Sage 6 weight”.

Trooper: “Which one do you like best?”

Me:        “I like them both, but prefer the G. Loomis”.

Trooper: “Wait here and I’ll be right back.

I didn’t check, but I wouldn’t be surprised if impersonating a fly fisherman is a felony in Montana. I would have been scared if I was trying to make up responses to this rapid fire interrogation. Fortunately for me I could have talked fly fishing all night. After about two minutes he walked back to my window and held out my license. I was prepared to discuss the advantages of nymphing with and without an indicator, but he simply told me to have a good evening and drove off.  The police were just stopping people for any valid reason to check for drunk drivers.  As soon as I convinced the trooper that I was there to fish and not to party, he became the perfect gentlemen. You have to like a state trooper who knows his fly fishing. That’s the kind of public servant I want my tax dollars paying for!

The Missoula Airport

The airport at Missoula is pretty small. I’m not sure how many gates they have, but you can pretty much look onto the tarmac and point to which of the five planes is your flight.  The rental car lot is literally twenty steps from the baggage claim. But they still have security, and I was still travelling with Gus. I went to the ticket desk and showed my ID.  The very nice agent looked up my reservation and started printing my boarding pass. I was prepared for more of the same treatment I got in San Francisco, where they can’t imagine why anyone would even have a gun, much less travel with one. But things are different in Montana.  I told the agent (in a hushed voice) that I had a firearm to declare.  Without even looking up she asked me “is it loaded?”

“No”, I said and started digging through my pack to show it to her.

“That’s fine, I don’t need to see it” she said casually and handed me the orange card that told the baggage handlers I was a dangerous passenger.  I knew that Montana has the least restrictive gun laws in the United States, and even passed a law that claims Montanans are exempt from most federal firearm regulations. But I still expected a little more scrutiny at the airport. The agent sent me over to the baggage screener, who put my bag through a giant machine that looked like an MRI chamber. I suppose that even if I did have a loaded gun in my luggage it wouldn’t necessarily make me a threat; I couldn’t get to it until the baggage claim at my destination and at that point I would be no more dangerous than any other person who might be carrying  a loaded gun. But I like the fact that they understand this in Montana.  Add that to the fly-fishing state troopers and this starts to look like a nice place to live!

Urban Fishing

Missoula is the location featured in the movie “A River Runs Through It”, and the Clark Fork is that river. It’s very popular with rafters in the summer months. They put in just off of Broadway Street upstream from the U of M campus then float through town on inner tubes, rafts, makeshift floatable lawn chairs, etc. Some bring coolers with them and get friends to pick them up at a bridge and drive them back to the drop point to float down again.  A train trestle near Madison Street acts as a diving platform for those daring enough to jump off into the River.

I had dinner at the Sheraton on Saturday evening. The patio outside overlooks the river and I spent a leisurely hour watching the rafters having a blast.  The river is all public access in Missoula, meaning that you can fish along the bank wherever you can get to it. A guy at the fly shop told me he stops at a park on his way home from work sometimes and tosses out a few casts. He told me that Rattlesnake Creek just behind the Sheraton is not a bad place that often gets overlooked. I still had a couple hours of daylight left after dinner so I decided to check it out.

I have to admit, it felt a little strange to get out my fly rod and vest without putting on the rest of my fishing gear. I was wearing my tennis shoes and a decent shirt. There were no muddy banks to step along, no weeds to whack through, and no brush. Just cross the bridge and walk down to the river. I tossed in a few dries but didn’t get much action. Still, it was relaxing to be out there near the clean, clear water on a perfect evening. I made my way along the bank of Rattlesnake creek when I noticed a mayfly hatch in progress.  Hundreds of little white mayflies, roughly size #20, were hatching and swimming over to the bank to dry their wings. As they broke free of their husks, one wing would start working before the other causing them to spin in little circles for several seconds. For the first time, I realized why new hatches are called ‘spinners’. 

I squatted down to study them in their very short lives as flying insects. As I was focused intensely on these tiny creatures, some movement caught my eye about six feet away. A beaver was swimming down the creek and had passed directly in front of me.  If he saw me, he hadn’t considered me a threat because he kept gliding silently through the water and over to a pile of brush that he used as his den.  I’ve had less pleasant encounters with beavers when they slap the water hard with their flat tails, hoping to scare off anything that invades their territory.  I watched him until the daylight had faded and it was time to leave. I walked back to the car, put the rod in its case and was ‘done’.  I realized how nice it would be to live in a town where you could go fishing in your business clothes on the way home from work. It’s just the way they roll in Missoula.