New West has become one of my favorite online stops. Literature, politics, news, and environmental news are sprinkled liberally with quality essays — this one written by a woman whose husband can’t stand to fish/camp/backpack around other human beings.

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It caught my eye because frankly, it sounds pretty damned familiar (the L&T Nancy probably sympathizes). Here’s a bite from the early part of the essay:

Saturday morning and the heat is already bearing down. My initial idea is to drive to a high-country lake, take a short hike, cool off every half hour in the water and come back as dusk cools the scorched earth. It would be simple – a little packing of gear, a bit of driving, but home to a nice comfy bed.

Of course, Kelly, my partner, will have to fish. That’s a given. But I soon find, that the cold he’s been suffering with for days isn’t about to stop his other main urge – to have a prime piece of Montana all to himself overnight. He ups the ante.

“Let’s take the raft, go to Salmon Lake,” he says. “There’s an island. We can camp.” We do have a five-horsepower motor that we could put on our boat, but we need to replace the battery and we clearly don’t have time to do that and get away at a decent hour. “No problem,” says Kelly. “I’ll row out.”

I should have bought the bridge then.

The big finish:

Five hours after we began this adventure, we see a little dirt road and beyond that Jocko Creek, tumbling west to the Flathead. We pull over and the dust cloud that has accompanied us for a couple of hours slowly settles. We get out of the truck. The dogs spring from it as if released from a pressure cooker.

The place is beautiful. Moss-covered rock ledges cradling pristine waters. Easy access to the creek. Far enough off the road for privacy. A sweet splash of wild daisies rising from the creek bank. Shade.

Not a soul for miles.

“We’re home,” he says.

Home indeed.

[tags]new west, fishing, camping[/tags]

Posted in Underground Entertainment.