Clark Fork Trip Grivnel
June 17th - July 19th, 2012
By Kris Reed and Donald Elpel

"Want to float another river this summer?" The Donny asks.
      "Aye," I says, "How about the Yellowstone?"
      "Nay me says," counters The Donny, "How about the Missouri?"
      "Hmm... I'd rather float the whole thing later; how about the Clark Fork?"
      "Ehh... and retrace the absent steps of the Corps of Discovery..." The Donny thinks, "Sounds good."
      "Poot-tastic," say Koby, the small dog child.
      And so with not much more thought than that, in the year 2012 of our lord Aha; our two fatuous zero's set off on their cogent journey.
      And now to start the gambit...

Day 1, June 17th: "Swimmingly"
      Donny: Kris and I are at it again. This time floating the entire class I portion of the Clark Fork River in Northwest Montana.
      Our friend Grant drops us off at the Warm Springs fishing access west of Butte and we notice the water seems to be rather shallow.
      "We should be able to drag our canoes into Deerlodge in three days or so," I says, unaware of the ominous background music.
      We hit a bunch of rapids and laugh our heads off at the rough rides. In one fit of laughter I open my eyes to find us nose first in the bank. Koby, the dog, ditches. A blink later, Donny and I fancy ourselves a swim and so does our gear. Camping supplies spit out from under the canoe and I run after, throwing them on a gravel bar, shouting that we should bank the canoe here. But to no avail, as Donny's has been dragged down river, his mouth plowing water and thinking to himself, "I could use a good pee now..."
      Donny's pack surfaces and he dives head first into the chin deep water in pursuit, shouting something about "concrete knees." I've pinned myself in front of the canoe, but it soon pushes its way downstream until I wedge it in some shallow water and sit on it. A moment's break while watching Donny toss gear on the opposite bank and then I manage to get the rest of the gear and canoe ashore. We shuttle the rest of the gear across and start wringing our clothes.
      "Ten minutes into the trip; I'd have to say things are going pretty well," me says.
      "Aye, swimmingly!" The Donny replies.
      Amazingly, everything is saved and we decide to consolidate gear. Ten minutes more downstream and Donny' shouts, "Rapids!" and starts throwing water at me with his paddle.
      We stop on a gravel bar and scout ahead. We decide to portage the gear, then shoot the rapids. I reach for the Dearly Devoted Daypack (who is currently waffling over the idea of becoming a serial killer) and get stabbed with a knife.
      "Still doing pretty swell?" snaps Koby before diving in to abandon us to our blundering. The cape of Otter Boy is unraveled.
      We push into the rapids and snake through a dozen boulders and shout in triumph. Donny, over the trepidation he had beforehand, states in a high-pitched falsetto, "Fah, that was too easy."
      "Aye it was," I says, "Gurgle, gurgle..."
      Not paying attention, we immediately careen into the opposite bank and go under. Donny comes up feet first before realizing he can't breathe; and rights himself. Thanks to the gear portage, there is no mad dash for "the stuff" this time.
      With fists on hips and chin to the sky, Donny boldly claims, "Maybe we should both keep our mouths shut."
      Agreed...wait, the small dog child pipes up, "But what of some shade abouts now?"
      And so three minutes later, we are speeding towards a bridge with clearance under two feet.
      Me shouts, "Should we head to shore..."
      The Donny screams, "We're going underrrrr!"
      Hours of chicken limbo finally pay off. I slide to the floor and soon our troll days are over.
      We snake back and forth now aware of the need to stay on our toes...err, paddles and careen around in some willows, who like skin flicks, my shirt disappearing. Our nerves on edge and enough lessons for now we stop for lunch, then dinner, then mint tea, then bed.
      On poop patrol, Koby snags a fawn that I must rescue with pants around ankles, and I watch it reunite with it's mother. I'm questioning more and more the logic that animals abandon their young because of the smell of humans/others on their child's fur.
      Other nature notes: We see a Seagull pester a Bald Eagle, many beaver channels and sign at this campsite and in all this grass and willow there is a complete absence of Hounds Tongue and Mullein! The grass and stick TP really "chaps my ass."

Day 2, June 18th: "Serpentine"
      Donny: Today I awake at 9:00 a.m., yet lounge and snooze in my bag until Kris approaches from the West with news from the front. I lounge in the sun and wait till it's warm and high enough to go adventuring.
      Yesterday's swims make us leery of an early dip. The river winds back and forth, many of the bends being acute. A mile as the Crow flies (assuming it had an inkling to go straight) might mean two or three for us. We must bail water a few times, but stay afloat and learn more and more about ourselves and this river.
      The Yellowheaded Blackbirds preen next to the Cow's heads and lunch includes Cattail shoots and Orache.
      We pass under five more bridges, two of which have a PVC fence strung across that spins over top when you go under. One bridge has a magical power that turns Donny into a leprechaun in sore need of a toilet.
      Donny: It begins to sprinkle and we decide to make an early camp. In the tent we wait out the rain and discuss the universe... or at least the universe contained within raunchy humor. Gotta get me a nut!
      Birch fire burns hot and long, boiling water quickly. River Birch leaf tea with dinner, rather tasteless, same as a salad green... Cold and rain bring an early camp. Tired.

Day 3, June 19th: "All My Clothes on 'Cause it's Freaking Cold!"
      Donny: Today I awake to a cold, wet morning. It sucks getting out of my bag, but it's not getting any warmer. We dawn our warm hats and shove off. It's freaking cold!
      Come to know the Cedar Waxwing, Western Tanager and King Fisher. The clouds stay overhead and the wind blows (triple entendre Koby and Donny!).
      Wires strung across the river make us duck and the second is feet from a diversion dam, but our hearts are slowing and our paddles finding confidence.
      Donny: Freezing our asses off, we decide to make camp. On shore there appears to be an innertube. A throne for a king! While fishing, I catch a Trout that barely fills my hand and so I throw it back. The sun finally decides to poke its stupid head out, but it's still freaking cold!!!
      The fish Gods become unhappy at the gesture.
      Play "worm migration," leaving behind tunneled tracks in the tall grass. Tired, cold, and hungry, but this is great! Sun spots are much appreciated. Settle down with an Orache salad and Yarrow tea. Reading aloud, we weed through a few turdish books before settling on "North to the Night" by Alvah Simon, which turns out to be a good read.

Day 4, June 20th: "Sun"
      Just outside of Deerlodge we lunch on a gravel bank and a Killdeer plays injured to lure us away from her (?) nest. Past town we camp and wait to raid the dumpsters. At ten o'clock, the curfew siren rings (as this is a prison town), but our ears are waxed and the dark is our sign to explore. The yield of our militant snooping is 8 tortilla packets, 4 bags of chips, 2 nice bread loafs, chicken nuggets and 3 new pairs of pants (REI and Columbia!) and some really nasty Twizzlers; victory is ours.
      Donny: Back in camp after midnight. I sleep very well!

Day 5, June 21st: "Swimmingly, By Choice!"
      Donny: Today I awake to find Dad walking into camp. We left him with some turd books and my darling innnertube. Bird banders about. The river begins to straighten and widen, becoming easier to paddle. We stop and swim by choice! Then, lounging in the sun, we evolve into Gods.
      We watch a Spider spin its web, and then throw an Ant in. They battle, but the Ant and Wind are too much and the web is destroyed. The forbidden fruit has been eaten and wrought disaster. Ants farm Aphids on Willows. A Deer hops around and barks. A dying Fire Fly is in camp; the glow is constant. It might be that the 'flicker' is caused by opening and shutting of the wings, although I believe I've seen otherwise elsewhere. Drinking our evening tea we hear a loud yelping bark and end up following it through the hills to figure it out. Silhouetted against the stars and sky are a herd of Elk!

Day 6, June 22nd: "Cottonwoods, Warm Weather and Weir Cats"
      The bark is back before dawn. I slip outside the mosquito tent and see an Elk seventy-five yards away barking! Are we in the way of its path to water or its feeding grounds? Or maybe it has a barking fawn in the grasses, though I think it would have slipped out in the night. Hours later it is back up on the hill, barking when it sees me.
      Tight turns appear to be done, but small rapids are ever present. Waves crest the gunwales.
      "I'm surprised we haven't taken on water," me says.
      Five beats later (literally), two waves soak Donny (paddling in front) and we must ground to bail.
      Lunch where the last nail of the Northern Pacific Railroad was driven in and then camp where gold was first discovered in Montana (by prospectors that is). Lots of Knapweed and Hounds Tongue here; the demons of gold?
      Explore the first Cottonwoods and watch the birds. Our camp sits on a thirty-foot tall bank and the evening's fire takes place inside an old car hood.

Day 7, June 23rd, Saturday: "Cops, Kittens and Morning Dips"
      Donny: The river is widening and requires a lot more ability out of me to read and gauge which part of the river to shoot; which requires a good grasp of right and left, which I'm still figuring out after seventeen years!
      On the water early and then in the water early! Passing over a diversion dam Donny yells, "Right!"
      Rock.
      "I mean left..."
      Having unintentionally constructed a teeter-tooter; I hop out to push us off. Problem is; it takes all my strength to heave which leaves me stranded in the river and Donny floating down stream alone, in the non-steering part of the canoe. Oops!
      Into the water I go. The early morning swim is quite refreshing, but awkward with a camera held over my head. As I'm catching up Donny throws me my paddle which sails over my head and down the river.
      "The Aussies don't make 'em like they used to," The Donny states.
      Downriver, we spot a half dozen Elk and float within 20 yards of an Elk fawn with its spots on! Bald Eagles keep us company and while beating the midday heat we find a fellow shade connoisseur in the form of a porky Porcupine.
      We're just at the start of Gooseberry season. Unfortunately, with our drop in elevation, we end up missing it completely once we pass Missoula.
      Donny: We got into Drummond just as our food was running out. The first part of our venture into town went quite well. Behind the grocery, the dumpster was full of fruits and veggies. We filled Kris' backpack and got all the materials for dumpwhiches (cream cheese, cucumber, tomato, and bell pepper sandwiches). Then I went to charge my phone while Kris went to hang with the boat and gear.
      I start my two hour wait for my phone to charge and finish my book too early, so I find a cat to pet. As I sit there with the cat, eating my popcorn from inside, the sheriff pulls up and says, "Put the cat down slowly and back away kid. So I do. "I'm going to need your ID. Get it with two fingers only." I pass him my fishing license. "I'm picking you up for loitering and taking you home; where's that?"
      "Right now it's under the Drummond Bridge," I say and so he takes me there.

Day 8, June 24th: "This Camping Trip has No Corn"
      "What's the best way to tackle this bridge Donny?" me asks.
      "Lower your shoulder, I guess," he replies.
      And so we do. Note to self: You can't tackle bridges; it just hurts your shoulder.
      Bruised and battered we take it easy for awhile not paddling and watch two Coyotes as they get a drink from the river. The Common Merganser is lacking in Commonsense. It serpentines back n' forth trying to escape our speed demon canoe which is setting a blistering 1.8 mile pace; a mile later, it finally gets the idea to just wait as we pass. I wonder whatever happened to the four ducklings it left behind. Darwin rues the day.
      We make an early camp and I go exploring on foot up the river on both sides; slow going through thick brush, swamp, and river crossings. Back in camp, Donny joins me and we swim through the afternoon. Sunning afterwards, I can still feel the currents pull for an hour!
      Koby catches a big fat Squirrel and saves himself from a meal of kibbles. Eating lots of Horsetail; it reminds me of Thistle stalk.
      Donny: Wow! I'm amazed I've kept a journal going this long! We dumpstered corn-on-the-cob for desert this evening. Today was a good and much needed day to rest and relax; both of which I took full advantage of.

Day 9, June 25th: "Shirt on 'Cause I'm Flatulently Burned"
      Donny: We take the day off to read and explore and don't get on the water till the sun is setting. This is the perfect time of day to be paddling; cool and refreshing!
      A strange sighting; a Canada Goose swims underwater with only its head poking out!
      "They sure are strange up north," says the Donny.
      "And even stranger here," me says as we look at our campsite, which has dozens of posts with holes burned through in a direction that makes them useless for fencing.
      "There be witches about," says the Donny.
      "Cackle, cackle," toots the Koby.
      "Much mosquitoes here," I hushes.
      Half an apple for dinder; I'm stuffed.

Day 10, June 26th: "Poison Spears and Egyptian Poo"
      We stop at old train station Number Nine as we head down the railroad line. Built in 1900, it's been abandoned for awhile. Into the spruce and ponderosa to explore as a storm approaches. Hiking the hills, I munch on Stonecrop, Strawberries, and Pussytoes and gather a Giant Puffball (read baseball). Tried the untasty variety of Buffaloberry; yeah it was a bad idea...
      In an irrigated field, a maze of Prairie Dog trails are blazed from hole to hole.
      Sport! Tomato baseball and spear fishing...?
      Donny: Went fishing today!
      Upset at all the fiber in his diet, Donny, under the moniker of Cub Grylls, grunts, "Plant food boring, me hunt."
      Quite the craftsman, he fashions himself a blunt tipped spear and heads to the old train station and spots a large brown snorkeler. Leary of zombies, he stabs at the thing a few times, but is unable to poke it through; only bruising its flatulent portion. He roars, "Coooo...lonic Irrigation."
      Splash!
      He comes down upon the evasive LBT and grasps the damn creation to his chest. A brief thought of punching it's brains out crosses his mind.
      "No!" Cub Grylls ululates, "The Little Bastard is getting away!"
      He works his fingers into its gills and bites off its head.
      "You're next Bear Grylls," he howls before squeezing its guts out, the contents oozing between his fingers.
      The fish appeared to be eating rice and lentils.

Day 11, June 27th: "Paddling Upside Down"
      We portage around an underwater bridge, a real head scratcher. The day is warm and fishermen abound. One guide warns of log jams and rapids at the confluence with Rock Creek, "I've been on this river twenty-five years and what's ahead will be hell in a canoe!" His clients cast into the willows on shore and he grumbles as he turns back to the tangled mess they've created.
      We put our best paddle forward and snake our way through the many snags. We pass Clinton and line our way through some major rapids. Just ahead we see the water get tame. We rest our paddles on the gunwales and sit back, looking at the darkening cliffs above. A side channel comes back into the river nearly head on; we look at it with a mild curiosity and set our paddles to drag in the river.
      Donny: The rush of water coming straight at us forms a vortex on either side of a submerged tree. We finally realize that now would be a good time to paddle, but are too late as our canoe has already turned ninety degrees to the river's direction. Swimmingly, Part Deux.
      The canoe soon discovers efficiency is best had upside down. Forgetting to inform us of its decision, we struggle to find which way is up and then must find where Koby is stuck under the canoe. We pull hard for shore. Donny jams himself against the river bottom and holds while I tangle in protruding roots. He loses control and the one-inch nylon webbing in my hand pulls free like a bar of soap. I do a 'backwards single seal roll' to free myself; the difficultly of which has been compared to the 'triple sour cow'.
      Donny slows the boat as I swim in front and wrap the tow line around my hand. I pull hard toward shore. The back of the canoe wedges against a gravel bar and the gear trapped beneath surfaces. Donny frantically throws what he can ashore and dives after the rest. I haul the canoe ashore then run ahead to cut off an escaped dry bag (the tent and Donny's sleeping bag and pad). I realize my foot is being punched with rock and look down to see a missing sandal.
      The bag pulls far ahead as I dive into the river across a side channel. I climb up into the Rose bushes and Plum trees and run hard. I pop out on the gravel bank and see the bag still well ahead; back into the sticks. Repeat, repeat, repeat... I hit an old railroad bed and push hard across the serrated, crushed rock. The bag has a hundred yards on me, and I have no choice but to catch it before some rapids ahead. Luck saves me as it slows long enough in an eddy for me to dive ahead of it. Success! Now only a mile's walk back on a battered barefoot!
      Donny: Kris has been gone a long while and I call out in worry, but hear no reply. I pack the boat and wait. Kris finally emerges from the Willows yelling, "I am a vampire, I am a vampire, I am a vampire."
      I pull thorns from my foot and we paddle hard to camp. I try to fight back the shivers of being cold and wet. We stop at a private picnic table and wring everything out. A big fire and things are hung to dry. We count up the fatalities and outside of the "Paddle Montana" book (now returned to its muse), a few articles of clothing, and our daypack filled with valueless items, we were able to resuscitate all else.
      With our stuff spread out, the fishing guide floats by in his drift boat. "You guys made it," he says, "that's impressive! I didn't want to tell you, but a twenty-year old kid drowned back there swimming about a week ago. Still haven't found the body..." He floats away and leaves us both with the sick wish to see the other dive into the water and into a rotting corpse. What could be funnier?
      We've seen a lot of brown Eagles, some of which we've ID'ed as immature Baldies, but I'm almost positive some of them had to be Goldens; now if I could only figure out the difference! Koby sniffs a Toad into Donny's backpack.
      Donny: The thrill of the crash is short-lived and soon replaced by a deep tiredness. I amble down a farm road and ninja snoop around the buildings before returning to dry out my sleeping bag by the fire. I hope there are no such swims tomorrow; they really wipe me out! Punnnn!!!

Day 12, June 28th: "Idle Hours and Empty Dumpsters"
      A few miles downriver, we arrive at the final pullout for the Milltown Dam reclamation area. Failing to do so would levee a two-hundred dollar fine. Pun duel! I spend the next six hours wandering, swimming, and finishing the book "Endurance," a trip of a hundred-times more magnitude, but similar challenges. Our friend Sholei helps ferry our canoe to the other side of the dam where the sudden immensity and strength of the river ripples our nerves.
      On an island just outside of Missoula, we hide our canoe in a depression of tall grass and walk into town. Five hours of dumpster diving and wandering yields no more discoveries than a few occupied cardboard shanties. Dejected, we head back to the canoe hungry, but midnight magic materializes in the guise of a pizza guy just off work with free pizzas to be doled out; and on the dole we are. Seeing our empty backpacks, he asks if we are campers and so we tell him of our adventure. He gifts us a Hawaiian pizza which we gratefully accept, and it doesn't last more than a block. Back in camp at 2:30 a.m., I realize that one of my backup sandals is missing, and I search in vain and collapse shoeless in exhaustion. Great tracking experience, though!

Day 13, June 29th: "Escapades of the Sore Footed"
      After a few hours sleep under a canoe lean-to I track down my missing sandal and sit on shore watching the Spotted Sandpipers dip to the morning rhythm. Donny bought an ice cream bar in Drummond and now the Dumpster Gods have kicked us out of their Garden for dining with the forbidden fruit; so we hit the grocery and thrift stores to shop with linen luck instead. Six miles out, Donny takes the bus back with the groceries and I run with Koby and somehow beat him to the Madison Bridge. Currants along the trail and a nice waterfall to drink from!

Day 14, June 30th
      "Bruised and Beaten"
      A Deer stumbles upon our camp in the early morning and takes off. Birds go straight from baseline to a fury of alarms. Going through Missoula, we shoot the first set of rapids. We travel down the next two canals to avoid rapids and end up portaging. A few miles out of town, we stop amongst some Cottonwoods and make camp. Our bodies (feet and joints) are battered from the city miles and we read and rest. A few Deer stumble within arm's reach and I save one from the jaws of Koby as he leaps over me to snag it. Lots of bird language. The nights are getting muggy. Ga'nite.
      Donny: I finished another book today. That's five! If only Willie Nelson were a sailor...

Day 15, July 1st: "Drizzle and Reading"
      Donny: God, I need another book! My back is troubling me for some unknown reason, so we hang in camp till 3:00 p.m. to give it a rest.
      This is our last day of paddling before Tom ferries us around the Alberton Gorge (which has several class III rapids), but a morning rain brings lethargia... lots of it. We finally paddle away in late afternoon and make some distance before striking camp on an island near the Kona Bridge fishing access. Fields of Leafy Spurge and heavy dew.
      Donny: I try to walk to the church to charge my phone. I ferry myself to the mainland and walk until I run into a deep channel. I follow it along until I run into a shallow one. I start to cross, but have been deceived! The deep muddy bottom robs my sandals and I retreat. I trudge through Thistles and Stinging Nettles, thwarted by all, and so I return to camp instead. Well soiled, I go for a chilly swim!

Day 16, July 2nd: "Portages and Porpoises"
      Donny: Today started out wet, very wet. Heavy dew last night, the islands seem to like water. Dad picks us up and we pile into his tiny truck. Dad, Kris and I, plus the two dogs, all must squeeze into the cab.
      While filling up water at an outside tap, a guy walks out and asks me if I have permission. I tell him no, but that I didn't think I needed permission to get water. He gets very angry with me, and Dad tells me I should be nice to people even if they are rude, but really! It's just water; I don't think anyone should need permission to get that. After burgers, Dad takes us to the Forest Grove fishing access and we depart after receiving a few bags of dumpstered fruit.
      Outside of Missoula, we pick up a few more rivers and creeks, so the Clark Fork is quite large now. In fact, it is the biggest river, by volume, in Montana by the time it hits the Idaho border. Donny casts his pole while I paddle backwards down the shoreline, no luck. We stop and explore around an old railroad bridge and up into the Ponderosa pines. A Garter and Rattlesnake! No campsite, we move on.
      An Osprey dives for fishes with as much triumph as our casting. We make camp on an old railroad bed and cook dinner in the Ponderosas. Finish another book; I believe it's a full moon tonight.

Day 17, July 3rd: "Wind, Wandering and Hippity-Hop"
      Rain comes in the middle of the night and we scramble to throw the tent up. Early morning I take off up the draw of Ponderosas (they are a personal favorite of mine!) to explore. Many Dogwoods and Serviceberries, but no fruit. Koby scares up some Mulies and chases a fawn up and down this steep slope until Koby froths at the mouth and passes out in the shade. A Ponderosa gives us a Jack-O-Lantern smile as we rest. Straight up a slope that feels (and may be) steeper than its forty-five degrees; the hill is covered in a thick mat of a purple vetch of some sort and much Cheat Grass.
      Several hours and several thousand feet of altitude later we collapse on the north side where adequate moisture has covered all the trees and logs in Wolf Lichen. We snack on Mariposa Lilies and spy some Deer in their day beds and slip away unnoticed when a storm moves in. Heading down, the thick vegetation pulls at my toes and sandals and I find it faster to go downhill shoeless and backwards! This gives my knees a break as well and saves my shorts from wearing thin from trying to slide.
      Walking straight uphill gave me a most intense workout and I collapse in camp after retrieving some water and lunch from the canoe. The meal after such cardio? Appetizer: several pieces of dumpstered fruit; Main Course: three PBJ's with banana; Dessert: trying to hold down lunch, a nap, and picking Cheat Grass out of all my clothes! The night seems colder and we play cards by the fire.

Day 18, July 4th: "Swimming, in the Boat"
      Crush the charcoal and spread the ashes from the cook fire (part of the morning routine) and then paddle to St. Regis. A fairground is in full swing and some gypsying for us.
      Donny: At the visitor center in St. Regis, the lady running it allows me to charge my phone while we wander around. When I ask her about a place to pick up used books in town, she tells me there is no such place. WAGH! But when we return, she has pulled a few books from her own shelf for me to choose from. So I gratefully grab three and head back to the ship.
      Out of town, the water gets choppy and tosses us from one hand to the other. Our muscles strain as we navigate the rapids, but our caressing cannot convince the river to calm and we instead haul a boat's worth of water to the shore. Canoeing in such a state leaves the gunwales just over an inch above the river and we find it hard to keep from rolling. The water sloshes from side to side. Donny (who's much bigger than I), starts to sink.
      "Get in the middle," I shouts.
      "It's mine," claims the Koby; and thus, two turtles play Yurtle. Well, I guess it's time to camp!
      We haul our gear up a thirty-foot slope and explore the forest. Unfortunately, this is some cheap real estate and the ground is lava! We manage to stay off it by walking on fallen logs, though Donny does get burned once as evidenced by the red lumps on his back.
      We bump into a Nomad named "Lichen-My-Beard" who was passed out on a slab wood bed. He possesses a fu-man-chu and tells us of happy foraging if we persevere. Wild Onions in the taters tonight and we sleep next to the fire. Donny lights a few farts to celebrate his independence in these dry days of summer.

Day 19, July 5th: "Cleaning"
      Bathe and wash clothes; the water seems to be getting colder. We spend a few hours chasing Squirrels, but no luck. The brush is too thick and our throwing sticks just get snagged. We do knock a few out of trees, though we are to slow to catch the grounded rodents. Also tried to get some Turkeys, but Koby scared them off. No canoeing today. We wander around in the changing ecology instead.
      Donny: I get to start my new book today and read throughout. Halfway through, I can't wait to continue. The trains are freaking loud!

Day 20, July 6th: "Wandering"
      The mourning (sic) starts at four AM with Donny wailing about some inanity. I take off hunting a bit later and end up fetching water from a creek instead. The creek is carpeted in spiderwebs like the one we accidentally destroyed ten days ago. I duck under a spruce and wait out a rainstorm, then wander around in thickets following tracks. I find a pile of scat full of hair, bones, and hooves (dewclaws); a first! It was somewhat fresh and had centipedeish bugs crawling around on it. I try to follow using secondary sign (torn spider webs) but don't know how long a web would hang around; I've seen them loiter in houses for years. The tracks could be a few days old, but a fawn mandible I found appeared older than that.
      There is another scat full of forest debris and ant shells with heads the size of BBs! The Squirrels seem to be quiet in the afternoon; is it naptime? I find a Squirrel's nest of Bryoria, looks real cozy! Not too many ground dwelling birds here; not sure if that is because of noisy Squirrels, err... Humans.
      At our next camp there is a Spider with fifty youngin's clinging to her back, awesome! Black Caterpillars are eating the Willows here.
      Donny: Today I got up due to the fact that rain was falling on my head. Kris is gone, so I frantically throw all our stuff in dry bags and retreat under a tree with my book. When the rain retreats, I follow sun spots around, with my book, until Kris finally returns. Into the final chapter, he says we should go. WAGH! I now must wait to finish.
      We stop on a stony beach and set up camp in the Ponderosas. I take to fishing for an hour with no luck. Koby got one though! An old rotting fish carcass that smelled awful, just the way he likes it! He rolled all in it and is a joy to sleep with the next few days.
      I finish my book and start a new one. We'll be paddling a lot coming up, so I must get my fix in now. Out of food.

Day 21, July 7th: "Pahoud's Race for Food"
      "Rapid Exhaustion"
      Up early to try to make it to the town of Plains to resupply. Several tough rapids come early and we have to line/portage around many of them. Stomping around in the shallow boulders along shore, I nearly step on a Rattlesnake, barefoot! I have no clue why it was sitting in a puddle next to the river...
      While Donny is swimming alongside the boat, the water suddenly turns green. We must have missed the Flathead River's entry, 'cause now the Clark Fork has doubled in size again! We drift past some houses, try and wash 'Fish-Rot Koby' and chant to the river gods.
      "I can't believe we missed the Flathead," says the Donny as he adds his own tributary to the Clark Fork.
      "Aye, if we misses the Flathead, me wonders if them houses be Plains as well," I says.
      And aye they be.
      Thunder clouds roll in and as a murder of Crows and Magpies, together, squawk in their god. We make camp next to some giant rapids and take to foraging dinner. Donny grabs his fishing pole and heads out onto an awesome Cottonwood in the middle of the river and I head into the woods in hopes of Deer and Chipmunks. No luck with meat for either of us, but I get a literal hand-to-mouth existence with a few cups-worth of Currants and some spindly Harebell and Dandelion roots; along with handfuls of Miner's Lettuce and Sheep Sorrel to gnaw on.
      Catch a few Grasshoppers for bait, but alas a hole in my pocket leaves only one by the time I get back to the river. We are beat chasing game and Koby repeatedly shakes his head with exhaustion. His heartbeats drum through the forest floor. A double rainbow appears.
      Standing in the middle of a river atop a giant Cottonwood, rapids thundering below and dark skies bellowing above; boulders stand as their own mountains and the pines wail to the wind gods; a prehistoric perception overpowers my soul and I plunge into the dark depths and tear down the beach, the slow grinding of sand strengthens the sole/soul. Moss drips down the boulders and the dark shadows fight back the sun.
      No food tonight beyond a pot of Milkweed. Koby chows down on a Donny snack. I wish he'd found another rotting fish.
      "Donny angry," say the Donny, "Donny want desert!" He eats the other half. I've had quite enough of Pahoud.
      Toad tracks and rapid lullabies.

Day 22, July 8th: "Hot as Thompson Falls, says Bilgewater Koby"
      We've got in the habit of counting trains. This morning I count one with five engines and one hundred and twenty-six boxes of coal, shortly after Donny counts one with three engines and one hundred and seventeen boxes of coal. This happens every hour (and sometimes more!), day and night, this whole trip. That's a lot of coal burnt for few good reasons.
      Some weird waters toss the canoe sideways eight feet in a blink of an eye, and we stay on the tips of our paddles till we reach the reservoir. Towering power lines hum above as the giants of primeval times turn to the monsters of progress. Five of these lines, right next to each other, and a gas line as well; why? The water is dirtier below. Vacation houses now line all available space on shore.
      "That one looks like it was designed for a Rubik's cube," the Donny says.
      "Aye, these houses are all puzzlingly ugly," me says. Pun parry!
      Donny: In Thompson Falls we pick up some used books, but finding a grocery store takes hours using faulty Google maps on my phone. One is a dumpster in the woods, another a B-Ball court, and the last is someone's house! All this wandering happens in the 105 degree heat! We must instead procure the needed information at the Town Pump.
      While Kris heads to the grocery a mile and a half away, I charge my phone. Even in the shade, the sun's heat is relentless and I notice that most patrons of the store walk out with Big Ice Cream Cones. I probably should have got one to deal with the heat, but for some reason it never struck me as something I could do!
      I get spit on twice as I walk to the grocery store and back; pleasant people here.
      We run into a lady who runs the Krazy Woman Kayak rental service here (and yes, she is CRAZY! but very kind as well). She gives us a ride around the dam at the end of the day. Make camp in a vacationer's yard. Lots of dew; Hot! With the trials of the dam, I found today to be the only time my morale has flagged during this trip.

Day 23, July 9th: "Tired, Hungry, Purple"
      We sneak out early and the houses soon disappear. We make a camp before noon and drift back out on the water to swim. The cold water turns me purple and I retire to the sun to warm. Koby catches a fawn, but now that we have food we decide to let it go. Longhorns come into our camp to get water and sniff the Koby. One of the calves is nursing and another cow charges in to butt the nursing heifer out of the way so she can feed the calf. Set a two-foot tube of Birch on the evening's fire. The smoke was thick and black. Donny is calling Koby, Bilge Water Koby now, but secretly he goes by Otter Boy.
      Donny: Intrigue in the mind of a socialite.
      I toss the football.
      I read my book.
      Rice and lentils,
      I do cook.
      Jurassic Park,
      then charging cows.
      Kris gets chased
      I must punch them now!

Day 24, July 10th: "Cedar, Yew, and Paddling Underwater Part Poo!"
      'Donny Soils Himself'
      The morning starts with three Eagles calling and chasing each other. I believe this is the first time I've ever heard their voice! While paddling we find a few ripe Serviceberries and are looking forward to the further drop in elevation and feasting season. We beat the heat by setting camp in an inlet and paddling and swimming the entire afternoon; practicing self-rescue techniques and bailing a boat full of water.
      Donny in a thick Irish accent translates his Russian as, "We must head for the deep. Load the ballast, sink the ship, scuttle, I'm staying with her..."
      We paddle towards the bottom of the lake doing our best to keep the canoe from rolling toward the surface. I watch as the water slips above our waists, our shoulders, and then Donny's head disappears! What fun! Next we travel with canoe upturned as a breathing apparatus. Soon this practice will be put to work. Cold sends me to the sun again and I explore the new trees and ecologies.
      College partiers are completely unaware of us sitting just inside the trees. Donny rubs himself in dirt, flips the canoe and drifts next to their boat. He grabs a handful of Pahoud and marks his coup over the boats side. Victory, but what's that awful smell?

Day 25, July 11th: "Welcome to the Deep Deep"
      New pattern: Three to five hours of paddling; two hours of swimming; cooking, eating, napping, reading and exploring. On driftwood piles within twenty yards of each other, sits an immature Bald Eagle and a Great Blue Heron. We spook them, while drifting by, and they fly in opposite directions, but I wonder what would have happened if we hadn't scared them. Continuous waves starting around 6:30 p.m., don't know what they are all about, but I would guess it is dam related. Food is skimpy and gunwale wars irrupt.
      Donny: Good God Tellitubbies are stupid! We stop at what appears to be a premade camp with a fire ring and some flat ground. Since others have been here before, we spend some time gathering up toilet paper and trash (I might have to go on another rant!). Pahoud will be questing again.

Day 26, July 12th: "Welcome to the Damn Dam"
      Ah, the Noxon Dam... Our longest portage to date!
      Donny: Four hours of hell! We huff the canoe onto our shoulders and march forward. We spend most of the time trying to navigate restricted areas and a maze of roads to find a way back to the river. We end up dropping the gear down a steep cliff using ropes. I must use my body as an anchor and my feet plow down the hill as we lower the canoe. Covered in dirt and dripping sweat, a dunking in the river is much enjoyed!
      Distant mountain ranges still hold snow and we figure this is the source of the creek we're now standing in, as it is frigid! Tastes great, so we fill up our jugs. We stop in Noxon which has a great park and hang out awhile. We find a Pooh-Bear sneaking into a pirate ship. Donny suggests a bear colonic as it appears the bear has already raided the town, as the grocery store is lacking. We decline and must leave with an empty food sack (did find a leftover burger and hotdog in the trash though).
      We set up on an old railroad bed again. Koby has taken to sleeping under the tent while we cook. Water level changes erratically now. Stormy night.
      Donny: In my sleeping bag something crawls on my belly. In a semi-panicked state I grab for it and thankfully catch it as I hear that a piece of rice can be deadly dangerous!

Day 27, July 13th, Friday: "Jason's Hidden Fortress"
      I pick and eat a few handfuls of unripe Blackberries out of hunger. We paddle into a strong headwind with choppy waves. Around noon we stop at a Serviceberry and Blackberry thicket and work our way to pay dirt and gorge. Thing is, we are in the lawn of someone's vacation home and when Koby starts giving off an intruder bark (much different than his Squirrel bark) we don't know what to do as it will take a few minutes just to get through the Blackberries. So, I continue to eat...
      Donny goes to check it out and soon calls me over. "Dog gone treed uh barr," he says. Fifteen feet up a Cedar is a Black Bear cub! We snap some pictures, Cub Grylls wrastles with him and then we leave well enough alone, giving back the berry patch to the tike.
      The humidity is 99 percent, and it's about a hundred degrees as well and we're drippin' balls! We pull into the shade to swim and soon discover a hippy shanty town of half-finished projects. Everything looks abandoned so we explore around.
      Donny: I decide to sleep on the porch and drag an old mattress onto it. Sitting there, shaving with an electric razor I found in a collapsed barn, is where I am when the owners arrive for their bi-yearly visit. Stupendous luck for now I am stuck with a mustache over callused and leathered brown skin.
      The Walrus is born...
      The sunset lights up a cedar to quite a magnificent red/orange and the forest is on fire. Hard rain all night.

Day 28, July 14th: "Idaho Blows it Out of Their Dam Hole"
      Friday the 13th is so last year, Saturday the 14th is where shit goes down. Just inside of the Idaho border is a dam. One turd down. After a portage we manage to catch some Crawdads and push back into the river, but soon the river pushes into us.
      Donny: I manage to snag a five-inch Crawdad! Paddling away from shore Kris asks, "Why the hell is there water in the canoe?" I grab my cup and start bailing, but the water is coming in too fast! Double dam the boat broke! The curse of the Idaho Turd!
      The canoe has developed a hole from being dragged at times and through its indolent gash gurgles the river below. Two turds down. Donny bales while I paddle to shore. Mosquitoes are horrendous as I patch the bottom with duct tape and after drifting for awhile, it starts to rain and the only campsite is a muddy farm field. Idaho sucks balls! As far as we're concerned, Idaho can keep their dam potatoes. Pun victory!
      Samuel L. drifts into our camp and shouts, "I'm sick and tired of all these Mother loving mosquitoes, in this Mother loving Idaho!"

Day 29, July 15th: "Rain Squeezed From an Idaho Turd"
      Dark clouds, heavy thunder, and bright lightening send us scrambling for a less open shelter. Under an old train bridge we hurriedly throw up the tent and jump inside to rid ourselves of mosquitoes. No food left, but a cube of cheese if we feel faint. RAGAHH! Everything soaked is spread out in the dry spots under the bridge, all I have to wear now is my poncho. The parturition of Poncho. We read and nap till the storm passes.
      We pull up under another bridge in the town of Clark Fork and the Mosquitoes here are the most hellish yet! But the sun comes out and we're able to pick up a day's worth of groceries in the barren store that has already been hit by the apocalypse; everything's priced for thievery. Good thing it's only a few days to Sandpoint.
      The Cherries in town refresh us though and we get back on the river excited about Lake Pend Oreille. A weird weir of sorts crosses the river and we have to paddle upstream to get through. But the Lake is here. A mile out we realize the canoe is leaking again, so we ditch on a gravel bar.
      The water is so shallow here that we are able to walk fifty yards from shore without getting our knees wet. The night is pleasant next to the lake and a nice breeze keeps the Mosquitoes down.
      Donny: As I took my evening swim I thought back on my earlier triumph. In the town of Clark Fork I saw a book titled The Summons on a free book shelf and so I stole it! Why steal from a free book shelf? Because I was SUMMONDED!

Day 30, July 16th: "Finally a Fish!"
      A splashing starts in the middle of the night, but only Otter Boy is awake enough to check it out. When dawn comes I creep out. The lake receded a few inches at night leaving the long shallow shore a trap. Out in the shallows is a giant Squaw Fish! I run out and grab it, filet it, and stash it till lunch.
      The crack in the canoe is filled with bubble gum and covered with duct tape and we start our paddle across one of the biggest lakes in Western America! As long as we don't scuff the bottom on sand or gravel the duct tape should hold up fine. Knock on wood...
      We stop on an island and explore. A bunch of Serviceberries. We cook up the fish on some heated slabs of rock and then depart. A Seagull pesters an Eagle and a Song Sparrow chirps at me, hopping back and forth between two branches.
      Donny: We make camp on a nice gravel beach and swim. We are about five miles from Sandpoint. PB & J for din din tonight. Fish farts. All hail Pahoud!
      Awesome trip, great job!

Day 31, July 17th: "Sandpoint, Rain, and Chicken"
      The morning sky is overcast and we doddle until it starts to rain. We decide to canoe in the rain and do so for the next three hours. The wind is stiff and it's a good final workout. Sandpoint! We ditch the canoe in a train construction yard and hike into town. On the streets of Sandpoint we gobble down several quarts of Raspberries and some mortuary Cherries. No luck in the dumpsters, we buy a rotisserie chicken and home fries and gorge. We hang out at City Beach and then sneak back to our gear at midnight to sleep.

Day 32, July 18th: "Reflections"
      Up at five a.m. mountain time (four a.m. here in Sandpoint). We stash our stuff and walk the mile to City Beach.
      The Clark Fork has been an awesome trip and "adventuring" has been great fun and calming. This trip has brought me complete comfort, living out-of-doors in summer, with no attachment back to a house and its accoutrements. I too have learned to take a more relaxed pace in wilderness wanderings.
      I no longer ask the question, "Who am I?" I have an answer. I am the rivers I float down and the hills I climb. I am the plants I forage and the animals I hunt. I am the crazy of mosquitoes, the calm of rain. I am the pain of dammed dreams, the smiles beyond their destruction. I am the friends I travel with and the ones I care for. I am the life I choose to live. I am, therefore I have no need to...
      Donny: This trip started as an adventure and a grand one at that! We started as the three amigos and that is the life we lived. We were pirates for a month, exploring and pillaging. Ghosts of wanderers past; of people still full of wonder at the world; still eager to run wild and be free, not only of the restraint of work and societal norms but free of the burden of opinion.
      A quote by J.R.R. Tolkien says "Not all those who wander are lost." It takes a lot to get lost and up to that point you're not lost, you are only being forced to explore. But is that such a bad thing? Could it be that if we are forced to explore, to get "lost" in the world, step out of the confusion and immerse ourselves in the simplicity of the natural world that only then can we be "found." And so it rings true that, "Not all those who wander are lost," they are just exploring.

Day 33, July 19th: "His Name was Handsome Wayne"
      In life he was a vessel that carried us to growth and adventures and new states of happiness. In one month we were brought to term and birthed anew into this world; and now he is gone. In death he is the Handsome Wayne.
      So...
      Someone evidently thought it would be a good idea to steal our canoe. I wonder what they thought when it started leaking?
      The End

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