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Latest Update: June 20, 2001 by Ben Marcus

9:45 JUNE 20, 2001 WISE RIVER CABIN, MONTANA

To work, or to fish? That is the question. It's 10:46 Mountain Time. The sun is up, the sky is blue, the mosquitos aren't out yet and I am fully rigged and loaded forƒ trout.

I guess I'll sit here until noon and try to get some work done, then head for Sportsman's Corner and get some fish. We're going to be out of here Friday and I'm going to drift the river half-day tomorrow, so I need to make some phone calls: Cory Lopez, Jeff Clark, Frosty Hesson, Kim Moriarity, Mike Johnson, Peter Mel, Doug Moriarity, Jay's step-father who lives on 36th Avenue. Lots of people.

This morning I got an e-mail from Bill Morris, the photographer who wrote that rough description of what happened in the Maldives. I asked him for more details and he referred me to Renaldo, the Brazilian judge who was once married to Lisa Andersen. I sent an e-mail to ASP North and South America asking for a contact e-mail address or phone number, so hopefully I'll make that connection. Better too much information than not enough, so I'm going to dig, dig, dig.

I just got back from a trip into ñtown.î I stopped at Troutfitters and bought some gear: a spool of 5x tippet material, some tapered leaders, some fly floatant, a plastic fly box and an assortment of dries and nymphs. Got into a conversation with Frank, who has lived here for 52 years. His family owns the ranch across the highway and it's been in the family for more than 100 years. I found out that a yearling calf goes for about $500 on the hoof, and an older model will fetch about $800. I asked him if raising beef was worth it, and he said, ñBarely.î

Frank talked about caddis hatches where the air is so thick with flies, you can't see a hundred yards up the river. He also talked about the Idaho and Montana fires last year, which raged from July to October, and shut down the valley for a while. We talked about this and that and he gave me some used flies that his guides had discarded. So I walked out of there feeling ready.

Then I went to the Wise River Store and tried to put together a dinner. I bought some beef pasties and tamales that were locally made, and bought the ingredients for spaghetti marinara: A jar of Ragu, two cans of shrimp, a can of chopped clams, a can of olives and two sacks of macaroni shells. That might work.

Now I'm back at the house and the cleaning lady is here. She's telling me that the local beef doesn't taste very good either, because it isn't corn feed. She was wrong about the elk, in my opinion, so who knows. Mayhe I'll come up here next fall with a .270 and try to bag me one a them black angus cows out in the field. I wonder if that's legal? They're good eatin'.

I might hang around here until August, because Rockin' the River in Three Forks is featuring 30 bands, including: Mountain (Misississippi Queen) BTO, Blue Oyster Cult, Eric Burdon and the new Animals, Steppenwolf, Edgar Winter AND MANY MORE!!!!

I'm gonna make some phone calls and do one of my all-time favorite things: Try to pull information out of grieving people. Fun, fun, fun.

21:45 WEDNESDAY JUNE 20, 2001 THE CABIN

MONEY
Fly box, assorted flies, floatant, leaders, tippet: $48.00
OJ, Ragu, shrimp, clams, shells, Newtons: $15.43
Updated 240 minutes on phone card: $52.99
Three nights at the Cabin: $90.00
Used up phone card: $27.00
Fishing license and groceries $66.78
Elk preparations from Wise River $29.77
Dinner for three at Cholesterol CafÚ $26.00

Last night when Rich was showing me how to nymph fish at the Sportsman Corner, we talked about God and Heaven. Rich said that the innocuous looking hole in front of us probably had 100 to 200 fish in it, and who knew how many close calls we were having, big browns checking out the nymphs and backing out at the last minute.

I suggested that that was one of the things you learned when you went to heaven, along with all the killer Scrabble moves you could have made, and a lot of other answered questions, major and minor. When you go to heaven, God or an underling sits you down and shows you the replay of all the giant browns and rainbows and steelhead you almost had, if not for a better-tied knot, or a lighter flick of the wrist.

ñMaybe,î Rich said, and smiled quietly to himself as he cast into the fast water.

That's part of my theology anyway. In heaven, all of your questions, no matter how small are answered: ñWhere does the Universe end.î ñHow many times could I have used my whole rack of seven letters in a Scrabble move but was too stoned to see it?î ñWho stole my Canon Super 8 movie camera from my car on Plum Street.î

Those sorts of questions.

And as for hell. Hell is eternal moving and eternal painting. The damned have to paint the stairs to heaven for all eternity, a never-ending job, like the Golden Gate Bridge. And the other damned are locked in eternal hauling and lifting, moving the furniture of the righteous up those same endless stairs.

But enough about God and such, even though I am in God's country.

Today was an interesting day, no doubt about. Mike and Rich took off early for a long day of flogging the river, sunburn and mosquitoes.


Metiver on the river.

I worked for a few hours in the morning, making some good contacts. I talked to Jeff Clark, who lost not only a good friend but also his tow partner. Getting anything out of Jeff beyond ñYou knowî can be like prying abalone, but he had some good things to say about Jay the guy and Jay the surfer. I also talked to Tom Brady, the Team Manager for O'Neill who illuminated a few things and gave me some numbers. He also told me NOT to talk to Kim just yet, as she is walking the tightrope.

I sent an e-mail to Renato Hickel, the Brazilian ASP judge who was once married to Lisa Andersen. Renato was on the island when it all happened, and talked to the Brazilian guys who were snorkeling around Jay and were the last people to see him alive.

I did some other business here and there, bought some fly-fishing equipment, bought those groceries, then headed up for the Sportsman's Camp at around noon.

One of the questions I'd like to ask God, eventually, is: How did m backup pair of Maui Jims show up like magic? These were my darker pair and they were gone. They were gone when I left my mom's house and they were gone when I was at Dan's. I had grabbed a cheap pair of dark plastic sunglasses in my mom as a pair of desperation backups. I kept seeing them and thinking they were my missing Maui Jims. But they never were, until today. Somehow, all of a sudden, I had two pairs of dark sunglasses in the car, one of them in the basket on the dashboard. My heart skipped a beat, and there they were. Might seem trivial to you, but polarized sunglasses are a must for fishing in Montana in the summer. Everyone here has raccoon eyes. The sun has some potency.

So I had my backup Maui Jims back, by an Act of God, and I drove north along the Big Hole in a very good mood.


The Big Hole.

The weather was flawless, light clouds through a blue sky and lots of sun. There aren't a lot of people around Wise River on weekdays, and it is fun to drive with your only worry being running over dumb prairie dogs. I saw a few people fishing along the river, but no more than six, and not man boats.

I got to the Sportsman Hole and the first order of business was to strip my leader off the fly line, because it had been completely snaggled during the lessons the night before. With that done, I poked into my new plastic fly box (which hangs from a chain, good idea) and tied on a bead-head nymph. I got nibbles on my second and fourth casts, and then caught a fish. Unfortunately, it was a whitefish, but I didn't deal with it harshly. I just reeled it in, popped the hook and let it go. I got lots of nibbles and a few close calls and two more fish within the first hour or so: both of them whitefish. I thought maybe my leader wasn't long enough and the yellow fly line was spooking the trout, so I tied on a longer butt end and tied the leader to that.

That didn't seem to do much, but it was nice to stand in the sun, casting and retrieving and just enjoying the day, and the lack of mosquitoes.

There were some kids playing and running around and a few of them were fishing. After an hour or so, a blonde haired kid walked up to where I was fishing and started to talk-and didn't quit. He was a nice kid with blonde hair, throwing little Panther Martin lures with a spin-casting rod. I saw him lose a little trout and then bring another little one to shore. He put it back. He said he lived in Helena but was originally from Anaconda, just up the way. He said he preferred Anaconda to Helena, and I told him he'd probably move back the first chance he got. The kid said he'd been fishing that hole for years, and had pulled a lot of fish out of it, some pretty good ones.

Pretending I knew what I was doing, I passed on the information Rich had given me the night before: The fish hang out in the deep crease between the slow and fast water. They don't want to work too hard in the fast stuff, but they don't want to be exposed to birds in the shallows, and they want the food to come to them.

At one point I cast and snagged my fly in the middle of the river. I remember Rich telling me that all of the four big browns he had caught he thought were snags at first, until they moved. For a moment I thought that was my situation, but then the fly broke. As I was reeling in I got crossed up with the kids line and he untangled it. We both apologized.

As I tied on a new nymph I told the kid about brown trout and how the big ones can feel like snags. At that point he cast his little yellow Panther Martin and hooked into a beautiful fish. A big fish. A pig, as they call them. I caught a glimpse of it as it turned sideways in the middle of the river, and I knew the kid had a big trout.

He reeled the thing right in and the closer it got, the bigger it got. Just as it beached itself the line snapped but the kid moved quick and pounced on it.


A boy and his big old brown trout.

It was a beautiful fish. A brown trout a little on the skinny side, but the kind of fish Rich and Mike are paying $500 a day to catch. And this little bugger had caught a fish half his size on a Panther Martin.

I went lunging for the camera to get a photo and snapped a few quick, thinking he was going to let it go. He didn't. The kid was pretty nonchalant about the fish, and after a few photos he walked up to his camper, where a man was playing guitar and yodeling, and some other kids were screaming.

All together, it was pretty damn funny. You kind of had to be there and hear the conversations and see the sequence of events, but that kid snagged a great fish. I would kill to catch one of those on a fly. Whitefish suck.


Austin and the girls. And that damn fish. Again.

The kid came back down from his camper without the fish, and he brought his family in tow. He had three cute little girls with him, and a crusty old cowboy/mountain man who spoke like Popeye. He just king of grumbled and rumbled and I could understand every fifth of sixth word or so: ñGrumble rumble I got 11 kids and 27 grandkids. Grumble rumble damned kids making all that noise. Grumble rumble hey that was a good fish my grandson caught. I do a lot of grumble rumble hunting and fishing. Lotta elk. Lotta moose grumble rumble.î He grumbled about motorcycles and working for the railroad and said something about $400,000 and in all that I learned that the kid's name was Austin, he was 11 and his dad had recently been shot dead. ñGrumble rumble, yeah they said suicide but I don't know grumble rumble.î


Montana Gothic

I felt bad for Austin but also good. He was a good kid who'd just lost his dad and was living in a city but belonged in the backwoods of Montana. I prophesied that he'd be back soon, taking suckers down the river in small boats for $300 a day.

I have to admit that I ran to the van to get my spin-casting gear, but God spoke when my one Smith River set-up had a broken tip and wouldn't cast, and my other spin-casting rig didn't have a handle. I used my Leatherman to crank in a few casts, and then figured I'd go back to casting flies. I tied on a bigger bug and got a few nibbles and an almost, and then called it a day.

On the way out I showed Austin the photos I had taken and took a few more, with him holding the fish in different poses, and with the girls, and with the grumbler/yodeler. Grandpa had kind of a Mel Tillis thing. He didn't talk so good, but when he sang it came out clear as a bell. I took a few photos and told Austin that I would write up a story and submit it to some magazines. I wondered if there was a Montana Magazine.

I drove back to the cabin smiling quietly to myself. I had finally caught some fish-although they were just slimy devil whitefish-but had been shown up by a kid. It was nice to know fish like that were in the river, though. Maybe tomorrow, on a fly.

When I got back to the cabin there were e-mail messages from Renato and Wingnut and a few others. Jeff Galbraith made some grumble rumble noises about joining me in Montana, and I hope he does. I want to do some driving and see some other rivers and maybe check out Yellowstone.

I have one more day to collect as much information as I can for the Jay Moriarity Memorial piece, and then I'll be on the road. I'm going to drift a half day tomorrow, taking over from Mike around noon. We'll stay here tomorrow night then those guys are going to go explore other parts on the way back to Butte and their flight out on Saturday. I may go with them, I don't know. I may need another night with a room with a phone, and that's too expensive here.

I got back to the house and transferred all the photos from the discs to the computer. I think they came out good enough to be published in a magazine. Online I found that there is a Montana Magazine and they do accept submissions from ñMontana wannabes.î That would be me.

I was still chuckling about the fish story so I went down to Troutfitters to find the lads. They were sitting with their guide, shooting the shit with Frank, who is a good storyteller.

I told them my fish story and showed them the fish and they were sincerely impressed. ñThat's what we've been trying to get,î Rich said. Apparently they had had a bad day. Mike got skunked and Rich didn't get much. Eight hours of drift-boat fishing and casting is harder than it sounds: It is hot, there are mosquitoes and it is a fair bit of work. They were beat and drinking beers. I bought a cheap pair of Croakies for my beloved Maui Jims and listened to them shoot the breeze.

When I showed Frank the photo of the kid I said his name was Austin Wyant and Frank made a face. ñOh those people are terrible,î Frank said. ñAll they do is hunt and fish and kill everything that moves. They live up in opportunity, near Anaconda.î

I suggested that Austin was okay, but Frank wasn't moved: ñThey'll ruin him. He's doomed.î I guess the Wyants are the Montana version of hillbillies. I will say that Grandpa spoke like no one I had ever heard, and he looked like he had some Indian in him.

Eventually we got out of Frank's and went back to the cabin. Mike and Rich weren't intrigues by the spaghetti marinara idea, so we drove into Wise River for dinner at the Cholesterol CafÚ. I passed on the chicken fried steak, since we'd had chicken fried elk the night before, and got my favorite standby, a BLT. Rich drank several glasses of wine, flirted with the linebacker of a waitress, and it was a good end to an interesting day.

I paid for dinner and after delivering my usual line-If I had any friends I'd tell them about this place-I walked out with all three receipts. The waitress ran us down, Rich got in a few more cracks, and we drove back to the cabin.

Where was Ike in all this? He slept on the couch all day and he's sleeping there now. I think all that running away from me wore him out.

Now it's 23:33 Mountain Time. Rich and Mike are snoring and I keep hearing something big moving around outside. I don't want to poke my nose out and look. I would if I had Mr. Walther, but he's tucked away lonely and unwanted in mom's safe deposit box.

I called Renato Hickel in Australia and got his side of the Jay incident. He had a lot to say, including the fact that the Brazilians who last saw Jay were Spaniards. Evan has been sending me e-mails asking me to stay away from the gory stuff and keep the focus on Jay's life. I'm going to collect as much info as I can, and then sort it out.

I also called my mom and told her to find books on barns. When all that money falls from the sky and I build my Montana dream ranch house with all the trimmings, I want to be ready.

Last night I read the parts of The Journals of Lewis and Clark that had to do with this part of Montana. Lewis and Clark named the three forks of the Missouri for their President and sponsor, and also the Secretaries of the Treasury and State. Thus, the Jefferson, Madison and Gallatin.

Further up, they found that Jefferson forked and also named those forks to honor his virtues. The west fork was the Wisdom. The middle fork remained the Jefferson and the east fork was Jefferson's Philanthrophy. Today, the Wisdom is the Big Hole. The middle fork is the Beaverhead and the east fork is the Ruby nee Stinkingwater, nee Philanthropy. Lewis and Clark came through this part of the world in July and August and they were tormented by mosquitoes. I can only imagine.

Time to hit the hay. I'm going to drift off and dream about drifting. Today was a good day.

P.S. Hope I win the lottery tonight. I'm gonna buy land and build the barn and buy every hillbilly toy ever made: Ford F250, driftboats, ATV's, sniper rifles, the works. And you're all invited.

P.P.S. I just went outside in the pitch black to get my camera from the van, after hearing all that bumping around outside. My mom thinks Mr. Walther is a flamboyant affectation. No, it's not. There are times out here on the wild prairie where you just feel safer having a gun. The mind plays tricks, and you just never know. It's like surfing Waterfalls in October. Ike went out with me. Gotta go get him.



TRAVELS WITH IKE
June 20, 2001
June 19, 2001
June 18, 2001
June 17-18, 2001
June 16, 2001
June 15, 2001
June 14 , 2001

NORTH COAST
March 14, 2001
March 11, 2001

March 8, 2001
March 4, 2001
March 3, 2001
March 1, 2001
February 20, 2001
February 19, 2001
February 18, 2001

February 17, 2001

February 16, 2001


ALASKA 2000
November 19, 2000
November 18, 2000
November 15, 2000
November 14, 2000
November 14, 2000
November 12-13, 2000
November 11, 2000
November 9, 2000
November 8, 2000
November 4-6, 2000
November 3, 2000
November 1, 2000
October 31, 2000
October 29, 2000
October 27, 2000
October 26, 2000
October 25, 2000
October 22, 2000
October 22, 2000
October 21, 2000
October 19, 2000
October 17, 2000
October 16, 2000
October 16, 2000
October 14, 2000
October 12, 2000
October 11, 2000
October 10, 2000
October 10, 2000
October 9, 2000
October 8, 2000
October 7, 2000
October 6, 2000
October 6, 2000
October 5, 2000
October 4, 2000
October 3, 2000
October 2, 2000
October 1, 2000
September 30, 2000
September 29, 2000
September 28, 2000
September 27, 2000
September 25, 2000
September 24, 2000
September 23, 2000
September 22, 2000
September 21, 2000
September 21, 2000
September 20, 2000
September 19, 2000
September 19, 2000
September 18, 2000
September 17, 2000
September 16, 2000
September 15, 2000
September 15, 2000
September 14, 2000
September 13, 2000
September 12, 2000
September 10, 2000
September 10, 2000
September 8, 2000

September 8, 2000

PHOTOS
October 1, 2000
October 1, 2000
September 27, 2000

 

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