Latest Update: June 21, 2001 by Ben Marcus

3:40 PST, THURSDAY, JUNE 21, 2001 THE CABIN ON WISE RIVER, MT

ODOMETER: 55072
TRIP METER: 994

MONEY:
Two books on the history of barns from Amazon .com: $52.11
Two (2) pin-on reels with 20" wire leader and safety clip,
one (1) Dr. Slicks Safety Clamp,
one (1) fish measuring tape from Troutfitters : $22.35
Phone call to Evan from Divide Saloon : $ 4.80
One (1) broken Loomis graphite fly rod: $80 - $500
Tip for Donnie the Guide: $20.00
Half-day drifting the Big Hole: $80.00
Total AOL 800 number calls this month: $75.30

I suck. I need killin'. Good thing my mom took away Mr. Walther and I'm too loaded on white wine to remember the combination to the trigger lock on my Winchester Stainless Steel 12 gauge, or the cleaning lady who hates elk and local, grass-fed beef would have a giant mess to clean up tomorrow. And I wouldn't be alive to tip her.

I broke Mike Locatelli's favorite fly rod today while drifting the Big Hole. It's a $500 rod, but it's more than that. It's a best friend, like Ike. It's as if Mike had strangled Ike while I was out on the river, and then shrugged and offered to buy me another cat, whatever the cost. Cost means nothing. Ike is my cat, and that nine-foot, size four fly rod was Mike's favorite trout rod. They had been through a lot together, and I Homer Simpsoned yet again and snapped the thing. It was a horrible sound, like a quarterback breaking his leg in the middle of a game; a snap you could hear over the roar of the crowd. I snapped it good, and felt really bad, but I kept fishing. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Here's the whole story.

Adrift on the Big Hole.

Today I drifted the Big Hole from Maidenhead Rock all the way to Melrose. Donnie Stodden was the guide and Rich Metiver was in the front seat most of the time, while I was in the stern and Mike was napping at the cabin. I was part of the total effort to catch 32 fish today, which made for a total, Mike and Rich count of ??? fish over the six days they were here. No stats on whitefish to browns to rainbows, but ??? fish is still a lot of fish. I caught some of them, but I missed a lot more.

I made oatmeal for Mike this morning. A nice bowl with walnuts, but Mike didn't want the coconut. As he ate, I sang my oatmeal song:

"I like oatmeal without a doubt. Good going in. Better coming out."

Mike smiled quietly to himself as I sang, little knowing that a 30-year friendship was about to come to an end over a very expensive but delicate fly rod. Mike and Rich took off for Troutfitters at around 9:00 this morning, and told me again to meet them at Maidenhead Rock between noon and 13:00. I said I would be there with bells on, and that I would get directions from Troutfitters.

They took off, and I did some work. This morning between wake up and 10:00 I sent and received at least a dozen e-mails, most of them having to do with Jay Moriarity. I am pushing a campaign to make "Live Like Jay" a catch phrase right up there with "Eddie Would Go." That will be the title of my article for surfing and I tried to talk Mike (in person) and others (by e-mail) to print up a bunch of t-shirts, posters and bumper stickers with that motto, and sell them everywhere. Hopefully, the sale would raise enough money to finance some kind of memorial to Jay. Some say statue. Some say bench and tree at 38th Avenue. I say use the money to fix up the bathrooms and showers at the stairs at 35th Avenue, Pleasure Point. It would be a cool, practical, useful thing that I think Jay would appreciate. And if enough money was raised, build another shower/bathroom at Mavericks, where it is really needed, and maybe include and emergency phone.

I sent that idea around to a bunch of surf industry people, essentially hoisting it up the flagpole to see if anyone would salute it. This will take a little time, but I think it would a worthy project.

I worked for a while and called Wingnut for some words on Jay and by around 10:15 I figured it was time to git. I needed to get specific directions to Maidenhead Rock, so I drove to Troutfitters (without Ike. Sleeping) and talked to Edith, wife of Frank. She gave me directions and I was glad I got them because I thought Maidenhead Rock was north toward the Sportsman's Corner, when it was south toward Divide, and beyond.

I bought some more fishing gear at Troutfitters, and then got these directions:
Drive toward Divide.
Take the frontage road toward Melrose.
Go past all the junk cars.
Drive until I see the Tahina Ranch, with the green barn and green house.
Past the ranch, turn right.
Drive until the road forks, and then stay right.
Pass the brick house on the left, cross the railroad tracks and then cross the steel river bridge.
Keep going until I see vehicles.

Anyone who knows me knows those directions are a recipe for a Search and Rescue call. I got them from Edith, wife of Frank, who offered to drive me there on one of their shuttles. But I refused. I wanted to charge my digital camera battery off the 12/110 converter plugged into my cigarette lighter, and I wanted to take any wait time at the boat ramp to clean up the can. So I braved it, without Ike, and on my sketchy tires which need replacing.

I found out along the way that my fancy 12/110 converter was no longer working. Every time I hit the on switch it would beep and shut off. It had always worked before with my camera battery charger, and I was bummed that I would be drifting the river with no camera.

At Divide I had a little flash of inspiration and stopped to call Evan. I thought that if the "Live Like Jay" slogan catches on, it should be bent in the form of a smile, because that is the word most associated with Jay Moriarity: he is always smiling. Evan liked the idea and told me to carry on. I turned right at Divide and drove along the frontage road.

With those directions I did all right until I got to the green house and barn. There was a sign for Maidenhead Rock Road before the ranch, not after. My directions were to pass the green barn and house and then turn right, and I almost did before stopping and backing up the frontage road that runs along Highway 15. I turned down Maidenhead Rock Road, and figured I'd get to the place eventually.

Speaking of barns, I passed a lot of barns on the drive to Maidenhead Rock Road, and a lot of nice ranches. I think a few of these people have stolen my idea and already made barn-shaped houses that serve as something other than a barn.

Anyway, I turned onto Maidenhead Rock road, which was gravelly and rough and made me wonder what All Terrain tires I should get for the van. Soon. I made the right fork in the road, passed a lot of green, green pasture and more nice ranch houses and barns. I crossed the RR bridge over the Big Hole River, and eventually found a bunch of pickup trucks parked along the road, out in the middle of nowhere.

It wasn't yet noon, so I killed time by flogging the river a little bit, looking for fast water slowing into slow water, and casting into the creases. I got one little hit in about an hour, and watched a guy on the other side land a nice trout. I organized the van a little it, because Mike would be driving it back and I didn't want to gross him out.

Edith, wife of Frank drove up in her pickup truck with the "Bohunter" license plates, but she disappeared after that. I guess she had another vehicle there. That is what trout people in Montana spend a lot of time doing, "shuttling" vehicles all up and down the river to pick up drifters.

Eventually, Mike and Rich appeared from around a bend in the river, still casting madly. They pulled up to the boat ramp, and their guide, Donnie, broke out a nice lunch of meat pasties, salad, drinks and home-made cookies for desert.

I spent lunchtime taking apart my 12/110 cigarette lighter converter, wondering if I had blown a fuse trying to charge this computer. Couldn't find a fuse, and Mike suggested I might have blown a fuse in the van. I still haven't checked that, but I was pissed I had a dead battery for my digital camera. I had a feeling some nice photo opportunities were coming up.

I warned Mike about the tires on the van, suggested he not try to go 80 and then gave him the keys. Most of the gear I brought stayed in the van. I would be using Mike's fly rod which was rigged properly, and I didn't need my vest. I brought my blue schoolbook bag with the camera (in case it decided to work), mosquito hat, two bottles of water, bubblegum and notepad and pen.

Donnie the Guide had an 11-foot inflatable Avon equipped with a steel rig that allowed three guys to drift and fish. There were 360 degree swivel chairs in the bow and stern ("The front and back, you mean?" Donnie said.) Donnie rowed from the middle, and controlled an anchor that ran under my seat. I was in the stern, Rich up front.

All in all, it was a really comfortable ride. We sat high and could turn all the way around, swiveling from one side to the other to fish whatever water looked best.

Donnie and Rich gave me a quick little primer in how to fish from a boat: Watch where Rich was casting before I cast. Throw it where they told me. I had two nymphs with a yellow "strike indicator" a piece of yellow fluff that floated on the water. Trout are quick and there strikes are quick and I had to be quick to set the hook. I wasn't very quick, very often.

So we drifted off, heading down several miles of absolutely perfect Montana trout water. Donnie said that the Big Hole supposedly has 2,000 fish per mile, which is a shitload of fish. Locatelli had been saying they were all native fish, no hatchery fish. Well brown trout aren't native to North America at all, and I think rainbows were introduced from somewhere else, too. So they aren't native, but they are all there from the original stock. There are no hatcheries along the river and I don't think the river is stocked. So I guess that's as close to wild trout as you're going to get.

We began fishing immediately; flicking long and short casts to whatever side of the boat had the best water. The river went fast to slow to medium to fast to medium, with the boat moving at a pretty good pace, and new water approaching all the time. I didn't know what to expect and was jazzed to get a couple of quick bites right away. Donnie would go, "There!" and the strike indicator would disappear but I'd usually be looking off elsewhere or thinking about a screenplay and miss it. I missed an awful lot of fish today, and caught others when I wasn't even trying. But so it goes.

My first fish was a rainbow (finally), a nice little 14-incher that flopped and jumped a few times then swam into Donnie's net. He gave the fish to me to hold while Rich grabbed his camera, but the little bugger flopped out of my hands and sped away. That was the first of many mistakes that day.

Then we just fished, casting on this side and that side. I was all over the place and they kept correcting me, but every once in a while I would do a good cast, men the line properly and get a good drift.

There were a few other boats on the river, but mostly we were alone, passing only a few bank fishermen along the way. Sometimes the rapids got a little speedy and the boat got splashed, but for the most part we were high and dry.

I missed a lot of fish, mostly because I had too much slack in the line and when I pulled back at a strike there wasn't enough tension to set the hook. After the rainbow I caught a bunch of stupid whitefish, sometimes in strange ways. One time I had flopped the line into the water so I could reach down between my feet and get my water. When I pulled up I had a fish on. Another time I held the fly up to get over a rock, and when I put it back down I had a fish on. Another time I started reeling in after a cast, and had a little brown trout on. All in all, I caught about eight whitefish, another small rainbow and a little brown trout that fought like crazy, jumping out of the water three times.

Rich did better than me, catching a couple of nice-sized browns and rainbows, and not as many whitefish. Donnie had a little baseball clicker he used to keep count. Mike and Rich had a record for a six-day drift, but this time it was seven days. I think they had 16 fish when I jumped in, and by the end of the day we had 32, including whitefish.

At one point I cast to far forward and completely fouled my line with Rich's, so we burned up some time as Donnie cut all the lines and re-tied the knots and flies, I apologized and Rich grumbled. I had a few pretty bad snarls during the day, but most of the time I was fishing, and I got all the casting and mending and floating down as the day went on.

What I needed to get down was my reaction to strikes, because the strike indicator was always going under. Sometimes it was a fish, sometimes it was a rock or a stick or the current.

At one point, I got what I thought was a strike and pulled back hard. There was a horrible "Crack!" and Mike's rod was out of commission. It was a terrible noise, like hearing that fast ball hit the Cincinnati Reds' A. Boone right in the nose last summer at Pac Bell Park. I had broken Mike's favorite $500 G. Loomis fly rod. Donnie and Rich tried to make me feel better by saying that G. Loomis might mend it or replace it, but I spent the day thinking how $500 was going to put a serious dent in my Travel Fund, along with all the money I had spent on gear and lodging and the float trip. Oh well, it will just be more motivation to write some stories and make some dough so I can keep going.

All in all it was a good day, a beautiful day. The sun was out and I was getting backed. There were no mosquitoes at all, because we were drifting the lower part of the river which didn't pass through pasture, where mosquitoes thrive in the mud and pools. We stopped at various places along the river to re-tie flies and occasionally bank fish. At one point Rich grabbed a stonefly in mid-air, twisted its wing then cast it upon the water to see what would hit it. Donnie talked about days where the stonefly and salmon fly and caddis fly hatches were so thick, you couldn't see 100 yards up the river. Normally shy, smart fish go ape during hatches like that, and it's on for young and old. I would like to experience that some day.

Rich's little brown.

I fished furiously in the last hour, finally getting the tension down right and turning some tentative bites into hooked fish. Rich caught a nice rainbow and a brown in succession, and then we were at the haul out spot, near Melrose. It was beautiful in the afternoon, with the river flowing past and blue sky and mountains off in the distance. Birds chirping, etc. etc. etc. Montana is kind of half-desert, with irrigated ranches looking almost painted green. We hauled the boat out, put it on the trailer, jumped into Donnie's Chevy truck and drove out a bad dirt road to the town of Melrose. We went into a saloon to buy some beer and Donnie talked with the locals who were, to put it politely, rural.

We talked about this and that on the way back. That green barn and house just after the turn-off to Maidenrock Road belongs to some survivalist guy named Reverend Joseph, who was investigated by the F.B.I for his association with the Branch Davidians. Apparently there is more below ground than above ground at the ranch, but it was right there along the side of the road with no barbed wire or anything and just looked like a well-kept ranch house.

I just looked up "Reverend Joseph" online but didn't get any hits. Then I plugged in "Montana survivalists" and got a few things. Ted Kazyinski lived in a shack along the Continental Divide somewhere, and the Freemen have been causing problems in eastern Montana. People have been escaping to Montana and hiding out for a long time, apparently. It's something I wouldn't mind doing. As long as I had a phone line. And CNN, maybe.

Driving back through Divide and Dewey and Wise River, I wondered how I was going to break the news to Mike about his rod. Rich was making that noise Lurch makes when he knows something is going to go wrong, and he knew that Mike would not take the news well. We stopped at Troutfitters, got swarmed by mosquitoes and shot the breeze for a while. Frank said that G Loomis might take the rod in and repair it, you never know.

The World Famous Troutfitter.

We were invited to dinner at Donnie's house that night, so I didn't tip him at Troutfitters. Rich and I drove back to the Cabin in their rented car. In the house, Mike was napping on the couch. I opted for humor:

"Hey Mike, remember when Allan Gilbert broke his leg playing baseball and everyone heard it?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"Everyone heard this."

I held up the rod, showed him the break. He didn't smile. In fact, storm clouds rumbled up in the mountains to the east, and a shadow passed over the setting sun. He wasn't happy.

I didn't know what to say, or if I should say anything. Mike went into his room, and I followed him in later and offered to buy him a brand new rod, if that would make him feel better. I had had a good day and didn't want to ruin it by bumming about Mike.

We spruced up a bit and went to dinner at Donnie's. He lives on a bypass road that cuts west from Wise River. It's a road I may take to get out of here when I leave, if I can figure out where I am going next.

This morning and this afternoon I exchanged a series of e-mails with Jeff Galbraith, who proposed going fishing in Idaho. He said he'd take me to Sun Valley and show me all the rivers that Yvon Chouinard likes. By the end of the day the plans were firmed up. Mike and Rich are leaving Friday and will cruise around Montana until they fly out tomorrow. Not sure what I'm doing. People may be sending me videos to Troutfitters, and I'm not sure if I should hang around for them

I also got an e-mail from Mike and Kelly Johnson this afternoon. They had talked to Kim Moriarity that day about my "Live Like Jay" memorial. Kim likes the idea of a bathroom and showers at Mavericks, but says she would like a bench and a tree at Pleasure Point.

Donnie has a nice house with the Wise River running past it. The Wise runs into the Big Hole and Donnie says there are 14-inch rainbows running up it all the time. Donnie's wife was a nice woman whose name I forgot because she kept filling my wine glass. I actually got a little drunk last night, and I remembered a few conversations.

Mike is on the Chamber of Commerce in Santa Cruz and I wondered what that was like, all the U.C.S.C uppity liberals competing with the developers in a town where things are now built that would never have been built in the 70s. Mike talked about the Beach Flats area and the Seaside Companies plans for it and all the opposition. I said I understood both sides, but the basic problem is, in America you can't force people to move from their homes. Especially in Santa Cruz. I asked Mike how he would feel if someone forced him to move from his house so they could build a Convention Center over it.

I talked about the Mall and how the O'Neill Surf Shop there looks too much like Main Street Huntington Beach. Mike said the owners were trying to get a Chili's Restaurant in there, and wouldn't that have been horrible. It would have been. I wasn't aware that the Barns and Noble bookstore on the mall had been vandalized a few times.

Santa Cruz is an odd place, but we all know that.

We had baby back ribs and white lasagna and and corn on the cob salad for dinner and it was all really good. Mike gave Donnie a pair of expensive Smith sunglasses, and all of a sudden he understood why Rich and I never take ours off. It's not a flamboyant affectation, they're just soothing. We all got fried on the river today, and Donnie kept bugging his wife by wearing the glasses in the house.

I told Donnie about Cadillac Desert and promised to send him a copy. He seemed interested. He showed off a newspaper clipping announcing that his daughter, Dawn, had received a research fellowship at the Smithsonian. She is an Environmental Scientist with a Major in geology and I think she wants to go into the oil business.

Donnie unties my knots.

I was pretty ripped by the end of the night and the conversation got pretty lively. I wondered if I had had the worst first day Donnie had ever seen, and he said no, he had seen much worse. I then realized what my problem is as a fisherman. Donnie had complimented my casting. He said I looked like I knew what I was doing and I said that I actually fished a lot. My problem is that I fish in California, in nice rivers that have no fish in them. The San Lorenzo used to be one of the best steelhead rivers in California, but it's been nearly destroyed from land and sea. I realized that I know how to fish, I just don't know how to catch fish because I haven't had much experience, because I'd never fished a river with 2,000 fish per mile. More like 2,000 fish per river.

That made sense to Donnie, and I felt better. I also brought up the broken rod a few times, but Mike wasn't getting any chuckles out of it. That, too, was inexperience. I am not used to using modern, expensive, lightweight equipment. I expect everything to be bullet proof, and those rods obviously aren't, because I've snapped two of them now.

People do break rods, it isn't just me. I don't know what I'd have to do to break my 20-year-old Fenwick. It's not high tech or anything, but it can take some bending.

We had a really nice desert, pastries with chocolate and caramel, but I was pretty ripped by then. Hope I didn't embarrass myself any more that day.

Then we drove back to the house, and those guys hit the hay instantly, and I am writing this. Actually, I fell asleep writing this. Now it's 6:19 PST on Friday morning. Mike and Rich are sleeping, and so is Ike. The sun is up and it's cool and crispy outside. I'm going to start organizing myself and prepare to get out of here. There are a few more people I need to talk to regarding the Jay article. I should talk to Frosty Hesson and Cory Lopez and Peter Mel and Bob Pearson and Doc Renneker. There are the guys from O'Neill Europe who are getting into Santa Cruz today and I want to talk to them. I want their side of what happened in the Maldives, and they might be interested in pitching into the Live Like Jay Memorial Fund.

Here is the e-mail I just sent to a whole bunch of people: Subj: LIVE LIKE JAY MEMORIAL Date: 6/22/2001

To: mark@7thwavecom.com, colinbrown@earthlink.net, ncsurf@ozemail.com.au, maverick@coastside.net, mavs.man@gateway.net, chuckg@cruzio.com, Gallypacote, Guzz4@hotmail.com, SurferEdit, hawk@swell.com, editorialdept@surfersjournal.com, bob@hurley999.com, Jenks@SFGate.com, Surfer@Got.Net, TorJohnson@HotMail.com, indie@whidbey.net, KERBOX, MLocatelli@Oneill.com, Mark@Lyonassoc.com, Almosta@Gateway.net, pjmel@earthlink.net, larrym@McmullenArgus.com, curtmyers@yahoo.com, enelson@montara.com, NikitinPhoto@Earthlink.net, D@springhill.softnet.co.uk, POneill@Oneill.com, L29GUARD@AOL.COM, steve@surfersjournal.com, mren@itsa.ucsf.edu, SurfSchool@RichardSchmidt.com, garthseagrave@bigplanet.com, evan@SWELL.COM, Shantisos, south3rn@earthlink.net, Warshaw9@pacbell.net, GrantWashburn@mindspring.com, wingnutsworld@earthlink.net, Taylor.Whisenand@Quiksilver.com, daleproject7@saber.net, TBrady@oneill.com, MJBeaver@prodigy.net

June 22, 2001
Wise River, MT

Ladies and Gentlemen (??)

Yesterday I circulated that "Live Like Jay" Memorial idea; hoisted it up the flagpole to see if anyone would salute it. The idea is to use the Surfing Magazine "Live Like Jay" article to establish a kind of "Eddie Would Go" catch phrase as a tribute to Jay and what he represented. (I think the words should be in the form of a smile, because that is what people remember about Jay)

I suggested to Mike Locatelli that O'Neill (or someone) sponsor the printing of t-shirts, posters and bumper stickers with the "Live Like Jay" logo and then sell them, with the goal of raising enough money to make a permanent memorial to Jay. Some have said statue, others have said bench. I thought that using the money to restore the bathrooms and showers at 35th Avenue in Pleasure Point would be a practical way to spend the dough, and something that Jay would appreciate. I also suggested maybe building a bathroom and shower at Mavericks, either near the parking lot, or out at the end, maybe with an emergency phone.

I circulated that and got generally positive feedback yesterday. Mike and Kelly Johnson broached the idea to Kim, and she liked it, although she would prefer a bench and tree at Pleasure Point. She thought a solid, well-made shower and bathroom (like what they did at The Hook), would be a good idea.

The reason I am pushing this is I would like to include it in the Surfing Magazine article, although I know things don't usually move that fast. But I'm going to push anyway. I'm going to ask my dad to look into who has jurisdiction over the Mavericks parking lot and trail, and see what kind of Act of God it would take to get nice facilities installed there.

I just wonder what you all think of the idea. I also wonder how much something like this would cost, how much red tape there would be, if the Mavericks regulars would object. And I wonder if there is enough plumbing, electrical and construction expertise within the surfing industry to do this right. I know the Wormhoudts build skateparks and their mom was once mayor of Santa Cruz. Jeff Clark is a contractor, etc. etc.

Send me an e-mail with your thoughts.

Thank you.
Ben Marcus

I just realized there is a mistake in that, and I'm fixing it.

The line that reads: "She thought a solid, well-made shower and bathroom (like what they did at The Hook), would be a good idea."

Should read: "She thought a solid, well-made shower and bathroom at Mavericks (like what they did at The Hook), would be a good idea."

I also have to total up what I owe for my time here:

Three days in the cabin X $30 = $90.
Half-day floating (1/4 of $320) = $80
More tip for Donnie = $30
New rod = $500
$700

That's a bit of an ouch on the old budget, but it was worth it. If Mike won't ake the $500 for the ord, then he can use it to start the fund to print up "Live Like Jay" t-shirts and posters and bumper stickers.

Montana is God's Country, and I was lucky to hook up with the people I hooked up with, and do what I did. I'll be back up here soon. I want to drift the Big Hole again. That was one of the best things I have ever done. It is a world-class fly-fishing trout river. Absolutely classic in every way.