Latest Update: July 8, 2001 by Ben Marcus

00:46 SUNDAY JULY 8, 2001 NEAR THE FLATHEAD RIVER, HUNGRY HORSE, MT

ODOMETER: 7336
TRIP METER: 3258.5

MONEY: None.

And on the Seventh Day, he rested, because he didnÍt have enough money or energy to do anything else. I am parked by the Flathead River, near the bridge and it is a hot, sunny summer Sunday in Montana on the Fourth of July weekend. Ike has gone walkabout, and I just got a jump from two youngsters in an F250 who are about to drift and fish the Flathead in their single-person driftboats, with their dog. IÍve been sleeping and reading all morning, having really elaborate dreams about all kinds of weird stuff, and reading big chunks of Undaunted Courage in between naps. Lewis has finally launched the adventure on Augsut 30, after a lot of delays, and on the same day the Louisiana Purchase was made official. He floated down the Ohio River from Pittsburgh in a 55-foot, custom made boat and now he is around St. Louis, having met up with William Clark and getting together more men and supplies for the trip up the Mississippi to the Missouri. Good stuff, although I donÍt think it would be a lot of fun trying to sail and row upstream.

IÍm going to go fishing in a little while and take a dip in the river. There are warning signs saying that the flow of the river is liable to change dramatically without notice, and it seems like the river is lower and slower than it was last night. IÍve seen lots of people fishing but not many fish caught. I still need to write that thing for SurferÍs Path, but it will be first person and only 800 words, so it shouldnÍt be too hard.

Last night I made a decent pot of pasta shells with Ragu and a can of olives and it was pretty yummy. Wish I had more olives because IÍm going to make it again tonight. I should go put the Ragu in the river to keep it good.

Slept under the bridge last night in a place youÍre not supposed to camp. While sorting out all my gear I found the 480-minute phone card my mom had given me, but that other wading sandal is lost, damnit. Must have fallen out between Missoula and here. IÍm going to write them a funny letter and see if theyÍll let me buy a replacement sandal. TheyÍre really good sandals, and these rocks here are slippery.

Slept okay although the van was on a slant, and I flet good because I rearranged the van and got all of IkeÍs presents swept out and it should go better. I switched my clothes back into plastic tubs, as Jeff G. had suggested, and it is more orderly.

Not much to report. IÍll go into town a little later and make some phone calls, but for now IÍve got to get some work done. Wonder where Ike is. Probably sleeping under the bridge like he was yesterday. HeÍs a good cat, when heÍs a good cat. Montana still rules.

14:19 SUNDAY JULY 8, 2001 UNDER THE BRIDGE (HUNGRY HORSE)

MONEY Still none, and I want to buy some cherries, dang it.

There are fish in this Flathead River, IÍve seen ïem and IÍve seen lots of people fishing for them. I just waded out into a very slimey river, missing my lost wading sandal and fished under the bridge. I spooked a nice 12-inch-plus fish that was sunning itself on the bridge foundation, but all I got were a couple of nibbles.

If I can quote Lawrence of Arabia again: ñThey trouble me like women.î What do they want? What do these fish want?

Oh well, I fished, Ike is still missing and itÍs time to write. I think I set a record for getting intelligible words out in a short time after I wrote that last dispatch. I wrote all this about Jay Moriarity and, like Mozart, who amazed Salieri by writing original drafts of his music with no corrections, I came up with this without backspacing once:

LIVE LIKE JAY

When Jay Moriairty so famously went over the barrel in the falls at Mavericks in December of 1994, he bounced so hard he managed to bounce another photo of himself off the cover of SURFER Magazine. Before that Bob Barbour sequence of Jay crucifying himself on the new Golgotha called Maverics came across Jeff DivineÍs desk (and made 16-year-old hairball nutcase called Jay Moriarity. The other photo was taken from a boat, looking straight into the bowl and showed a nuggety little kid in a determined, muscley stance, dropping in on a board twice his size, with about eight inches of tail and a bit of fin in the water. The lip was looping over his head, framing him perfectly with his arms at 10:00 and 2:00, like a Mickey Mouse watch.

It was my pleasure to do the wipeout post mortem interview with Jay Moriarity, because he was fulfilling one of the ulterior motives that had brought me from the shady surf of Santa Cruz to the deserty turf of San Clemente. I was a Pleasure Point/Santa Cruz guy from the mid-seventies until the mid-eighties, during a time when Santa Cruz didnÍt get a lot of attention. I had a strong suspicion that the quality of Santa Cruz surf and surfers pissed on the rest of California and most of the world from a great height (ss Paul Holmes would say) but I never really saw the reflected in the magazines, so when I was hired on a fluke at SURFER, I went stumbling and bumbling down there to try and redirect the flow of attention toward my home and homies.

And here was a Pleasure Point guy, a First Peak denizen like myself, who had gone giant and lived to tell. When I interviewed Jay I didnÍt know who he was, and as I got the details of this 16-year-old kid, a longboarder who didnÍt give a shit what others thought and rode what he wanted to ride, a kid who lived at 36th Avenue who was equally happy swooping Second Peak or charging big waves, a kid who got off his shift at Pleasure Pizza and midnight-surfed 10-foot First Peak the night before, and had charged into the first Mavericks bomb that came his way the next morning. He had eaten shit worse than just about anyone in the history of the sport, bounced off the bottom where no one but urchin divers had ever touched bottom, shook it off, paddled back out, got a half dozen bombs and then went home to get grounded by his Mom. I was thinking as I was interviewing, ñWho is this guy? He fricking rules! Pleasure Point uber alles!î

In the years since Jay MoriarityÍs Giant Leap into the public eye, it was my pleasure to watch this kid mature into a man with two solid legs below and a straight head above. As Santa Cruz evolved into the talent and media center it is now (to my equal pride and horror) I watched Jay manfully avoid all the traps and pitfalls of growing up in Santa Cruz as a very talented surfer. He was more a country boy than a nicknamed, tattooed verminous surfer punk. He was humble and polite, dedicated but unassuming. Talented, and doing what we all inwardly or outwardly wanted to do: Honoring the ocean by living up to it. Jay was the Pleasure Point guy we all wanted to be.

Jay just wanted to be a good surfer. He wanted to fulfll his own expectations, and live up to himself and prove himself by challenging whatever the ocean threw at him. Everything else-money, media, trips, cover shots, chicks, parties-were all sidebars, a means to an end. Jay loved the ocean. He loved the way it looked and felt and how it made him look and feel, and all he wanted to do was honor the ocean by living up to it. And unlike most people, he did.

Although itÍs a little weird to write a Memorial in first person, I think this is going to work. I like what I have already, itÍs kind of a combination Memorial to Jay and Santa Cruz. What I have is already 1068 words and I probably have another 600 to go then I have to cut it in half. But thatÍs how I do it, and itÍs one of the few useful things I remember from all my schooling. Dump it all out, donÍt worry about structure then go back and fix it. So IÍm going to continue dumping, go back and fix it and then move on.

I just killed my battery again, dang it. I wonder if IÍve burned it out like I burned out the first one. There are lots of cars going by so IÍm not worried about a jump, but IÍd better buy a new radio, because I like listening to NPR.

The other projects I hope to finish today are a story about that kid catching the big brown trout on the Big Hole. I want to make that an ode to Montana as much as a funny fishing story, so weÍll see how it goes.

IÍm also going to write a plea to the makers of those Chota wading sandals, and try to convince them to let me buy a replacement for the one I lost. I waste too much money.

And IÍm also going to write up the ñThat Was Then, This is Nowî marketing idea for all the sportswear companies like Columbia and Patagonia and North Face. Reading Undaunted Courage I have renewed enthusiasm for an advertising campaign which would compare the outdoor wear technology of the famous campaigns of the last 200 years to the outdoor wear technology of 2001.

IÍm thinking of showing a drawing of Meriwhether Lewis and William Clark wearing their elk-skin and buck-skin and beaver pelt gloves and coon skin caps, and giving a little history listen as to what they wore and why.

Then, show Lewis and Clark decked out in modern, high-tech garb, and detail what makes all this modern high-tech garb so special. You could do that with the Yukon gold rushers of 189, the Donner Party, the guy who climbed one of the Grand Tetons in football cleats, the Hillary expedition to Mount Everest, etc. etc. I think it could be an amusing history lesson and a good marketing hook. We shall see.

Now it is time to finish Jay, start the Montana fishing story and get a jump start from someone.

17:23 SUNDAY JULY 8, 2001 UNDER THE BRIDGE, BY THE FLATHEAD RIVER

MONEY Yeah right. Funny.

ItÍs hot, even under the bridge. IÍm listening to the Car Guys on NPR, charging the computer off the battery and starting the motor every few minutes. IÍm less than less than a quarter tank, but I think IÍll be rolling again tomorrow.

Ike is still missing, but itÍs hot and heÍs probably napping. I should chuck him in the water and get him into it and being black wouldnÍt be so hard on him in Montana in the summer.

I just wrote the Jay thing for SurferÍs Path and itÍs only 1900 words. I wrote it First Person, which is something that I used to tease Matt George about, ñHeÍs the only person who could write an obituary in first person.î Now IÍm doing it, but I think it will be okay.

IÍve given up on fishing because I think itÍs too hot, and the fish in this river are picky. Everyone IÍve talked to has said so. IÍm looking forward to coming back through all these places in the fall. Really looking forward to it, but hopefully IÍm going to spend the rest of summer driving up to Alaska, doing that surf trip and then coming back: money permitting. Stupid money.

IÍve been reading Undaunted Courage and enjoying it. Lewis finally left Pittsburgh on August 30, 1803, the same day the Louisiana Purchase became official. He was held up by a number of things and wanted to leave in July, but he made way down the Ohio River in a 55-foot custom-made wooden row and sailboat.

Now he is wintering in Saint Louis, trying to pick the best men for the job and communicating with Thomas Jefferson, who is eager to find out just how much land he has purchased from Napoleon for sixty million francs.

As for me, I am pissed that I lost that wading sandal, and am going to write a funny plea to the company to send me a replacement. Just one, hang the cost. IÍd rather buy one than waste another one. Maybe it will work.

A while ago I drove up into Hungry Horse proper and made a bunch of phone calls on that 480-minute phone card my mom gave me. The thing is a bit of a scam because they charge 25 cents for every call made from a pay phone. The ATT cards I get from the Post Office donÍt do that, so IÍm thinking scam.

I called Evan and left a message. I called Dad to see if the money had been deposited and I can continue Lewis and Clarking. I called Scott Liska of Alaska Surf Adventures and talked to his wife. HeÍs on a trip right now and wonÍt be back until tonight. IÍve asked about a week at the end of August or early September. She said she would tell her husband, but didnÍt exactly know the cost.

I called Matt Warshaw and asked if he wantd to go to Alaska. But he is currently suffering from MentawaiÍs fever and canÍt consider anywhere cold.

I called Ruffo and told him that there was a pretty blonde Montana girl walking by the pay phone, and also said the trip could handle 6 to 8 people, and he might ask if Mulcoy wants to go. Most of the other Santa Cruz guys wonÍt travel with me and vice versa, and thatÍs fine.

And now IÍm back by the river, waiting for Ike. IÍm going to go jump in where I jumped in yesterday because it is hot. Tonight IÍll make another pot of spaghetti, this time with shrimp instead of olives. IÍll try to trim the Jay story to 800 words and write the Montana fishing story. Hopefully IÍll have some dough tomorrow and I can get going. I want to swing by the Glacier International Airport to check and send e-mail, then IÍm going to drive through Glacier National Park, do some fishing and get ready to head into Canada.

Where is Ike, stupid cat.

20:44 SUNDAY, JULY 8, 2001 UP NEAR THE RIFFLES, IN THE MIDDLE OF A HATCH ON THE FLATHEAD RIVER

MONEY Stop teasing me. IÍm poor.

Just when I thought I was tired of trout fishing and the Flathead River was a dud, I moved up to the riffles about a quarter mile from bridge and fished my way into a decent bug hatch and a semi feeding frenzy, and I caught some fish.

Right now IÍm eating a pot of spaghetti marinara as the sun is setting. ThereÍs some nice New Agey music on the NPR station. Ike is back and eating some of the shrimp I put into the Ragu which qualified it as spaghetti marinara. ItÍs nice to find something that Ike really likes to eat. Too bad it costs $5.29 a can, although I did buy it at the Wise River store.

I left all my fishing gear and camera down by the river because that hatch might get crazy again at sunset. I walked into the afternoon hatch after writing the last dispatch. I got tired of fishing for nothing under the bridge and so I drove up a little where there was a good riffle flowing into calm water-exactly what Rich Metiver had told me to look for.

I fished for a while and got nothing but the occasional strike on my orange floating strike indicator. So I tied something orange on and didnÍt get anything, even through I could see fish rising and scooting with more and more intensity as the sun went down. Pretty soon I noticed about a thousand bugs coming off the water and drifting up like souls going up to heaven (sorry). I knew a hatch when I saw one, and on one cast the big ungainly fly I had on was in the water for no more than a split second then I had a good little trout on.

I was hoping it wasnÍt a whitefish, and it wasnÍt. It was a nice little rainbow, lighter colored than what I had been catching in Sun Valley, and a fish full of piss and vinegar. I brought it in, wishing I had the camera, got the hook out and let it scoot back.

A few more casts and I got another, same situation. The fly was on the water for a split second and another rainbow was on, almost identical to the first. I got this one to shore before it threw the hook and scooted away.

That was fun but it was lonely so after jumping in and cooling off (it was hot today) I wlked up the hillside to see if I could get some company and find Ike. I saw Ike right away, running into the path of a truck under the bridge, then running back, the big dummy.

I drove down and talked to a few people fishing near the bridge, and told them the hatch was on up the way. I also got Ike who was rolling around in the dirt and turning his nice black coat gray.

Back to the riffle, the hatch was still on and I tried a bunch of different dries. One time I saw three fish rise all at the same time in a spot where my fly was headed. Sure enough, one of them hit it and was on for a little while, then threw the hook. That happened again, and then it seemed like the trout cooled off, although the hatch was going strong. The water was littered with hatch cases and dead bugs and flittering bugs, but maybe the trout had had their fill.

That feeding frenzy made me hungry, so I came up and cooked a pot of spaghetti, and now itÍs 20:03 and IÍm going to go fish a bit more before doing some more writing. I want to have that Jay story ready first thing tomorrow morning to send to SurferÍs Path.

Hopefully IÍll have some money in the bank tomorrow, so I can take care of business with the Internet machine at the airport, buy some gas and supplies and then head through Glacier National Park and up to Canada.

This wasnÍt such a bad weekend after all. Here comes Ike. I think he wants more shrimp.

Mmm

(Ike just typed that Mmm when he walked across the keyboard. Stupid cat. Maybe heÍs trying to tell me something, like he wants more shrimp. Interesting.)