Led Zeppelin is on the jukebox. I won $23.50 on a poker machine. I had an epic cutthroat session on the Lamar River as the sun was going down. And this bar in Cooke Montana has a Wi Fi signal.

All is right in heaven.

I miss Ike terribly but it’s a good thing he didn’t come with me to Yellowstone today. I saw five big, healthy coyotes just trotting around in the middle of the day like it was Times Square. I have NEVER seen that many coyotes out and about like that in broad daylight. They looked like wolves. Big and healthy and even fluffy. Ike wouldn’t have had a chance.

But that is Yellowstone. This place is nuts. It’s like Jurassic Park. Today I saw all those coyotes, plus elk, buffalo, ducks, geese and a couple of bear. And that was just in the first 40 miles, from the north entrance to the Lamar River, where I had that epic cutthroat session.

The day didn’t start so good, as you will see below. Breakfast did not go well, I did not find my jacket or my tape recorder. I left a Reward notice at the Guest House and then drove into Paradise Valley. I stopped by Knoll’s to buy a Yellowstone Fishing license for $15. He drew me yet another map and pointed me toward Slough Creek and Soda Butte Creek. He said I might be able to camp at Pebble Creek, but if not I could drive into Cooke City, where I am now.

Oops, I am getting the boot out of the bar. Hope the wireless works outside.

Be right back.

Okay I am in the lobby where it is a little bit cold, but then I am wearing wet pants.

Where was I?

I was at Doc’s. He drew me some maps and sent me on my way. I had a nice drive out the East River Road, along the Yellowstone and into Gardiner, Montana, where the north entrance to Yellowstone is marked with a big stone arch. It cost $20 to get in but that is good for 7 days, which had me worried a little bit. I am down to about $120 and that $100 has to get me through tomorrow, back to Livingston on Monday and then to Boise, Idaho and my bank on Tuesday. But I think I will make it.

I won $20 on the poker machine tonight so that will help.

Oh shit the drunk hillbilly from Minnesota is in the room right now, talking about beer bongs. I think he was threatening to kill someone earlier. He just said. “I’m following that mother fucker.” He is right out of Deliverance. He stuck his boozy, white-trash kisser in my face earlier as I was playing the poker machine. He kept talking about beer bongs and he said “fuck” a lot.

I am now talking to some guy who was just working in Thailand, and he is wondering what he has gotten himself into. Deliverance boy is now struggling with the phone. He is an accident waiting to happen.

Anyway, where was I again? I drove into Yellowstone and I remember being in a bad mood, for some reason. Might have been that I am broke or that the service at breakfast was so bad or that I couldn’t find my jacket and tape recorder. The bad mood followed me to Slough Creek, where I fished for a little bit.

Deliverance guy is here and he wants me to send an email to a girl in Spokane.

Anyway I fished Slough Creek and it was windy but I did manage to catch one fish. I was reeling back in and there it was. Just a little cutthroat. Slough Creek was okay, but that was where I saw all those coyotes. I thought the first one was a wolf and so did some people going by in a truck.

I walked down and fished here and there, and when I came back I saw two more coyotes, running by the road. I checked the campground at Slough Creek but it was full, so I pushed on.

I passed the Yellowstone Institute and was aiming for Soda Butte Creek, but the Lamar River stopped me. It runs at the bottom of a huge valley and it is just off the scale. I stopped at a couple of places to look at the river, and then stopped where an older couple were getting out of a camper. They were English and were going to fish flies. I asked if I were infringing on their territorial imperative and they said I wasn’t.

So I fished this stretch of the Lamar and there wasn’t much happening. I tied on a new leader with a 7X tippet, per the instructions of Doc Knoll. Then I moved up to a hole by a logjam and things got interesting. I caught a small cutthroat and then another one and another one and another one. I landed most of them but that 7X tippet broke in the mouths of a couple of bigger fish, and I lost them. I don’t like breaking off flies in the mouths of trout, especially in a National Park.

Okay, drunk guy was just breathing over me for the last 15 minutes and he finally left. He’ll be dead soon. He is almost retarded. I was trying to type this as he was bubbling on about nothing. Now he is gone. Hopefully for good.

Where was I? I fished that hole on the Lamar for about an hour and caught about 12 fish, all cutthroats. I landed the smaller ones and lost a few of the bigger ones, but it was a blast.

There were buffalo roaming and moaning nearby and geese flying overhead and elk off in the distance and it was all pretty surreal, as Yellowstone is.

I caught about 12 fish then the English couple walked by. I told the man I was fishing with nymphs and they should join me. But they walked up to another riffle I had tried earlier. They were fishing dries and getting nothing, and I was getting a fish every five minutes or so.

It’s nice when it happens.

At first I was getting them in the “Not paying attention” mode that sometimes happens. I would space out for a moment and look around at a buffalo or something, and when I tightened the line or reeled in, I had a fish on. That happened several times in a row, to the point where I tried to make it happen.

My last fish was like that. I was reeling in and walking down the bank and ended up with a nice 12-incher. These things put up a huge fight for their size, but I have had to learn to let them swim themselves in, or the line breaks.

Well I felt like a fisherman tonight, anyway.

I followed the English couple to Pebble Creek but the campground was full.

So I drove into Cooke City, Montana, which is a semi-thriving little tourist town. I found this place-The Prospector-ordered a Coke and some peanuts and played a poker machine.

Playing a 10-cent progressive game I won some kind of special Full House jackpot where the pair cards have to add up to the three of a kind card, and won $23.

I am going to need every penny to get to Boise, and then home, so that was cool. I might even have breakfast tomorrow.

Anyway, it is 12:13 and I am wet and tired. I will sleep in Cooke City tonight and hopefully drunk Minnesota halfwit won’t bug me.

Then I will drive down to Soda Butte Creek tomorrow and try to meet up with Doc Knoll and his English friend. There are a lot of English flyfishermen around here.

I will probably go for another Lamar River sesh tomorrow night and then get back into Livingston on Sunday night, or Monday.

I asked Jeff and Wink to Fed Ex me some dough and my bank card, and I will see if it comes. I also might ask Thomas or Russ Chatham for some kind of job, even washing dishes.

Could be time to write the murder mystery, and Livingston could be the place to do it.

What else? I haven’t sent a dispatch in a while, so I will go back to my first good fishing session on Thursday night and then bring it up to the present.

11:01 MT THURSDAY THE FIFTH OF AUGUST, 2004 THE GUEST HOUSE.

Now that was more like it. Finally had that epic trout session I’ve been looking for, and it was pretty damned good, except I had a moose on the line and lost it. Got a little too eager, should have played it longer and it slipped the noose. Damnit. My pole was bent over like I was hauling in a tuna. Oh well.

It is now 11:00 and I was sitting here on the couch when one those blackfellas sat down next to me. He seemed an okay sort and I told him about my baseball movie and how I had a great part for Satch Paige. He knew who Satch Paige was and then I said I knew the perfect person to play Satch Paige: Snoop Dogg.

Well this guy loved that idea so I read him some lines from the Satch Paige scene in Nine Sons in a Row. It’s pretty good as a matter of fact and now there are two people who want Snoop to play Satch.

Well that negra fella took off and then I got harangued by the desk lady, who is on the large side, but likeable. She said she has lived in Livingston for 17 years and she is all for the changed Thomas is going to make to the Guest House. They want to make it an authentic, 60s hotel-to make the interior as authentic as the exterior.

Now she is telling me about the caddis hatch. She says when it happens they are thicker than flies, all over the town. There were a few bugs around tonight, but I guess when they really hit it is like a plague.

I thought a caddis hatch was what I stumbled onto on the Yellowstone this evening. Something was happening, because I caught some fish. Let’s see if I can remember the details. A lot happened in a short time.

When last we spoke I was going around the corner to Dan Bailey’s to buy some green sparkle duns, per the recommendation of Scott Bedell. Well I did that and also got some tan caddis flies, and some local knowledge. The guy at the counter said I should go down to 9th Street, right here in town, and fish along the sandbar that divides the river. I said I would try that.

I walked around the fly-fishing shop and saw all those silhouette plaques on the walls, of trout up to 15 pounds. I asked, “They still get fish like that in the Yellowstone?” To which the guys behind the counter said, “Rarely.” And then I saw a recent photo of a smiling fisherman holding up a trout that looked like a barracuda: “That was 31 inches, caught in the Pine Creek hole less than a year ago.”

It was a ridiculous fish. A huge, healthy brown trout, pulled out of the very same waters I was about to fish.

So I drove around until I found 9th Street. There is a one-lane bridge over the river and a long sandbar downcurrent from bridge. I walked down there with my rod still sporting one of those fancy, woven, bead-head nymphs I bought form Knoll earlier today. Although I was there to fish the caddis hatches, I kept that nymph on and cast it upon the waters, which were fast in the middle of the river but had a nice, slow groove closer to shore. There was no one around and it was a nice evening. You know, a typical relentlessly spectacular Montana evening.

I went down there with my usual low expectations and high hopes. I had no reason to think this would be any different than all my other fishing sessions on this trip: The Nooksack in Washington, that quick dip on the Clark Fork, the two Whitefish on the Big Hole and all the listless flogging I had done around here.

But this was nice-looking water: Fast in the middle and slow on the edges, and that is where you want to throw nymphs and drift dry flies.

I still had one of those nice, woven, bead-head nymphs from Knoll, so I threw that. I cast for quite a while and got nothing, but was content to stand there as the sun was going down.

And then, finally, I hooked a trout and brought it in. It just felt good, to have all that vibration at the end of the line. This little bugger was full of piss and vinegar and a decent little fish. I brought him to my feet and up but the hook was stuck in what would be the hard palate on a fish. I got the hook out and he slipped out of my hands and took off like a shot.

So that was exciting and then on the very next cast, I caught another fish. This one was bigger and better and he really put up a battle. It came out of the water a few times and swam all around and it took me a few minutes to bring him in.

I got him off and then it was on. I cast a bunch and got bites and had two fish on, but lost them both. The sun was going down and the bugs were starting to flock around. I walked downriver to where it flowed over the sandbar and hit the river bank. I lost one of the nymphs and put on another and then switched to one of the caddis from Dan Bailey’s. That got lots of nibbles but no fish, so after almost an hour I walked back up to where I had left my shoes. Now I put on a grasshopper with a big shock of neon green. I cast it and watched it float along and at one point it disappeared before it should have. I pulled back and had a little trout on the line.

Got that in and then I cast some more. Sometimes when you are fly-fishing you will get distracted by something and when your attention turns back to what you are doing, you have a fish on.

That happened with a smaller fish which I lost, and then came The Moose. This was a decent cast and again I got distracted by something-probably that I had too much line out. When I got everything shipshape and Bristol Fashion, I understood that I had a pretty big fish on. It came out of the water a few times and it was a little beauty.

I got too eager and started stripping line and tightening everything up. I had a lot of line out and the fish was out in the middle of the river and my rod was bent over like I was hauling in a tuna. That was pretty exciting, and then it wasn’t. The fish was gone and I thought it had snapped the fly, but it hadn’t.

So that was pretty exciting for a couple of minutes. I caught a few and missed a whopper and missed more than I caught, but it was fun. It was fun fishing a stretch of water I had been directed to by someone with local knowledge, and using flies pushed on me by someone with local knowledge.

I kept fishing until it got too dark and then I left and headed for the Livingston Bar and Grill. I tried to make myself presentable but mostly failed, although I did find a fresh pair of pants.

I ordered the sweetbreads and a hearts of romaine salad and a Coke, and felt good.

Now it is 12:32. I am chatting online with the charming and glamorous Kristie Griffith, a woman who is traveling and is now in Bali.

That black feller brought down his Dell computer and I tried to install my old Wi Fi card on it, but the computer wasn’t functioning properly. He was a nice guy, and I like to help people. That is why I want to get rich, so I can help people who need it, because there is a world of it out there.

Now it is 12:41 and I am IMing with Kristie and it is time to go to bed.

That Knoll guy is my hero so tomorrow I am going to his shop to interview him and he is going to load me up with maps and flies for those two creeks in Yellowstone whose names I cannot remember.

But he rules, because I caught fish with his flies.xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Those x’s should have been zzzzzz’s.I am falling asleep.

Tomorrow I am heading out unless Michael is close.

Good night. It isn’t safe to sleep and write dispatches. 12:58.

10:00 AM MT FRIDAY THE SIXTH OF AUGUST, 2004 ROOM 118 OF THE GUEST HOUSE.

I am in a proper bed, watching TV. It’s authentic 60s TV. First it was Green Acres and now it is I Love Lucy. I think this was directed by William Asher, which is funny because I just sent an email to the publisher in Minnesota asking if he had cut a deal to run an interview with William Asher I found online.

So I slept good last night and was woken up by Green Acres, and not by sheep.

Time for breakfast, then gas up and go to Knoll’s and load up for Slough Creek. Money is about to get sketchy, and I might have to make it stretch until Boise on Monday.

I just Yahoo mapped it. It is 264 miles from West Yellowstone to Sun Valley. It is 115 miles from Livingston to West Yellowstone. Maybe I can make it to Sun Valley by tonight and have a hamburger at Grumpys.

18:07 MT, FRIDAY THE SIXTH OF AUGUST, 2004 THE GUEST HOUSE.

Crud, I can’t find my black Old Navy jacket, and I think my tape recorder is in the pocket of it. Not good. I like the jacket, but I really need the Russell Chatham interview.

I’ve been to Gateway books and the Legends gallery and the Livingston Bar and Grill and they hadn’t seen it. I’m going to have to re-reread these dispatches and retrace m steps.

There is a German woman running around down here. She tripped over that step that everyone trips over. Someone else just did it, too. Another German man. Just now. They better fix that. This morning I went to Ben Franklin and Tru Value Hardware looking for a Watch Your Step sign, because someone is going to break their neck.

It is 6:10 and I am going to fish later, and then watch the Bourne Supremacy. Probably the 9:00 show. I turned in my room key this morning but might get it back. The lady at the desk has to call Tom Mosser to see if that is okay. It was nice to sleep in a proper bed.

I’m going to reread these things and see where I might have left that jacket. The last time I had the tape recorder was when I interviewed Russell.

Okay I just retraced my steps. I know I had the tape recorder on Wednesday night up until I walked over to have dinner at Chatham’s. I remember being tired and a little confused that day, because when you do two interviews in a day-even with a tape recorder-your mind spins, trying to remember everything that was said and starting to put it in order. So maybe I left it here in the lobby and somebody kiped it. I don’t know.

I don’t care about the jacket, but the interview with Russell Chatham and Tom Mosser will be hard to replicate. Damnit.

It is now 18:22. I’ll go fishing after I finish this.

Today I drove into the Paradise Valley to do a story on Doc Knoll. I found his place no problem and brought in the computer to type as he talked. Sometimes that works better. He is a slow talker but a good talker. He said some good things and wasn’t afraid to step on toes.

I got his whole life from New Jersey through Los Angeles, to now and talked about Montana and the fly-fishing industry and the weather. As we were talking, a microburst swept through. The wind went from zero to 50 in a couple of seconds, and it was a little wild.

Doc Knoll raises about a thousand Genetic Hackle Birds on his property. He harvests their colored hackles for tying flies and seems to have an okay business, considering he is in the middle of nowhere. He knows what he is talking about and I think I will get a good story out of it for Big Sky Journal.

We talked and then made plans to meet on Sunday at Soda Butte Creek. He is going fishing there with an Englishman and he promises it will be great: The Vatican of Fly Fishing.

During our talk I went and jumped in the river and also looked around for my jacket in my tape recorder. I wonder if it is in there but well hidden.

When I got back from the bathe I asked him a few more questions and that is when the microburst hit. I figure I can call the story “The Birdman of Paradise” or “The Bird of Paradise” and the subtitle is a slam dunk: “Doc Knoll Raises a Few Hackles in the Paradise Valley”

He isn’t afraid to call BS on things, like trout guides and such.

So far on this trip I found myself desperately searching for my sunglasses until I realized I had them on, and today I was looking for my surf trunks to have a bathe, until I realized I was wearing them under my pants.

I am not wearing that black jacket. I wish I was. I should label everything I own or come into contact with labels that have my phone and email.

Shoots. Maybe that jacket is just buried in the truck somewhere. I was tired after that dinner on Wednesday night, but something tells me I draped my coat over my chair and probably forget it when I left.

More later. Time to go fish.

23:03 MT, FRIDAY THE SIXTH OF AUGUST, 2004 THE GUEST HOUSE.

I am tired. I can’t find the black jacket or the tape recorder. The fat lady is singing. I meant that. The lady who works behind the desk is a bit large, but she has the voice that goes with it. She sings very well.

I just had smoked salmon, a Coke and coffee at the Livingston Bar and Grill. It came to $11.00. In Malibu that would have been $25. It is nice to have gourmet food at Nebraska prices. I went in there and read my Exxon Valdez book, which was sad because it was all about dead otters and bald eagles.

Oh it wasn’t the fat lady singing. It was Kiri te Kanawa. My bad.

Anyway, being around all the wildlife here makes me think of seeing it all dead and covered in oil. Not good. Exxon spent $20 million to save 220 otters, so at least they tried.

I like the Livingston Bar and Grill. The people are nice and the place is comfortable and elegant and the food is good and cheap. Kyra the Bartendress was there and I told her about my pitch to Big Sky Journal regarding the story on Doc Knoll.

Here is that pitch:

Laura Hengstler
Big Sky Journal

August 6, 2004

Laura
Hello from Livingston, Montana. I have been here a few days, fishing the Yellowstone and interviewing Russell Chatham and other local rogues for an article in Malibu Monthly.

Yesterday I got so lost driving around the Paradise Valley I managed to find Doc Knoll. He is a fishing fool who custom-makes everything, and even raises special Genetic Hackle Birds to harvest their feathers for fly-fishermen.

That is pretty hardcore. I didn't even know that sort of thing existed.

He makes beautiful equipment and the flies he sold me yesterday helped me land some fish on the Yellowstone last night. I caught four and lost six, including one moose. I got overeager and pulled the fly out of his mouth. Idiot.

He talks a mile a minute so I am going to point the tape recorder at Doc Knoll today and then go fish Yellowstone, going where he tells me to go and using what he tells me to use.

I wonder if Big Sky Journal would be interested in a story on him.

He is not from Montana. He is from New Jersey by way of Los Angeles but he is an interesting character, and one of those rare people who really knows what he is doing.

There is a local girl here in Livingston named Kyra Ames who could shoot whatever needs to be shot. She bartends at Chatham's but has pro equipment.-digital and film.

www.kyraamesphotography.com

I like this place. I want to live around here.

Hope all is well.

Ben Marcus
310-270-7500

I think the title could be something like:

THE BIRDMAN OF PARADISE
Doc Knoll Raises Hackles in Pray

Or

BIRDS OF PARADISE
Doc Knoll Raises Hackles in the Paradise Valley

Something like that. Anyway, I didn’t go see the Bourne Supremacy because I fished until after the sun went down. I drove out of there and went by the Drive Inn because they had car hops on roller skates earlier in the day, but they were gone by the time I got there. So I went to the Livingston Bar and Grill and walked in in wet pants, but dry shoes.

Fishing was so so. I landed one and had a bunch of others on. I got lots of bites and lots of half-caught fish, but it wasn’t as good as the night before. The clouds were thicker and it had rained a little today so the water was a little muddy. But at least I got one. After sunset the hatch started and fish were literally jumping in front of my feet, but I couldn’t catch one.

After fishing I went to a couple of places where my black jacket could have been, but I struck out. Maybe my tape recorder and jacket aren’t in the same place. I don’t know. Maybe the tape recorder is right here in the couch I am sitting on. But I do remember interviewing Thomas Mosser right here on this couch and then we went across the street right after that. But it’s not at the Livingston Bar and Grill, so I don’t know where it is.

I’ll check with the police department tomorrow. Russell Chatham said some good things on that tape and I don’t want to lose it. Maybe I hung it on the van and drove away without it or something and it is at the police station. That is one advantage to living in a small town. Chances of someone turning it in are good.

Those negroes-the African Americans I had told you about?-they’re still around. There seems to be an endless supply of them. They listen to this funny kind of music. I think that call it “Snap” or something like that. It’s got a catchy beat and they rhyme. One of these Snap artists is named Spoon Dogg because, as one of the African Americans told me: “Spoon Doog be getting down with a lot of chicks.”

I’m telling the singer lady about that micro-burst today. Now she is talking about black ice.

What else? I had breakfast at the train depot place this morning and it was great. I had the special: banana and strawberry parfait with granola and yogurt. And toast. When I got there I wondered where the classic breakfast place was. That was it. I’ll eat here one more time tomorrow and then I am gone.

Today I asked Winki and/or Jeff Galbraith to Fed Ex me $100 and/or my ATM card. I think one or the other will be here on Monday, so I will stay here until then and then drive through Yellowstone.

I told them I was going to try to get to the Bank of the West in Boise by Saturday, but it was closed. Not the bank. Boise.

HAHAHAHAH

Hi.

I just gave the singer lady that Malibu Monthly with the Adam Sandler story in it. Perhaps she will enjoy it.

Here are some more of those African Americans. I said “Hello!” I hope that wasn’t politically incorrect or anything.

I’m tired. Better hit the sack soon. I’m sure there is a lot more to talk about today, but I’m pooped. I hope Big Sky Journal will let me write the story on Doc Knoll. He is an outsider and maybe not well liked in the fishing community here, but he tells it like it is.

Man I get tired by the end of the day here, but that is a good thing, I suppose.

12:00 I’m still here. What other details to add in here? Not much I guess. I am too tired and they don’t have a room in the inn so I guess I am sleeping in the parking lot, in the van.

Breakfast tomorrow and look for the jacket and then I will drive into Yellowstone. It will cost me $20 to get in and also $15 for a three-day license but I should be okay. I will fish Slough Creek tomorrow night and stay at the campground Doc Knoll told me about. I will see him around there on Sunday with his English friend, and then fish until I drive back to Livingston for Sunday Night.

Man I am tired.

11:45 AM MT, SATURDAY AUGUST 7, 2004 THE GUEST HOUSE.

This is about the Breakfast Debacle. I woke up this morning worried about the jacket and tape recorder. I went in to Martin’s Café at around 9:30 AM. It was busy. It took about 20 minutes to order two scrambled eggs, link sausage, toast and no potatoes. I read the newspaper. Then I read another newspaper. A half an hour passed and nothing happened. I got lots of coffee and water and read the paper and watched a lot of bikers come in. The waitress who waited on me looked harassed but she said the crowd this morning was no big deal. Usually they had a line out the door. After about an hour went by I was getting a little steamed. I was reading about the Exxon Valdez cleanup and what a cluster fuck that was, and breakfast was starting to look the same way. Finally I caught the waitresses’ eye. She said she couldn’t remember taking my order and said she would do it again. She didn’t write it down. She also blamed things on the hostess.

I waited another half and hour or so and was just about to give up when my breakfast came: two eggs over easy, patty sausage, hash browns. At least she got the wheat toast right.

So after two hours I got some breakfast. I went by the police department and Gateway books and anywhere else I could have left the jacket and tape recorder, but no go.

Thomas just came by and said he thought he saw the jacket hanging on a chair the other day, but he couldn’t be sure it was my jacket. I also sent an email to Kinkos in Bozeman, but they said they hadn’t seen it.

Someone probably kiped it. Hope it wasn’t one of them black fellers. A few of them look a little desperate.

Oh well. Maybe the tape recorder will turn up in the van.

So now what? I guess I will head into Yellowstone by way of Knolls. I can fish Slough Creek tonight and then meet them at Soda Butte Creek tomorrow.

And then I am not sure whether to come back here on Monday, or push on from Yellowstone.

Not in a good mood this morning. Breakfast should go smoother than that.

Just more of that ineptitude I am always complaining about.

Maybe I will work on that Herbie interview a bit. That guy Tim said he sent me some dough, but I will believe it when I see it.

13:29 MT, SATURDAY THE 7TH OF AUGUST, 2004 THE GUEST HOUSE

Just finished a Second Pass at that Herbie Fletcher interview for the Surf Style book. I sent it to Tim and also to Herbie. Maybe I can use some of it for the other book, which I need to write some day.

I guess in a way I am working on it by doing other things: This interview with Herbie, the research for the Surf Fashion documentary. By September I will sit down and just lay the whole thing out. I think I have enough in my files already to make a good book.

I have that sidebar about Greg Noll making Hawaiian boards. I have the Dick Dale sidebar. I am trying to get permission to use an interview with William Asher, which could be an entire chapter, with sidebars.

There is a lot of stuff. I just need to sort it out and start collecting images.

I’ll get it done. I am working on it, in a sense.

So now it is 13:34. I guess I will head out of here and head for Yellowstone. Buy a license from Doc Knoll and camp in Yellowstone, by Slough Creek. There should be a hatch tonight. This could be fun.

I wish I wasn’t stressing about that damned tape recorder. Oh well. Maybe it is hidden in the van somewhere. I should go by Pine Creek and see if it is there, and also leave a note here.