Sunscreen, bug spray, and trail dust
The combination of those 3 things make for a protective coating of slime, not unlike that of a trout. While it felt wrong to wash it away, it also felt pretty good to have a shower when I got home. However, I’d have stayed for another week without complaint—it was that much fun.
Marck and The Rookie left Wednesday afternoon and drove into the night toward St. Regis, Montana, from which point they doubled back into Idaho on a forest service road. No, they didn’t make a wrong turn; it’s just one of the ways to get where they were going: the fastest way. Jimmy and I, on the other hand, left early Thursday morning and opted for another, more direct (but slower) route. Had it not been for a wrong turn in Fairfield (population 612) we’d never have known about the towns of Latah and Tekoa, (populations 185 and 787 respectively). Latah boasts a sign that reads, “Latah, 1892-1992”. I wasn’t sure how to interpret that: was the town declared dead in 1992? There was sign of some life, but not much. Tekoa by comparison looked to be a thriving metropolis. As I said, we’d have never seen these towns or this beautiful, remote section of Washington had it not been for a wrong turn. There’s not much out there but wheat fields, and while the roads may take you places like Pullman, WA, it’s still a long way from anywhere.
We got back and on track without having lost much time and made our way toward the Idaho Fly Fishing Company in Avery to pick up a few flies. We also got more ice to pack in the cooler and topped off the tank with overpriced gas at Scheffy’s General Store. From there we headed upriver, where we hoped Marck and The Rookie Ranger would have the tent trailer parked at the campsite we had hoped would have a vacancy. All was right in the world when we pulled in at the end of the road and saw this:
From this point forward it was pretty much fishy business, with some great meals and a wee bit of adult beverage consumption mixed in. The trip is best left to photos, which spares you having to listen to me ramble on and on. I’ll post said photos in the forthcoming days as soon as Jimmy and Marck figure out how to get the photos from their cameras to their computers (a constant struggle for those two).
Note to self: Next time you go on a summer fishing trip where wet-wading is the name of the game, do NOT leave your comfortable wading socks at home. Bring them with you. Otherwise you may have to borrow Jimmy’s extra pair, which are not comfortable and require an extra layer of white cotton socks underneath. White cotton socks do not make for the best inner layer, but you do what you have to do when you’re me.
More to come.