Flathead Lake – On the Horizon Line

rob roberts and talon on a standup paddleboard on flathead lake

14:1 | The Perfect Ratio for Vacational Whimsy

Last Wednesday, I eased a stand-up paddleboard down the Clark Fork River through an eerily smoke-filled Missoula with a group of new and old friends. We had the river to ourselves, paddling our craft beneath a blood red sun. We weren’t about to let the dense wildfire smoke deter us from enjoying the inaugural adventure of a wedding weekend extravaganza.

This was the float where Kevin Colburn coined the term “vacational whimsy,” an apt description for fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants holiday planning. Vacational whimsy isn’t for the faint of heart. Rather than rainbows and gumdrops, unplanned adventures can lead to rainstorms and gum in your hair.

But, sometimes, letting whimsy direct your downtime allows the stars to align into an unexpectedly magical mix of people and energy. That’s why it’s addicting.

Last weekend, the stars aligned. The Montanabama Wedding brought together dozens of people who all felt inclined to trust the whimsy. It led us into long breakfasts, late nights at the campground, costume-fueled dance parties, skinny-dipping off sailboats, and inventing the new sport of SUP-tooning (surfing an inflatable stand-up paddleboard behind a pontoon boat).

The latter was definitely a highlight. We laughed at ourselves for getting thrill rides out of slow craft while wakeboarders flew past us towed by jet boats. (“It’s kind of like snowboarding without edges,” said one friend, watching his wife try to turn the SUP. “And boating without edges, too!” replied the pontoon driver struggling to turn.)

Our vacational whimsy worked because of the combination of personalities, the access to interesting recreation, and the beautiful location on Flathead Lake (which we remembered was beautiful after the smoke cleared on Saturday night). It also worked because we stumbled upon the perfect adult:baby ratio for Rob and I to fully participate in all events–14:1.

Yes, it’s true. It took more than a dozen adults to corral Talon from trotting into the lake or throwing pint glasses onto concrete. Even with the superb supervision, he still got two bloody noses and demolished a glass vase. Plus, with so many helping hands, Talon was able to have way more adventures of his own. In a mere 72 hours, our 1 year-old rode in more watercraft than many people board in a lifetime: sailboat, packraft, SUP, pontoon boat, and canoe.

We couldn’t have planned the easy flow of last weekend if we tried. Partly, this is because you can’t plan for magic. And partly it’s because planning is definitely not our strong suit. For instance, it’s currently 1:00 p.m. and Rob and I still haven’t decided if we’re driving 9 hours to Bellingham today to spend the long weekend with our friends at Controlled Jibe.

We’re waiting for vacational whimsy to guide us. I’m ready to trust that whimsy when it hits.

Sailing

A Letter to Llyr – From Bri

The following is a letter I emailed to the owners of Llyr. In April, this family will embark on an ocean expedition to research bio-cultural diversity from their 53′ steel sailboat. Llyr responded to our post in Cruisers Forum, and we’ve been communicating about potentially crewing on their boat from Panama to the Marquesas — a 30+ day crossing of the Pacific Ocean.

Read Rob’s letter to Llyr here.

Dear Janis and Brooks,

Thanks so much for giving us this glimpse into your life, your goals, and your boat. It’s been a pleasure to read more about you and your family, and we certainly appreciate the time you’ve spent communicating with us. Since Rob’s done the majority of communication on our behalf, I thought I’d jump in with my background first.

I was born in Southern California, and lived there until I was 22. My family lived at the base of the San Gorgonio Wilderness, just west of the desert near Palm Springs. My sister and I were lucky enough to grow up exploring tall mountains, fascinating deserts, and the Pacific Ocean. Some of my first memories are sleeping in the quarter-berth of my Grandpa’s Catalina while it was docked in Dana Point. My dad took care of this boat after Grandpa died, and they took us for weekend sailing getaways until the family had to sell the boat when I was 10. We continued our “sailing lessons” with Dad by renting small boats a couple times each summer, and I went on to take sailing lessons while at college in San Diego. I took all the courses I could, mainly so I was “certified” to check out different sailboats on weekends to tool around Mission Bay. Hobie Cats were my favorite.

When I moved to Montana for grad school 10 years ago, I said a tearful goodbye to the Pacific and sailing…and then unexpectedly found a unique opportunity to sail even more in Montana! A friend asked me to caretake his boat and share docking costs on Flathead Lake, the largest freshwater lake west of the Mississippi. I’ve spent 6 seasons (May-Oct) exploring this 25×10 mile lake, gaining experience in safe anchoring off the many islands and in weathering rough mountain storms. This 1975 Paceship 26′ boat had no “amenities,” and I quickly learned the nuances of sail trim without a windex, anemometer, or GPS.

My favorite part about sailing on Flathead Lake is taking my friends out for the first time. We’ve probably introduced 30 people to their first sail over the years, and even inspired a few to take lessons and get their own boat! I love teaching others how to move through space with the power of wind alone, and watching them feel comfortable at the tiller after just a few hours. Rob was one of those I taught — and the quickest learner, with his background exploring water. We started dating during my third summer sailing, and truly fell in love on the boat. Since 2009, Rob and I would head up most Friday afternoons and cast off dock lines as soon as we could, spending 2-3 nights out on the lake, staring at Glacier National Park and the Mission Mountain Wilderness. His proficiency at fixing things on the boat (or anywhere, for that matter) and wanting to explore how things work on the boat mesh well with my contentment simply sailing her for hours.

I’ve wanted to cross the Pacific for as long as I can remember. Partly, this is because I distinctly remember”interviewing” my dad for a homework assignment in elementary school about the “event that most changed a parent’s life.” His was crossing from Hawaii to Santa Barbara when he delivered a boat (he worked in boatyards throughout So. Cal. in his early 20s). I can still recall exactly where I sat while he told me about pilot whales, storms, crystal-clear stars, and finding treasures while skin diving. I can hardly believe I might get the chance to have my own life-changing Pacific crossing in a few short months.

As for other sailing experience, my friend, Katie, and I chartered a bareboat out of the US BVIs in 2008. We sailed a Bavaria 38′ for 9 days, anchoring, mooring, and navigating between 6 islands. It was spirited weather, and we never took the reef out of the main. In 2007, I jumped aboard a 65′ Maxi racing boat in Airlie Beach, Australia, offering my crew and cooking services in return for a free 4-day sailing and snorkel trip around the Whitsunday Islands

I also crewed with a friend on his 30′ sailboat for 8 days and ~275 miles in Southeast Alaska in 2010. He asked for my help during the “Dixon Entrance”, which is one of the gnarliest crossings in the Inside Passage with no protection for the full force of Pacific waves and winds coming Northwest. It was fun. I learned a lot more about navigation on this Alaska voyage, since we had to rely on charts and GPS frequently due to dense fog. I also learned a lot more about how tides can impact navigation and velocity, as the huge tidal currents formed rips and whirlpools.

Lastly, Rob and I joined Katie and her husband, Mark, in Baja CA last November for a 2-week bareboat charter. We crammed 4 people in a 1970 22′ Catalina, along with enough food and water to explore deserted desert islands for 12 full days. We outfitted the boat ourselves with food for the 2 weeks, and were largely alone in the ocean, aside from a short stop in a tiny ~100-person village. Katie and Mark are now cruising in their own boat in Baj a, and we plan to start our trip with them on their 28′ Pearson-Triton in late March before crossing the Pacific.

As for conservation and communication…well, those two words sum up my professional interests and experience in a nutshell! Writing is one of my passions, and one of my skills. Conservation is a principal ethos by which I live my life. I’m a biology major, and took several marine biology courses in San Diego as well as on Vancouver Island where I studied for 6 months. I also taught marine biology at an Audubon Camp in Maine for a summer before moving to Montana. My master’s in Environmental Writing has served me well these past 8+ years as I raise money, lobby, and lead the outreach/ communications around freshwater conservation in western Montana. I taught myself how to build a website this fall, and have enjoyed learning more about the many opportunities to reach a broader audience with diverse types of media. I’m looking forward to writing and creating more during our “mid-life retirement.”

I’m great at scrubbing decks or dishes. I like oiling teak. I love cooking, and especially the challenge of cooking a great meal with limited ingredients. I got my scuba open water certification in Montana (brrrr!), and have dived in Florida, Cuba, and Mexico. I play guitar, sing, practice yoga and all types of dance, and — always, always — look for ways to learn more about the world around us.

I think your family, your boat, and your goals sound amazing. And, I think that Rob and I would fit in well, from what we understand so far. Thank you again for the chance to introduce ourselves. I look forward to talking more, and hopefully meeting in person, too.

Cheers,

Brianna

Sailing

Like a Fish Out of Water

We hauled the boat out of Flathead Lake, and winterized her for her stay “on the hard” over the next 7+ months. It’s always a bittersweet (mostly bitter) moment to see Spindrift swaying like a stranded fish above the lake, knowing that we’re saying goodbye to sailing the blue-green waters beneath Montana’s beautiful peaks.

This fall’s haul-out was even more poignant, as it’s the last time we’ll sail Spindrift for years. Her owner, John, lives in New York City, and has generously let us share his family’s 1975 Paceship-26 for the past 6 years. He’s looking for new friends to share and maintain the boat, since we’re heading out on our adventure before the next Montana sailing season.

Luckily, the bitterness of saying goodbye to Spindrift is offset by the sweet, sweet knowledge that next time we set foot on a sailboat it’ll be in warm, salty, southern seas!

Phil taking out Spindrift — The master at work. Phil moves hundreds of boats in and out of the water

Check out Dayton Yacht Harbor’s new yellow tractor! We used to have a 1940s fire truck that pulled out the boats — more ambiance, but also more nerve-wracking.

Kind of weird to see Rob BELOW the sailboat on the water!

There she goes! Out of the lake and up the road, pulled by the new yellow tractor.

Almost at her resting place for the winter. Spindrift stays on jacks “on the hard” from Oct through June.

Phil and tractor for haul out — The master at work. Phil moves hundreds of boats in and out of the water

Check out Dayton Yacht Harbor’s new yellow tractor! We used to have a 1940s fire truck that pulled out the boats — more ambiance, but also more nerve-wracking.

Kind of weird to see Rob BELOW the sailboat on the water!

There she goes! Out of the lake and up the road, pulled by the new yellow tractor.

Almost at her resting place for the winter. Spindrift stays on jacks “on the hard” from Oct through June.

: A close-up of the high-tech sling device, with Phil expertly handling the controls.

Spindrift in sling flathead — Getting her centered in the two sling straps takes some doing, as well as some old plywood boards, a boat-hook, and serious cursing.

Community and Culture, Reflections on Life

The Meaning of Life from “EVST”

Tom Roy is the reason I moved to Missoula, Montana. When I visited in 2002, he was the Director of the University of Montana’s Environmental Studies program, which I was considering attending. It was a big stretch for a California girl to even consider moving to winter-laced Montana, and I figured I better go visit in mid-January to see if I could handle all the white stuff.

roy — Tom Roy was the Director of the UM EVST program for over three decades.

Tom started talking the minute I walked into his office, making jokes and waving his arms around. He told me the history and purpose of the “the program”–or “EVST,” as students affectionately dub it–and took me upstairs to show me the landscape I’d be studying. It was a whiteout.

All I could see was blowing snow on the UM Oval, no further than four feet from my nose. Yet Tom kept talking and waving his arms, pointing out the Rattlesnake Mountains, Lolo Peak, Mount Sentinel, and the Bitterroot Valley. I nodded along like I could see them. And he kept telling stories. Stories about students I’d never met, who wrote books, organized rallies, started new businesses, changed the world. Stories about how EVST was my vehicle to change the world, too.

I walked outside that January day able to see through the clouds. I saw unexplored peaks and uncharted river valleys. I saw unbridled potential in myself and others. I saw the kind of world I wanted to help create. And I never looked back.

morning sun on snow in BC — The people in the Environmental Studies program in Missoula helped me see through the clouds and find clear direction in my life.

Fast forward a decade later, where I just spent the weekend as an alumni “mentor” at an EVST graduate student retreat on Flathead Lake. Tom was there, along with most of the other professors who helped me wind my way through graduate school goals: Neva, Phil, Len. And I can safely say that I received more mentoring than I gave, from the fresh-faced, inspired students and from the motivated staff.

Tom reminded me why I moved here. Why I do what I do every day for the Clark Fork Coalition, and for the rivers and lands in this wonderful state, even if it means I sometimes lose sight of the view through the clouds.

Here’s what Tom said on Sunday: “EVST has always had this edge to it…this energy…coupled with moral imagination. This graduate program is not about making you the smartest person in one field. You can go anywhere for that. This program is about making you the smartest at what most interests you, and then asking you to act on your moral responsibility to be an agent of change. Hope is not enough. We want to give you the tools to actualize your hope.”

Later on, as the whole group struggled through an exercise focused on answering questions about our values, strengths, and life goals, Tom interjected: “You know, it’s not the answers that are the most interesting. It’s the questions that are the whole point, and how you frame those questions. Answers are just the end of a question.”

What a relief. Thanks, EVST, for reminding me that my purpose in life is not simply to solve daily problems, but to continue searching for new questions–and new beginnings–instead of endings and answers.

bri sailing on Flathead Lake — Sailing back to the dock after the EVST Retreat on Flathead Lake this past weekend.

P.S. My friend and another EVST alum, Matt Frank, shared this poem with us at the end of the retreat, which sums up the meaning of life pretty nicely:

The Way It Is

There’s a thread you follow. It goes among
things that change. But it doesn’t change.
People wonder about what you are pursuing.
You have to explain about the thread.
But it is hard for others to see.
While you hold it you can’t get lost.
Tragedies happen; people get hurt
or die; and you suffer and get old.
Nothing you do can stop time’s unfolding.
You don’t ever let go of the thread.

– William Stafford

Community and Culture, Hiking, Sailing

Loving Montana Over Labor Day Weekend

Even though the fires make for good sunsets, they’re hell on throats and positive attitudes. The Friday night before the long holiday weekend over Labor Day found Missoula wreathed in mood-dampening smoke. We decided to get out of dodge.

Rob, Cassidy, and I took off Saturday to the northern Mission Mountains for an overnight backpack to Mollman Lakes. We hiked in from the Tribal Wilderness side, which is straight up (and I do mean straight) from the valley floor. We drove the little red truck through the forest on a sort-of road, plowing over massive rocks and around cedar branches.

After 5 miles and 3,500 feet, we arrived at Mollman pass and gazed out at the craggy Mission cliffs, and two sinuous deep blue lakes spread out before us. Our friend, Derek, was already there, and snagged the best campsite. Three more friends rolled in an hour later. The dogs were in heaven. One-night backpacks are awesome: our packs were less than 20 pounds, and it felt like we flew up the trail. We saw a small black bear on a scree field, and plenty of bear poop on the trail. We only passed two other groups (a regular thoroughfare, compared to most wilderness hikes in Montana): one group were acquaintances, and the other was a pack of Amish boyscouts hiking out from the lakes.

A full moon rose over the rocky cliffs as we joked around a campfire in the cold air at our 7,000-foot elevation. After three hilarious tries, and two broken ropes, we managed to hang the ~50 pounds of food for 7 people and 2 dogs.

Our friends stayed in another night to fish and laze on rocks, while Rob and I hiked out and drove north another 40 miles to Flathead Lake and our sailboat.

The wind was whipping. We made it to the east end of Wild Horse Island in record time, docking at a friend’s cabin for a quick happy hour visit. From the dock, we pointed to Mollman Pass, rising sharply out of the lake to the south, and told them about our night in the woods.

Waving farewell at sunset, Rob and I had a quick sail to the protected Skeeko Bay. We nestled our anchor in a free spot near shore, counting a record 14 boats already anchored for the night. Party weekend. About an hour later, as we were making pasta in the cabin, another friend—our slip neighbor at Dayton Yacht Harbor—hailed us from his stand-up paddleboard. They’d anchored next to us, and he was shuttling their dog to shore for its evening pee. I slept well, lulled and comfortable with the gentle rock in Skeeko’s protected anchorage.

We woke up with a hike, a swim, and some knot-tying practice in the cockpit. Around noon, we headed back to the harbor to pick up another couple of friends (and a dog, of course), heading out for an afternoon of stand-up paddling, beers, swimming, and communal laughter.

All in all, another Montana Labor Day weekend spent exerting minimal labor and receiving much love from our community, our mountains, and our favorite lake.