Modern Homesteading

Sometimes, all you need to rejuvenate is quality time with close friends. Rob, Cass and I drove 7 hours from Missoula to the Columbia Gorge to spend a long weekend with friends in Mosier (pronounced Moe-sure for real, or MOE-zee-eh, if you like to add in a fake French accent like we do). We decided we were due for a “homesteading” weekend, which — in our modern definition — meant chopping wood, wandering in the woods, making cookies, and knitting. Basically, hanging out around a fireplace with your favorite people.

Kipp and Christine are leasing a sweet house in the oak-scrub foothills above the Columbia River for 6 months. Perfect for homesteading. Our friend Margi came out from Portland, as did a few other Portland buddies. Collectively, we call ourselves “family,” “the band,” “the wolf pack,” and “awesome.”

We were missing a few of the pack members this weekend, but it was still easy to fall into a rhythm. The rhythm might change tempo depending on our location (cabin, car, raft, trail, sailboat) or our ultimate mission for the visit (wedding, backpacking, Thanksgiving, wolf-watching, costume party, river trip, relaxing). But we manage to maintain the same daily mix of making music, eating good food, sharing fancy cocktails, finding birds, playing with doggies, and exploring nature’s nooks and crannies. And laughing … a LOT.

We didn’t get in the car once during our 3-night stay. In fact, we didn’t even leave a 2-mile radius of the house. But we managed to make the minutes stretch and the days count, as we made more memories to add to our collective bundle of shared experience. Sometimes those experiences are as wild as getting lost in Joshua Tree National Park until the wee hours on a 20-degree night, or portaging 100-yard log jams in heavy rafts in the Bob Marshall Wilderness.

Other times, they’re as simple as watching a new puppy in front of a wood-fired stove, playing Apples to Apples, recording 3-part harmony in the bathroom, jamming out with a violin, egg-shakers, piano and guitars (with makeshift picks) or making killer tacos. No matter what, it’s the sharing that makes our pack’s experiences stand out as stellar.

We sure hope they come out to visit us in the South Seas. After all, it’s time to pioneer how to homestead on a sailboat.

Hiking, Outdoor Adventures, Videos

Land of the Alpine Nymphs

Four days. Four lakes. Three bachelors. Two pack-rafts. One climbing rope. A lot of hiking.

This is the story of an epic off-trail traverse in the Mission Mountains Wilderness with my friends, Kipp and Josh.

Watch our adventure below.

Community and Culture, Fishing, Hiking

Ode to the Smith River

After several backpacking trips this summer, car camping feels like staying at a 5-Star Sheraton Hotel. After work on Friday, we loaded up the Honda with our thick, cushy Thermarests, big, comfy down sleeping bags, the roomy tent, real pillows, musical instruments, chairs…and beer!…and headed east toward the Smith River.

The Smith is one of Montana’s premier floating and fishing rivers. Normally, when someone says they’re “going to the Smith” they mean they’re floating the windy canyon, launching their drift boats, rafts or canoes near White Sulphur Springs and spending 4-5 days floating 50 miles north toward Great Falls.

But that’s only during the spring and early summer. Montana has a competitive permit system to divvy out coveted float trips during those precious few weeks when snowfall subsides, the runoff from spring thaw calms down, and before the river shrivels from irrigation withdrawals and hot, dry weather. We’ve snagged a permit many years during that narrow perfect window. (Check out this sweet canoe setup from our 2011 Smith trip!)

No one really floats in September, since the flows drop drastically. This weekend, the river was flowing at a meager 100 cubic feet per second. Luckily, though, September is a great time to camp and fish.

Our friend, Mike, is the son of a smart, smart man who chipped in with friends to buy property along the Smith River years ago. Mike invites his friends to enjoy this remarkable riverside property during the last weekend in September each year to celebrate birthdays, whiskey, trout, and the onset of autumn. Lucky us.

And celebrate we did. We caught big trout, shot rifles to bone-up for hunting season, played guitar boisterously, ate like royalty, and sat around with good friends telling funny stories.

This particular outdoor adventure–like most we undertake–underscored the bottom line for how to return home with a satisfied glow. It’s the people. The community. The shared experience is what brings the rivers, forests, fish, and wildlife into sharp, 3-D focus in our memories.

On the September Smith trip, that means repeating the same inside jokes, eating Corey’s Stupendous Smith River Chili, singing along to Mike’s rockin’ set list on guitar after dinner, and giggling when we hear Ryan’s booming Fireball Whiskey-inspired laugh. It means creating new traditions due to campfire restrictions, like roasting marshmallows over a Coleman lantern and snuggling like inchworms in our sleeping bags around a single candle. Most of all, it means simply being with each other with no “real world” distractions near a clear stream, under a full moon, beneath a big, bright Montana sky.

Check out photos from this past weekend’s camping and last July’s float down the Smith River.

From Smith River Camping, posted by Brianna Randall on 10/01/2012 (29 items)

: Beautiful fall setting on the Smith River in central MT.

: Just us and the birds

: Puppies are the best cuddlers, especially Sophie.

: Streamer fishing

: Afternoon chat session

: Target practice with Rob’s 308

: Taking lessons from my husband…

: The pro.

: Watch this, guys…

: Kelly, the crack-shot.

: No one missed the target.

: Love the landscape

: Our rig floating the Smith in July 2011

: The put-in at Camp Baker.

: Rigging the rafts.

: Corey and Mike all set to go.

: Don’t wiggle anything…packed canoe last July!

: Indian Springs…only a mile or so downstream of where we camped this past weekend.

: Such beautiful canyons!

: Nothing like good friends and good food while camping.

Generated by Facebook Photo Fetcher

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.

Fishing, Hiking

Solo Backpack from Our Home to My Headwaters

Bear hangs in the wilderness are like anchors at sea — it’s what let’s me sleep comfortably in the middle of the woods.

I made this connection during a solo journey into the Rattlesnake Wilderness the first weekend in August. Rob was busy driving a forklift and playing with power tools, helping our friends build a cabin in Southwestern Montana. So, I seized the glorious summer weekend, threw some gear in a backpack, threw a trailer on my bike, and headed out the front door at 3pm after work.

I ride my mountain bike up 5 miles of pavement, and then 16 miles of bumpy trail along Rattlesnake Creek, towing my heavy pack. Around 7pm, I reached the Wilderness boundary, locked the bike to fir tree, and strapped on my backpack. I hiked up Wrangell Creek about 5 miles, and reached Little Lake, a gorgeous high mountain lake, just as night fell. Which meant I had to HURRY to set up camp, make dinner, and then get dinner hung out of the reach of hungry bears and curious critters.

For me, I have to hang a rope right away, so I know my food will be out of range of hungry bears. That way I can sleep more soundly, especially when I’m all alone in the middle of the woods. Plus, I suck at throwing, so I figure I should get the dreaded (but critical!) chore out of the way first.

I finally found a good snag halfway around Little Lake (high elevation areas = subalpine firs = tiny branches that don’t hold the weight of my hefty food bag). Whew. Food safe for the night. I settled in my sleeping bag to read, and fell asleep as a lightening storm gave way to gentle rain in my cozy tent.

The next morning, after retrieving the food from it’s bear-proof spot, I decided to hike to the next lake, Glacier Lake. The first day alone in the mountains I’m usually jumpy, clapping and singing to scare away lions, tigers, and bears (and moose).

But then I settle into the rhythm of silence. By day two and day three, I almost forget I’m not a part of the forest, and rarely make noise. Maybe this is just because I feel slightly invincible by not getting killed on the way in.

On the second night, my comfort level was tested by 5 mountain goats that interrupted

the silence of sunset as the scrambled over a sheer cliff about 100 yards from my tent. Awesome creatures.

On the hike out, I catalog what I forgot in my rush to leave my home for the headwaters of my backyard creek: a compass, a utensil (good thing twigs make good chopsticks), a bandana. And what I was most glad to have with me: a fly rod, my bear hang rope, and a good book.

The reason I love backpacking–and sailing, for that matter–is that you must live in exactly that moment. You’re only mission is to survive, to plan the next meal and find the next shelter. There’s a beauty in that, a simplicity and a purpose that leaves me satisfied…and ready to do it all over again.