Camping it Up in Yellowstone River Country

Growing up in Eastern Montana is like having an eternal childhood. As adults we are able to do the same fun stuff that we did as kids. The reason this is? Because there's nothing else to do! As children we follow along with our parents or grandparents (in my case even great-grandparents) when everyone decides it's a wonderful day for fishing. The night before everything is readied because we have to get up really early --dark thirty (4:00 a.m.) to leave because we all know the fish love to eat around dawn.

Coolers are filled with the essentials: beer, sandwiches, beer, chips, beer, candy bars and (maybe) something for the kids to drink. There was one time we were going and my dad said we could pick out our own pop (or soda as some people call it) so my younger brother and I picked out root beer and a new kind of pop called sasparilla. We loaded up the cooler and hit the road to Prairie Goat--a fishing site back in the badlands along a loooong gumbo road. We were having a great day of fishing and of course in this part of the country it is always wise to keep an eye on the sky because the weather has a habit of changing in an instant.

Our dad was watching the sky and so were my brother and I. Storm clouds were coming and we could see the rain falling about 1/2 hour away from where we were fishing. Dad started yelling at us to get the gear into the car...the rain was coming and we had to get out before the gumbo road turned into impassable muck and we would be stranded out there. There we go, running around throwing things into the trunk but, geez my brother and I didn't have any pop yet. We each grabbed a sasparilla and piled into the car. We're watching the storm get closer. Dad is driving, Steve is in the front seat and I'm in the back seat. The rain hits and dad is really doing his best to keep the car ON THE ROAD! The front of the car goes one way the back goes another...oh no we're going sideways....now the car is fishtailing! Dad does a wonderful job getting us back onto pavement. We stop and assess the damage to the car...there is none. Both my brother and I look at dad and say," That was fun! Can we do it again!" Dad decided we had had enough fun also mom would be none too thrilled with the mud and muck on the underside of the car and said we should just drink our pop. We took a swig and realized that sasparilla tastes just like root beer. I asked dad why hadn't he told us it was the same as root beer. He just smiled, shrugged and told us that we needed to find that out for ourselves so we would always remember that they're the same. I guess we had to make a mistake to learn a lesson.

When I was a teenager I was asked along on a camping trip with family friends. These people were as close to being a second family as a person could get and not be related to them. We did many, many things together. We went to a fishing place north of Glendive and set up camp. The plan was to stay there Friday night, Saturday and Sunday then come home sometime late Sunday afternoon. The fishing poles were readied and thrown into the water. When I say the poles were readied it means that the dad of the group was the one who had to put the worms on the hooks. I'm only good for putting marshmallows and corn on hooks. I just cannot stomach putting a hook through a small defenseless worm or a grasshopper. Makes me squiggle just to think about it. For the amount of time we were out there we did not catch one fish. None of us got one bite...and my reasoning told me that perhaps the previous winter had killed all the fish. I was told no way, not so--so I just bit my lip for the rest of the time we were there. We camped, tried to fish and had fun, but no fish for our efforts.(Good thing we weren't relying on fish for eating.) We packed up on Sunday and headed back for home. Still no fish. However, a few weeks later my mom told me that my dad had just found out the the fish were winter killed in that particular dam. (I knew I was right.)

Most of my fishing/camping life was spent at Intake, a fishing spot on the Yellowstone River between Glendive and Sidney, Montana. Many times that is the camping spot of choice. It's easy to get to, nice parking, outdoor toilets and a handpump powered water faucet. This is where we take the newest generations to let them know that there haven't always been indoor toilets, electricity, and indoor plumbing for water. My parents and a large group of people had all driven out there for a weekend of camping one hot August. It was sort of the last hurrah before school was starting. One hot day, my mother had gone to the pump and pumped very cold water out onto her feet and was immediately refreshed by the coolness. (The kids were all playing around on the riverbank.....in and out of the river, but not too far out to get caught in ripcurrents.) When company came to the camper my mom informed them that if they were hot all they had to do was go pump some cold water onto their feet. "In fact," she told them, "it's better than sex." Within half an hour there was a line of people at the pump "refreshing" themselves. You can draw your own conclusions about that!