Online Ad

It’s been said, “a thousand mile journey begins with a single step”. As it seems in this life, we often never know where and how the journey will end. 

Such is the case in my own experience. At the tail end of a long winter, an online ad offering a 55-acre parcel of land on the river in southeastern Idaho languished on a long list of indistinct properties as I scrolled down the page. The photo was less than inspiring, a grayish river with snow covered treeless banks surrounding a small barren island. The sky was dull and the whole image was a bit depressing. However, two words rang out louder than a 60 mm mortar blast…RIVER FRONTAGE. Damn, this place had 1,670 lineal feet on a river little understood in southeastern Idaho, but carried the local lore of containing rattle snakes and, more importantly, big fish.

The southeast Idaho landscape is mostly a patch work of grain and potato farms that literally create a mosaic, as endless fields undulate with the land form, as every speck of arable land is put up for cultivation. These guys know how to squeeze out the last square foot of land and they do it with exacting precision. The hard line between the wild uncultivated perimeters stands in stark contrast to the neat tidy monochromatic fields, newly plowed, ready for planting. As variations on a theme go, fall replaces endless green fields with golden grain as harvest nears. This was a simple landscape with a handful of hues, the fields, wild deciduous uncultivated foothills of the Big Hole Mountains, with the Tetons in the distance, and the blue of the sky. With one finger to spare, you can stand there looking into the horizon in any direction and count the dominant colors on one hand. This place is simple, beautiful, uncomplicated.

Miguel’s family homesteaded a small farmstead in Ashton, about 30 miles north. Many days where spent fly fishing together on the Fall, Madison, South Fork, Bechler, Fire Hole, Warm and Henry’s Fork Rivers. Many Brown, Cutthroat and Rainbow’s fell victim to our developing prowess as we cast thousands of casts over these many rivers in the “Holy Land” of fly fishing. With a good working knowledge of the many reaches of these sacred waters, it was obvious that further inquiry into this sad looking ad would be necessary.

Gail answered the call and we began the process of due diligence and ultimately crafting a deal which resulted in the acquisition of a much neglected ranch on the banks of the river.

Within minutes of signing the docs at the title company, we throw up a tent next to the big cottonwood tree, the three of us, and began to take it all in. Logan and Lauren, both city kids, and gramps, me, inspected the neglected wheel lines, walked the dike road, hit the “beach” peering across river to a fishy far bank where deep dark waters protected by overhanging willows held the promise of  large cutthroats. The Tetons in view to the east catching the evening sun impressed all.

With the setting sun, the last remains of the day were upon us. The fire lit, stars bright, we sat close together that night starring into flames leaping from old fence posts found scattered around the place. It was warm that night and the sandy soil cushioned us beneath our bags as we fell in to deep sleep.