Toftrees Pair

With the lingering questions about Porter's prognosis, yesterday was just about shot, mentally. His bleeding had restarted and his energy the night before had bottomed out. While his energy was higher yesterday morning, the bleeding would quickly ensure he was back in dire straights. A trip to the vet resulted in a change of antibiotics (to directly target bacteria that worsens ulcers) and an increase in the stomach "coater" and antacids. Basically, if his body can't stop the bleeding, he's in serious trouble. Experimental surgery may be available, but is likely prohibitively expensive and far from a guarantee.

As Porter was supposed to fast all day (to limit stomach acids), I decided to let him rest for a while and head out to Toftrees with T for another walk. Paul and I agreed they should have stocked recently, so it might be worth a second shot. The packed access parking lot and shots that rang out as I geared up told me we were right. I was there less than five minutes when the first rooster flew directly over my head, bumped by a group of hunters just over a rise. I shouldered the gun and watched down the barrel as the bird flew to me, overhead, and away, swooping up into a thick tangle of rose, honeysuckle, and green briar. I wasn't going to shoot a bird in that situation after having only been there for such a short period of time. Plus, I wanted to get some good bird contacts with T, even resolving to not shoot birds that weren't pointed.

There were a lot of guys, a lot of birds, and a lot of shooting. Just walking in got the adrenaline pumping a bit. I probably let it get to me a bit and instead of walking around the action to the middle or back of the property, I jumped into the first good cover I saw. Not 10 yards in, T spun around and pointed, hard, to my right. I walked in a bit and he started to show signs of just pointing scent: is eyes started to wander, search, and his tail started to move. I encouraged him to hunt again and he got on a scent, worked to my left and through a thick tangle. Directly on the far side of the thickness I heard the bird go up - never saw it. It was the first sign that the birds were going to be running a lot today making the points hard. After a short walk, further into the cover, I decided to quit this nonsense (hunting under the barrage of gunfire) and head deeper into the property. It took a while to find a fence row without hunters in it, but finally got into a place by myself. On my way, I saw a few birds bumped by other parties - in fact, I didn't see a bird flushed and shot despite the repeated shots of guys emptying their guns.

Had almost a repeat experience of the first bird with T tracking a running bird only to have it flush on the far side of a thick, tall fence row. I really wasn't worried about it, but felt bad for T - working so hard only to have nothing happen... Further down the same fence row, T got birdy, false-pointing a few times, and I happened to see a hen flush about 40 yards out, T completely unaware. I raised the gun, but decided, again, not to shoot. It flared at the end of the fence row and I decided to take T down there and see if we could find it. I don't know if it lit in a tree or what, but we couldn't get on any scent or find it. A short walk down the road, further away from the masses, we ducked down a sprinkler line and started hunting again. Thirty yards in, T locked on a solid point to my left. I worked toward him and a hen flushed about 15 yards in front of him. I had hoped to get shots at two roosters, but the point was so perfect, the flush so good, I raised the gun and fired the left barrel. The bird folded. T had a hard time finding it on the ground because it fell directly on an active sprinkler line. I finally ran in and got the bird, dodging the water. We got reset and started hunting again. While T worked to me left, I happened to see a rooster fly in and duck into the cover off to our right, behind us. I called T (probably off another bird) and we jumped in after this bird. T was on scent right away and started tracking this bird who was obviously running. We jumped two fencerows and I saw the damn bird running about 50 yards away. T tracked it and we jumped another fence row and started working the opposite direction. We probably tracked that bird 400 yards or so and at the end of a fence row, T finally got too close and bumped the bird up. No point, but he'd worked so hard to track that bird, stayed close the whole time, and bumped it up well within range that I raised, swung right to left and dropped the rooster. T was on him in a flash and after a few mouthfuls of feathers, picked the bird up and brought it back to me (well, within 5 feet). I unloaded the gun and started to wish Paul or Ben were with me so we could keep hunting.

T locked on another solid point before we headed back to the car and we both watched as another rooster ran out of the cover, between T and I and away into the far cover. T was about as confused as a dog can be, waiting for me to shoot and having it never happen. I hate that. As soon as the bird was out of sight he dashed into the cover and bumped the bird up, cackling as it went. I called him off and we headed back to the car. Another hen flushed about halfway back; a number of guys walking around with empty vests.

The hunting there has gone downhill significantly. There are only a few days where you can find birds before the army of half-assed hunters clears the place out. It fails to resemble anything like hunting any longer. It's sort of good to get the dogs out there, but the scent and the bird behavior is so far from natural that it may be somewhat counter productive. The cover, too, is so rough on the dogs and prevents good shots, that it's hardly worth hunting a majority of the property. I may head out there one more time, but I'll be hard pressed to invest much more time. Oh, and the ticks are thick. Pulled one out of my leg this morning...gross.

Surgery

I'm happy to be able to sit and type some good news. While cautious, we're optimistic.

Porter went in mid-morning for surgery - didn't know what we'd find or if we could do anything about it, but it was our only chance at saving him. Was fairly convinced it wasn't going to be good, so I said my good-byes and held him as they administered the first round of sedatives. Not the easiest moment of the day.



I figured if I was going to get a call that my dog was dead, I'd better be in the woods. I came home and packed up my Vizsla and the double and headed to some good cover. A little ways into the trek, we bumped a big, red-phase grouse. The cover was thick, the leaves changed, but all still hanging to the trees and all I saw was the tail go up. The gun swung and went off where I thought the bird should be. Mr. T. ran in and we recovered the bird. A grouse, for Porter. I thought, given the poetry of the situation, that Porter was done for. About ten minutes later, the phone rang from the vet. I knelt with the gun, T at my side, and got some much needed good news.

What they found: two stomach ulcers, one healing, one actively bleeding. And big. This bigger, more problematic one was also in a hard to get to spot: the "back" of the stomach. While palpable, the ulcer could only be accessed by going into the stomach. But no cancer, no obstruction, no "whoknowswhat" that couldn't be addressed. Step one.

What they did: the smaller ulcer was left alone as it was mostly healed and looked good. To address the larger one, they cut into his stomach, cleaned out food, grass, and some clotted blood. Through the stomach, they were unable to "cut out" the ulcer, but instead, sutured it shut and covered with hemostatic (sp?) gauze. They sewed him up and woke him up.

How he reacted: His body temp was low following surgery so we spent a lot of time with a heating pad and blankets getting his temp up to normal. After his temp was up and he started to really wake up, he was groaning from the pain so pain meds were administered. This pretty much knocked him out and he slept, in and out, for 3 hours or so. He finally stood up, woke up (in that order), and pranced toward the door when asked "do you want to go outside?" Couldn't believe it. Got him some more pain meds and antibiotics before bringing him home. He walked out of the vets on his own and into the house although I lifted him in and out of the car.

Where we're headed: if all goes well, he'll sleep through the night with some pee breaks and perhaps a sip or two of water. If possible, I'll get some dissolved antacids into him. Tomorrow we head back to the vet for a check-up and likely IV. If we're on track, he should be on some bland, solid food tomorrow evening (boiled rice and venison). Fingers crossed. We're probably not out of the serious woods until 48hrs or so have passed and he is back on the solid food, drinking water, and having normal bowls, etc. We'll be staying close over the next couple days.

I'm 100% serious when I say this mojo stuff works. We were on a steady downhill beforehand. And regardless, it means a lot, for some odd reason, to know thoughts and positive energy are flowing. Thanks again. Hopefully, we'll continue down the road of recovery.

Porter

Fuck. Just got back from dropping Porter off at the Emergency Vet Clinic in State College. What we thought was a bleeding ulcer didn't better after a couple days and Porter lost all appetite for food and water. His gums, eyes, and inside of ears were all very pale; almost white. Took him to the vet this morning. IV and antibiotics all day. Blood tests showed normal liver and kidney function, very low red blood cell count, very high white blood cell count, and no sign of tick-borne disease. X-rays showed that he was retaining a lot of food in his stomach despite not having eaten in a while. A barium series showed some sort of object in his upper bowel/lower stomach. Blood tests showed pancreatitis, which means a lack of enzymes to break down food. While he has no energy, he's still happy to see me and Libby and loving as ever.

He'll spend the night tonight, get a blood transfusion followed by an ultrasound. Hopefully, the latter will give some indication as to what this mass is - the doctors are all puzzled currently. Barring metastasized cancer or a liver lesion, I think we'll be going into surgery in the morning. Regardless, the doctors are very guarded with their prognoses. He has lost a lot of blood and may not do well with all the required procedures.

I'm sick to my stomach. Hope there is some answer to why this is happening. Really hope I don't have to bury my dog in the next week. Enough graves already.

Last Day; Browns

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Last day of fishing. Drove an hour and a half to Silverthorne and fished the Blue River with Chris. We were just upstream from Green Mountain Reservoir and in the middle of the White River National Forest. Interesting connections.

The blue was crystal clear - we could easily see directly to the bottom of 10-15 foot pools. The fish could see well, too, spooking before casts were even made. I had fallen in first thing in the morning - a full on, shoulder deep dunk - so I didn't complain much when Chris suggested we bail and hit Clear Creek where the browns should be running. We packed up, hit Wendy's again (ugh), and drove 45 min to Clear Creek. Very odd place. Upstream from a small lake, loaded with browns, the stream runs right next to houses, roads, and a ski-resort further upstream. As Chris had warned, the scenery left a lot to be desired. But hell, we caught fish. A lot of them. Egg patterns of any color, little golden stoneflies, The Werm, and some PTs of various design all killed. It was probably a little unethical, fishing spawning browns, but it was hard to feel bad for such a disturbed stream. It was good practice to sight-fish individuals, watch how the fish examined flies and rejected or took. I was most surprised at how many fish tried to eat flies and simply failed - all those little bumps and tugs that result in no fish make a lot more sense now.

It was good to fish with Chris, too. He takes his fishing very seriously and pays attention to every detail. He's getting ready to compete in nationals here in State College. He'll be staying with us Wed and Thursday nights this week while practicing. It should be good to see him and all the other professionals invade our home waters and show us how it's done. Or not?

Spent the night at our hotel bar with martinis, steak, good wine, and bourbon. Travel was a bit rough, but we made it. Porter is a little underweight so I'll take some time to nurse him back to his full strength. Looking forward to getting him back in shape and getting both of them in the woods.

Too many thoughts about this trip ending to do them justice now. Looking forward to processing some thoughts instead of just logging activities. Archery should be good for some quality thinking time.

Yampa, Steamboat Springs

Headed into town this morning and ate at a little Diner. We've been striking out on good food and this place was no exception. Hit the fly shop afterwards for some RS2s and jujus then drove to the Mt. Werner parking area and jumped in the stream. In town here, the stream looks small, but has some very deep holes and islands creating side channels every so often. We decided to walk downstream from the car and were both immediately untangling stuff, losing flies, and tying on new leaders. Sometimes you're just not operating at 100%.

Around the first bend, though, both Ben and I hooked into some nice rainbows - both on egg patterns. It slowed down a bit for a while and I decided to tie on a streamer and rip it through a long, slow, deep hole that bent around for a hundred yards or so. After a few minutes of stripping that egg-sucking leech through the water, BAM, a fish. A nice fish. Went on a few runs that peeled line from my reel. Ben came up to help net and that fish took off everytime Ben got close. Really nice to finally catch a nice fish on a streamer and really nice to catch a rainbow that big so early in the day. But that was it for the streamer activity. I stayed with it for about an hour, but Ben kept pulling in fish on his Czech nymph rig. I switched and immediately had two fish on, lost them. After regaining composure, I started paying attention a little more closely and pulled a few out of the same hole. The egg pattern kept working all day, so we barely changed it. I did find that a heavier front fly made keeping an eye on the leader a lot easier and also kept the leader tighter, making takes easier to feel/see. We basically walked downstream catching fish left and right. Sometime Ben was into them, sometimes I was. I don't think we had a double on the day, but damn close to it many times.

At the bottom of a slow run, I spooked a huge rainbow. It looked like he darted downstream right behind a rock, so I stood there and took a few casts into the seams behind. After a couple casts the leader took off and I, finally, landed a nice brown trout. We came out here looking for these bruiser fish and besides the two big ones I had on and lost, we've been at a loss to find many browns at all. It was nice to see the bright yellow belly, red spots, huge, predatory mouth. Another couple casts and I nicked into a big rainbow - maybe the same one? He took off like a rocket downstream, through a spillway and was gone as fast as he was on my line. Damn.

Ben and I split up and walked the side channels around an island that formed just below that hole. Ben walked quickly so while I was halfway down, he was coming back upstream on my side. We fished here for a while - I caught another brown, a few rainbows. We moved downstream and I took over a hole Ben had just left. I said, "You didn't catch anything out of here?" He said, "No, I know, it looks fishy..." I must have had a little more weight on than he, because within a few casts I had a rainbow on. He wasn't happy. He was about to get less happy. Two more casts and after a very subtle take, I raised my pole, felt a fish, and saw a huge, huge rainbow take off downstream. My initial reaction caused Ben to stop fishing and immediately walk upstream. Real big fish. Ben was downstream, net ready, and everytime that fish skirted him, he'd lean back, "Woah, man, he's huge!" He fought hard, but didn't cover much ground - we netted him just at the tail of the riffle I'd caught him in. Beautiful rainbow. I marked his length on my pole and took a few pictures before releasing him. Even as he swam away his size was impressive.

I was a bit shaken after that and took my time before starting to fish again. I divyed up the rest of my egg patterns - they were obviously killing. We worked a little further downstream before turning back toward the car. Ben hooked into a very, very nice rainbow on another side channel. Huge fish, but looked sickly as hell - gross web-like markings all over the fish. Hardly wanted to touch the damn thing. After a few more fish we decided to jump out and just b-line for the car. It had been a good day, the first where I didn't need a coat or a winter hat. 60 degrees and sunny. It would have been nice to end the day with some dry fly action, but a damn good day nonetheless.

Yampa tailwater

With reports of snow from back home - a lot of it - we had some of our best weather of the trip yesterday, although it started out threatening to rain. After hitting Steamboat Fly Fishers and getting semi-turned around we hit the Yampa tailwater, right below the dam. Immediately saw big, beautiful rainbows in the river and went to work. One small one on a 20bwo. Then riggged up a weighted nymph system to float flies to some lunkers stationed at the bottom of a hole - one finally took a pt soft hackle, 18. Nice fish. Then I really started to concentrate on the larger fish sipping the surface on the far bank. After a while, I finally found the best way to drift to them and pulled 4 out on a size 18, gray bwo pattern. Thick fish with experienced jaws and bright red colors. Found it odd some would fight like hell, others seemed to know the drill and came to the net with hardly an objection. I like the fighters. Ben was frustrated at the beginning of the day - me at the end. He was pulling fish out at the end of the day left and right with nymphs. I don't think I caught one fish using anything but dries and that soft hackle. I did hook a real nice one on size 10 egg sucking leech I was ripping through the spoil at the foot of the dam. Still didn't fight too hard, though.
Strange water. Small with constant flow, crystal clear, loaded with fish, vegetation in spots, and fisherman around every corner. Not the opening day type of crowds you see in PA, but probably 10 guys on a 200 yrd section of stream. Couldn't walk downstream past a huge rock outcrop so we were all fishing the same water. Fish were everywhere, but very selective. Scenery was amazing - tucked in this steep canyon with golden grass, yellow poplars, and dark green spruce and fir. All it was missing was some elk.
Spent the night in the Tug Boat playing arcade games and pool. Met some guy who used to live in Bethel, VT of all places. Rounds were bought and consumed. Woke this morning to a picture from Paul of a tree down in their back yard. Their trees are big, yard small. I hope everyone is ok. Glad I'm missing the ridiculousness of mid-October snow storms in PA.

Snake River

October, 13, 2009. Spent last night on Noah's "L" couch playing footsies with Ben all night. Woke up early and hit a coffee shop so Ben could finish some work before we hit the stream. Light rain met us through warmer weather. The guide called and said we should get there as soon as possible due to the morning warmth. Seemed like a good sign... As we loaded the boat and got ready to push off the sun was cracking through the clouds and we couldn't help but anticipate a good day on the river. The fat, double-humpy, streamer-size dry flies the guide "Boots" was tying on just got us down right giddy. As has been the case, our expectations were hardly met.

Ben and I had two fish on right away, I lost mine immediately and Ben lost his, a very nice cutthroat, after a long fight. I had another one on shortly after and, after a little fight, lost him, too. Damn. A few whitefish were caught. A couple small cutthroat, too. But most of the day was spent floating ridiculous dry flies down beautiful runs of water to no avail. The Tetons were shrouded in clouds, showers scattered the valley, and the water was gorgeous; steep runs dropping off into emerald green pools.

Finally, at the end of the day, we started to catch some fish. Ben landed a nice 18" cutthroat, I caught one slightly smaller on a size 18 parachute bwo. Interesting fish - save for the first fish ben hooked into, the fish we caught had very little color to most of their body. The exception were the fins, which had turned a bright red/orange for the fall, and the orange slits on the underside of the gills.

Kind of a disappointing day given our expectations at the start. Would have been nice to have a killer day on Ben's birthday and on such a famous river.

We left and drove down Rt191 to Rock Springs for the evening. "Swine flue" kept us from staying with David. Tomorrow we'll finish the drive to Steamboat and set up shop for the final days of the trip.

Yellowstone, Teton

Got up relatively early and hit the road. 191 south out of Bozeman through the Gallatin Gateway and canyon. Ridiculously gorgeous river meandering at the base of steep, tallused slopes. Doug fir and spruce trees covering everything but the steepest parts. The canyon opened up into a wide, brushy valley with no nothin'. Drove on to West Yellowstone. This time around it didn't seem as terribly commercial, but then again we didn't stop save for gas. Paid our $25 and headed into the park. Followed the Madison River behind slow cars, passengers searching for wildlife. Fist a coyote. Then a herd of elk, then bison. Wild to think how abundant these creatures used to be before we extirpated them and replaced them with cows. Interesting decision. Stopped at the Grand Prismatic Spring and Old Faithful (missed the eruption by 30min or so). Headed on south out of the park. The road wound its way up and over the continental divide while the snow fell. Ice and snow covered roads made for slow going. Soon enough, though, we exited the park, the sky cleared and off in the distance, the Tetons loomed. Sneaking glimpses through the trees we made our way down through muddy roads, under construction, toward the mountains. Ben must have taken 1000 photos - the northern view simply captures your imagination. Knowing that Noah has scaled most of those jagged peaks is pretty impressive.

With the Tetons in the rearview mirror we headed into Jackson and on through to Wilson, WY and Noah's house. Ben did some work, we scheduled the float for the following day, and organized the house. Dinner at Q - ribs and chicken fried chicken. Shake-a-day, couple rounds, and IWTUIUWBMAD. Cops showed up to harrass the people smoking reefer on the deck. No one got in trouble. Headed out, gingerly, up the pass to crash on the couch. For Ben's birthday we float the Snake.

Lost day

Sat in Bacchus, an Irish pub in Bozeman, for a lot of hours yesterday. Boddingtons, Guiness, and The Mark. French onion soup, fish and chips, reuban, Red Sox knocked out, Pats lose, hung out with Pat, Vincent, Larkin, Jesse, met a guy from Fairbanks who owned land in Sullivan County, picked on some poor MSU student who looked 17, spent too much money, stayed too long, fell asleep around 10 back at holiday inn. Going to drive to Jackson, WY via Yellowstone today. Snake tomorrow, then Steamboat Springs for the remainder. Lots of thoughts swirling about where my head will be at upon return. Hope I can focus on writing and hunting until year's end.

The Missouri Lift

Saturday, October 10, 2009.
Packed up the cabin early in the morning and, after a final look around to seal memories, headed north to Wolf Creek and the Missouri River. During my freshman or sophomore year at Juniata I'd ordered a tourism booklet from Montana and, eyes closed, dropped my finger on the map. Wolf Creek. Whether or not the fishing was good, this would be a good day to remember.

Got off at the Wolf Creek exit on I-15 and headed to the Wolf Creek bridge over the Missouri. Just below Holter Dam, the river is wide, deep, and swirling. The temperature on the dash read 14 and the steam rolling off the river swirled in the wind. Faintly, but surely, we saw risers on the water. Randomly placed and inconsistent, but risers nonetheless. We stopped the car when we spooked two Golden Eagles off the river bank not 10 yards from the car. Ben snapped a few photos and we watched them perch in a tree on the far side of the river. An angry, defensive Magpie screeched complaints across the river to them. We drove to the dam and were convinced by the bitterly cold wind and the deep waters to drive back downstream and find a place to jump in.

Past the Wolf Creek bridge the valley opened up and an epic view, littered with mule deer filled the windshield. Bald eagles, golden eagles and other, unidentified hawks soared overhead. Ben's colleague Franklin Hall recommended the tips and tails of the few islands in the river. Sure enough, we stopped at a pull off and watched a massive pod of fish sip bwos and midges behind the closest island. A peregrin falcon cruised over the island, hunting. We suited up in the cold, cold weather and got in the water. Reminder: taking off your pants and socks in 14 degree weather should be avoided when possible.

The fish proved to be elusive. A mink was crawling along the bank, through the tangle of a beaver hut. Paul took pictures at about 3 feet as the critter responded to my kiss-calls. Woodcock infested the island, flitting 100 yrds away when spooked. Coots cruised the river and dove for fish.

Ben set up shop fishing downstream to the risers while Paul and I crossed the island and snuck downstream to attempt upstream casts. The fish quickly caught on and stopped rising. I stood watching, waiting for the fish to turn back on when I felt a familiar tug on my rod - fish on! And off, after a quick jump. Huh. Nice fish, bit while my flies were just hanging in the current. Huh. I think I can do that. I cast a few times across the current and slightly downstream letting the flies drift, catch, submerge, and hang before recasting. Nothing. Hm. Maybe a different fly. Tied on a Kaufman's stimulator size 10 and a size 20 black beauty dropper. A few casts later, flies submerged, the water erupted. As my pole rose to set the hook I saw a fish the size of my leg roll in the current, at least 20 inches of fish was visible and I never saw the head...or the tail. Monster, monster fish. That roll did something right for the fish because as soon as he was on he came off. I was dumbfounded. A few more dazed casts later I realized the damn fish had broke my Kaufman's stimulator hook in half, right at the start of the bend it snapped. WTF. The gods are toying with me now.

We fished all day. Warming at the car twice. Once to drive back to the dam and try our luck in the wind. No luck. Frozen waders. The wind would freeze our waders around our legs like armor. Crazy. Sharp-tailed grouse and mule deer dotted the drive along the river. Back downstream past the bridge to Craig we jumped in and watched some risers along a rip-rap bank. Then we watched a guy and his dog in a canoe run over all those fish... F. At the car I said, "Why the hell have we been ignoring The Werm??" Tied it on with that Black Beauty behind. Second cast into the first riffle my line took off. Big fish. Reel screamed. I yelled "fish on" to Ben and Paul. Ben came down with a net to help, but as he got to the bank my line, still taught, stopped moving. I started swearing, cursing - thought the damn fish had snagged me on the bottom or in the carpet of weeds on the riverbed and swam off. Ben cut in quickly and told me he'd read about "The Missouri Lift." Apparently, these fish bury themselves in the weed beds and you have to lift them out before you can net them. In disbelief I reeled myself down to the fish and sure enough, lifted him right out of the weeds. Ben netted on the second try and his net was covered with vegetation, weeds spilling over dragging in the water. In the middle of them was a nice 20 inch, 3lb rainbow. Best fish of the trip so far (in the net). Yes. Mission accomplished. Caught a nice, fat trout near Wolf Creek, MT.



Fished the rest of the day and snapped photos of the surrounds. Geese, ducks, falcons, hawks, eagles, and mule deer surrounded us. Fish rose sporadically, enough to convince us to tie on size 20 and 22 dries, but not enough to allow themselves to get caught. The wind blew and the temperature dropped. Waders froze. Fingers and faces tingled, turning red, golden sunlight reflected on lenses. Breath froze and swung south in the wind. At sunset we headed back to the car and had a toast to our last day with Paul.

Saw some very nice mule deer buck on the way out of the valley. A coyote sat, patiently waiting for dusk.

Joined Franklin at his house and headed to Windbags for a huge prime rib, whiskey (about a 5oz pour), and strong IPAs. Toyed with Helena hearts at Big Dorothy's. Headed to Alto's, aka, "the tow." Nothin' doin. Walked home and chased mule deer down the streets of Helena. Woke early. Paul's borrowed travel rod wouldn't come apart. After calls to Orvis and repeated techniques the "behind the knee pull," recommended by the customer service agent, snapped the pole. Shit. Glad he was done fishing. Hopefully Orvis will honor their no-questions-asked lifetime warrenty...

Drove back to Belgrade, coffee at a Rocky Mountain Roasting Co., dropped Paul at airport and spend time getting him on a different flight from Denver to Dulles - United canceled on him... Snow fell, blowing through the streets.

Probably taking the day to rest, do work, and take a breath before jumping into our second full week. Hopefully the weather and the fishing will get better.

The Missouri, Wolf Creek, and that lunker will continue calling.

East Gallatin Update

Thursday, October 9, 2009. After a night of heavy drinking upon return from the Big Hole, we got out on the famous East Gallatin around 12:00. A few pheasant roosters greeted our arrival and the scenery was unmatched; beautiful, meandering stream, grassy fields that seem to go on forever, and, in the distance, snowy mountains in all directions. We parked at Swamp Road bridge and after chatting with an old, wind worn guy in a rhino we headed down stream to where the guy at Fins and Feathers told us was the better nymphing water. Two holes down, we spread out and started to catch fish.

I stood next to this deep, green water and tried to figure out where the fish were, what they might want to eat, and how to get it to them. I was throwing The Worm up front and changed my back fly a couple times - finally settled on a wet hackle PT, 18. The trick, however, was to get the right weight and depth. My goal was to tie on enough splitshot to get stuck on the bottom and then take one off. One split shot, nothing. Two, nothing. Three, FISH. I pulled three fish out of that hole, had a lot of bumps, and, in what turned into a disturbing trend for the day, had two others on (the biggest fish) but shake off.

Following Ben and Paul I moved downstream. Ben was trying to cast size 20 bwo dries to rising fish on the far bank so I decided to hit the inside seam of the run. Casts upstream, slightly across, flies in line resulted in 5 more fish in the net and 4 or 5 more on and off again, including the biggest one from that hole, too.

Headed downstream further and tossed my weighted rig into a wide, fast run near a pod of 20 rising fish. After a few casts the thingamabobber jerked under and I felt a nice, nice fish on the end of my line. A couple seconds later he shook off... I decided I needed to get a little deeper so I tied on a weighted streamer with The Werm behind it. First cast, BAM - again, nice fish. Again, shook off. GODDAMN!!!! This one jumped just to make sure I knew it was a big rainbow before coming loose. Anger. Fished a few bends, some very deep holes down stream. Ben and Paul kept hearing cock birds cackling in the fields - I always seemed to be next to a loud riffle, but did catch the tail end of one call. The hunting here would be disgusting. I would love to see Porter working hard through those countless acres of bird-filled grass...

Paul was pulling a couple nice fish out of the most downstream riffle we fished, Ben and I lined up behind him. As I worked downstream I realized I was walking on the drop-off so I backed up, moved downstream a bit and cast back to it. First cast, fish. Big fish. Turned out to be a White Fish, but fought hard and more than filled the net. Another trout, slightly upstream had the count up to 9. Walked upstream with Paul and watched him pull a couple out of a seam to even the count. Game on.

Tied on The Werm behind a large, 12, BH prince nymph. Caught two out of a tiny riffle that dropped off sideways into a run. Two, steely rainbows. The fish out of the Gallatin were unlike any rainbows I've ever caught. Smaller heads, thick in the middle, and with a cold, steel look. Apparently they have steel mouths, too, given how many Paul and I lost through the day. Ben and Paul walked up the bank behind me a jumped two cock birds who cackled and rose, one flying over my head, one flying away from the river. Gorgeous.

Moved back upstream to where I'd caught 5 before and pulled 4 more out for 15 on the day. Probably lost close to that many as well. Frustrating to lose so many fish and so many nice fish. But the day was success and beautiful. Cold, about 27 on the day, a slight breeze and sun that finally gave way to clouds and a snowstorm. As we drove back to the cabin we watched wild clouds fill the valley, swirling, dropping snow in random, isolated places.

For the record

Denver, sandwiches, brewery - shepard's pid, beef roast
Casper, bar ribs, wings, turkey club
Bozeman Saturday, Gallatin, quesadilla, buffs, burger
Sunday, yack, Gallatin, beef stew
Monday, Madison, bison, strips
Tuesday, Yellowstone, beef stew hot tub
Wednesday, Beaverhead, Big Hole, Burger King, Blasted
Thursday, East Gallatin, sausage and beef rice
Friday, Gallatin, rainbow, brown, whitefish, zuchs and squash
Saturday, Missouri...

Winter salvation

A winter storm canceled our plans to travel to the Firehole today. Awoke to 6 inches of snow and counting. A steady 15-20mph wind was blowing sideways and temps were struggling to get into the 20s. We spent the morning tying flies, doing work, and cleaning up around the house. Around 1:00 Paul and I decided to brave the cold and hit the Gallatin. Ben had some work to finish up before joining us. Paul decided to cross in the most unfortunate spot and almost took a chilly dip. We headed up a side channel and started fishing. It was slow to start, but soon picked up. While my new black bugger was stuck on a snag, Paul got into a real nice brown. I netted and, as planned, he got put on the stringer for tonight's dinner. Paul ended up with a few more fish on as well, but lost them. Finally he hooked into a nice whitefish and we added it to the stringer. I pulled one out of the same hole, too and the count for dinner was up to three. Ben had joined us by now and hooked into a beautiful rainbow, just a touch longer than Paul's brown. I decided to head back downstream to a deep hole that had proved frustrating earlier. The flow into this pool was fast, the drop off deep and although it looked fishy, I'd only caught a couple small fish out of it over the two past days we'd fished there. I knew there were bigger fish on the bottom it was just a matter of getting the drift and weight right. I played with my set up for a while - added weight, raised the indicator - and cast to get a drift into the small, swirling seam between the fast water and the eddy. When I finally got everything right, a beautiful rainbow took my fly. It was one of the most satisfying fish I've ever caught. Another rainbow and three big whitefish followed. It felt amazing to have turned this crappy day into a success. The snow blew, the cold seeped into our feet, but we were out there and caught a bunch of beautiful fish - some of the biggest fish yet besides the lunkers that came out of the yellowstone.

Tonight is supposed to get down to -5F. It's our last night in this house. We're cooking up fish, doing wash, and packing. Tomorrow we head north to the Missouri river in Craig, MT. The forecast is for 28-ish, cloudy, and calm. With the increased temps from the tailwater of the Missouri we should get into some fish. While I'm not happy about leaving this house, I'm looking forward to the day.

Oct. 7, 2009 - Beaverhead and Bighole

On Peter Vandegrift's recommendation we got out of the house early this morning and headed 2hrs west to the Beaverhead outside of Dillan. Henneberry fishing access was supposed to be a good access point for wading, but the whole river was a slues. Heavy vegetation on the bottom made for almost impossible nymphing. Floating is about the only way to access this part of the river. Ben and I caught a few tiny browns on 18 BWO dries, and I had another 10-11" brown on a lightening bug. As the snow was starting to drive, we bailed and decided to head back to Melrose and jump on the Bighole. It was cold, snowing, windy and we were a bit pissed at the conditions of the Beaverhead after having driven all the way there, but we were determined to fish the rest of the day. We bundled up and headed out. 5 minutes into our walk downstream we saw two immature bull moose, one with a small rack, the other with just buttons. We watched them on the bank for a while before heading downstream to fish.

On the corner of the first riffle I hooked into a fish on my second cast. After running a few feet downstream the fish rolled and showed me I was dealing with a large brown. Unfortunately I didn't have him hooked very well and while he sat in the slow water my fly came unhooked. I came a bit unglued. It was appropriate for the day. Luckily, the day turned around a bit, despite icing eyes and wind burnt faces. I caught a couple rainbows, 9" and 11", the larger while taking another picture of the two moose still hanging out on the bank. Paul caught a bunch of nice whitefish (four), a 12" rainbow, and a beautiful 9" grayling. The grayling ate a caddis nymph despite water temps hovering just below 40 degrees. Ben fell in near the edge and had a soaking arm - not the best day to do so with blowing wind and snow, but he ended up hooking into a great 16" brown on the last cast of the day. After being fairly skunked all day, I'm pretty sure he kissed that fish before letting it go. It was good to salvage a good afternoon out of such a crappy start. To add to the good finish, we watched a good sized bull moose with a nice rack walk through the alder lined stream on the drive out from Maindenrock access point. He jumped fences with ease and moved effortlessly through the tangled underbrush. Amazing creature - we felt blessed to just watch him if only for a few minutes.

It has been good to get into a rhythm of fishing. The gear all has a place in my mind and all the small details that often require too much attention are becoming second nature. We've all improved at reading water, maximizing drift, and efficiently setting up our rigs. The Tahoe has become our gear vehicle and it's good to drive, waders on, with pole tips resting on the dash, reels lined on the backs of the back seat, wading gear in its place. The body, too, is getting used to this cold, snowy weather. Even with mid-30 temps and 20 mph winds and snow we are staying comfortable and fishing with relative ease. Hopefully, though, the water temps will rise over the next few days and the fish will become more active. Tomorrow we hit the East Gallatin.

Oct. 6, 2009 - Yellowstone Float

Woke this morning at 6:30 and made a big breakfast with leftover bison and steak to keep us powered up through today's float of the Yellowstone. Any description I muster up will not do the day justice. It was mostly sunny, with a supposed high of 50, and winds steady at 15-25 MPH. Brutal on the casting, but we caught fish despite. I started out wading while Ben and Paul helped Peter get the boat set up and started upstream. From my place on a side channel near a "tributary," I caught 3 rainbows, 9-12" on a black bh zebra midge dropped behind a parachute adams. Had 3 others on, too. Once they figured out the game and stopped biting, I walked downstream to see what I could fish while waiting for the boat to arrive. nothing of interest awaited me, so I headed back up to where Corn Creek dumped in and changed my rig - indicator with "the worm" and the zebra midge. Only a couple casts in I landed a nice 16" rainbow. Fought like a champ, too. The boat had just arrive so I hopped in a started the float.

I have much more to say about this day, but my eyes are closing and I'm exhausted. We're getting up early to drive to the Beaverhead and fish some warmer water tomorrow. I'll fill in the details later, but all three of us hooked into some beautiful fish today and despite the constant distraction of catching whitefish all day, had beautiful scenery and a great day in a drift boat.

Oct. 5, 2009

Woke up this morning to a few inches of snow covering everything. Snowed throughout the morning. Ben had a lot of work to do, so Paul and I tied flies until noon before the three of us headed out to the Madison River. On recommendation from Peter Vandergrift we headed up to Bear Trap Wilderness Area and jumped in to some good looking riffles and pools. Rainbows were on the menu. Paul caught one right away. Ben soon followed. The river was big, wide, and looked super fishy. But the wading was tough and really the first time we've fished a river of this size. Not sure if the weather was the biggest factor or our strategy, but the fish were few and far between. Paul caught one more and I managed to pull two out of one seam and hooked another, but didn't land it. A few beautiful fish, but nothing more than 15". We're in the mood for some big fish.

Cooked up some bison for dinner - didn't know what to expect and was very pleasantly surprised. Wicked good. Hit the hot tub for an hour or so after dinner. Rolled in the snow halfway through to break things up. Loved it. Beautiful sky with stars poking intermittently through the overcast sky. Hopefully the haloed moon brings good luck for tomorrow. We're meeting Peter at 9:00AM to float the Yellowstone. "Let's go catch some big fish" was the last thing Pete said to me before cell service cut out. Let's hope he's right. Should be a beautiful day - first in a while - and we're looking forward to a full day on the river.

Finally bought real food to stock the kitchen. It's been too long. Local beef, sausage, bacon, and bison to start. Turned some of the beef into Trout Slayer Stew (Patent Pending). It'll do a body good. Can't wait to come back in from the stream and snow to a cup tomorrow. In the meantime, we're settling for a Sunday night Steelers game (whooping up on the Chargers) and the smell of stew.

Oct. 4, 2009

Picked up Paul from the airport and had some dinner at four corners last night before coming back to the cabin and toasting the week. Half a bottle of makers made sure we all slept well. I was up at 7:00 to touch base with Peter Vandegrift about our plans for the week. The winter storm warning for today and tomorrow settled the discussion and we'll probably float the Yellowstone River on Tuesday or Thursday depending on how the weather shapes up. Today was mostly blustery with flurries and cold. We got a quick breakfast after talking with Peter and hit the closest fly shop for supplies and a license for Paul. Got on the Gallatin around 10:30 and fished until 3:30. Fishing was slow. Ben had the first fish of the day, I had the most fish, and Paul hooked into the biggest. Stood at one hole and caught 4 trout and 3 creek chubs. Lost too many flies for so few hours of fishing. Had to take a walk back for my net at day's end and Paul took a last minute, unplanned dip crossing for home. We're all burnt and dazed from fighting the wind all day. Headed to the supermarket for food for the week. Looking forward to a big pot of beef stew. This storm is supposed to dump anywhere from 4 to 15 inches of snow tonight and tomorrow morning. Probably going to tie flies and rest up in the morning then explore the Madison river in the afternoon.

p.s. Paul sat next to Ms. Montana's mom on the plane. She seemed to want to talk to us at the airport, but then quickly ran off. Perhaps I'm not as good looking as I think...

Oct. 3, 2009 - Bozeman, MT - Day one

Gallatin rainbow:
View from the fly shop:
On the road:
Got up around 5:00 this morning, packed, and started the 5.5hr drive to Bozeman. The moon was bright, hovering on the horizon to our left. The sun was slowly rising to our right, the sky slowly changing colors through the spectrum. Most of the drive was in a straight, unwavering line up I-25 and then across I-90. After Buffalo, WY, the antelope and mule deer were everywhere. Saw one nice 8-pt muley crossing the road in front of us. Must have seen 300 antelope.

Driving west through Montana slowly brought Mountains into view. Impressive, snow covered peaks would appear on the horizon, slowly grow as we drew closer and then disappear behind us. Lots of pictures were snapped - few of them, I'm sure, are any good. But it was fun to be in awe of the scenery. Pulled into Bozeman around 11:00 and went directly to the fly shop, Montana Troutfitters. Got some tips and compliments on our timing - the fishing should be awesome. Super friendly guys and a beautiful store.

After a quick bite to eat we arrived at the house. This place is beautiful. Right on the Gallatin - it's literally a 1min. walk to the stream. We threw our stuff in the house and quickly donned the waders and hit the stream. Ben caught a nice brown right away. I hooked into a large creek chub, the first of 6 through the afternoon. Ben caught a handful more trout and I managed to catch 4, all rainbows. The last fish of the day was a nice 15" rainbow that took a bwo dry out of the bubble line downstream from a half-submerged tree top.

The wind started to blow something fierce and we called it quits around 6:00PM. I'm still trying to stay on the healthy side of this head cold so getting chilled to the bone is not a good idea. A nasty winter storm is blowing in later tonight and should stick around for two days. We'll decide in the morning whether to meet up with Pete Vandegrift tomorrow or on Monday. Hoping he'll give us a primer on Bozeman streams.

Very much looking forward to being in this house for a week. I need some stability amid these travels and this is going to be just perfect. Paul arrives in just about an hour. It's going to be insane being here for so long, just the three of us, fishing, cooking, drinking, relaxing. Couldn't be looking forward to this more.

Pictures from Big Thompson

Wild rainbow from the canyon stretch:


Ben sneaking:



The canyon:


Fishing the far side:


One of the doubles:

Oct. 2, 2009 - Hotel bound

Woke up feeling like crap today. Head cold had taken over the body. Decided to take it easy and try to get healthy. After eating what was probably the absolute worst breakfast I've ever choked down we hit the Casper, WY fly shop for a couple more tying materials. The rest of the day was spend at the hotel tying, napping, taking medicine, and planning. Sucks to have "lost" a day, but we've been in hotel rooms for almost a week now and needed a breather. Miracle mile will have to wait for another trip. Spent the evening at the hotel restaurant watching the Rockies game and talking with some antelope/mule deer hunters. The bourbon felt good on the throat.

Oct. 1, 2009

Slept poorly last night on the couch. The lack of humidity and perhaps some allergies are making my sinuses hurt, eyes itch, and my throat scratch. Bothered me all day and night so hopefully I'll find a remedy soon. Despite this annoyance, the day was amazing.

We drove an hour and a bit north on I-25 into Loveland, CO and to the Sylvan Dale Ranch. Private water along the Big Thompson river. The morning was chilly, mid-forties, and the fishing was slow. The first fish of the day, however, found their way on to Ben's and my line at the same time. A double to start off the trip. We nymphed small riffles and runs hooking into fish at a slow pace. Ben got into one really good hole and caught a bunch of rainbows, I had a nice sized brown on that came off right at the net. The fish weren't too big, 8-14"s, but they were all wild browns and rainbows and colored very beautifully. Bright red gill plates on the rainbows and bright yellow on the browns. And the fish fought well, better as the day progressed. The morning ended with a cold wind and the three of us all looking forward to warming up inside the ranch. After a quick lunch we headed to the "canyon" section just above where the public water starts.

Caught a beautiful rainbow at the first hole along the canyon wall. At the second hole Chris started setting us up at some friendly competition - how many fish can you catch in 10 minutes. Ben beat me both times, but we were soon both pulling fish after fish out of the creek. Mostly baetis nymphs, micro-mays, bwo emergers, and a rainbow somethingerother. We fished up the canyon to the hole where we started the morning before heading back up to the ranch. As we were turning the car around, Ben saw lots of fish rising on the public water. Luckily, they were also rising on the ranch water. We spent the next hour casting to 100 rising fish and catching a lot of them. The sun was setting and it was beautiful on the water, fish fins breaking the surface. I caught a nice 16" brown who was stationed on the edge of the river in a small side channel. He was poking the side of his head out of the water and sipping flies effortlessly. The water was so shallow his tail was often sticking out of the water. I was on my knees casting upstream, a few drifts and he took my fly. Probably the best catch of the day, although not the biggest fish.

As the dries died down, we tied our nymphs back on and started a catching frenzy. We could hardly keep the flies in the water without fish biting. I caught 6 fish upstream, including a huge, 18" rainbow. Moved down to "teepee rock" and, literally, caught 16 fish out of the hole. Browns and rainbows, all gorgeous, all fighting like fish twice their size, and all welcome. Caddis nymphs of all sorts were killing, baetis nymphs were almost as productive. Crazy, crazy fishing. All told we probably caught 60-70 fish through the day. A helluva way to start and a heck of a bar set for the rest of the week. It was good to be so successful, but better to get the rust knocked off, get instruction from Chris on technique, and get a sense of what flies will be productive out here. I think it will make for a more confident trip, if not more successful...

After getting out of the water we drove 3.5hrs to Casper. We're exhausted in a ramada hotel room - looks like a "motor inn," indoors...odd. Tomorrow we'll explore the miracle mile and figure out what we're doing Saturday. Unless tomorrow is amazing, we'll likely leave here early Saturday and head to Bozeman to fish before Paul arrives.

Pictures to follow.

Sept. 30, 2009

Early morning. 7:00AM departure from hotel and a 9:00AM flight. Uneventful flight with little interaction with folks around us. Arrived in Denver and loaded into the Tahoe. Made our way into Denver and met up with Laura. Hit up REI for some hydration packs, socks, and found a good deal on biking gloves. Got worked over a little more at the fly shop where we bought leaders, fly tying materials and couple "example" flies. Dinner, pool, and indoor-shuffle-board rounded out the day after some fly tying. Excited to hit Sylvan Dale ranch tomorrow. Don't know whether our plans to hit Casper, WY will hold up or if we'll end up in Big H(C)orn. Thanks Laura's roommate. Frantically bought a day license before crashing. Read a bunch of Charles Bukowski and its screwing with my dead a bit.

Westbound

It has been a long year. Quickly passing, but trying in indescribably ways.

Ben and I head to Colorado tomorrow to begin a 18 day tour of western waters, searching for angry browns. It is our hope that this trip meets a very pressing need for immediate escape from reality while marking the beginning of changed perspectives and approaches to life. Contradictions are obvious, but the experience of losing Dad so quickly has impressed strong desires to make meaningful contributions with our lives while finding ways to live life to its fullest and for today. Balance, harmony?, between these two approaches to life will be hard to achieve and examples are hard to find. However, the changes in my own perceptions and engagement with life, the world, are palpable each day. There is no going back - there is hardly any recognition, consciousness of how I used to think, be. I am confident this experience will make me a better, happier, and peaceful person.

I've taken trips before and often cursed my failing memories as I later tried to recall certain events, places. So, since this blog was started to catalog outdoor adventures (mostly), I think I'll try to keep a daily log of our activities, however briefly. Looking forward to the first post, tomorrow, from Denver.

We can face death well if we live life well

By Robin Palmer, Gifford Medical Center, Randolph, VT:
Living while dying
Metcalf brothers share their father’s loss, their experiences in Gifford’s Garden Room and the life they found within

In life, Steve Metcalf was committed to his work as an educator. In death, he found joys to life outside his office walls, even in his darkest hours.

Perhaps best known in for his 20 years as elementary school principal, Metcalf was a career educator.

He studied history, special education and educational administration, collecting multiple degrees; he served in the U.S. Navy and Naval Reserves, including four years of active duty; and taught for 10 years, primarily in schools in his native New York, all before accepting the principal position that would bring him to Randolph, Vt., in 1985.

He was serious about this work, politics, morality, the meaning of life and fatherhood.

“He worked and he spent time with us,” says his oldest son, Alex, recalling growing up in their Central Street home with a dad who at home checked to see if they were doing their homework and in Vermont strove to make the educational system better for all.

His work in Randolph earned him superintendent roles in first the Orange-Windsor Supervisory Union and then for the last two years at the Montpelier School District where he was embraced as a “visionary,” “leader,” hard worker and a “perfect match” for the school system.

And then the bottom fell out.



Over Thanksgiving and through Christmas last year, Metcalf was feeling an uncomfortable, pressure in his side. He’d had gallstones in the past and thinking these might have returned, he visited his doctor at Gifford Medical Center, Milt Fowler. After trying a medication with no relief, Dr. Fowler ordered a CT scan of Metcalf’s side.

It revealed (and later a biopsy confirmed) the worst possible news: Metcalf had rare and likely incurable stage 4 bile duct cancer.

On Jan. 12 he called his closest allies with the news – his sons, 30-year-old Alex and 27-year-old Ben.

“They found something that they’re worried about” the father told his sons and 24-year-old daughter Emily of Bethel.

“It was just a baseball bat to the head, over and over and over,” says Ben of what it was like to receive the devastating news.

“Your whole perspective on life has just changed and you will never recognize it again,” adds Alex.

The two immediately made plans to come home to Vermont, leaving their homes and careers behind.

Alex was living in Pennsylvania in a house he and Ben bought together and finishing his final semester at Penn State for his Ph.D. in forestry. Ben was in Washington, D.C., working as chief operating officer for the Democrat Governor’s Association, and for other clients through a management, consulting and operations business he started and runs.

The pair returned to attend an oncology visit with their father.

The prognosis was not good. The cancer was in his bile duct, a thin tube that reaches from the liver to the small intestines and transports bile from the liver and gallbladder to the small intestine, where it helps digest fats in foods. But it had also spread outside the liver in lymph nodes and he had spots of cancer on his lungs.

His oncologist called the disease “devastating.” “There is just no stopping this. People just don’t survive this,” Ben and Alex recall being told.

Having survived throat cancer 20 years before in 1989, Metcalf approached his treatment and disease with what his sons knew was often an “irrational” hope for a cure.

“He decided early he was going to give this everything that he had fighting it,” Alex says. “We had to live knowing and accepting this was going to happen and also fighting it the whole way.”

Metcalf underwent first one round of chemotherapy and then a second. The first left him physically feeling fine, but blood work showed it was not effective in treating the cancer. The second round, a different regiment, wreaked havoc on Metcalf’s health, hurting his cancer-filled liver and signaling an end for a chance at a cure.

The news came April 29. A day later, with his health declining, he resigned from his beloved post with the Montpelier School District.

An appointment with another oncologist for a second opinion was scheduled in hopes that a third round of chemotherapy would be possible, but Metcalf never made it to that appointment.

He was hospitalized on May 6.



Amidst it all, the accolades poured in.

He was celebrated at Montpelier High School, where a scholarship was established in his honor, and at Randolph Elementary School, where the library was dedicated to him. The Vermont General Assembly passed a resolution during a special session honoring him as “an exemplary public education leader in Vermont.” And cards, letters and casseroles filled the mailbox and porch steps.

Many of the letters outlined moments or words of wisdom shared by Metcalf with a new teacher or friend that have since directed their careers or lives.

“We always knew how important his work was to him. I don’t think we had a clue how important he was to other people,” says Alex, noting they had to bring in a second refrigerator – and expand their belts – to accommodate all the gifts of food.

And despite the seriousness of his illness, the once all-work Metcalf was having fun.

They took two trips to Florida to sail and play golf, knowing that if Metcalf’s time was as limited as his doctors were saying, he wouldn’t live to see much warm weather in Vermont.

They laughed. They joked, including about the day Metcalf, a bit out-of-it due the medicines he was taking, accidentally shaved off his beard.

On May 2^nd they traveled to D.C. to see a Washington Capitals hockey game. Education conferences took Metcalf to D.C. occasionally, so the year before Ben had bought the close-knit trio season tickets. They became ardent fans.

Metcalf, despite feeling very ill, spent the day of May 2 chewing the ears of Sens. Patrick Leahy and Bernie Sanders and Rep. Peter Welch on education issues, and then spent the evening eating out, watching the Capitals game with his sons and hitting the bars until the early morning hours.

“It was ironic,” says Ben, “that Dad taught us that lesson: to stop and enjoy.”



The good times didn’t end in Florida or D.C.

In his hospital room at Gifford Medical Center, Melcalf and his children experienced times of heartache, and jubilation

He entered the hospital with a serious blood infection – a side effect of the cancer, his sons say, and one they thought would almost immediately take his life.

“The doctors didn’t think he had enough in the tank to come out of it,” says Ben. “We started planning the funeral right away.

“And then he bounced back.”

A bout with pneumonia followed. But again Metcalf rallied.

“We sat for almost another month not knowing what the hell was going on. He was on this plateau,” says Ben.

The majority of his time was spent in the hospital’s Garden Room for dying patients and their families, which afforded them the luxury of a family suite, privacy, plenty of room for visitors and around the clock care.

They watched the Capitals and then the Red Sox, say the brothers in matching faded Boston ball caps.

“We laughed so hard all the time. The day he died, we were laughing. For the situation that we were in, we had a lot of fun,” says Alex, noting it was his father who set the tone of his death. “I don’t think I could do it the way he did it.”

They warmed themselves in the sun of Gifford’s Courtyard Garden, just outside the Garden Room. And they benefited from the care of doctors, nurses and cleaning staff that provided “unbelievable care.”

“They were each unbelievable in both physical care and emotional care,” says Ben of Gifford’s nurses in particular.

Metcalf, never one to indulge before, got massages every chance he got.

“Probably one of the best things that he had were the massages,” says Alex, noting his father was in pain and largely bed-bound. “It was one of the few things that provided him comfort.”

The hospital also provided the family “comfort carts” or daily meals.

The massages and meals came free of charge thanks to an annual motorcycle ride the hospital holds to support end-of-life care services at Gifford. This year’s ride, the Last Mile Ride, is Saturday and several riders are riding in memory of the long-time educator.



Steve Metcalf died on June 11 at the age of 62. He was buried on June 21, one day before Father’s Day, in the majestic Vermont Veterans Memorial Cemetery on a hilltop in Randolph Center.

The Metcalfs, who are sharing their story in support of the ride, are appreciative of the Garden Room and “humbled” by riders’ and so many others’ support.

“It was a month of hell, but I can’t imagine having gone through it any other setting,” says Ben of his family’s experience in the Garden Room.

“My aunt left there saying when I’m sick, I want to be here because I’ve never heard of anything like this anywhere,” Alex says. “The fact that this community has this facility is first of all phenomenal and secondly needs to be supported generously.”

The two brothers are supporting the ride and preparing to move on.

They’re cleaning out their father’s home so that it can be sold, mourning their father’s loss and the moments in their lives that he will miss, but they are also looking brightly toward the future.

“There are moments that it is paralyzing that he’s gone,” says Ben.

“I pick up the phone to call him all the time,” adds Alex.

But as the duo works to let go of old habits, and old places, they’re taking their father’s final lesson to heart: they’re seizing life.

Alex will return to Penn State in September to finish his Ph.D. Ben will not go back to D.C. He’s moving to Pennsylvania with his brother, where they plan to go in to business together.

“We’re done waiting for some ambiguous point down the road,” says Ben.

Rather, in their father’s death, they’re living.

Learn more about the Last Mile Ride online at www.giffordmed.org. There is still time to register.

***

Gifford Medical Center in Randolph, Vt., is a community hospital with family health centers in Bethel, Chelsea, Rochester and Sharon and specialty services throughout central Vermont. Gifford is a full-service hospital with a 24-hour emergency department, inpatient and rehabilitation units, a day care, an adult day care and a 30-bed nursing home, the Menig Extended Care Facility, which opened in 1998 on the main campus. The Birthing Center, established in 1977, was the first in Vermont to offer an alternative to the traditional hospital-based deliveries and continues to be a leader in midwifery and family-centered care.

The hospital’s mission is to improve individuals’ and community health by providing and assuring access to affordable and high-quality health care in Gifford’s service area.

Vermont Summer Nights

After a beautifully simple dinner with great friends, the night is weighing. Living in the moment is somewhat taxing. It is easiest to forget about the magnitude of your daily decisions. It is easiest to invest solely in the future. It is difficult to live in the joy and the pain of the moment. But there is no better way to live. And so it goes.

As expected

True to form I have neglected this blog and failed to document any of the happenings over the past few months. I'm sure random e-mails, photos, and google chats will serve to remind me. Life, in the meantime, has gone on and is playing hardball. The cards filling my dad's mantle, desk, and kitchen counter tell a story of commitment, honor, integrity, and unyielding love and empowerment. I'm overwhelmed. We're struggling with how to proceed. Live life with some level of normalcy? Enjoy each other's company. I'm angry at the snow and the weather for keeping us cooped up right now. Travel, although fun and somewhat refreshing, is a poor substitute for being warm and happy at home, able to work hard and build onto life. I'm struggling with finding a rhythm to my days. Work is calling and I must answer, I want to answer, but motivation is fleeting. I seek distractions with fervor. I can't shake the feeling there is something productive I could be doing to help the situation around here and find myself tackling any small problem or mess or detail just to feel useful and productive. Soon, deadlines will loom and work will force itself upon me. Strangely looking forward to it. I know all of this will change my life, but I've yet to figure out how or how much. There are a range of possibilities. This is among many silver linings.