Madison Valley Ranch

“Into The Bob Marshall”
By Chris King

Day 1 – Arrival, Dinner, and a Missing Toe

I spent the week prior at Lava Creek Lodge. So my journey into the Bob Marshall Wilderness begins in Anchorage, Alaska. If you would like to read that report on Lava Creek you can find it here.

Woke up early and headed back to Ted Stevens. Cody and I had shared a hotel room for the night as he was headed home from guiding the King season at Lava Creek. Cody’s flight got canceled and we headed to the airport for me to check in and him to try to find a new flight. Ted Stevens was a shit show. The line for the ticket counter was 200+ people deep. Cody was able to find a flight on his phone and get rebooked flying out a little later in the day. We got our bag tags at the kiosk and got through security without too much hassle. When we showed up to the chaos I thought we were screwed. The flight left on time and I’m off to Seattle for a short layover before my flight to Kalispell.

Missed the approach into Seattle and had to go out and around again. (Neat)

Got to Kalispell, met Graham, caught a cab to the charter, and flew into the Bob. We were delayed getting out due to the weather. Was able to get ahold of Roberta and she let the lodge know we were coming. Got picked up at the air strip around 5:30 p.m.. Dinner was stuffed chicken, rice, and apple pie. Strong start. Met the owner Jeff, an avid big game hunter, and we shared stories with Graham about hunting everything under the sun.

That night, I ripped the front of my pinky toe off looking for the bathroom. Spent an hour gluing it back on. There’s something deeply humbling about first aid by headlamp.

Day 2 – Devil Horse and a Campfire Wake-Up Call

Met my horse, Sharky. Turns out he suffers from acute separation anxiety and likes riding within an inch of the horse in front. Nearly walked into oblivion more than once on the drop-offs. Roberta blamed my horse, but hers was trying to bite her foot. These are pack horses so they are used to riding close to one another. I think the horse was trying to tell Roberta that it was something she was doing. We took a break at one point and saw a little black bear on the other side of the river hanging out and eating berries. We watched him for a bit as we let a rain shower pass.

Camp was beautiful—flat meadow, river close by, stars slowly appearing. Found out the trip was BYOB. That was not in the paperwork. Gonna be a long week measuring sips of whiskey from the one bottle by the milliliter.

Dinner: spaghetti and meatballs. Followed by s’mores, which tried to save it. The big question of the night was why do some burn their marshmallows? Gross!

Day 3 – Truce with Sharky and Fishing Begins

Sharky and I reached a truce. The day’s ride was smoother, and the wilderness unfolded like a dream with crystal clear streams, sun-baked peaks, forest so thick you could lose a week. (which is exactly what we were trying to do) We got to our camp and the boats were set up and out in the river. We will stay here 2 nights and do a walk-wade-day tomorrow before we start the float out.

Fished with Mico after camp was set. Caught a dozen little cutthroat on dry flies in 30 minutes. Nothing huge. Just enough to feel it and put the pack trip behind me.

Dinner: pork tenderloin with cherry sauce. Fire crackled late into the night. Anticipation built.

Day 4 – The White River

Up early, breakfast was chicken fried steak and eggs. Best of the trip.

We hiked five miles up the White River. Honestly, one of the most magical days I’ve ever had fishing. Pools that looked like mirrors. Forest cathedrals. Not a soul in sight.

The cutthroat were ravenous, and we never tied on a nymph. Not once. Mico guided, and we shared advice, on flies and on life. He’s 21, energetic and says the “F” word 100 times a day, usually followed by “yeah dude.” Still, his heart’s in it. He gets just as excited about a 6 inch fish as he does one that is 16.

Dinner: fish tacos and crepes with huckleberry jam. Hard to beat 25 miles from the nearest structure.

Day 5 – Floating & a Bucket List Box to Check

Today floated down the South Fork. From here out we will break camp every morning. Big gravel bars turned to boulder gardens. No back seat in the raft, so I rode the tube like a rodeo clown.

At one hole, I picked up the streamer rod and worked a deep seam. After a few swings through the likely holding spot, I tossed it up a little to get some sink rate on the fly. When it was passing the rock, I gave it a couple of strips. BOOM. Bull trout. 27 inches. Ran deep into the backing. Pure adrenaline.

Tailed him. Quick photo. Released back into water. From tailing to release was less than 30 seconds with a drink in between. That fish was a gift. It’s probably not much longer that we can fish for these magical creatures. And this being my first, it was good to check the box on another species.

Curt landed an 18″ bull later in the day as well. Everyone got their fill of westslope cuts on dry flies.

Dinner: Mushroom Chicken with asparagus and rice. Followed a no-bake cheese cake that looked like yogurt. I’m a chocolate guy but not much for desserts.

Day 6 – Long Float, Big Water, and One Tug

Floated with Fisher today. Clouds rolled in and the fish sulked. After lunch, the sun returned and they looked up again. Which was actually kind of weird. It’s usually the opposite.

Had one solid tug from a bull that didn’t commit. Fished some sweet Spey water. Didn’t land much, but the river gave me what I needed.

Everyone once again slayed the cutties and Brian got a bull around 24 inches.

We arrived at camp late. Pulling in at 7pm. Food and beer were delivered by mule. Morale high. We sat around living it up on our last night in the wilderness.

Dinner: steaks by campfire. They packed in wine and beer. Stars that night? Like God scattered glitter across velvet.

Day 7 – Final Float and the Class III Shit Show

Mico guided again. Still says the “F” word like it’s punctuation. We caught plenty of cutties, missed the bulls.

Then came the last Class III. Fisher ran first and pinned a rock. We barreled down and I had to talk Mico into eddying out. We pulled it off. Barely.

Wrapped up at Outfitters Roost, and I rode a different horse. Much better. Brook led us in and out on the horses. She did an incredible job of keeping these city slickers safe and in line while on the trail. Roberta’s horse kept biting at her foot again. (I wasn’t behind her this time.)

Final night: BBQ, corn hole, laughter. A great send-off.

Day 8 – One Last Bush Plane Flight

Woke up in the morning to Graham complaining that there was no electricity and the water was off. I guess the crew slept in after the big BBQ night. It came on around 6:15 and we headed over for coffee and breakfast. Although we had a buffet this first morning we were here, today we chose from a menu.

They must do a buffet before the float and a menu the rest of the time? After breakfast they gave us a ride to the air strip for our charter. The flight out was great and we got to go over the mountain instead of around like we did in the weather a few days ago.

Had the pilot drop us at Glacier National to avoid the taxi ride across Kalispell. The flights home were easy and I was welcomed by the typical Redding summer heat and smoke. But, I had to wave at my wife to get her attention because she didn’t recognize me with my 2 week Santa Clause beard.

Final Thoughts:

This was not a luxury trip. It was a wilderness trip with all the beauty, frustration, and awe that entails. If you’re into backcountry grit, using a shovel to flush, spontaneous laughter, and moments of spiritual clarity holding a fish you’ve dreamt of for years?

Then yeah. It’s worth it.

But maybe bring your own beer. And a bathroom light.

An unforgettable backcountry adventure. Not polished or pampered, but deeply meaningful for those who can roll with unpredictability and appreciate raw wilderness. I’m not going on a horseback ride this weekend but I would do this trip again, someday.

Fishing: