We Do the Whole Fucking Thing

Wow, I can't remember when I was this excited to get onto the canoe trip. I'm like an twelve year old waiting for Christmas because he knows he is going to get the 22 he asked "Santa" for because he saw it in his parent's bedroom. However there is something else that has been pulling at my soul for quite sometime now.

The General and I have talked about canoeing the entire Bigfork the source to the end where she dumps into the Rainey river. You know, the river that makes the boarder between us and the Canadians. Well the talk of doing just that has been in the works for quite sometime now between the General and I. I have looked and re looked at the map a thousand times plotting and thinking out this trip. From all my contemplations and analysis of the route and days, I came to the conclusion that a trip like this would take around two weeks to complete.

The Bigfork River, as she flows, is 166 miles long from her source, Dora lake, to the convergence in the Rainey River. She is one of only a hand full of rivers that flow North in the United States. She is a majestic beauty that can enchant any man or woman with her serene beauty. However, it has came to my attention as of recent days, that one can make it from Sand Lake all the way into Dora and onto the Bigfork, which kind of lends the idea that Dora is not the true source of the Bigfork. Now this may be true, but I would have to, and will, speak with a DNR officer and ask what the definition of a source is and why Sand isn't considered in the Bigfork. But that is a lot of technical bullshit which I will save for a later date.

I know I have already established that the General and I are going to start at the source this year and by the time we reach the end of the River Runner's trip we will have knocked 55 miles off of the Bigfork. This is going to be the classic trip with a bit of a twist. For the third time in history we are going to start the trip without the entire crew, however, the last two times we picked up along the way it was only one person, but this time it is going to be a majority of the crew. So we take a two day early trip and cut out most of the first leg in the first two days...32 miles to be exact. From there we do the rest in a four day period, the other 23 and then that is the end of this year's River Runner trip. But that isn't the end of this year's canoeing.

Now I want all to keep in mind that read this that I'm going to have to find a place for my four children when I continue canoeing the river this year. What I'm hoping is that my Mom will agree to watch the kids for the time that I'm gone, well three of them at least. I'm going to make sure this trip happens when Wade is down at his Dad's house because that is what happens during the summer with my step-son Wade, he stays with his Dad a lot during the summer since we have him most of the time during the school year. I also have to get permission from my lovely faience Emily to go on this trip.

Now I have never taken a trip this long on the water and often thought about this trip with a very important problem to overcome; which is having enough supplies to sustain life while traveling a great distance on the river. It has been proven that we can pack a lot of shit within the confines of a seventeen foot canoe, however, this year we can take the Tank and break her in on this massive trip. With three extra feet at our disposal we should be able to pack enough things to make sure we have enough water, and essential item if there ever was one, and food. We can plan to make a stop at Johnson's Landing for water since the map indicates that it is a source of fresh water for those that travel the Bigfork. The next stop on the trip would be Big Falls, one of only two places where we would have to portage the canoe and gear. Little American Falls would be the first, which is a short jaunt compared to the half-mile we will have to do when whe hit Big Falls. That is going to be the one big problem we have because that is a long way to haul gear, even if one is only bringing the essentials. We need to create some kind of cart that can be used to haul everything in one big swoop, or make a few trips...but a half mile man...damn!

Each of our stops on this epic adventure is going to take place at one of the designated camp sites that the DNR provides, except for one. On the third leg of this journey we are going to have to make camp somewhere along the way on State land. I have located a spot on the map and it looks to be a nice place along the Bigfork, so we should be able to make something that other's can use but not abuse. We make a great camp site, except for the fire incident, but we won't go there right now. I think I have already discussed the building camp thing here.

There is one site that I want to hit no matter what and that is the Goudy site because it looks to be really isolated so I'm wondering if we will get the same feeling we do from the Rice or Doons site; a place that can only be reached via river. That will be another place where we put a plaque of The River Runners.

In any case I feel that this year will be the year that we are able to do the entire Bigfork for the first time...I have a feeling that this might become something of a tradition where other member's of my family can get involved. I still feel that the first time should just be a small adventure. If we could find a way to get a few people on the trip then we would be just slamming ya know. Even still, just the adventure alone is going to be something that is worth a good mentioning on this blog. I don't want people to worry because I'm going to take a lot of notes, especially after we pass the General's land, because that will be the farthest we have ever been done the river. I want to share what I see with words and pictures. It should be something that is rather awesome to read, at least for those that read this blog.

Well my friends, it is getting about to be that time that I need to hit the hay and dream about cruising down the Bigfork. Until we meet again I will remain...Crazy Joe.

Little Minnow Here We Come

Sweet as a honey dipped cigar those that don't take time to read the blog...it is a done deal and man can I hardly wait my friends. I have taken all the steps I needed to set up the opportunity to start this years River Run two days earlier than the rest of the crew. It is official, the General and I will be taking off on Wednesday this year and meet up with the rest of the River Runners Thursday night in the town of Bigfork at the landing.

The General and I have been planning this for a few weeks now, but it has taken a while for me to square things away with Em and our children; this means we have been discussing what we will bring on the first leg of the trip. Now thinking alike, we both agreed that we are going to take the absolute bare minimum of gear for that leg. Basically we will only really be spending one night away from the comforts of home, which is exactly the way we want it.

Our gear is going to consist of, one canoe and three paddles. We will of course each have a life jacket...not only is it the law, it is an absolute must to wear when shooting rapids. These are the absolute, without a doubt the minimum of gear one would need to take a trip in a caone, however, we are going to go a little beyond that, but not much. We will also have a tent, sleeping bags, clothes and two cots. The General suggested we skip the cots, but I said no freaking way. I at least want to be off the ground when I sleep because if it rains, which it can, I don't want to get soaked. We will also have two sets of rain gear. For cooking I'm going to bring just the Coleman stove. The only reason we are going to bring that is so we can make our coffee in the morning. This brings me to the only cooking container we are going to take with us, and that is the coffee pot. I will bring along a small container of coffee grounds for in the morning. For food we are going to bring a pack of dogs and maybe a box of doughnuts for the morning before we get back on the river. We are going to bring a cooler that is chocked full with some water, soda and a few brews. We will of course bring along two chairs and maybe an odd or end here and there, but that about sums up what we plan to take with us.

Like always I will have along the utility box because its contents have came in so handy in the past that I can't see going camping without it. There will also be little things like a camera and possible the stereo for some tunes. But in all reality, we are going to be traveling very light which means we should be able to skim through the water with ease and speed.

I'm not a big fan of rushing on the water, but I don't like to be on the river for more than six to seven hour during the day. I only say this because the legs and ass tend to get a little sore. Plus the whole peeing thing can be a real pain while trying to do it from a canoe. Last year I tried peeing over the side and damn near got tipped out by some unruley assholes in the canoe next to me. I was, as were some of the others around me, amazed at how quickly I could cut the stream and catch myself before taking a tumble into the murky waters of the Bigfork.

Damn I can't believe the trip is so close to arriving, not long now. Toughest part is the anticipation ya know...then it goes by so fast that it is sad ya know. Nevertheless, this is going to continue until I can't make it on the trip no more. With any luck, my kids and their friends will continue to carry it on.

Untill next time I will remain...Crazy Joe.

28 Days To Go.

Fuck man the waiting is driving me crazier than a dog in a fire-hydrant warehouse. When the days turn nice in the spring, like they have the last few, it is all I can do to keep my mind on the tasks at hand and not let them wander to the canoe trip. I just spoke with Em the other day about starting the trip early with the General and she said go for it, so now I have to see if Mom and Dad will come and get my kids from school on Thursday, provided that I can find someone to watch them Wednesday night after school till Em gets off of work. That shouldn't be too much of a problem, just got to set it up. I also have the responsibility to make sure the rest of the River Runners are going to know what the hell is going on and where to meet, or this could turn into a freakin' nightmare. The good new, however, is that Duckie has Thursday off, so that means she can rally the troupes and make sure they get to the Bigfork landing for the evening.

One of the big excitements of starting early is that the General and I will be the ones to take the Tank out on its maiden voyage and pop her cherry...hehe. I'm pumped to see how she handles and goes through rapids because we will have two sets to hit before we get to the first camp site, Hauk and Robbs. This should be a decent gage to see how she travels through the white water and dodges rocks. I know the steering is going to be different because three additional feet in a canoe has got to make a big difference, I know it does in a boat, so a canoe shouldn't be too much different.

I will have to admit that I am a little freaked that we don't know who is all going this year. We have five for-sures...(The General, Crazy Joe, Duckie, Digger, and City Boy) but the rest are still up in the air...(Doc, Brother John, Michael, Em, and Jolene). This sucks because if we have an odd number then that means someone has to solo the trip...which would most likely end up being me...craptacular. I have done it before, just not through rapids. I know I could do it though, I have the skill and the baheenies to do it. Oh, that is the word Bug using to say balls, nuts, junk...well you get the idea. I just like it because it is so fucking funny when he says it. Love that little guy. I say that I may have to solo because if we have to borrow a canoe, then I will use that one and have someone else pilot mine with Em...if she is up to it. I mean I don't want to borrow a canoe from someone and then let some other dude use it and possibly crash ya know.

Something has been bothering me for a bit. I haven't put a decent picture of my paddle on the blog yet. I know I have talked about it before, but I'm going to say something about it again because I can; deal with it you that don't read this.

I have had the coolest, most incredible paddle to use on the trip for the last three years...this . This year will be the fourth. The idea for this paddle came to me sometime in the mid 2000's when Grandpa retired from the mines. He and his brother-in-law got into creating items made from diamond willow. They made fishing pole handles, lamps, walking sticks, clocks, picture frames...just about anything you can think of that can be made of wood. Grandpa is still working on a bed frame made completely of diamond willow. A thing of true beauty to say the least, but what I'm getting at is a paddle made from this gorgeous wood.

During the early years of the trip I was able to find and buy these cheap paddles at L&M Fleet that were made from a 1.5" dowel that was three to five feet long with a plastic handle on the top and a plastic black blade on the bottom that provides a wide stroke in the water. I had bought several through the years and just so happened to have one that broke on one of the trips. It was actually getting kind of old and wore out, the wooden dowel, and it broke all of a sudden when I took a deep stroke. I kept the ends because they were completely intacked and just needed to be fitted to another chunk of wood. That is when the idea came to me to ask Grandpa if he would make me a shaft our of diamond willow to attach the pieces to...well he did.

The paddle that was constructed from that bolt of wood was a thing of pure beauty. It is a one of a kind work that is the envy of the River Runners. The only thing that is made from a synthetic material is the blade. It is a blade I have used for a majority of the trips I have taken down the Bigfork, so it holds a lot of meaning to me. Grandpa chose to toss the black molded plastic top and carve out a handle made from diamond willow. If you look closely at the picture of the River Runners you can see me holding the paddle...not the best but you can see it. This leads me to the entire point that I need to get a good picture of the paddle up on the blog.

When Grandpa found this rod of wood he knew it was the perfect diameter to make a paddle. The peeled the bark and touched up the diamonds. He put a lacquer on it to preserve the wood, which is something I need to do again to make sure that it stays healthy and not break. I have used it for three years and this will be the fourth, so she has saw some time in the water, but I do take care of her.

I have broke and saw many a paddle broken on this trip and that is something I don't want to happen to my one-of-a-kind paddle...I really need to come up with a name for her. Anyway it is standard procedure to take a back up paddle in the canoe in case one of them breaks. I always take a sturdy metal shaft paddle for my backup. I have came to situations where the canoe became stuck on some rocks and had to preform a push-off with the paddle. During this time I put Willow away and pull out the spare; this way if I break the one pushing it isn't going to be Willow, the one I cherish. I suppose you have noticed that I have name her, it just came to me so I went with it; something us English people do when we are writing...go with the flow.

With all this being said I know now that I need to get a picture of Willow put up on this blog. I think I will shoot a sweet ass profile pic this year with the aide of Duckie that features me with Willow standing in front of some of the Doon's rapids. It should make for a great pic and people can finally see the beauty of Willow and why I love this paddle.

Well people that don't read, I think I may need to go. The time is late and I am getting sleepy, kind of. Lots to come before, and hopefully after, the trip that is going to take place a few weeks from now.

Until the next time I feel like writing to those that don't read...I will remain Crazy Joe.

The General Buys A TANK!

Well there it is ladies and gentlemen. The twenty-foot behemoth the General is going to pilot down the Bigfork this year's trip.

I was sitting at home this evening when the phone began to ring. Being that it was the land-line I didn't answer it because it is usually some telemarketer trying to get to to buys this or try that. Rather than answer I let the thing ring, telling the kids to do the same. About that time Em gets home. Not being able to handle the phone, she goes and answers it. Low and behold it is the General on the line and he needs to chat with me.

We say our hello's and then he tells me that he isn't going to be able to go canoing this year. At first I thought he was giving me some shit, but something in his voice made him sound sincere. So of course I had to ask why, thinking maybe something came up family related, which has happened before, but no he says because he sold his canoe. Instantly I knew then that he had sold his canoe to my cousin Michael, whom is looking to buy a canoe, meaning that he had got the go ahead from the wife to go and buy an new canoe.

"So what did ya get?" I had to ask.

"I bought a twenty-foot Old Town XL." He said brightly. I could tell he was jazzed as hell and so was I.

"Holy Shit!!" Was about all I could say for a minute. A twenty-foot canoe was going to be something to see. During all the years of this trip everyone has paddled the standard 17 foot canoe, with the exception of Ladies Man. He has taken Grandpa's 15 foot canoe on a few trips. Even though it was only two feet shorter, it made a difference. He glided over all the shit that gave some of us a few problems. However, the General has bought one that is three feet longer. Damn! That is a big canoe. I"m almost as excited as he is to see the thing in action.

Simple physics would have to say that the bigger the canoe the less maneuverability there is going to be. Take the kayak, we have had one on the trip before and it could whip circles around any of the canoes. It was small and maneuverable. Ladies Man did a fine job skimming around in his canoe, which is five feet shorting the the Tank, as I'm going to call the canoe. I mean the pilot is called the General, so the Tank is a fitting name. The 17 foot canoes can be maneuvered with some skill, not totally nimble, but easy to get around if you know what you doing. It is going to be really interesting to see what happens with him this year. But I have been known to be wrong. This thing is probably going to be fast, but the turning is going to be a challenge and trying to pick and choose through some of the rapids is going to be something to see. I do want to be one of the first to go through the rapids so I can watch the General come through in the Tank.

Count on plenty of pictures this year because I'm going to be a fiend since I can slap them up on the blog with no problem. I also want to figure out how to do the slide-show thing so you can count on plenty of pics with the Tank and the rest of the River Runners. I will be back here as needed to keep all informed that don't read and also log in what is going to happen with this trip.

Until next time I will remain...Crazy Joe.

Andy Hugs a Rock

Although the Highway One rapids have given us some of the best crashes, well, at least looking back now those were some spectacular crashes, at the time they sucked monkey shit. Still, one can not leave out the Doons. Not as many crashes have happened there, but some really good ones have. Now for some reason I have really missed seeing some of the best crashes first hand, I always seem to come into the picture just moments late to witness the aftermath.

Like the time Digger came on the trip for the first time. Her and Dishman were right behind Em and myself coming though the first set of the Doons. We both shot the through the chute with ease, like masters of the water we came through, however, this is were experience came in for me and hesitation doomed them. After the chute there had to be a choice made as to where to go because of some rocks and brush in the water. If you went left there was also a smidgen of an tiny island sticking out, it was do-able, but a little tricky. The right was more clear, but then you had to dodge back to the left a little bit so you didn't over shoot the landing for the canoes. Well I took the left side, flow looked faster which would be perfect to glide right into the landing.

When we shot through, I wanted to watch Digger and Dishman come through, see at the time I didn't know he was as close as he was, so I did a quick maneuver and went back up the river so we were facing backwards and I could watch. I glided us up to the shore so all I had to do was take a couple strokes on the left and push the nose back into he current which would drag it down stream, pointing us the right way to slip onto the landing. Well because of this maneuver, Dishman hesitated and thought I had missed the landing, or was in a different spot than he though it was, in any case, about the time we got turned around and I was able to take a gander at Digger and Dishman bobbing up from the water in front of their tipped canoe. Seems Dishman was going to go right, however, when I went right after going left, he altered their course a little too late and caught that rocky snag just right and tipped them over. While funny to talk about around the warm campfire later that evening, it was kind of a pisser at the time. Still, both Digger and Dishman were in good spirits and held grins as they paddled their thrice soaked canoe to the landing. But that wasn't the funniest one I caught second hand.

I believe it was Rev and his buddy Andy that had the best, well, Andy anyway. Rev was the pilot that year while Andy was acting as a navigator. I can't remember if that was one of the first times he had canoed or not, he didn't seem all that adept to the balancing of the canoe.

Well that year we didn't have any major incidents until we hit the Doons. The General went through first, as usual and spun around to get some pictures. The Rev and Andy we the next to come through. I think Ducky and the Mule were next, but I'm not sure. All I know is that I was in the last canoe, with Em I think, but then again I'm not too sure of that either. What I do know is that when we came through the first set, running the shoot like every year, on a nice sized rock sticking of of the water to my right was Andy, giving it a big old bear hug. His finders were locked so tight onto the granite that I think he left claw marks. The Rev and the canoe were nowhere to be found, well they were; they were at the landing already. Poor Andy was stranded! As Em and I cruised by I quickly grabbed my boat cushion and gave it a toss over to him as the fucking idiot wasn't wearing a life vest. Our rules, which were in place at the time but are strickily enforced since, jackets always go on before going through any rough water. It wouldn't take much to get tossed out and smack a rock into la la land. The toss was perfect, but idiot-boy was too attached to his rock to reach out and grab it. I did pick it up as I let it float up to us.

As we pulled into the landing, the General was laughing his ass off, something I would be doing soon as I heard the tale.

Andy and the Rev came flying though the Doons, through the chute, but angled too deeply towards the right. When they came though, with a lot of momentum, they slammed directly into the rock and launched Andy out of the canoe to where he only had one foot left in the canoe. Well the moving current quickly took hold of the canoe and pushed it on down the Bigfork, forcing Andy to pull his foot out of canoe because he had no chance of getting back in. So Andy get intimate with the rock and the Rev floats on down tot he landing. I believe the General has some pics of it, so I will have to get them and put them up.

When we all go to the land and out of our canoes, we had to form a human chain from the shore to get Andy back to land. Without a life jacket and the strong current, it wasn't a good idea for him to just try to swim it. I also think he couldn't swim very well. It was a great trip that couldn't have had a sour taste, but turned out alright.

Until next time I will remain...Crazy Joe.

That's The Way We Crash

There is a basic undisputed truth about canoeing on the river, eventually, at some point if you are a regularly Runner, you are going to crash your canoe and take a dip in the waters. I myself have had two real crashes, both of which I ended up in the water. For one of them I was still sitting in the canoe when the canoe sank and the other I was kind of poured out of the canoe as she listed heavily to the left.

The first time I crashed was on the 1998 trip, Duckie's first year. This was the one and only time I had three people in my canoe. I had my friend Wayne Stebe and a buddy if his, Adam...I don't know his last name anymore. I found out on the first day of the trip that Stebe, the navigator, was color blind. His disability made it hard for him to see the rocks in the water, even they were causing a swirl or ripple because of the swift current. About the only way his goofy eyes could discern an obstacle was if it was sticking out of the water six inches or more or if they was a collection of white foam spewing from the other side. However, once we would get into to some white water, all bets were off because then he couldn't tell what or where shit was laying in our path. Having some skill in the pilot seat, I was able to get us through Rice and Highway One with only one little hang up, a bad choice on my part. I was also able to get us through the first set of the Doons. Nevertheless, it was on the last set of the Doons that we had the accident.

When we set out that morning I wasn't happy with the way the canoe was handling, she seemed to be listing to the right. I think a lot of it came from Adam. His uncoordinated ass couldn't keep himself centered, no matter what he did I always felt like I was compensating his weight with mine. Well we were coming up to the island that splits the Doon. The left side has the big water and rocks, but the best flow and most options for picking a chute to run. The right side is shallower, narrower and really only has one option for going down. Now if the Bigfork is running good, the right is a choice one can take and make; I have done it many times in my life. To be honest, the left side of the island scared the hell out of me, still does to this day, but I conquer that fear once a year.

Well I chose the right that day; figuring we had enough of a flow to make it. Well, the river was lower than I though, add to that Stebe's inability to locate and point our rocks, it was a choice for disaster. We were closet to the end when Stebe told me to go right when I should have went left. I had more room to the left from what I saw, and plenty of space before the island. We hit a rock and it instantly turned us sideways, so I was closest tot he island. This would not have been so bad if Adam and Stebe would have shifted their weight to the left, instead they leaned to the right, which was up-stream. It took about 1.4 seconds for the running water of the Bigfork to fill the canoe and wrap it around the rock we had hit.

After losing my mind for roughly fifteen minutes; during which I threw shit, yelled, pissed, moaned, and cursed everyone and everything on the Earth...I had some anger issues, we realized the canoe had to be unloaded and then pulled from the river. We did this and found that we could repair it enough to complete the trip; although she really pulled to the left after that. Oh, and we plugged a hole with red hanker chef.

The second time I crashed my canoe was on the Highway One rapids. This was the year of the fire. Well, one of the big problems of that trip was the booze. We were drinking before we had gotten on the water that day, which happened to be 9:00 AM. We polished off a good deal of Jag within the first five or six miles. Toss in there a shit-load of brewskis on top of that.

When the fire started, well I kept drinking. I was on a good drunk and wasn't about to lose if just because of some silly old fire. I knew we were fucked one way or another so I just kept on sipping the beers. If you have read that story you will know we got back on the river with our canoe's not packed the best. Sure things were tied in, but the packing was in a hurry and things were not centered the way they are supposed to be.

We planned on making it to the Busti site to camp that evening. We were doing alright until we got to the Highway One rapids. Once there we took turns, as we always do, shooting the rapids. When it came to our turn we got a little too close to the right side as Em and I approached the bridge. We came up on this rock that was slanted to the left. We ran up on it, and my tip, drunk ass was poured right out of the canoe, as was Em, and into the super cool water's of the Bigfork.

Once again this incident was followed by a big blow-out by me. I can be such and ass in times of strife. I hope I'm getting better. I don't want to be know for as being an ass. Anyway, those are the only two times I have taken a swim in the river while going down rapids in the canoe. I hope it is a long time until I repeat the process, but I will always take whatever the River has to offer me.

Highway One has always been the Bitch of the rapids. Of all the ones that we shoot, I have felt they are the worst, even more bad-ass than the Doons. The Doons may look more intimidatimg, but they always have good chutes...to the left...than Highway One. I know Digger and Dishman had trouble on Highway One, well they had problems at every set we hit. For some reason, Dishman couldn't figure out that you can't go down rapids sideways. It just doesn't work. I think Digger and Dishman hold the record for the most crashes in a year or by a couple. However, they do not hold the honor of the best crash ever in the history of the River Runners. That honor is bestowed upon the only father/son combination we have had on the trip.

I think we were doing the Bigfork to the North Busti road run, the same we are doing this year. Grandpa and Ladies Man were in a borrowed canoe. A red rubber Coleman canoe with mesh seats and two cross-bars in the middle for stability. They had made it thought the Rice rapids without incident. However, Highway One was a different story. Like man a canoeists before them, they succumbed to the dangers of the water.

Now I first want to say that I did not see this happen first hand, however, I do have Em as an eye witness of the event. I had turned around for some reason, but she watched the entire event unfold.

We came around the bend in the river and the General and his partner, Dishman, went through first; next came Grandpa and Ladies Man. Em and I were behind them, Mule and Mini-Hulk were behind us...and so was Ducky and Shawn. Em and I were going to take the same route that Grandpa and Ladies Man took, however, during those few minutes that I looked back to say something to someone, they hit a rock. Now I must remind you that they were in a rubber canoe with mesh seats, this is an important aspect to the crash.

They entered the rapids with some speed, which is what you want so you have more control over the canoe and the direction she takes, steering with speed is easier than without. They came upon this rock and hit it head on with a lot of fucking force. They hit so hard that the entire canoe buckled but didn't break. Instead the canoe snapped back to her original shape, thus turning the mesh seats into catapults. Grandpa was launched out one side of the canoe and Ladies Man the other side.

Em flipped out the moment it happened...I can't blame her because that was her Dad and bro being launched from their canoe like on ejector seats. It didn't take us long to get up on them because the current was strong that year. She was screaming for me to stop and I was yelling that we couldn't. Once committed to the rapids they only two ways you stop is if you crash or get hung up and the river the too high for us to get hung up. When all was said and done they didn't get a drop of water in the canoe, except for what dripped in after they got back into their seats.

I wished I could have that crash on tape. Ten grand baby from AFV, but oh well, maybe some other time.

Until next time I will remain...Crazy Joe.

While I'm Right Behind You Thrustin'

You fucking pervert. I bet the only reason you are reading this is because of the title. I bet you were looking for some obscene material to get your jollies off...sorry this is about the River Runners, not some soft, or hard, core porn. However, if one wants to get technical, there has been a lot of sex on the river by various members of the crew...hehe. I really could get into some of the stories, but I don't think that is right for this blog at the moment. I suppose when I get really hard up for material I will throw something in about some of the sexual excursions, but until then all you pervs are going to have to wait. Hold on a minute, someone is going to have to actually read this blog for there to be pervs around, huh, I guess I could write some of those stories. I mean, I will be the only one to read it. It amazes me that out of all the times Ducky and I have but this address on Facebook, no one, and I mean no one has taken the time to come here and read what I have to offer. It dig into someone like a pick-axe being driven into the heart of something so precious to me and those I love. Ok, now I'm rambling about God knows what. I noticed recently when reading some of my last few posts that this blog is not separating my paragraphs. Sorry to all those reading, or not reading, the blog. I am and English teacher for the love of Pete, I know how to write a paragraph and distinguish it from the rest of the paragraphs, so I do apologize, it truly is unintentional. As I was saying yesterday in the blog we plan to make it to the Busti Camp Site for our first evening on the river. It is about fifteen miles and we can do it if we do things right and put the miles on before we hook up. In all truth, six weeks from tonight I hope to be chilling by the fire right now with a frothy one in my hand, some good tunes on the radio and good company to surround myself with. I'm not sure about the other River Runners, but this trip is important to me in more ways than one. The last time we did this run we had some major problems, well not only the group, but myself as well. Something about Highway One has always scared the shit out of me. For some reason those rapids are tougher than the Doons, even thought they are smaller. Highway One has cause me more problems...well I shouldn't just say me, I should say the rest of the crew. A lot of people have had problems, even the General when he lost his paddle and had to use his landing net to get through the rapids. Or the time Grandpa and Ladies Man had an incident. I will write about that story tomorrow or sometime in the near future. There was the crash with Ducky and Beans, the one where Dishman road the cooler down the rapids...wish I could have gotten that on camera. I have gotten hung up a couple of times there, and dumped once really bad, the same year as the fire. I'm also pretty sure Dishman and Digger dumped on her inaugural year of the trip. The one where she was the FNG. If I'm not mistaken, Ducky has had her share of mishaps on the part of the river also, with various people. I think out of all that have gone on the trip, Ducky has had the most partners. I almost think she has canoed with just about everyone that has gone on the trip, except for Em and Mini-Hulk. Well, I suppose there are a few more than that but that is beside the point. Oh, as long as I'm on the subject of records, we are still looking for a Grandma to come on the trip. Haven't had one of those. So like I was saying, if all goes well, then we will make it to Busti, and conquer the stretch of the river that has given us the most heartache along with some killer memories. The next morning, when we wake, stoke the fire and brew that first pot of coffee that wakes the passed out Runners like revely, we will grub out, pack the gear and the empty cans; then we will set out on the mighty Bigfork once again, having only seven miles to go that day. I would like to get on the river that morning, maybe paddle a mile or so and then hook up until we have to separate for the Doons, or maybe to pee. When we get to the Doons, we have a decision to make; actually we should make it before we get there. We need to decide if we are going to stay at the start of the Doons, where we have built a site and camped twice, or if we should stop in the middle and camp on the Fucking Hill. Without the Mule to haul shit means we are going to have to do a whole lot more walking up and down the hill. However, Ducking and Shawn have been really working out, so maybe they will be the ones to do most of the work...lol...one can only wish. Either way, we are going to be crashing at the Doons so I don't care where we stay...as long as we stay. This year I'm going to leave something at the Doons for all the people that make it there during the year to read and sign. I have an extra map of the river in my possession. I'm going to leave it someplace at the camp site on top of the hill, triple bagged, with a black sharpie on in it. I'm going to also leave a letter about who we are and why we do this trip every year. I'm going to ask that the people that read letter sign the map and leave it in the same place I left it so when we return the following year we can collect it and see who has all been there. It is going to take a leap of faith that it will make it 365 days without some fucking asshole burning the SOB like some kind of tool, however, it will be neat if it survives to see who all makes the run every year and if they would be interested in being a River Runner. We are always looking for new recruits. Something else that is going to happen on this trip is that Ducky and I are going to go and dig up our buried bottle of Whiskey. She is going to be going to Ireland this year, on her Honeymoon...I'm so happy and jealous at the same time, however, I want her to bring back a bottle from the Jameson distillery we can bury and enjoy every year until it is gone...Shawn you can join in also if we can call you Spuds. But we are going to go and get the bottle this year, at least dig that fucker up and take a horn. I want to keep it there until it is empty...or until we can no longer do the trip. I would actually like to polish it off when my youngest kid is old enough to take that last horn with me...coming full circle. Speaking of kids, I can't wait until I can pass this tradition along to the fruit of my loins. In all actuality, Wade should be able to go on the trip this year. I took my first ride on the river when I was ten years old, the age Wade is now, but I don't think this is the type of trip for him, not yet anyways. I do want to take my kids on the river, just not through any rapids yet; I'm too scared that they may fall out or something. Nevertheless, I'm going to talk with the General this year and see if he wants to take a trip down the river with Renny and Logan this year. Not through any tough parts of the river, no rapids, but maybe just a trip from the Busti bridge to his land or something. A trip that we can take them on to teach them a little about the river and camping. Two days, two days we are going to be spending at the Doons this year. Besides the map thing I want to do something that is going to leave a lasting impact on the site. We need to do something that is going to make it great...whether he DNR likes it or not. Maybe we should put in some kind of horseshoe pit or something. Leave something there for those that make it to the site to enjoy. I figure if we leave something like that there, people will forever remember The River Runners. I'm not sure what else I want to say for this entry. I pray the weather holds well, a little rain would be ok, however, none would be better. Hell, even if we have rain the whole time, it will be an adventure to remember. It would not be the first time we would have had to deal with rain. Many a trips have had a lot of rain on them, makes things a little soggier, but we get by. Makes the fire that much cozier. The one thing that I really don't want is a lot of heat. There have been a few trips where the sun just beat down on us and almost made it miserable. Tough to get into the party mood when you're hung over and uncomfortably warm. As we draw closer to the launch I will be adding more stuff here. Next I'm going to write about a few of the crashes. Until next time I will remain...Crazy Joe.

This years plan

Truth be told I'm really thinking hard for things to write about on the blog. There is so much to write about, but yet sometimes nothing at all, ideas, thoughts, actions, events...damn where to begin, what to give attention to, tough man, really really tough. Yet tonight I feel I want to write about this years plan...so far at least. Like always I'm going to have to have to tweak the plan as we approach launch time. Huh, as of writing we are down to 42 days, 12 hours and 11 minutes until launch time. Just the anticipation alone is enough to drve me mad. I hate the trip yet love it, but that is for a later entry. The plan this year, which would be sweet if it could happen this way, would be for the General and I to start our on Dora lake on Wednesday and trek twenty miles down river to the Little Minnow site and spend the night. We would then proceed the next day to Bigfork which would only be a trek of twelve miles, where we would spend the night there and wait for the rest of the River Runners to show up for the next mornings launch, which would be at 9:00 AM sharp. We have done it before, we will do it again. Well actually we have been able to make it most of the years we haven't had to wait for Jeremy. More than likely though I won't be able to get away for that long from Em and the kids, so it will probably look like this. Ducky, Digger, Em, and who ever else is going to go on the trip except for the General, Brother John and Mikey, will show up on Thursday at the cabin and start to get gear ready for the trip. We will pack, unpack and repack to make sure our shit is sharp. I will get in touch with the General and make any last minute arrangements that may need to be made. The General, being the go-to-man, will have what we need stashed somewhere at his cabin. After a good meal, a couple of brews, we will hit the hay for an early wake up, 6:00 AM to be precise, ready to start the day. I want us to meet in Bigfork at the landing by 7:00 AM to get all the gear and canoes unloaded, then while the pro's from each canoe stay and load, Ducky and the rest take the trucks back to my mom and dads house. We wil have arranged for them to drop off the General's truck with the big trailer at our pull out spot on the North Busti road. With any luck by the time the truck-runners make it back, we will have the canoes loaded and ready to hit the water. However, I think this year if we feel something is wrong with a load, it should be fixed right away. That may make the diffence between a flip or a safe run to the campsite. Once on the Bigfork we will have to do some paddlling right away so we can make a little time down the river. I'm not saying we paddle like it is a race, I say we get on the river and make some miles so we don't have to push ourselves later in the afternoon to make it to the site at a decent time. That has happened in the past, happened three years ago when we burned the field. In fact it has been that long since we made this run. Our plan that year was to go from Bigfork to the Busti Campsite, which is just down the river past the Highway One rapids. It is a fifteen mile run, not that bad if you make some time, but if you time up into the barge, things slow down a little and before you know it, time is late, you're hungry and there are still four miles to go. But if we make tracks this year at first, we can float some later. Pending we get through the highway one rapids with no problem, we will camp at Busti. Shit people, I'm getting beat, so I am going to hit the hay. I will add tomorrow or sometime this weekend. Until then I will remain Crazy Joe.

The River Hath POPPED!

A couple of hours ago the Bigfork River decided to open up for the season. I think this may have one of the bigger releases in the last few years. She seemed to have crested at around 13 feet with a discharge of over 10000 cubic feet per second. So one could say she is flowing like a mother fucker...I would love to see what the Doons look like right now. I bet they are just solid white from beginning to end. Man oh man do I want to have a good flow this year for the trip...everything goes so much smoother. I would be able to die a happy man if I lived to go on another trip like the one Ducky and I did that one year with a full group to share the awesome fucking ride. Next weekend I'm going to go and get some pics of the highway One rapids and maybe Little American. Wish I could go there tomorrow, but alas i have to work so that will be a no go. Maybe I could go this weekend and get some for the blog and my Facebook page, I will have to see if time allows. Few things are more beautiful that a rageing river in all it's bubbling, frothing powerful glory. The rumbling thunder of the flow is hypnotic and soothing like a hot drink on a cold winter's night. I am so sorry people, I thought I was going to have more energy to write tonight, but I'm fucking drained. I will get back sometime within the next few days to write about something from the trip. If any of you River Runner's think of an idea, please don't be afraid to drop a few jag bombs. Until then I will remain...Crazy Joe

This could be the year of the FNG

Here I go again, writing on the blog for those that don't read...lol...kiss my ass. I have been in touch iwth Ducky and the General in the last few days and have learned a little about how this year's trip is shaping up. The returning River Runners are going to be the General, Ducky, Digger and myself (of course). I guess the Mule and Mini-Hulk are not going to be in the mix this year. They have some matters to attend to this spring that can't be let up on until it is finished. They are going to be missed, especially the Mule when we have to haul the shit up the Fucking Hill at the Doons. Nevertheless, we hope to see them back next year for trip Seventeen. I didn't include Em in the list because with her work schedule, it is hard to say if she is going to be able to get the time off for the trip. I hope she is able to get the days off because we are going to need all the experience we can get on the trip, especially if we have the water level that I'm guessing, which in all truth may be better for the FNG's because the Bigfork is a lot easier to navigate when she is up.

This brings me to the point I was attempting to make with the title, the Year of the Rookie. The General said that The Rev is out which also means Doc isn't going to make it either. This is shitty because I was begining to like Doc. He was a good man to have around and didn't mind getting himself a little dirty, plus he hauled firewood like a sonofabitch. However, some old faces may be entering back into the mix, Brother John and his song Michael, whom is going to need a nickname if he wants to go on this trip. John has made three trips, maybe four I'm not for sure. He did make the first two, I know that and then one after that for sure, but the fourth is a little hazy. Michael has made two trips before, I think anyway, but never three, so he kind of knows the routine, however, he is going to have to pay his dues, but not Brother John. He will have the Grandfather Rule enacted...even though he isn't a grandpa yet, I don't think...anyway to the point, he was one of the original River Runners and he will be the oldest on the trip, this will automatically exempt him from a good portion of the work. Fuck now that I think about it he may almost be fifty, shit cause I know the General is 47 and Brother John is older by a few years. Oh how the time flys. When I spoke with Ducky and found out the Mule and Mini-Hulk were out this year she also said she may have and FNG for the trip. One of her friends from work has express interest in coming on the trip and maybe her husband if he can get the time off work. Her friend also has to secure the time off, but from the way Ducky is talking it looks to be a major possibility. The last time I spoke with Digger she said that her hunny, Mark, at least I think that is his name, has yet to get it off and may not, however, she said not to count him out just yet. If that is the case then it will be down to seven people. I have not forgotten about Shawn this year, he is going to try to become one of the regular River Runners, but in order to do that you have to go on more than one trip. Two cosecutivley or a total of three works in my book. I'm trying to think of anyone else that could go on this trip, because the more we have more fun we have on the trip. I was hoping to have at least ten so we could have five canoes in the party, that makes for one hell-of-a-barge when tied together and floating down the river. If all that say they want to come though, and make it, we may have as many as eleven this year, which may mean someone might get to take the kayak for a cruse this year...how fucking sweet is that. We would have Em and myself, Ducky and Shawn, Brother John and Michael, Digger and Mark, Spitfire (Ducky's friend) and her hubby, last but not least, the General. Man that would be a kickass crew for the year, but like I said earlier, a lot of those people are not a for sure if at all except for the main five...that includes Shawn. Ok people, it is getting late and I'm dog tired. Have been doing a lot of writing latley, it is the only way I'm going to get good enough to do something with this newfound passion. Still, I'm loving this site and plan on keeping the log going until I can no longer canoe or type...by then I should have a shit-load of entries...many, many, many moons from now. The long and short of it that planning needs to begin so we can figure in all that needs to go into the planning for we don't like to do this trip halfway, it is balls to the wall or nothing. I just can't wait to get onto the river and enjoy some peace and adrenalin pumping in my veins. Pray the river stays up and so do our canoes...lol...and say a special one for the FNG's because if we get the white water, they may need to get some new shorts. Untl next time I will remain...Crazy Joe.

A Camp to Call Home

Now as anyone that has been reading this, which I take as no one since I have yet to see a response from anyone on any of the posts. That is OK, this is on the web and is going to live forever, well as long as the net is around and some alien race doesn't descend from the heavens and enslave us all because they can. I have been trying to think of something to put on here. I have given a lot of information about our camping style and what we pack into our tiny seventeen foot canoes, and for those that don't know we but ten pounds of shit into a five pound bag. Well tonight I have decided to talk about some of the camps we have made over the years. Most of the time on the trip we stay at one of the designated camping sites that the DNR maintains throughout the year. Many a nights we have camped at the Rice site, the Busti site, the Muldoons, of course, Little American. Last summer the General and I stayed at Harrison and Little Minnow for the first times in our lives. However, there have been times when the site we wanted to stay at was taken or we were on the river and decided just to pull in a make camp. In some ways they are my favorite places to camp. Something happens when we take and average spot along the river, one that is suitable to build a site at and make it into a home. We do the tarp rain fly so we have a place to cook and/or chit chat if it happens to rain on us. We make a pit for the fire, well usually, except for that time the General burned the field. If you haven't read that, go back now and read it. We will then clear spots for tents and just make camp. We go from the ordinary to a place we can call home for a night. For the last two years we have camped at Little American for two nights, and both time when we got there some other people had laid claim to the regular good spot for the evenings which meant we had to make our own. No stranger to this process we looked around the area and found a place that was decent for our needs. Of course we had to cut a few trees, well brush actually, to make room for the tents, nevertheless, we created something unique and beautiful. The first time was when we created the site and did a majority of the clearing of brush. There was one particular spot in the area that had this long hump that was once a log, but now was covered with moss and fungus, breaking it back down into dirt, where we made the cooking area. It wasn't centered under the rain fly, but right on the edge, but still protected from the rain. Digger, well this is when she got her name because she we designated as the pit digger for the fire. Rev got most of the wood that time and plenty was available. We cleared out the brush around the fire pit for our chairs. I don't have any pictures of that site right now, but I'm going to work on that. If any Runners read this post a pic of the site so the people that don't read this can have a look at what it looks like. When we returned last year it was overgrown a little, but not too bad. It looked as if no one else had used the site since we built it and to be honest, we did such a stellar job at cleaning up the place when we left that if the fire pit hadn't been there you would have never known a group of twelve people camped and partied there like rock stars for two evenings. We had remembered the lay out from last year and everyone pitched their tents where they had the previous year, it was a grand thing to see. It was on the one and only trip that Ducky's friend Angela came on the trip, coincidentally it was Ducky's first trip also. It was also the first trip in which I crashed the canoe and put a nice dent in it, thank you very much Adam and Stebe. Anyway we were going all the way to highway six that year, this was the first time we had done that. We were looking for the Hudson Camp Site, but never found it. It was getting close dark, by that I mean we had about an hour of sun left, so we knew that we had to stop soon a make camp, however, there was no where to do it. The river had gotten really curvy so we could see very far down the river to look for a spot, so we kept saying around this bend, around this bend we will find a place to camp. Yet each time we rounded the bend it was either too brushy, too low and swampy, too many trees, or the bank was too high. So on and on we went look for something that wold make for a suitable place to camp, but nothing presented itself. Finally we had to stop. We came upon a nice break in the trees with plenty of room for tents and a camp fire, nevertheless we did have a problem, we had a four foot vertical hill to get up to get to the site. We were down to about a half hour of good light before the setting sun got too low and the tree's shade darkened things up real good. I don't know how many people have done it, but setting up a camp in the dark sucks because things get lost easy and there is always something under you tent that fucks with your good nights sleep. Then there is the whole tripping thing and trying to get wood in the dark is one of the shittiest jobs out there, almost as bad as dishes. Needless to say we were pressed for time, had to get the gear from the canoes and do it all the while trying to negotiate this miserable fucking hill. Now anyone that knows anything knows that to get our canoes up on top of the hill we needed to unload them. There was now way we were going to get them out of the water with all the shit in them unless we had a crane with a web basket that could lift them out while supporting the weight. In order to do this, someone had to climb up the hill to get stuff handed to them, that was the Rev and Adam, and someone had to get out of their canoe and stand in the river to unload the gear, handing it to the person on the top of the hill, that was Ducky and Angela. There was no way on God's good Earth I was going to get into the chilly fucking water again. I had already be wet once that day when we crashed, so I was happy to stay nice and dry. Once I helped hand the gear from my canoe to the shore Brother John, one of the early Runners, got out and then I did. We pulled the canoe up on shore and I set about getting a spot ready for the fire so the people in the water had a place to warm up when they got out. By the time they got the last canoe out of the water I had a roaring fire going and chairs set up for all the soggy Runners. I had line strung up in the trees for them to hang their wet clothes on, plus my tent was pitched for them to change in so they could warm up as quick as possible. Within an hour of making the decision, we had a beautiful site for camping; the fire was roaring, the grub was in the process of being prepped, almost all the tents were pitched and some of us were sipping on some suds talking about what a bitch that fucking hill was. We had a good time at that site and had it not been for that shitty hill, it would be a nice place to camp at again. The real kicker came the next day when we got back on the river and found that just around the next bend was an even better place to camp with absolutely no hill to climb up. We got a good laugh but still held no regrets over the place we picked, that is except for Angela...she lost her toe ring in the water while helping with the gear. Once again the river laid claim to something. Well I'm going to get going. Catch ya all on the flip side. Until then I will remain...Crazy Joe.

Take Me Down to Paradise City

Writing has been boiling in my blood for a long time, I only regret that it has taken me so long to realize that I have this passion for the word and just fucking love putting things down for people to read; even though no one reads this shit but me...fuck me. Talked with Ducky tonight and she said the Mule and Mini-Hulk may not make it this year, which is shitty because that means the FNG's have twice as much shit to haul up the Fucking-Hill. I will still my obligator three or four trips...pretty much brining up my tent and other personal gear. The group shit is reserved for those that are new. Yeah I know I may seem like a lazy bastard, but I have made that trip up and down that hill more times than anyone else, so I figure I have paid my dues. One thing I have been thinking about is the slides that Ducky has done on this blog. I think they are really cool and do an ok job at chronicleing the trips, but we need more from some of the trips that have happened since the start of this blog. Now that I have high speed internet I'm going to be a picture freak and shot a lot of shots this year so I have a selection of six hundred fucking photos to choose from. I'm also going to give my email to all the people and have them send me twenty of their fav pics that they take. I would assign this task to Ducky since she is suppose to be the resident photographer but she is really busy this year with "WEDDING PLANS" to be bothered with this piddly details. That is ok Ducky because we wish you and Shawn AKA Spuds the best. I want to do something a little different this year on the trip, but I don't know what I should, or the group should do. I mean this is going to be the sixteenth year so I want to start to do something that is a little different. I want to be able to leave something for other people that canoe this river to see, to know, to remember the River Runners. I would like to leave some kind of a ledger or something for people to sign or something so when we make it back the following year we can see who was all there, or the General and I could come back in the fall to collect what we left to see who has all been there. I just need to figure out how to do it so the ledger can be safe from the elements. That is something I'm gong to have to ponder and figure out. I will post on Facebook and here when I come to a solution. I suppose whoever is reading this is wondering about he title of this entry. Well do me the Paradise City is the great outdoors. The world in which we live. Our planet and all she has to offer us in the way of adventure and experience. She is a deadly beauty with no remorse, however for the few that choose to tame her, she can be a sultry mistress. The key is to never lose the element of respect for what she can do in the blink of an eye. We found that our first hand the time we set that field a-blaze. We took one of the most basic elements of survival, the flame of fire, and forgot our respect for her and she turned on us with a vengence. We were very lucky she didn't take any lives and all that was lost was a few small trees and a field full of dead grass. On a side note, this trip is going to be interesting this year because it will be the first one that we go past the spot we burned since we burned her. I think we have been a little gun shy to check it out or tackle that part of the river since it happened. Nevertheless, I can't wait to see the Doons again. That magical place of my youth that holds so many of my favorite memories of my past. Paradise City! We are going to leave a plaque this year with all of our names on it and the web address for this site. The General and I left some last fall, but no one has checked this blog out so I'm guessing no one has found them yet, at least that is what I hope. What I want is for people to learn about this trip, comment on the blog and/or join the trip every year. It has been a proven fact my me and a few others, the more people we have on this trip the funner it becomes. I would love to see ten canoes in the river one time and a shitload of people have a grand old time just relaxing on the river. Not everyone can be a River Runner, but we do have a few openings. What I would like to do is get eveyone together that has done this trip in that past for the twentith trip, well barring one person because there would be the risk of a drowing, but I won't go into that. That would be so cool, but I doubt I could get everyone back together for a trip like that, however, it would be epic. That may have to be something I try to put into the works. And hell, we would have such a shit load of FNG's, ther regular Runners wouldn't have to do shit. Damn it is getting late and I have some other things to do. I hate leaving becuase I have discovered the JOY of writing so much that it is something I want to do full time as long as the ideas keep coming...there is a lot to write about...I just have to keep my mind open and digest what I see to turn into a story or essay of what I think and/or feel. There is more power in the written word than any other weapon or natural force in the world. Words touch, inspire and change people; sometimes it is for the better and sometimes for the worst, but the undisputed fact remains...words change people's way of thought. I want to get in on that shit. Maybe one one person reads what I write, that is ok, as long as I have an affect on that person then it is all worth it. Until next time I will remain...Crazy Joe...LOVE PEACE AND HAIR-GREASE...love ya all.

Still a no go on the river flow, but plenty of info on the FNG.

Well lady luck was with us once again today, the mighty Bigfork is still plugged with ice, but with this warm weather it is going to be a sure bet it isn'g going to last all that long. I expect she is going to pop sometime within the next four days. We have some warm weather ahead and the forecast is calling for rain on Saturday, which will help the ice go even faster. I think the lakes still have a few weeks left, but I'm sure some bays are opening up here and there. That doesn't matter to me, what matters is the Bigfrok holding out for as long as it can so we have a lot of water this year. We got another FNG coming this year, hmmm...that has me thinking...I wonder how many years we have had that has a FNG on the trip? Now that is a good question. This is going to be the sixteenth year of the trip, which is stellar in itself. I can't fucking believe we are approaching twenty, but I digress. But to think back on all the trips and try to remember what years had an FNG. First I think I should define what an FNG is. An FNG is an acronym for Fucking New Guy/Girl. This is a person who is on the Bigfork River for the first time in their lives. The role of the FNG is to do all the shit jobs, the crap jobs, the jobs that no one else either doesn't want to do or has laid claim to some other job. Take me for example, being the heart and soul of the trip I have taken the job of Camp Cook. I have a couple of mean recipies that some claim is the only reason they come on the trip. That is probably streching the truth a tad, but I tell ya, anyone that has sampled my River Spuds will testify they are the best damn potatos they have ever had. Another example would be The Mule. The Mule has taken it upon herself to be the one that carries most of the shit up the Fucking-Hill at the Doons. She claimed it and no one has fought her for it. It is a win win situation. However, the FNG is also given the task of hauling the rest of the shit up the Fucking-Hill that The Mule doesn't get. The FNG has to be the one that goes out and gets the firewood for the evening. The FNG has to endure tremendous amounts of shit being slung at them simply for being the FNG. However there is one job, one that is the worst job of all, one that people have gotten into arguments over who has to carry out the chore...and that job is the dishes. For awhile there we had Dishman coming. He didn't mind doing the dishes hence the nickname Dishman. But he may not be coming on the trip again for awhile. I won't go into that though. Back to the FNG. Now since Dishman has been gone, we have been passing the dish-washing job onto the FNG. This year's lucky winner is...Mark, Digger's new man. I don't know his last name but that doesn't matter. What matters is that we are going to have someone along this year to do the fucking dishes. Plus haul shit up the hill. Plus get firewood. The truth be told, we all pitch in with many of these jobs, even the dishes. Even still the General and I tend to take it a little easier than most because we get to claim the grandfather rule. Now the way I see it there have only been four guys on the Memorial Weekend Canoe trip that didn't qualify as an FNG. They are, Me, Jake, Stuball, and Pinner. For me, I have been canoeing on the river for many years before I started this tradition, same goes for Jake. The only reason Jake wasn't an FNG was becaue he was friends with Stuball and Pinner. Both of which lived on the river most of their lives and spent a lot of time canoeing, boating or kayaking. Anyway, we are the original River Runners, even though I'm the only one left, so none of us were FNGs. We just had a different perspective back then than I do now. The General made the trip the second and fourth year; there were also a few years in there where he miss also for one reason or another, however, he has made the second most trips next to me. After that would be Ducky, she hasn't missed one since she started and won't unless she is too prego...hehe. After her would come the Mule and Mini-Hulk for seniority, from there it is kind of a blur. The Rev is up there in years, and Dishman was. Digger is climbing and Shawn is going to make a second attempt, so he is a Kinda-FNG. He came once, but has missed the last five. He will have some shit to do this year, however, I have to admire a guy that loved my River Spuds so much that next morning he was picking the dead bugs out and/or eating around them with a fork. Glad to have him back. Doc will be making his second trip this year, so he will be one of the crew and mabye even earn his shirt...lol. Mine's pink! LMAO Ah shit I think that is a sign that I'm getting a little punchy and it is time to go to bed. I think next time I will have to write about some of the funny things FNG's have done on their initial trip. Untile then I will remaing...Crazy Joe

First River Check of the Year

Hello all, ok who am I kidding, I'm the only motherfucker that comes to this site, oh well, things could be worse. You know for some damn reason I feel like drinking a beer every time I blog on this site, could it be I have a problem? Or maybe this is a subconscious thing because the canoe trip and booze are so closely related. I'm really looking forward to this year, but that is just like every year, even still, I get so excited because I don't know what kind of adventure we are going to have this year. Rain or shine? Windy or calm? Tips or success? Who knows? One this is certain, it should be a heck of a ride. Like I said earlier, we are going to take the old run from years past. Fifteen miles day one, seven day two and one point five on the last morning. The Bigfork landing down to the North Busti road. One night at Busti Camp Site and two and the Doons. Going to get me some of that buried bottle this year I grantee...or how ever the hell you spell it. I do keep praying for water like Ducky and I had that one year. Hmmm...reminds me, I should check back and see if I have catalogued that trip yet in the blog. I know I have referred to it many times, but have I actually read it? To all the River Runners that read this, go back and check, then let me know what you find. I'm still debating if we should camp at the top of the Doons or where we did last time at the start of them, however, if the water is that high again, we will have to camp at the top...damn I hope it happens. Well like the title of this entry says, I checked the river level today, still iced over. A friend of mine said that the Rice river is open and the Bigfork could pop any day now. So as the leader of the pack, I will watch over the river levels from now until the day of departure. I will make sure all is good for me and my crew. It is going to be nice to get back to the Doons this year. I miss seeing that place, even if it is only one time a year. It is like visiting that great friend from your past, the one you grew up with and formed a special bond together. There is something magical about seeing those old landmarks that I first noticed twenty six years ago when I took my first adventure on those waters and fell in love for the first time in my life. In a couple of years I'm going to bring my little ones down the river for their first time, I hope they find the adventure as grand as I did back when I was their age. Till next time I will remain...Crazy Joe

The Shit We Lost

Man I fucking hate warm whiskey! Talk about a punch to the gut. So how the hell are all of you that don't take to time to read this? I suppose you have stuff that is more suiting to your time, but this is some classinc shit and is worth a looking.

The Bigfork is a wonderful beauty, like a woman she can give great pleasure of unbelieveable pain, leave you with a smile and a feeling of triumph or soaking with a bad attitude. She has given some of the best memories of my life and some of the toughest lessons I have learned in life. One of those lessons is the unfailable truth that no matter how careful we are, how well we tie our gear into our canoe's, how much caution we take to make sure all our shit is secure, the Bigfork alwasys finds a way to claim something every year.

Ok, it isn't true that we have ALWAYS made sure our stuff is secure, those early years were such a joke compared to what the trip has evolved into these days. I know we lost something on the first year, but that has been so long ago that I can not recall what it was. Lets just say we lost a beer. That is also a given on our trip that a beer will be lost to the river being passed to another person via canoe paddle, but I'm not talking about brews, I'm talking about gear. Every canoe loses at least one beer a trip to a tip-over, not canoe but the brew inside the canoe.

I do recall what was lost on the second trip of the traditon. I was running with Jake that year as my navigator, and as I have said, the old days were power drinking days, drunk before we hit the water until the morning of the get off, which is usually because we had nothing left to imbibe. So it was the last day of the trip and we were pulling into the Muldoon landing to dock the canoes for the evening. This is the place that is located at the base of the "Fucking-Hill".

Anyway, the General was already there having gone through first. I can't remember if Stewball was behind us or already at shore, but it doesn't matter, he isn't a part of this tale. Jake and I were fucking wham bam basted by the time we got to the doons. I think between the two of us we had polished off a case of beer and a half dozen shots of some booze. Either whiskey or vodka. Needless to say we were feeling zero pain, with smiles hanging over the sides of the canoe.

We shot the first set of the Doons with no problem, we were fucking pros, at least in our minds. Jake would spot the rocks and I would manuver us around with ease. We had some good current that year. So we come up to the shore, ease into it and come in smoothly. The General grabs the front and steadies it so Jake can get out. Once he does, the General steps back to let Jake take over, big mistake. I tell Jake to pull me up so I can get up and crawl over the gear to land and help pull the canoe up. Well this is where things go bad. Good old Jake grabs the front of the canoe and lifts it up to his chest. Now picture a canoe as the lever on a fulcrum. He lifts the front and the back sinks, and sinks fast. Before I know what the hell is going on, I'm sitting in the fucking river, almost up to my arm-pits.

It took a moment for the situation to sink into my drunken skull. And I thought, "That son of a bitch just dumped me in the fucking river...mother fucker." About that time I realized that I could get up and walk to the shore since I was soaking fucking wet. I get up and our of the canoe, and at the moment I realize that my lantern, or rather my PARENT'S lanter had floated out of the canoe and was threatening to sink into the murky depths. I made a few clumsy attempts at retreiving it, but those were just pipe dreams, shots in the dark...and the lantern drifted into oblivian. Claimed by the Bigfork.

Well the General started to laugh as Jake started to apologize. I was so fucked up that I didn't care either way. I knew the folks would be pissed, but I wouldn't have to deal with that for another 36 hours, so I was golden.

I think it was the following year that I lost a nifty little portable radio on a simular incident, however, I didn't get dunked into the river, I believe I was pretty sober when it happened. We were pulling the canoe from the river and I forgot to secure it or put it away...and blub...blub...blub it went. Playing "Living After Midnight" as she sank.

Well folks, it is getting a little late, so I must say goodnight. I will finish this topic with all the memories I can muster...

Until then I will forever remain....Crazy Joe.

The Beauty of Tradition

I'm going to start this entry off by being honest. I have recently gotten into a little bit of a writing mode in my life where I'm fascinated by the written word and all the fantastical power that is contained within them. I'm not going to go into some big spiel about this or that when it comes to writing, nevertheless, I have been racking my brain on things to say about this trip. Sixteen years man, a lot of shit has happened. Fights, fucking, friendship, adventure, and the occasional injury or forest fire are much of what has taken place on the river. I have reached a point, however, where I'm not sure as to what I should write. I have several factors that are working against me, number one is time. Like I tell my students, "Time waits for no man", meaning as the days and years pass, I'm going to forget this that and the other when it comes to remembering all the fucking adventures we have had. Number two, booze. For most of the years of this trip I have not been in a complete drunken stupor, but as I look back on all the trips, they sometimes tend to blend like a kaleidoscope to where I'm not sure what happened when or even the how. Last of all there is the fact that not everything that happens is worthy of the written word. For sure there is something that happens every year that is new and exciting, but as I reflect, I find it tough to come up with material to write about. It would be nice to get together with the crew and discuss this trip with a little bit of detail so I can take notes and reference it when I become low on ideas. So for all the River Runners that read this, which better be all of you cocksuckers, I would hope that you could share with me, or add it to the blog yourself, some ideas to share with whoever. This brings me to the topic of tradition.

This trip was started on a whim and has since transformed into something that has become meaningful to a lot of people. Every year there is a buzz that begins sometime in February and continues to grow like a pregnant woman until the birth of that year's trip. It sneaks up and happens so fast that if we blink, it is gone and we can only put in our time to wait twelve months to give birth again. But the true beauty lies within the people, not the tradition itself.

For me this trips marks the end of school, which at this stage of life means I go on vacation for the next three months. It means I am free to use the time at my leisure and so with it what I want. It symbolizes FREEDOM. Nevertheless, like I said before, that isn't the true beauty of this trip, it is really the people that make this trip special. They are the ones that make this trip worth taking every year.

It is such an awesome to see everyone arrive at my folk's cabin the night before the launch. We give the traditional hug and how-ya-doing greeting as the smiles light up the faces of old friends. We shoot the shit and discuss the year's route as we go through our gear. We talk about what we are going to "leave behind" this year because we are forever "down sizing" the shit we take in our canoes. There is such a warm feeling to this meeting that at times it almost makes me want to cry because the friendship and love is so sincere. I know, I know that sounds pretty fucking sappy, but there is truth to those words. If you were to ask any River Runner if there is even a spark of truth to that idea, they will have to say yes.

There is something to be said about bonding with thy fellow man on trips into the wilderness. Sure we are not doing this to test our survival skills by an means, we got gear with that would have made any mountain man of the early days of America praise the Almighty, but we do this to increase our bond with our close friends, even if it is down on a subconscious level. If this trip wasn't a special deal then none of us would want to come back year after year, no matter the conditions. We go even if it is going to be hotter than the blazes...we go even if we know it is going to rain most of the time...we go even if the river is going to be low and we have to work our asses off to get anywhere...we go because we enjoy the company and love that we feel from those we surround ourselves with.

I hope that through all the shit, all the goods, bads and uglies, those that are part of the crew will forever come on this trip. I want to pass it along to the next generation, my kids and the kids of those that enjoy this trip every year. I want them to feel the love and fellowship I feel when I gather with those that mean the most to me in my life outside my family I have at home. So no matter what, as long as the Lord above lets me, on Memorial weekend, of every year, you know where you can find me and the rest of the RIVER RUNNERS...celebrating another year on the Bigfork River with those that matter most.

Until next time I will remain...Crazy Joe

Crazy Joe, Stewball and a Gallon of Coleman Fuel

Damn, what a ride...hehe.



It is so hard to write about this trip at times because so much has taken place and so much has been forgotten. What do I write, what do I say...I know I have not said it all, but I hope that everytime I get on this blog someone takes the time to stop in and read. Little is worse than having your words go unoticed and forgotten. FMR...heheh.



No in all honesty I have a shit-load of stories to share with either myself or the select few that take the time to read my crap.



Tonight I think I'm going to tell the story of how Stewball and I almost burend down the Fuckin Doons!



This was one of the early trips, and I do believe it was the second trip of the tradition because it was the first one that the General came on. I say this because this was when I was drinking like a fish and on the third trip I did not drink in light of my few years of sobriety. I had a nasty night with a utility knife and my arm, but that is neither here or there.



It was our last night of camping because we were at the Doons, and back in those days the Doons were alwasy the last stop because they hold the absolute best camping site on the Bigfork, even if the hill to get there is a huge BITCH! But those that follow this blog know about the hill that posesses the campsite like a temptress that must be earned. That and by the time we reached the doons we were so low on the brew and the other necesities of life like food, that we had to get off.



On this particular trip I had been in a piss poor attitude because of the booze and other factors in my life that I care not to divulge. For some reason or another I was being a dick to the General because I would argue and insult him at every chance that made itself available. He could not get in a word or tell one of his raunchy jokes without me being a total ass and ripping him like he was my bitch. He would tell his famous midgit joke and I would rip him for having penis envy or some shit like that. No matter what was said it was a war of words and anamosity. I really think that had the General been drinking we would have had came to blows; of course my intlectual ass would have been handed to me I wouldn't have gone down without a fight. Nevertheless, I should make with the story...



It had been a bit of a rainy day and we had a lot of wet clothes hanging over the fire that evening. Well maybe not over the fire, but we did string, or rather the General had strung up some line for all of us to hang our dripping clothes up so the wind that was blowing though the valley dried what we had to offer. While most of the nice line (I say that because this was some expensive rope) was over regular land, part of it did go over the campfire; and this factor provided the fun for the night...hehe.



Well it was early in the morning and Stweball and I were still up sitting up around the fire because we had some vodka lefte in the half-gallow jug and a collection of beers left to swill before we passed out. Back in the day I was able to go like a motherfucker and still drive the chic home in the morning so she didn't get into trouble. But that was a night that I will never forget until they are ready to put me into the ground.

.

I know I have told a good portion of the story of when the General lit that field on fire, however for those of you that read and never take chance on the trip, his attempt at buring down the forest was the second attempt...and kind of pitaful compared to the first. Well that is a strech of the truth if there ever was one. While my attempt at a forest fire was good and harry, my fire didn't require a helecopter to come in a dip from the Bigfork to extinguish the flames. In hindesight, which most people know is 20/20, Stewball and I were luck as hell that the land was as saturated with rain as it was, or we would still be doing some time.



So there we were, Stewball and myself sitting around the fire talking about sex, drugs and rock-n-roll. I know that is cliche`, but that is the mother-loving-truth. I remember we got into an argument because Stewball was talking about Ducky being a lesbian. I know, pretty dumb, but nevertheless, we almost through fist-a-cuffs because of it. I mean I had stood up to defend my sister's honor and was ready to take Stuball down the hill and drown his ass in the river. He finally conceded into what I thought was a great agreement. He wouldn't say no more shit about Ducky and I wouldn't break the vodak jug over his mellon. I know it was a lot of the booze talking and us being stupid. So when that arguement was done with we needed something to do to pass the time. That is when I thought of it.

I noticed that the wash-line was over the fire and thought that it would be cool to get the flames high enough to melt the rope. The problem was that that the line was a good five feet from the flames and the firewood we had, while enough for the rest of tghe trip, still wouldn't be enough to get the flame to the desired hight. Stewball made the suggestion to add some would to the fire to build up the flames a little to see how close we could get. So we picked though the logs to select the ones that felt the driest and best to burn at a quick pace. Just like I suspected we still came up a good three feet short.

"What we need is some Boyscout Water," I slurred as I scanned the campsite.
"What the fuck is Boyscout Water?" Stewball look preplexed.
"Gas man," I said. "You know how when ya toss gas on a fire it goes whoosh. That would do it man. Flame to the heavens."
"How about the Coleman fuel?" Stewball pointed to an area next to the General's tent. An evil smile spread across my lips...
"Perfect," I said stumbling over the the can. I was very pleased to find that the can was almost full. Plenty of fuel to get the experiment to work.

Now I know what you might be thinking. We took a poored the fuel directly on the fire from the can...come on? How dumb do you think we were. We were good ol' boys from the north who learned to buld a fire by the time we hit second grade. We knew the danger that fire and fuel pose, so we did what any experienced fire-maker would do, we made tore the lid off the top of a beer can to use as a means to toss white gas onto the fire.

Stewball made the tossing can and I got the lid off the can. I clumsily poored some into the can and Stewball gave'er a toss.
"WHOOSH!! Flames shot up and licked at the rope and for a few seconds the entire campsite lit up like it was daytime. When the flames died down I examined the rope. It had turned it from a dirty white to completly black, but it did not look to have melted at all.

"Hit'er again!" I said grabbing the can for a refill. And so we repeated the process a few more times. Each time we got the same results: WHOOSH!! LIGHT!! BLACKENED ROPE BUT NO MELTY MELTY! After the fifth or sixth time I was pissed and it had gotten personal. I figured it was going to be little of a problem to melt a simple rope. I mean how fricking hard could it be. This is where we made the mistake. Stewball said we weren't putting enough fuel into the can. We had only been filling it about half-full, so he suggested to fill it to the top. What we didn't take into account was that it would take just a fraction of a second longer to empty the full can as it did the half-full can. No factor in the fact that we had also grown a little sloppy with the rules of fire safety, which were about to be chucked from the moving vehicle all together. In our hasted to try the new and imporved idea, I set the metal jug of white gas a wee bit too close to the fire.

I filled up our toss can to the gills, Stewball took a swirsh from his drink and picked up the can. Sloshing a little down the sides he starts to poor the dealdy fuel onto the fire. Things kind of slowed down for a bit here. Of course there was the obligator WHOOSH!! of flame and because Stewball was still dumping when it hit, he caught the can on fire. Well the first instinct for a person who's hand just became engulfed in flame is to chuck the whatever they are holding that is on fire. And chuck he did, right onto the top of the open can of white gas. A microsecond later he has a cooler open and his hand in the cooler. I on the other hand watch as the toss can, or rather what is in the toss can, explode all over the Coleman fuel and light IT on FIRE!!

This is one of those times I kind of wish someone else had been up and video taping this. I know we could have won some money on America's Funniest Videos or The World's Biggest Boneheads. There is no doubt in my mind my face held that famous "OH SHIT!" look. This is where I took a big old dump on fire safety. For some reason or another I got this bright idea to "toss the can into the river before it exploded and took out use and the Muldoon campsite. So in my druken stupor wisdom I covered up my had with my flannel, grabbed the Coleman fuel by it handle, wound up and chucked that sucker with all my might down the hill towards the river.

Stewball and I watched the can. We watched as this can did an ever so gracefull swirl in the air. Like some kind of cosmic spiral it spun through space, working its way down the hill. And the entire time it is doing this, it is pissing out a stream of lit fuel which is setting the hill on fire. About the time we realize exactly what the fuck is going on, the Coleman can hits a tree which inturupts its flight and sends it crashing to the edge of the river...while setting the tree on fire also, no biggy.

We turned and looked at each other. We shared an "We Are Fucked" moment and then jumped over the side of the hill towards the fire. Here is where our luck turned for the better. Remember I had said that this was one of the rainy years, so we got pretty lucky that the fire didn't last all that long on the hill. On the flip side though, the hill is really fucking steep, so when we jumped we tumbled and slid past some of the fire. The wet leaves were like tring to stop on grease. Luck for us there is also plenty of sapplings to break and slow falls. I got a little luckier than Stewball, while I stopped in the middle of the hill, he really didn't stop until he was close to the bottom. He went to work on the dying fire down there and I worked on the parts that were around me and above. Within five minutes we had the fire out and were clawing our way back to the top of the hill.

On the top again we took our seats around the fire, cracked another brew, and sat in silence for a few minutes. I guess we were in a little bit of shock. The beer tasted good and clamed the nerves. Then I spoke...

"How's the hand?"
"Hurts a bit." Stewball held up his right hand and it did look red, even in the dim light of the fire. "It's really going to hurt in the morning." He took a long drink from his beer.
"I think we are both going to hurt like hell in the morning." I slammed the rest of mine.
"Never did melt that fucking rope," he nodded towards the scortched line above the fire.
"Nope," and I just shook my head. I looked down at where the can had been sitting, and all the grass and leaves we burnt black. "Got lucky with the rain though."
"Yep," he said handing me another beer while he cracked a fresh one for himself.

We shot the shit for awhile longer as we demolished the rest of our booze. Recalling the fire event over and over. But the booze supply was low and we were beat. It didn't take long to polish off the rest and go to our tents to pass out for a couple of hours till it was time to rise and shine so we could get off the river.

Before I end this story I have to say the General was a little pissed about the Coleman fuel. When he asked what happened to the can, Stewball and I just laughed our asses off. I said it was sitting at the bottom of the hill. Of course he wanted to know how it got down there, so we took turns regailing the story. Brother John and Snakes laughed to beat the blazes. The General just kept muttering shit about respect and crap. He was right though. What we did was not very respectfull, not to mention dangerous as hell. We never did go down and see if the can was still there the next morning. The hill had already kicked our collective asses once, I wasn't about to give it seconds.

Every year we camp at the Doons this story comes out a least once. I'm sure this year will be no exception. We will also recount the time the General went ass-over-tea kettle down the hill. And no doubt the one where Dishman had to save my stumbling ass from going down it that other year. Good times. I can't wait...

Until next time I wil remain...Crazy Joe...