Reminiscing with Friends

After our hot visit up the Coeur d’Alene River, Linda and I were going through our usual routine of cleaning up the camper when a text popped up out of the blue from our friends Dave and Connie McKenzie. Connie wanted to know if we’d be around the upcoming Sunday and Monday — and if we’d like to join them for an overnight stay in a cabin along the St. Joe. They were heading up with some friends we hadn’t seen in years: Jim Clift and Clair Jessie. Also joining the group were Tami Haft and Bob Grigg.

This is where the family tree starts sprouting branches. Clair worked with Connie, Tami, and me at NIC. Linda and I also know Clair and Jim through river running, and we’ve been on many trips together over the years. I know Bob from my Hashing days with IEH3. Dave was a student at NIC and worked for me in Rec Sports. Crazy, right? And the tree keeps growing. Clair and Jim were renting the cabin from Mike Ferman (not in attendance), a rafting friend of theirs. Linda and I have been on many trips with Mike too — we even attended his wedding and know the whole Furman clan.

So that’s how this whole group, connected by work, rivers, rafting, hashing, and a few decades of shared stories, came together for a visit to catch up on everyone’s lives.

We drove up the St. Joe River to Calder, then took the first right upriver and wound our way along dusty roads until we came upon a big red truck parked off to the side. That was our landmark. We took a right at the truck and entered the Furman Ranch. A short drive down a hill brought us to a beautiful cabin set off and above the river — tucked just far enough away to feel private, but close enough to hear the steady rush of the St. Joe below.

Jim prepared the ribs while Connie and Clair gathered the bounty of goodies everyone had contributed. Before long the counters were covered with snacks, dips, cheeses, and all the little treats that seem to magically appear whenever this group gets together. We talked and laughed as we nibbled on hors d’oeuvres, washing everything down with a myriad of beverages. It was one of those easy, comfortable times where conversation rolls from one story to the next without anyone noticing the hours passing.

Dinner was fantastic — everyone dug into the ribs and all the sides — and after we finished eating, we drifted out onto the porch. From there we watched the sun slide down behind the hills and listened to the river below. The evening settled in around us as we shared adventures, old memories, and the kind of stories that only come out when friends haven’t seen each other in far too long.

The next morning we woke to the smell of coffee and the sound of the river. Jim fired up breakfast, and before long we were all gathered around a spread of pancakes, eggs, bacon, fruit, and more coffee than any of us probably needed. The stories picked up right where they left off the night before — river trips, NIC memories, hashing adventures, and all the little twists life has taken since we last saw each other.

Eventually, though, it was time to clean up and head out. Dishes were washed, bags were packed, and we said our goodbyes, promising not to let so many years pass before the next visit.

As we drove back down the dusty road toward Calder, Linda and I agreed that the overnight had been exactly what we didn’t know we needed — a reminder of how friendships, even when stretched across time and distance, can snap right back into place the moment you sit down together. The St. Joe has always been a river full of memories for us, and now it holds one more

A Few Days at Huckleberry Campground

A couple months ago, Linda reached out to our friends Bill and Terri Burch, along with Ben and Sherma Higgs, and we all jumped onto the reservation website for Huckleberry Campground up the St. Joe River. Luck was on our side — we managed to snag campsites close to each other, and we wasted no time reserving them before anyone else could beat us to it.

The drive down was perfectly normal until we hit the stretch from the top of 4th of July Pass down to the Rose Lake turnoff. Road construction had funneled four lanes of traffic into two, and to make things interesting, they used those big cement dividers to separate the lanes. Nothing like a narrow concrete chute to keep you alert. I white‑knuckled the truck through the curves and traffic. Not the most relaxing drive, but we made it.

Huckleberry Campground wasn’t full, and we had a great site just across the driveway from the Burches. Ben and Sherma were a little farther away in their spot. I was able to go fishing twice during our stay. The first day the water was high but clear, and I fished a Green Drake fly with a #10 black stonefly dropper. I got lucky and hooked two really nice cutthroats and one kamikaze cut that was about six inches long. We arrived and ended the trip with a fish count of three real nice cutthroats and two little shakers.

Linda spent her time walking, reading, and catching up with our friends. After a couple days of rain, the weather finally turned around, and we all entertained ourselves with card games and tossing the cornhole bags. Simple fun, good company, and a quiet campground — hard to beat.

As the weekend wound down, I found myself appreciating the simple rhythm of it all — good friends, a quiet river, a few fish, and the kind of easy days that remind you why the St. Joe keeps pulling us back. Nothing fancy, nothing rushed, just time well spent in a place that always feels a little like home.

DB/AI

A Few Days at Beavercreek Campground

Our last visit to Beavercreek Campground on Priest Lake was back in August of 2022. That trip was spent with our good friends the Andersons, soaking in the views of the lake and wandering the trails around the campground. This week we found ourselves back in that same peaceful spot, only this time we were joined by our friends John and Loretta Sutherland.

Looking northeast into the Selkirks.

The weather showed off for us — blue skies, warm sun, and just enough breeze to keep the mosquitoes guessing. We stayed three nights, settling into that easy rhythm that only camping seems to create. Evenings were spent in camp chairs, swapping stories, solving the world’s problems, and laughing about everything else we couldn’t solve.

Each morning Linda would head out for her daily walk and return with a new story or observation from her adventures — sometimes about wildlife, sometimes about people, and occasionally about something only Linda could spot in the woods. I took a long walk myself, following the lake trail south. I managed to get close to a lake‑access camp area in Teacher Bay. That bay was my goal, but I had been out for quite a while, and eventually I turned around and hustled back to our campsite before anyone sent out a search party.

There were hundreds of butterflies.

We spent most of our time relaxing or playing cards. One thing we did notice was the large number of trees that had blown down during winter. It must have been a harsh one, but the landscape has been recovering nicely, with new growth already filling in the gaps.

For our evening meals we enjoyed three very tasty delights. On the first night we had an easy‑to‑fix standby of soup (clam chowder), salad, and cookies. The second meal was a bit international — Greek gyros. We cooked up some lamb, added feta cheese, tzatziki, and lettuce, and wrapped it all in a warm pita. Simple, delicious, and perfect for camping. Our final meal was traditional barbecue hamburgers, but boy, were they good.

On the drive home we were treated to one of those moments that instantly upgrades a trip: a bull moose sighting. We were heading south along one of my favorite stretches of highway when something dark stepped out of the brush and into a wide green clearing. Sure enough — a bull moose, antlers still covered in velvet and looking like he owned the place.

I slowed the camper and found a wide spot to pull over. After putting the truck in park, I hopped out and walked to the back of the rig just in time to see him step onto the road and stroll across the asphalt like he had an appointment on the other side. We were probably 500 yards away, but there was no mistaking that silhouette. I managed to get a few photos with the phone — proof for anyone who thinks moose are just mythical creatures invented by the Idaho tourism board.

There’s something about spotting wildlife in the middle of a trip that adds a little spark to the day. It’s a reminder that these places are alive, and that sometimes the best moments are the ones you don’t plan.

As we rolled the rest of the way home, I found myself thinking about how lucky we are to have places like Priest Lake close by — places where a few days of simple living, good friends, and a surprise moose can reset the soul. Trips don’t have to be long or complicated to be memorable. Sometimes all it takes is a quiet campground, a few shared meals, and the beauty of Idaho doing what it does best.

Big cone, small cone.

Peeling hard boiled eggs.

Bull moose crossing!

The end of the camping adventure.

DB/AI