Campfire

Each night, as the flames crackled and the smoke drifted into the darkening sky, the camp host, Sonny, and his beautiful dog Zilla would wander over and settle in by our fire. Zilla immediately launched into play mode, chasing Whiskey—Ben and Sherma’s dog—around the trees while Sonny stood quietly, sipping his nightly beer. For all three nights at Devil’s Elbow Campground, this became our familiar routine.

With a group of retired educators gathered around a fire, you can imagine the questions that came Sonny’s way. His answers were short and efficient—never too much, never too little—just enough to satisfy the curious minds in our circle. We learned he was originally from Thailand, that his parents had come to the United States on “the Golden Ticket,” and that they’d built a life for him and his siblings. He was 48 years old, though he looked much younger, and he planned to host at Devil’s Elbow for one more season before taking time to explore Asia and Europe.

While we peppered Sonny with questions, Zilla and Whiskey crashed through the brush, taking turns marking every tree and bush they could find. Zilla, a huge mixed breed—part Bernese Mountain Dog and part mystery—was clearly the dominant one, despite being female. Whiskey did his best to keep up, but by the end of each evening both dogs were worn out.

On our final night, Sonny and Zilla appeared as usual, but this time they came bearing gifts: bumper stickers commemorating our stay at Devil’s Elbow. A small gesture, but one that made the place feel even more special.

With Terry and Bill joining Sherma and Ben in camp, we had quite the artistic group. Bill and Sherma played guitar and ukulele in the afternoon sun, and our three lovely wives used their talents to create rock art for everyone to enjoy. We all took time to read, relax, and mostly sit around the fire chatting. Simple days, easy company, and a campground that gave us exactly what we needed.

As the fire settled into glowing coals and the river quieted for the night, I found myself thinking about how easily a simple campground can become a small community. Three nights isn’t long, yet it was enough for familiar faces, shared routines, and the easy comfort that comes when people fall into a rhythm together. Sonny with his quiet presence, Zilla and Whiskey with their nightly chaos, the music drifting from Bill and Sherma’s instruments, and the rock art our wives created in the afternoon sun — all of it blended into a trip that felt both peaceful and full.

Devil’s Elbow wasn’t a place of grand adventures or dramatic stories. It was a place where the days slowed down, the conversations stretched out, and the evenings gathered us around a fire that seemed to burn just a little brighter because of the company. As we packed up the last morning, I felt grateful for the small moments — the laughter, the dogs, the music, and the unexpected friendships that made our stay feel like more than just another stop along the river.

DB/AI

15 Years

A huge part of our lives has been shaped by our love of venturing out in the truck camper. Over the years I’ve written more than 350 blog posts about our home away from home and all the adventures that come with it. Every trip feels like a small reset, a chance to breathe a little deeper and enjoy the outdoors.

Back in 2011, I wrote about one of our favorite hidden campgrounds on Bell Bay overlooking Lake Coeur d’Alene. We visited that spot many times and got to know the camp host, Jim Vallintine, quite well. Jim was one of those rare hosts who made camping easier — he’d let us call ahead to see if any good sites were open. Knowing we had a spot waiting for us made the drive down a lot less stressful.

That all changed about 15 years ago when the campground switched to a reservations‑only system. Jim wasn’t interested in taking on the extra responsibilities, so he retired, and with the new system came a lot more traffic. Without Jim and without the ease of dropping in, we slowly drifted away from Bell Bay and started exploring other places.

Fast forward to our latest trip. Rayelle and Mike Anderson had reserved two nights at Bell Bay and invited us to join them if we could find a site. We checked online, found an opening for the same two nights, and just like that, another adventure was on the calendar.

In the days leading up to the trip, we prepped the camper and gathered supplies. On Friday morning, we loaded up and hit the road. We took I‑90 to the Rose Lake exit, turned right, and headed toward Harrison. Bell Bay Campground sits 7.2 miles north of this town along the lake.

When we arrived, we drove to our reserved site. It wasn’t the nicest spot, so we slowly cruised through the rest of the campground. As we passed our old favorite site, Linda noticed it was available for both nights. That was all the encouragement we needed. We headed straight to the camp host’s site, explained the situation, and were able to switch to the best site in the campground. Even better — the Andersons were camped just across from us.

It felt like a lucky score, and we wasted no time getting settled in.

Rayelle and Mike arrived around 5 PM, and while they went about setting up, Linda and I grabbed our chairs and took in the panoramic view from our site. It has to be one of the best views we’ve ever had — wide open lake, quiet shoreline, and soft evening light. Once both camps were settled, we gathered out on the point and enjoyed drinks and snacks as we caught up on the past few weeks.

The next morning we wandered through the campground to see how things had changed. Even though we hadn’t been there in 15 years, it was almost exactly the same. Bell Bay is still a rural campground — pit toilets, downed trees, and a general low‑maintenance feel. The restrooms were clean, and the trash was emptied regularly, but beyond that it could use a little TLC. Still, the simplicity is part of its charm.

Later that morning my Watch Duty forest fire app sent an alert. A small fire had popped up about ten miles upwind from Bell Bay. Within a couple of hours, four firefighting seaplanes began making runs, scooping water from the lake and flying right over our site to drop it on the fire. It was an impressive response — ten rr eleven passes in total — and then the skies quieted down. A short while later, the app announced that the fire was contained.

As we were sitting out chatting afterward, we had a surprise. Larry and Mary Wright, who have a lake cabin just down the road from the campground, came strolling by our site. They were with a couple, Bill and Kim, who we had met back in our running days. We all stood around for a while, catching up on each other's lives. It was a nice, unexpected reunion and added a little extra warmth to the day.

The weather, on the other hand, wasn’t quite as warm. It was windy and noticeably colder than the past few weeks — the kind of chill that makes you realize fall has quietly arrived. The breeze kept at it, but we were still able to sit out and enjoy our visit.

Sunday morning came quickly, and we all packed up and headed for home. As we drove back over 4th of July Pass, Linda and I agreed that the site we ended up in was absolutely worth the drive — one of the best views we’ve ever had. And as always, Rayelle and Mike were fun to be with, making the whole trip feel easy and familiar.

It was good to be back at Bell Bay after all these years. Some places just stay part of your story.

DB/AI

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