Millcreek Walk

The duo easy road walked the 5 miles in from snowbank, found site ninety nine early evening. Bivouac, simple, gear dropped-N- propped, day packs back to back, bedrolls out, pulled up close to the dakato fire they had dug. Dinner, MRE's pulled from each ruck. Water boiled over the smokeless fire poured first, into the pouches of the ever popular shake and squeeze lasagna, then splashed into the odd colored NASA engineered mix of sweetener, creamer, and "coffee". As they sporked, bite by bite, each red sauce drenched gluten morsel, the freinds chatted, buddy junk, occassionally sharing the chore of adding twigs and wrist sized chunks to the fire hole. They settled in water skins and extras zipped up with them, then watched each star pop alive first one by one, then by handful's to fill the nights deep blue dome with swirling moving pins of light, the spectacle kept them talking too late.

He wasnt to sure if it was the rem sleep snoring of his camp buddy or moonlight that woke him. The pale globe seemed touchable, it's smiling craters face bathed the world silver. Arm stretched out of the warmth of his bag, the older of the pair, chucked a handful of shavings and sticks in the fire hole. He watched as it smoked, happy to see it glow amber, then light. Hand out, palm down, fingers cupped over the hole to warm it, then pulled back, to tug the edge of his bedroll up chin high, to watch the fire blossom orange in the bottom of the abyss. Coffee and breakfast when the snoring stopped.

Up and ready water boiled for the less popular eggs with bacon MRE. Odd flavored coffee cooled and quaffed to get the taste out of their mouths.

The morning mission, recon the creek bed west and south back to base camp snowbank. Fire secured, gear up tight, gaiters tied over boots check, vest pockets full of extras, ammo for the mission check, mid day meal check, hemostats clipped, knife, check. The older one always carried the med kit, check. Each had an overnight down bag warmed, camelback full of water that now trailed off their shoulder's under their vests and packs.

They traded point every few hundred feet. Stealthy, slow, thorough, each intently gazing through the red and yellow dappled underbrush.

The over night snow on the high peaks began to color, salmon, as the sun peaked into the valley. Long pink troughs fell between the jagged black peaks. Morning purple majesty painted the deep cut granite vertical sloughs running down each slope. It had made the underbrush damp.

Cold morning air caused fog to mist up off the bubbling warmer water where it slowed and pooled.

The pair, weapons forward weaved downstream, in and out of, the rubbery, head high, finger sized willows. Having to pause they would grumble at each other, at each tumbled over, naked, silver grey, hundred year old fallen pine tree crossing the path. Whisper curses and reminisce to each other the thirty years ago fire that had crashed them down into their way forward. One would hold the nine footers ready to pass over each naked snag, laugh and point as each, one after the other crawled and sat cowboy style then tumble or kick their way over the bare trunks.

They walked back and forth between obstacles, the point man would stop, fist up military style, signal hold, then turn, smile, gesture, two finger, eyes on, then point off toward each possible attack spot.

Scrunched down, knees wet, weapons held ready they would post up, each looking over the grey green water pooling behind every house sized granite boulder, whisper, then decide to make a dual front.

From the fluff on his vest the older pried a number twelve black bodied blue bottle fly, the younger surveyed his ammo and pulled a Joe's hopper twenty. The older chided him "you see any hoppers this morning".

They slithered into position nodded then cast one after the other into the white foam above each moss covered slab, to let their imitation tumble past, around and down into the bubbly pool below. Cast wait, tug, pull, then the other, cast wait, tug, pull. The Joe's struck first, an excited fish on yelped, jiggly yellow line up taught, rod pulled back high, a minute of struggle, already knee high in the pool, the older wingman scooped up the brilliant yellow spotted no stripe brookie. Unnetted and unpinned, the younger flight leader held up the prize. Amother small skirmish won, among the hundreds the pair had enjoined, Triumph and smiles, the snack looked over. A first catch video taken and shared for those less fortunate friends trapped downtown to vicariously purview. These wish you were here videos always ended the team shares. The secret between them always after each (an under the breath "not"). The banter between each finned creature caught then let go, was easy and free. Always the same for as long as the younger one could remember, a decade spanned their ages a Jonathan and David relationship. Camping fishing floating, it was a never a choreographed tandem event. The tandem continued toward snowbank, casting in and out of each pool down stream. They would bend under, crawl over, and stand ankle deep in cold mountain water, then roll cast into each small blue grey waterfall ending in bubbly pools. A dozen foot long fighters caught and released brookies and rainbow, so the next fisherperson could enjoy the stream.

Knees wet, miles from yesterdays beginning , the two crawled up to the dirt road to talk, walk and wonder at Mill creek's splendor on the way back to camp.

They had, come the day before, a thirty mile half pavement, half dirt road drive, in the old two door blue jeep from town. " Lil Blu" back seat gone, her cargo spot carried a cooler full of two days worth beer, brim full each others seventy liter dry bags, stuffed with extra clothes, full of yet to be used tents, water filters, jet boils, twenty degree bags, a few extra blankets, and one cushy pillow. They each brought a dinner surprise. The older was always predictable, hot dogs, or steaks, a bag of store bought tater chips. His young friend though, excelled at making imagined in town out in the wild, tasty fare. Fourty years of outside this and that, had given him ample opportunity to thrive, at skillet breakfasts, under the coals dutch oven lunch surprises, and five star circle ring crackling pine dinners in the middle of bear country. Did'nt matter baked broiled or boiled he always surprised at meal time. Camp was always the same. The older freind would drag out the gear, tents, extras, then wander off to pee and find extra fire wood, only to come back to a tidy camp, hidden on the lee side, of the island, pond, creek, or lake,with a crackling fire, chairs up, his tent ready for him to stuff has sleeping pad, unroll his bag, and toss his extras in.

The two had bonded so long ago the older could barely remember how his decade younger friend had stumbled into his life to become a brother, a modern day David and Jonathan. Slow start, dirt road hunts, summer window down small town triangle beer drives. Joking about girls, stories about sand dune camps, deep snow, high mark, sled trips, soon turned into two day overnight yellowstone camp floats.

They sat days end, beers on top of the cooler slash end table tucked between their chairs, feet up, shoes smoking on the stones circling the fire, chatting about today's mission as this nights new stars poked pins of light into the deep blue sky. Chiding each other over a day of jumping over, crawling under, cowboy riding of every fallen pine, remembering every hand sized trout pulled from every grey green knee deep pool, the year end fish catch foray. They would pause only to watch golden red flames dance out of the pit, shoot toward the blue dome to dissapear into, the billion star sky above them.