Adventures 2 Plake, Inferno, Dracula

Glen Plake Back Country

The paper clip is beginning to glow in the cook stove's blue butane flame.  To be of any use, it must first reach the right temperature.  White-hot is best, but pink will do and as soon as the round metal shaft begins to glow, I center the tip on my right large nail and push. 

Seeking Dracula in Brasov Romania

Romania greeted me with the wild snarl of fighting dogs. At the edge of the runway, in the smoldering airport dump, two dozen mongrels fought over scraps from partially eaten, in-flight dinners. Descending the rear stairs into the blowing snow and frozen tarmac, I remembered that wolves had stalked Jonathan Harker during his wild carriage journey to Dracula’s Castle.

California’s Grand Motorcycle Tour

Unlike car dealers, who will pay just to get you behind the wheel, motorcycle dealers hate to even start up their bikes in the parking lot. That’s because the average superbike has 130 horsepower mated to 600 pounds. In plain English, we’re talking about the same power-to-weight ratio as a Sidewinder missile.

Small Dogs, Huge Hearts

The Jack was already well grown when he turned down the potholed driveway of the Burley horse breeder in search of a compromise.. As the two men stood swatting at the horse flies that circled their sweat stained Stetsons the breeder expressed a passion for fine bloodlines, domestic beer and tough, black and white dogs that stood six inches at the shoulder. 

The Inferno

Fourteen hundred racers have signed up for this, the 40th running of Murren’s Inferno. Of those 1,400 I haven't met one who considers this fun. From the way the “super experts” ski this rough mix of ice, moguls and dissecting work roads, most seem to regard old age as a peculiar malady visited upon those who refuse to ski it at 60 mph-plus.

Grand Targhee, The White Room

I have never skied Grand Targhee Wyoming when it didn’t dump. Storms did not simply sprinkle flakes across the runs––but raged, roared and obliterated all visibility until my skis became more important than my eyes in sorting out the bumps, drops and pitch changes that lay buried beneath the yielding, white surface.

Uncle Lee’s Fishing Trip to Ensenada

We were casting sand dabs off Bodega Bay’s sandy beach into a gray surf for perch when my Uncle Lee said, “Your dad loved you more than you can know.”  One sentence, nine words, Uncle Lee’s memory on a wind-swept beach provided an emotional anchor to a struggling teenager and then, two decades later, to a father of two sons. 

Edith Teaches Andrew to Play

My family’s greatest, most lasting mystery concerns my grandmother, Edith Leigh Slough.  Mary Catherine once told me that Edith was a concert pianist who played for rapturous audiences on both coasts.  My mother also believed that Edith drove a Tin Lizzy across the country in 1922 but pressing her for further details elicited a blink, a shrug and a gentle shake of her head.  

Winter Fly Fishing on the Wood

To understand why sane men and women will wade into the ice choked Wood River or when duck hunters claim Silver Creek you must realize that fly fisherman are an obsessive breed. 

Huge Storm Forecast for Sun Valley

Sun Valley, Idaho felt the storm’s first tendrils in the early evening of December sixteenth. At nine p.m. a white midge landed beneath the Sun Valley Road stoplight on Highway 75. Ketchum’s Snow Ranger monitored the snowfall into the early morning. The low pressure intensified shortly after eleven p.m and within an hour, four inches lay on Ketchum’s back streets.

Hells Canyon Sturgeon from a Raft

I took a firm purchase on the coffee can-sized Penn reel and braced against the rowing frame. The line suddenly went slack. I spun the crank and prayed for weight.

 Then the tip rod tip arced into river.

Gary Brettnacher Living La Vida Loca

It was early February when Gary Brettnacher learned of a British Columbia outfitter who offered both heliskiing and fly fishing for winter run Steelhead.

The Bataan Death Ride

To get to the Bataan you must first ride into the face of the Devil’s Bedstead. Because the Bataan climbs a tributary canyon of the East Fork of the Wood River, this old mining road emerges from the snow in mid-April.

Todd Avison’s Drift Boat

Wiser, wealthier men may wonder why Todd, Mark, and Scott coveted the old hull. The simple answer is that for fly fishermen, a drift boat is as much a wood sculpture as a means to pursue trout.

Silver Star’s Mindless Powder

No doubt the snorkels were a visual psyche––a trick to snag another untracked run while the rest of us stood transfixed in a torrential snowfall and, pausing next to their table, I studied the caged Ping-Pong balls and asked, "Do you think you'll need those?"