A Year Afoot

For me, 2011 was anything but typical. After spending Christmas on Ko Samet in the Gulf of Thailand, I watched January quietly arrive from a sixth floor balcony in Bangkok. By February I had made two short trips to Cambodia—one to Siem Reap and another to the capital. A month later I was hiking up an active volcano in the Philippines and then in May, I huffed and puffed along a winding jungle trail in Penang, Malaysia (pictured at right) to reach Muka Head and its impressive nineteenth century lighthouse. Meanwhile, in the United States, FalconGuides published Best Hikes Near New York City, my first book since going freelance two years ago.

At the start of summer I was back on the carriage roads and footpaths of New York and New Jersey, leading groups of nature-deprived urbanites for Outdoor Bound. A friend's June wedding in Kentucky was my chance to explore a fraction of the Red River Gorge Geologic Area, although I didn't make it to the state's well known natural bridge. Then in September I spent some time in Vietnam's central provinces trying to learn what I could about the pre-colonial history of the region. I was only back on the East Coast for three weeks before I dashed off to Denver for the 30th annual Great American Beer Festival, a trip that also included a day hike through the red rocks at Roxborough State Park. Finally, just before Thanksgiving, a brief magazine assignment took me to Idaho, where I got a crash course in trout fishing and stopped at the Riverport Brewing Company.

All told, I covered a lot of territory last year, and from this vantage point, 2012 doesn't look like it will involve much sitting still. I've already begun to make plans for a trip to Europe, and once the snow melts in the northeast, I'll get going on my next book, another outdoor recreation guide. In fact, as I peer into the future and consider the amount of travel I'm likely to do in the next 12 months, I have to wonder whether 2011 was really so atypical after all.

Beer Discoveries in the Pacific Northwest

By the time Lewis and Clark and the Corps of Discovery reached present day Idaho in September of 1805, their cache of food was running on empty. Worse yet, the expedition finished the last of their whiskey on July 4th. Desperate and near starvation, they resorted to eating dog. And while I'm sure they were grateful for the salmon and camas root provided by friendly Nez Percé several days later, I bet a brewery at the confluence of the Snake and Clearwater Rivers would have been a welcome sight for a band of exhausted explorers.

The Riverport Brewing Company in Clarkston, Washington is just across the Snake from Lewiston, Idaho. It's only been open for three years, but head brewer Pete Broyles already plans to expand; after a somewhat slow start, draft sales are growing. At last, craft beer has been discovered along the Lewis and Clark Trail. "We get people in here from a lot of different places," Pete told me during a recent visit to his spacious taproom on Ninth Street. Scanning the room, the patrons looked to be mostly local, but even an hour before closing on a Monday, business was steady. Halfway through the six glass sample board ($5) I knew it was more than free popcorn keeping people coming back for more beer.

Starting with the seasonal specialty, a wet-hopped IPA called 9th Street Whip, I next tried the biscuity, gently bitter Cedar Rock Pale Ale, an American style red ale called B-Run, the dry, piney Seven Devils IPA, Old Man River Oatmeal Stout, and my favorite, Bedrock Bock. Malty, slightly creamy and reminiscent of fruitcake, this garnet-colored brew stood out from the pack, tempting me to spend a buck for another four ounce sample. Then again, it could have been the sign behind the bar egging me on: Last call is for sissies. Considering the trout fishing I would be doing later that week, I probably should have picked up a growler ($18.75 or $8 for refills). Because you never know when you'll run out of provisions.

Fishing Wild Rivers

Standing on the boat ramp in the early light of dawn, I shimmied into a borrowed pair of long johns. According to my guide Brent, I couldn't rely on a wool sweater and a thermos of black coffee to keep me warm during a full day on the Salmon River. And so before we pushed off into the swift current, I slipped on another layer. Shivering through my first steelhead fishing excursion didn't seem like a particularly wise decision.

Two weeks ago I visited Idaho for the first time. Like many trips I've made over the years, this one ended too soon. Setting out from Lewiston near the Washington state line, I ended up more than 100 miles south in Riggins, a little town named after the area's first mailman. But I hadn't traveled to Idaho's whitewater capital to learn about western postal history. I was there to see the Salmon, the longest wild or free-flowing river in the lower 48.

Getting out on the water however, wasn't something I planned to attempt on my own. Especially considering the limited time and resources at my disposal. Fortunately, the night before I climbed into a drift boat with Brent, I had met with Amy Sinclair of Exodus Wilderness Adventures at the Back Eddy Grill. As I savored a bison burger and a bottle of rich Black Butte Porter, she talked me through the basics of obtaining a fishing license and dressing for Idaho's cool autumn temperatures, explaining that she'd have a bag of extra clothes waiting for me in the morning. 

The next day, wind whipped through the narrow gorge and John Day Mountain cast its long shadow over the river for hours after sunrise, but I remained warm. This, I discovered, was an important part of enjoying any fall fishing trip. Sure, hooking four good-sized steelhead in the first two hours added to the fun, but comfort was key. In fact, I think I'll pack my thermal underwear the next time I go to Idaho.