This next adventure is not a tall tale but it is a wonderful one. A number of years ago, my three sisters -- Kathie (upper right), Rachel (lower left) and Laurie (lower right)-- and I (upper left) met in Chicago and after we gathered at my house, we headed downtown to explore the city a bit. At last we called it a day and checked overnight into a nice hotel, got a room with two king beds, and talked and laughed and drank wine into the wee hours. We had a blast! But we realized that someone was missing -- Mom (upper center)! So at the time we said that if we ever did this "sisters reunion" thing again, Mom would have to come along. And so it came to be.

Early in September, I had learned that Kathie was planning to visit Mom in South Carolina around the date of her (Kathie's) birthday in October. So with a little luck and lots of phone calls, we made some plans. As it turned out, they were upended when Laurie (who was put in charge of finding a nice hotel) learned that the first weekend in October is a very popular one for "leaf-peeping" in Asheville, N.C., and not a room was to be found anywhere!

But somehow we are very blessed, and some dear friends of Laurie offered their splendid home on Lake Rabun, which is about a 2-hour drive from Atlanta in the mountains of North Georgia. What a treat! And that's us in the photo above -- along with my Moms' dog, Gretel.

One of the highlights of the weekend -- oh, how can I say that? There were so many!! -- was an hour and a half hike on Saturday to a lovely waterfall in the vicinity. As you might guess, we took lots of photos there. Here we all had to pose individually with Mom and Gretel. Above left is Kathie. Rachel is next below, then me, and finally a group shot.

This post will conclude the Alberta fishing adventure part of this blog. After all, it has been 8 weeks since I've written last. And anyway, who on earth cares what fabulous breakfasts we had every day!? Or how much fun the fishing was?! (or more accurately for me -- how frustrating at times). Furthermore, you just had to be there to appreciate the great times we had pooling our food stuffs for the ad hoc -- but delicious -- dinners that resulted, followed by drinks and late-into-the-night conversations on the deck that came later...

Before I close, though, I want to add a few more photos.At the left are two young girls who helped out at the B & B. Unfortunately, I have lost the scrap of paper on which I wrote their names. But they are terrific young ladies, and I hope they are at Bedside Manor next year.

Just below are Herb and Lynn. Seems like you can always Lynn find helping out in practical ways around the B & B. Here she is hanging just-washed linens on the clothes line.
And finally, here at the right is Colin, husband to Sue, pictured earlier.

When Bruce and I return next year, we'll see our friends again for at least a few overlapping days.

Hoorah for Bedside Manor and our Merry Fishing Band!

Tuesday we awoke to an overcast, slightly cooler, day. After breakfast (all the usual plus strawberry and blueberry pancakes, along with huge homemade beef sausages), most of us gathered in the kitchen to sign up for next year's bookings. And then we headed off to fish! Luckily, I caught my first fish of the week -- a smallish rainbow on a nymph. It felt good; I was beginning to think I was jinxed. By about 1 p.m., the clouds had dispersed and the sky was blue again.

Nonetheless, CarolAnn and I decided to take some time to go into the town of Coleman to visit the Frank Slide Interpretive Center, which tells the story of a dreadful disaster in 1903, when a huge landslide buried at least 76 people alive. The photo at the left shows Turtle Mountain today. We got to the center just in time to see the last showing of a very good video depicting the tragedy.

The area offers a good number of other interesting excursions: The Leitch Colleries, a collection of mining relics from one of the earliest and most ambitious coal mining operations in the Crowsnest Pass, which Bruce and I visited last year; the Bellevue Underground Mine Tour (haven't done this); and if you're willing to drive about 50 minutes from Crowsnest Pass (haven't done this either, but it sounds fascinating), there's the UNESCO World Heritage Site: Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump, the world's largest and best preserved buffalo jumps. (Prehistoric North American natives, says a guidebook, pursued their quarry and would drive them over a cliff to their deaths.) Sounds a bit "unsportsman-like" but these were prehistoric folks, and besides, the herds of buffalos were enormous in those days.

Speaking of critters, here are a few really lovable ones around the Sara's place: On the right is Yodels, the cat. Below are the two dogs. You've already met Rolly; the little one is Cecil -- who I would love to have put in my suitcase and taken him home to Chicago. They look like they're fighting, but actually they're having a rollicking good time!
For dinner that evening, CarolAnn and I met Jerry and Bruce in town and had a splendid time. Later, when Bruce and I went back out (Bruce to fish and me to write some notes), we saw three or four deer with a fawn as they stepped into the river to drink. Unfortunately, they ducked into the bushes along the bank before I could grab my camera.

Monday's breakfast was scrumptious as usual. I know you want to know this: the usual sides plus a tasty egg platter with roasted herbed potatoes and tomatoes.

In addition to the fishing and the shared suppers on the deck, breakfast is definitely one of the day's highlights. Bill (pictured here with his wife, Shirley) is quite inventive with his culinary skills, so after the "first breakfast course," we all wait expectantly for the main entree. A sort of a Renaissance man -- Bill does many things well. He practices several days a week as an anesthesiologist at a local hospital plus he ranches/farms, brews beer, cooks fabulous meals, and -- though he tends to be a bit reserved initially -- is an entertaining conversationalist. Shirley, a former nurse, is an industrial-strength extrovert; funny, lively and witty, she is the life of the party wherever she goes. Fortunately for Bruce and me, we got to see her a bit when she returned Saturday from her trip east.

On this day, along with Sue and Colin, Bruce and I decided to fish the Livingstone River, which is about an hour and a half away. It was another beautiful day, and after we parted from our friends (who went downstream as we headed upstream), we didn't see anyone else on the river. Here are a few scenes from the Livingstone.


Breathtaking, isn't it?

Again, that evening all of us pooled grocery resources, and dinner on the deck was delightful.

Up Saturday morning -- no, not "bright and early," just bright. (Breakfast is served at 8:30 a.m. -- very civilized, I think.) The weather is glorious -- as is usual around here this time of year.

I must tell you about breakfast; what a feast -- for the eye as well as the palate. We had fresh fruit salad (no, not from a can), fresh-baked strawberry and blueberry muffins (still hot from the oven), orange juice, great coffee, a choice of dry cereals, toast -- and then came the main offering: a huge platter of a delicious egg dish with tomatoes and fresh dill. Fabulous! And this is a typical breakfast. (which is why we rarely have to eat lunch except perhaps for a small snack.)

The scene above is also typical. Lots of good eating, conversation and laughter; no one rushes. At the foot of the table at the far end is Jerry, to his left is his friend Carol Ann, who is just learning to fish. Continuing left is Sue and Colin and Bruce. The folks to Jerry's right, not visible except for Andrew in the left foreground, are Lynn and Herb.

By the end of breakfast, the topic often would turn to "Where are you planning to fish today?" Sometimes guests choose to leave the property and head to one of the many other good rivers in the vicinity. But usually Bruce and I stay on the Crowsnest. It's handy and there are SO many excellent pools along the long stretch of the Crowsnest on the Sara property. The photo above is a view from alongside the river.

That evening, Bruce and I and Jerry and Carol Ann decided to "stay in" for supper, pork chops done the deck grill, etc. Later that evening, after dark (I can't remember if we fished more in the early evening or not) the larger group drifted to the deck for more conversation -- and of course, the day's "fish stories." Jerry and Carol Ann are in the photo above.

The next day the four women in the our merry band decided to go out fishing together on the Crowsnest. Sue (from the left) is quite good a good fisherwoman; next is Carol Ann, who is just learning (this is her very first time!); Lynn is very skilled and experienced; and me, still a learner, too. Carol Ann is quite amazing; she's a very quick study and was pulling in fish left and right!(Unfortunately, I didn't do as well; no good excuse.)

One of the Sara's dogs -- Rolly (short for Roland) -- decided he must follow us everywhere we went -- even into the water. What a hoot!

Oh, did I mention what we had for breakfast? The same fabulous selections above except for the addition of Bill's famous home-made porridge (he mixes rolled oats with several other grains that he grinds himself!) plus thick, delicious French toast as the main entree. One must NOT think of dieting here!

Dinner that evening was a semi-spontaneous pooling of groceries among all of us (though Lynn provided most of it): Herb grilled hamburgers, we found enough fixings for salad, there was potato salad, sweet corn and lots of wine. Sigh! What a life!

THE ALBERTA SECTION OF THE BLOG BEGINS HERE....

I can't believe it's already September. The summer has vanished like a wisp of smoke, though the memories linger -- a bit less wispy perhaps (aided by photos, of course).

Bruce and I returned home from our second fishing trip of the year last Monday, August 28. The flight back to Chicago from Calgary was held up by mechanical problems with our plane, and then when we were transferred to another carrier, that flight was several hours late. So by the time we got home and to bed, it was very late, and I had to get up on Tuesday to go to work. But I couldn't get too terribly grumpy about it because we had had such a wonderful time.


I am still new to the whole world of fishing. The June trip was my first attempt at bait fishing; this flyfishing trip to Alberta, Canada, was my fourth. Bruce, however, has been making this same trek for 9 years now -- going with our good friend Jerry Gerson, who introduced him to fly fishing and to the bed and breakfast where we always stay. Bedside Manor (above) is nestled in the foothills of the Canadian Rockies in an area called the Crowsnest Pass, which is a two-hour drive south from Calgary.

Bedside Manor -- in fact, all of Crowsnest Pass -- is a wonderful, beautiful place. Not at all glamorous or posh, the B and B is on a farm-type ranch owned and operated by Bill and Shirley Sara. The guest rooms have been built in what they call "the barn," and breakfast is served in the dining room of the Sara's charming Victorian home, which was moved to its present site from the town of Lethbridge. In addition to the five rooms, the barn also includes a modest kitchen on the first floor complete with sink, fridge, microwave, and a large freezer and grill on the deck. This is the sitting room upstairs outside of our room. Very cozy.

Those of us who are "regulars" at Bedside Manor -- and there a good number of us -- come back year to year, often planning our times so that we can at least overlap some portion of our visit with our fishing friends from other parts of the U.S and Canada. It is sort of a merry band!

Bruce and I got to the B and B at about 4:30 p.m. on Friday, August 18. We immediately went to buy our fishing licences and several bottles of wine. Shortly after we settled in, we heard that Bill planned to grill elk steaks for everyone in the barbeque pit/shed next to the river. (That's the Crowsnest River -- approximately 3 1/2 kms of which are on the Sara property!)

Shirley was out of town on family business, so all the guests were asked to chip in with food contributions. Lynn (who you will meet soon) organized things, and the evening was a delight. In addition to the elk steaks (which were delicious), Bill brought plenty of his own home-brewed beer -- a smooth, even elegant, beer with a flavor like pale ale. I'm not a beer drinker, but even I could appreciate it. Since Bruce and I had not yet picked up a few groceries (for lunches and snacks), all we could contribute was wine.

Well, I probably should end this saga here. But here are a few more photos:
To the left is Bruce with a gorgeous wall-eye from "Sag"on one of our last days.... I took this a little cautiously from the bow of the canoe lest I lose my balance. Canoes can be a little tricky.

I nearly forgot to mention the "clean outhouse" contest sponsored by our wonderful outfitter. We were to clean the outhouse and the two refrigerators and take photos. Below is my photo of the clean outhouse -- complete with the notice of sanitization which read: "Sanitized for your pleasure: just don't look down!" (I cleaned the two propane refrigerators, too, but didn't take photos of that.

Also, please note that I shot the photo from an angle so that you're looking at fallen leaves that have blown in through the damaged back wall of the outhouse. You didn't think that I would shoot straight down, did you? How gross! Later, one of the outfitters told me that a bear had ripped away the missing portion of the back wall, but I think he was simply pulling my chain.)

Don't worry: everyone had their little jobs to do as we prepared to leave. Dick and Ross swept and mopped the floors, burned all the burnable paper, collected our one bag of trash (or was it two?) etc etc. Bruce gets a pass on these last clean-up operations since he is the guy who plans the meals, buys and packs the groceries, cleans all the fish, and does all the cooking. Sounds like a lot, but he's done this for so many years, that he's quite efficient. And besides, he LIKES to cook! And the rest of us like to EAT his cooking.

Here's our plane as we loaded up to head out: What a great adventure! And did I mention the handsome young pilot that brought us out? I didn't catch his name, but he was a doll. I think that Kashabowie Outfitters must have a rule that all their employees are good-looking, soft-spoken and polite. Maybe that just describes most Canadians... at least the ones we met.

I'll be writing next about our fly-fishing trip in August up to Alberta in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains near a place called Crowsnest Pass.

Ahhh, fishing! It's a good life.

Except for the year that Bruce had his sabbatical, he and his friends have been fishing up here every year since 1983. Ross (in the photo here) has been part of the group in more recent years.

So as you can imagine, the stories abound. Virtually very meal and every star-gazing time on the desk inspires a recounting. Usually it begins like this: "Do you remember the time when Roche had a walleye on his line and a big northern clamped his jaws on the walleye and would let go? And then some five minutes later, the same thing happened again!?"

And of course there are the hook stories; almost every year someone gets one caught in a finger. One year, Bruce was the unlucky victim. It happened on Friday, the day before they were to be picked up by plane. He and his friends couldn't get it out, so on the way home, they stopped at a hospital in Grand Marais, where a woman doctor expertly removed the offending barb.The ER had a box filled with hooks that she and her colleages had removed.

I have a strong feeling that I will be in next year's stories. I can hear it now: "Do you remember how Kerry made us stop the boat or the canoe so she could get a photo of some weird (but in her eyes, gorgeous) rock-and-water views?" It's true: I did it -- often. Here are a few photos I took....

A week has passed since I last wrote. I get home from work, and I'm just too tired to sit in front of a computer, since that's what I do most of the day.

But today at work one of my colleagues, Kate, said she recently read this and actually seemed to enjoy it! (Thanks, Kate!)

As I go back to my first entry, I realize that I have not mentioned mosquitoes -- the one thing I dreaded; I hate mosquitoes. Well, Bruce was not exaggerating. I rarely if ever noticed them except for the occasions when we would portage our fishing gear over a narrow, nearly overgrown trail from Bemar Lake to Saganagon, which is a very large lake within the Quetico Provincial Park -- the wildest of the wilderness area. The walk is only about 12 - 15 minutes, but since it's a dense, swampy area, the mosquitoes are quite a nuisance. The only other time I noticed a few mosquitoes around the cabin was at dusk -- from about 8:30 to 9:30 p.m.

Here's a map that may help a little (though the graphic quality is less than ideal and Saganagon Lake isn't spelled correctly). On the far right the dark circle represents the cabin and you can see the dotted line with a canoe graphic that indicates the portage walk from Bemar to "Sag."

I was fascinated by the story of a couple with a daugher who lived here in this tiny cabin year 'round until they had to leave when the area was designated as a provincial park. This is the old, deserted cabin where they once lived and sustained themselves by hunting, fishing and trapping; amazing! The only reason we stopped here was so that we could pull on our rain pants because a shower seemed imminent. But since we were here, I had to hike up and peek into the run-down and sagging shack. Wow! These folks had to be rugged to live in such frightening isolation.

All right. You had to know this was coming; the obligatory "stupid fish picture." This particular walleye was 26 inches long; there were so many like this. But you can't keep more than one. If the walleyes are more than 18 inches long and if the bass are more than 14 inches, you have to release them. At least those were the rules at around spawning time, I guess. In fact, as the week progressed, we really had a hard time catching fish small enough to keep. I know that sounds like bragging, but it's true!

Bruce told me that I had to hold it out towards the camera so it would look even bigger. So of course, I did as I was told. (Most of the time I do what Bruce tells me to do... right, hon?)

I was soon to learn that after Bruce cleans the day's fish catch, two volunteers are needed to do the "guts run." That means that the fish guts and other remains need to be placed on a high rock on the other side of the lake near the cabin. Ross suggested that I should be initiated into this little duty, so he motored the boat, and over we went. The first time I did this, I almost lost my balance trying to tip the bucket up onto the high rock and ended up spilling some into the lake. But the next time, I did better; no guts lost. Then the evening's entertainment begins: the gulls, big turkey vultures, and even a huge gorgeous bald eagle come to fight over the stuff. And of course the eagle is the "top dog"; the other birds are very respectful of the eagle. It's a hoot to watch the scene unfold.

I confess that it's hard for me to watch the fish being filleted, especially when it's evident that sometimes a fish is still alive (barely) on the cutting table. I am such a wuss about these things; I really enjoy meat and fish so I could never be a good vegetarian, yet I hate to see the actual process of killing these lovely creatures.... Just an hour or so before they were swimming around and had no idea that they were about to be fried with a light coating of Shore Lunch.

One night when Dick and I were just about ready to call it quits and head in for the evening, I saw a large dragonfly buzzing frantically in the water near our boat, so I fished him out with the fish net and held him in my hand and as we motored back to the cabin. (Dick must have thought I was nuts, but he was a gentleman and didn't say so.) The dragonfly clung to my hand very tightly, and I shielded him from the wind as we sped home. What gorgeous transparent wings; I could see right through them. Then it occured to me that maybe this was a very old dragonfly and drowning himself may have been his intent. (Like the old stories -- myths, maybe? -- about very old Eskimos that used to deliberately allow themselves to drift away on an ice flow.

When we got back to the dock, I put Old Dragonfly over on one side so we wouldn't accidentally step on him. The next morning before breakfast I went down to look. He was gone.

Writing this blog in retrospect is not easy, because all of my brilliant thoughts are long gone, despite the few notes that I took. But even if I'd had Internet access, I probably wouldn't have posted anything anyway because there just wasn't enough time; the days flew by.

Sunday was a day of extremes.... a big high and a big low. The high was this: I had stayed in to laze around and start on the two books I had brought along. It was early afternoon, and I heard a shuffling noise on the deck. I glanced up and saw what appeared to be the backend of a large, shaggy brown dog. I got up and went to the window; there ambling slowly across the side deck was a fairly large brown bear!

Wow; I've never been that close to a bear -- not even at the Lincoln Park Zoo in Chicago. I quickly grabbed my camera, and as he passed by the front door I lifted the shade and got a photo of him as he was looking into the window. Startled by a human so close by, he made a bee line for the other side of the deck and jumped off.

Confident that he was safe from a distance, he began to explore the grassy area in front of the cabin and didn't seem to mind when I stepped out and took more photos from the deck. He didn't even become frightened when I called out to him -- politely, of course. The entire time I kept an eye on the door of the cabin in case he changed his mind about tolerating my presence. After 15 or 20 minutes he decided he'd seen enough, and paddled into the lake and swam away.

This was my low point: An hour or so later (after I was sure the bear hadn't returned) I headed to the dock to practice casting. But that was a disaster; I seemed to get progressively worse with each cast. I kept getting the line all scrambled; completely disgusted with myself, I gave up for the day.

When the guys returned, they tried to help me, but after a while, we decided that the best plan was to have me use a simpler rod that Dick had brought along. It's the kind that little kids use when they are just learning to fish -- very humbling. But nevermind; I still managed to catch lots of fish throughout the week and had a splendid time. I definitely need more practice on the casting though.

We got on the road within a half hour of getting up on Saturday, but even so we arrived at our outfitter, Kashabowie Outposts, at 7:25 am, almost a half-hour late. We did the paper work, got our fishing licenses, paid the bills and then helped to load the small float plane, which was an old De Havilland 4-seater. (Did I say "old"? Perhaps "ancient" would be more apt.) But it seemed sturdy enough, and Mike, the cheerful cherub-faced pilot, controlled the plane with a steady hand. Now a ripe old 25, Mike has been flying, he told us, since he was 16 years of age.

I took the front seat next to Mike, and Bruce, Dick and Ross climbed in the second row, and we were off! Small planes are such a delight; since the noise makes it impossible to talk, I savored my own private thoughts as the landscape of lakes, rivers and trees -- endless trees, pines and birch -- slid beneath our view. It was amazing, but I saw absolutely no one on any of those many, many lakes! Where was everybody? I wondered...

Within 20 minutes or so, we landed on our lake, Bemar, and pulled up to the dock where we unloaded our stuff, trading places with the departing group of men. Here we are having just arrived(from the left: Ross, Dick, me and Bruce).

The cabin was tidy and clean, and we set about depositing our gear in our rooms. By 11 am we were fishing, and as luck would have it, I caught two lovely walleyes within an hour or so. (God is good to beginning fisherpersons!)

The rhythm of our days was something like this: up at 8:30 a.m. or so, Bruce would cook a great breakfast, the others of us would wash dishes, and then amble out to the deck to sit a while. Before too long, we'd assemble our gear and head out. We'd fish till about 2 p.m., come back to the cabin for our main meal (walleye or bass with rice pilaf or potatoes, veggies, salad, whatever Bruce had planned in the menu) . Then it might be nap time or reading time, and by 4 or 5 p.m. or so it was back out -- fishing until it was nearly dark at 9 p.m.

Then in the evening we'd have sandwiches with cold cuts and cheese, cookies, nuts, gorp, or whatever other goodies were available. By 10 p.m. or so, we'd find ourselves on the deck, looking at stars and passing satellites, sipping scotch or bourbon or whatever. What a great life!

It's Monday night -- the first day back in the office after getting home. Bruce and I got home at about midnight Saturday after the very long drive; somehow, driving home seemed twice as long as the drive up on Friday, June 9th. But back to the beginning....

Yes, the drive was long, but I was keyed up. The miles fell away as we listened to our favorite CDs and watched the rolling hills of Wisconsin and then Minnesota slip by. Soon we knew we were in "north" country as more and more birch trees appeared and the lupine grew in elegant spikes of purple and pink along the road; more and more "Holiday" gas stations appeared too.

Our destination that first night was the Best Western motel in Thunder Bay. Bruce and the other guys had learned first-hand the dangers of mixing dark roads with wandering moose and deer on that final leg from Thunder Bay to to the outfitter just this side of Atikokan. Several times in the past, they narrowly missed hitting some big ones.

We were glad to crash as soon as we arrived. I was a little concerned that the fishermen (or hunters, possibly) I had spotted in the two rooms adjacent to our would be noisy, so I put in my earplugs. But they must have been as tired as we were. Soon all was quiet, and the five am wake-up call Saturday morning was the next thing I knew....

I've just started to pack: there's the sunscreen, the mosquito repellent (though my husband Bruce swears there are few mosquitos except at sunset), warm jacket, rain gear, gloves, etc etc. I've really no idea of what I'm getting into but here goes anyway. Bruce has raved for years about the glorious wildlife, the scenery, the Northern Lights, the great fishing, and so on. So I guess I'm in.

Dick and Ross claim that they're happy I'm coming along. I am crossing my fingers, and just to be safe, I'm packing some good books and my watercolors....