Friday July 18, 2008 Hungry Horse, Montana
We were told that serious huckleberry pickers need to get up and out early, and that we did! We were up and out of camp by 8am to meet with the Whitney family at their campsite at 8:30am. We were going to be boarding two boats and traveling up the lake about 20 miles.
The Whitney’s have been doing this their entire lives and have their favorite secret places to pick huckleberries. Gary’s Dad worked for the Montana Fish and Game Dept. Gary’s parents had three sons, each of which was exposed to this beautiful state and its natural wonder.
Hungry Horse Lake was a man made reservoir that had a hydroelectric power plant below a dam. The after bay waters fed into the middle fork of the Flathead River. The National Park system has set up primitive campgrounds (pit toilets and water) around the 50 mile perimeter of the lake. They also have set up some camping sites on the Islands that dot the lake. It is strictly a pack in, pack out situation. Everyone seems to respect the rules because the area is clean and litter free.
The eight of us (plus two dogs) took off in two boats, filled with supplies for picking, picnic makings, beverages and high hopes. There were no guarantees on whether there would be a crop to pick…its all luck and timing.
The boat ride was brisk and beautiful. The skies were clear, blue and reflected in the glass like lake water. Evergreen trees high on the mountain peaks seemed to march to the waters edge, showing no scars of logging…just thick shades of green. Small forest fires from lightening strikes appeared in a couple of areas. The distinctive aftermath of brown evergreens from tree beetles was not apparent.
The boats were beached at the first Island about 10:30am. Everyone grabbed old empty tin coffee cans, which had metal wire handles. The handle of the cans had rope tied to them that could be cinched tightly around the waist. That way, hands were free to pick the berries and place them in the can...or in your mouth!
As I watched and followed what others were doing, they all seemed to suddenly scatter into the woods laughing and having high hopes of a good pick. I on the other hand had no clue what wild huckleberry plants looked like and having some fear of picking the wrong thing and being poisoned, I needed a little coaching. Gary and his Mom helped by pointing out a plant and told me to be sure and turn over the leaves because the "little buggers" grew underneath as well.
Gary’s brother Neil packed along a pistil, in the event that a bear should wonder into our territory. Although a bear would have to swim across to an Island, it took little convincing that I was going to be within sight of others while picking! Bruce stayed with the boats at the beach, fishing and watching out for our dog.
Once I got the technique down, I was having the time of my life. Pretty soon voices drifted off and I lost sight of the others. I found myself basking in the warmth and solitude of my harvest. There was something very spiritual and rejuvenating about my time alone. I had no fear of getting lost, being hurt or running into a bear. I thought about Indians and pioneers who shared this land and the abundance of it. I thought about how I would preserve the berries and what I might make out of them in order to share them with others. I thought about God and how totally awesome he had been to share this experience with me. I thought about my Dad and how much he loved to pick berries in the summertime.
Time passed and I felt free, refreshed and at peace in nature.
The quietness broke two hours later with Bruce’s voice calling me for lunch. Everyone else had gathered near the boats and had a roaring fire started to cook “redneck” sausages for lunch. We all sat and shared hot dogs, chips, drinks, fruit, cookies and berry picking stories.
At lunch, I found out more about picking techniques and the variety of huckleberries. I had only been picking purple ones, passing over anything else, thinking that they would be too sour. It turned out that there were “red huckleberries” that everyone seemed excited at finding. Oh well, I would know better at our next stop.
After putting the fire out and reloading the boats, we were off to the second Island. It was a smaller Island and so plentiful with berries that we all picked near one another and were unable to pick them all. After a total of 5 hours of picking, I was tiring along with everyone else. Some went for a swim (67 degree water), some took a bath and the kids played with our dog. The setting was so picturesque that I crawled into the boat to rest and just to marvel at the scenery.
Our final stop was to Round Top Island. The Island had steep banks and very thick vegetation. Gary and his brother scouted out the berry situation and reported back that it was not very good. We jointly decided to call it a day and head back to the Whitney camp for “happy hour!”
Upon our return, a campfire was started as we all sat around having something to drink and snack on. We were convinced (forced :0) to stay for a lovely dinner of BBQ pork loin, spinach salad, pesto pasta and beans. We opted to leave before dessert as it was getting late. As we packed up, I handed Bruce a small green baggie to “take care of” as I grabbed the dog and her things.
When we got to the truck, Bruce said with his hands in his jacket pocket, “Is there pork in this baggie, because it's still warm!” I burst out laughing saying, “No Bruce, its dog poop and you were suppose to take care of it!” Ahhh, nothing like a good laugh!
We were told that serious huckleberry pickers need to get up and out early, and that we did! We were up and out of camp by 8am to meet with the Whitney family at their campsite at 8:30am. We were going to be boarding two boats and traveling up the lake about 20 miles.
The Whitney’s have been doing this their entire lives and have their favorite secret places to pick huckleberries. Gary’s Dad worked for the Montana Fish and Game Dept. Gary’s parents had three sons, each of which was exposed to this beautiful state and its natural wonder.
Hungry Horse Lake was a man made reservoir that had a hydroelectric power plant below a dam. The after bay waters fed into the middle fork of the Flathead River. The National Park system has set up primitive campgrounds (pit toilets and water) around the 50 mile perimeter of the lake. They also have set up some camping sites on the Islands that dot the lake. It is strictly a pack in, pack out situation. Everyone seems to respect the rules because the area is clean and litter free.
The eight of us (plus two dogs) took off in two boats, filled with supplies for picking, picnic makings, beverages and high hopes. There were no guarantees on whether there would be a crop to pick…its all luck and timing.
The boat ride was brisk and beautiful. The skies were clear, blue and reflected in the glass like lake water. Evergreen trees high on the mountain peaks seemed to march to the waters edge, showing no scars of logging…just thick shades of green. Small forest fires from lightening strikes appeared in a couple of areas. The distinctive aftermath of brown evergreens from tree beetles was not apparent.
The boats were beached at the first Island about 10:30am. Everyone grabbed old empty tin coffee cans, which had metal wire handles. The handle of the cans had rope tied to them that could be cinched tightly around the waist. That way, hands were free to pick the berries and place them in the can...or in your mouth!
As I watched and followed what others were doing, they all seemed to suddenly scatter into the woods laughing and having high hopes of a good pick. I on the other hand had no clue what wild huckleberry plants looked like and having some fear of picking the wrong thing and being poisoned, I needed a little coaching. Gary and his Mom helped by pointing out a plant and told me to be sure and turn over the leaves because the "little buggers" grew underneath as well.
Gary’s brother Neil packed along a pistil, in the event that a bear should wonder into our territory. Although a bear would have to swim across to an Island, it took little convincing that I was going to be within sight of others while picking! Bruce stayed with the boats at the beach, fishing and watching out for our dog.
Once I got the technique down, I was having the time of my life. Pretty soon voices drifted off and I lost sight of the others. I found myself basking in the warmth and solitude of my harvest. There was something very spiritual and rejuvenating about my time alone. I had no fear of getting lost, being hurt or running into a bear. I thought about Indians and pioneers who shared this land and the abundance of it. I thought about how I would preserve the berries and what I might make out of them in order to share them with others. I thought about God and how totally awesome he had been to share this experience with me. I thought about my Dad and how much he loved to pick berries in the summertime.
Time passed and I felt free, refreshed and at peace in nature.
The quietness broke two hours later with Bruce’s voice calling me for lunch. Everyone else had gathered near the boats and had a roaring fire started to cook “redneck” sausages for lunch. We all sat and shared hot dogs, chips, drinks, fruit, cookies and berry picking stories.
At lunch, I found out more about picking techniques and the variety of huckleberries. I had only been picking purple ones, passing over anything else, thinking that they would be too sour. It turned out that there were “red huckleberries” that everyone seemed excited at finding. Oh well, I would know better at our next stop.
After putting the fire out and reloading the boats, we were off to the second Island. It was a smaller Island and so plentiful with berries that we all picked near one another and were unable to pick them all. After a total of 5 hours of picking, I was tiring along with everyone else. Some went for a swim (67 degree water), some took a bath and the kids played with our dog. The setting was so picturesque that I crawled into the boat to rest and just to marvel at the scenery.
Our final stop was to Round Top Island. The Island had steep banks and very thick vegetation. Gary and his brother scouted out the berry situation and reported back that it was not very good. We jointly decided to call it a day and head back to the Whitney camp for “happy hour!”
Upon our return, a campfire was started as we all sat around having something to drink and snack on. We were convinced (forced :0) to stay for a lovely dinner of BBQ pork loin, spinach salad, pesto pasta and beans. We opted to leave before dessert as it was getting late. As we packed up, I handed Bruce a small green baggie to “take care of” as I grabbed the dog and her things.
When we got to the truck, Bruce said with his hands in his jacket pocket, “Is there pork in this baggie, because it's still warm!” I burst out laughing saying, “No Bruce, its dog poop and you were suppose to take care of it!” Ahhh, nothing like a good laugh!
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