Month 2, day 2, of a brief hiatus from our careers

A soft breeze sweeps through our detached Lance truck camper as it sits alone on the quiet yellow prairie about 45 miles south of Malta, Montana. "Aayy-meee-eee, what'cho wanna doo-oooo..." serenades my dog and me via a far-off AM radio station as I type directions to the Shonkin Sag's Lost Lake into my iPhone, which gets a miraculous LTE signal.

Aside from the pond that I've already fished and plan to possibly hit again tonight, this area's fishy potholes are at least an hour away by bumpy, slow-going gravel road, and the nearest public pump is in Malta. Conditions are poor anyhow - the tiny "tailwater" creek I tried to fish a couple days ago, that I'd heard was stacked with northern pike, was chalk dry. I could bike to the nearby Charles M. Russell Wildlife Management Area and imagine giraffes and elephants gallop in the distance, but I did that yesterday. An occasional bison or 12 ambles through this little campground, courtesy of the American Prairie Reserve. Coyotes, raptors, and prairie dogs are also abundant, as are animal feces and solitude.

I suppose I'd rather be fishing, but this undemanding moment is begging me to stay put and enjoy it. I guess I'll leave some things unaccomplished today.

A brief hiatus from our careers...

Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.

- Ferris Bueller

Liz and I have decided to accept some advice and take something of a temporary, mid-life retirement while we have the energy, patience, ability, and money. Mm hmm, we've done the "sabbatical."

For three months, we'll be neo-gypsies living between the trees, riverbanks and painted white lines. ♪Picture Liz/Josh in a boat on a river, ♪ with tangerine trout and marmalade slashes... ♪ Because "the experiences, Johnny."

For the first leg, we're splitting three weeks between Minnesota's Duluth, the Twin Cities and my hometown, Mankato to catch up with family, friends and nostalgic hangouts. From there, we'll head up to northeast Montana's American Prairie Reserve, work our way back to Belgrade, Montana along some central-Montana back roads, then take week-long trips at some preferred boondocks throughout the rest of the Northern Rockies in our adventure-mobile.

So far we've filleted some Superior macks, taken a long walk on the beach, watched the fireworks from Duluth's harbor, poked around some Minnesota trout streams, peered into the Boundary Waters at the Sawbill entrance point, broken bread and shared local beers with some favorite people, and watched the Minnesota Twins flop from the first row. And we've still got the better part of two weeks to go in Minnesota.

Here's hoping it's everything we hope it to be and that you all have this opportunity sometime in your lives.

To follow along, look for #sabbaticallife on my Instagram.

Fishing on the prairie

Another sensational weekend in Phillips County, Montana, on and around the American Prairie Reserve. Best believe we caught some dandy trout in the brown-water BLM reservoirs, and that we weren't the only ones doing so.

The whooshes of songbird swooshes can startle a person, far from the relatively metropolitan vibe of southwest Montana. Boges, who started with two good eyes and four good legs, plundered about without worry of endangering the neighborhood. Sunrises like the one below decorated each morning.

If only we can convince the powers that be to stock the reservoir on the private property at which we stay - it has a large forage base of scuds and probably fathead minnows. I'd happily fish for anything - even the weird fish native to this area like sauger, channel cats, paddlefish (yes, please), or sturgeon.

But the Madison River's nice, too.

The jewel of the western prairie

My old friend wanderlust recently brought me to the Chinooks and shrubs of northeastern Montana, and the American Prairie Reserve. What it lacked in sippin' trout, it made up for in wondrous openness for this old fisherman.

Dawn on a prairie reservoir.

It's a largely undisturbed landscape of scrub, grasslands, and unadulterated prairie (save for a few generations-old ranches) rich with beautiful emptiness, nicknamed America's Serengeti. The reserve was created and is operated by its namesake forward-thinking conservation non-profit organization, and is working to preserve a large-scale prairie complex. The actual property is a patch-work of public (BLM and state) and private (APR) lands bordering the Charles M. Russell National Wildlife Refuge south of Malta, Mont., and is open to the public.

In a way, it's a wilderness all its own. Not in the government-designation sense - more of Merriam Webster's version. A wilderness you can drive through, with power lines and occasional ranch houses, and where you have every square inch and similar biodiversity to what you have when you're miles deep into Yellowstone.

I went all the way to the prairie and all I got was this grousy photo. 

We had our own spot in the world about 45 miles down the notorious "gumbo" roads from the nearest amenities, accompanied by the nighthawks, swallows, doves, partridge, grouse, burrowing owls and prairie dogs. And a few miles away, buffalo. One of the APR's primary goals is to bring bison back to the prairie, which they've been doing for years. It's one of the few places in the world you can see pure-strain bison (APR's are from the Elk Island National Park in Alberta) - that is, not at least part bovine.

The dog had the time of his life. He pounced through the marshy shoreline of the nearby reservoir until he limped, fulfilled his dream of riding in the back of a pickup, and lived a life of freedom he's proven he can't handle in a settled area. I feel like a monster for bringing him home.

Wheeee!

That night as I watched the dirty water run down the shower drain, I got to believing in what APR is doing. That drab, desolate prairie is something to save.