The wild and scenic Middle Fork of the Salmon River winds its way through the largest wilderness area in the Continental U.S.: the Frank Church Wilderness Area in central Idaho. It is vast, majestic and ruggedly wild. Thousand-foot-tall side canyons plunge into the river. Steep, rocky and forbidding, they form a unique wilderness rafting experience.

Getting an individual rafting permit for the Middle Fork of the Salmon River is like winning the lottery. Considered one of the gems of the rafting world, applications for the limited number of summer rafting permits pour in from throughout the U.S. There are lots of applicants but few winners.

So Geoff Hogander and I decided to enjoy the luxury of a rafting company, Middle Fork Wilderness Outfitters, with roots to our hometown of Pocatello.

Owner and Guide Willis McAleese Jr. is a Pocatello native who made us feel right at home. We love to fish, and this trip added the benefit of McAleese’s expert fishing experience. He has guided raft trips and anglers for two decades down East Idaho waters.

What more could you ask for? A hundred miles of wilderness river to float, over 100 rapids, pristine country, crystal clear water with cutthroat, rainbow and bull trout. And a guide that knows how to catch them.

Strapped into life jackets, we all got the safety lecture, were shown where to sit on the rafts, paddle and how to use the inflatable kayaks. Everyone gravitated to the kind of whitewater adventure they wanted. Most days, Geoff and I chose the big rafts and fished off the back. One day, I did the inflatable kayak. No fishing, lots of bobbing and staring at stacked up whitewater waves. Hmm, fishing seemed like a really good option.

Stops each day along the river featured hikes to waterfalls, hot springs for a soak and cliffs with pictographs to marvel at. Willis and his guides were excellent interpreters of the time and tribes that left their history on the rocks. It is a holistic type of experience looking down at the river from where ancient artists scribed their trade painting sheep, wolves and people. The majesty of what laid before the artist brings the paintings to life.

Photography

The photographic opportunities on the river are excellent and endless. During the six-day trip, we snapped photos as we drifted, cascaded over rapids and swirled in deep pools. Overhanging cliffs with vistas of shimmering water were common. Canyons contrasting with blue and green waters flanked by massive granite boulders added depth to the size of the wilderness area.

Most of the group used their phone cameras. Yes, phone cameras. The camera optics in the new iPhone and androids are exceptional. Our group snapped photos of bald eagles, waterfalls, pictographs, hots springs, fishing, moments of laughter, camps and all sorts of vivid plants and rock formations.

Dining outdoors

The first dinner on the river set the stage. Shrimp wrapped in bacon with libations of your choice were starters. Salmon cooked over the open fire on cedar planks and a fresh green salad was paired with pasta. I loved the salmon topped with huckleberries.

The last night, tri-tip roast glazed and barbecued over the open fire and paired with a giant Idaho potatoes and all the toppings capped off the trip. Geoff and I chose a fine glass of red wine to accompany our meal. The topper was a dutch oven chocolate cake with chocolate frosting for a guest’s birthday. To celebrate, some brought along funny costumes featuring walruses and a marlin! A fun group of new friends.

Breakfasts ranged from eggs benedict to hot cakes with real maple syrup. Lunches were served on tables set on sandy beaches with an array of sandwich makings and a pasta salad. Pineapple and other fruits finished off lunch with a cookie the size of a small plate.

Fishing the Middle Fork

The most stunning aspect of fishing the Middle Fork is the miles and miles of fishable water. We averaged about 20 miles a day and cast a thousand times into riffs, seams and eddies that made you expect a strike with each cast.

One of the fishermen was a ringer. Willis McAleese Sr. joined us, and he is an excellent fly fisherman. He and his son cut their teeth fishing the Snake River out of Pocatello and they are good. He teamed up with his son and provided us with flies that worked and tutored us on how to fish the cliff edges, side pools and flat water. Our talents varied and catches of cutthroat trout and rainbows ranged from double digits to me getting skunked an entire morning.

I am not a fly fishing purist. So when I was getting skunked I broke out my mini spinning gear and at times out fished everyone but Sr. Other times they waxed me.

The raft crew

The rafting crew was a delightful mix of young and middle-aged individuals who love the river life. Geoff took a shine to Lara Sagatov, a 27-year-old raft guide with experience rafting many of Idaho’s rivers. He nicknamed her the River Goddess. All of the crew took turns at most of the tasks on the rafts and lifted ice chests and baggage till our arms would have revolted.

Personal time to reflect

The solitude, vast canyons, rock ledges dropping into the river help one reflect on who and where you are. Few places offer the experience I had the last evening of the trip.

Walking up the river a quarter mile from camp, I was casting a thumb-sized lure for cutthroat trout enjoying the evening. My luck was good, and I caught two 12- to 14-inch cutthroat and released them. Then I hooked into one of the native bull trout weighing about 2 pounds. It cut through the darkening waters putting up a fine fight. I took a photo of it, released it and sat down.

Not 15 feet away, watching me was an adult river otter, head propped out of the water next to the bank. I did not move. Dodging its head back and forth, it stood up on its hind feet looking at me. Probably wondering what nut of a fisherman would let dinner go. A minute later, a smaller, sleeker otter rose out of the water to eye me. The bigger otter found its footing and stood up looking at me. With a slight sound from the smaller otter, they slipped underwater and were gone.

A wonderful conclusion to a spectacular trip that slipped away too quickly.

Granted, hunting an animal that weighs upward of 2,000 pounds and is renowned for its ill temper and bad attitude, the hunter entails a few risks. I accepted that when I signed up for the cape buffalo hunt in remote Zambia in Africa.

What I didn’t sign up for was dealing with grass fires swept by gusting winds and stalking in on a herd of buffalo in tall grass only to be roared at by two lions hunting the same herd. The roars were close enough to make the hair stand up on my neck.

I bought the Zambia cape buffalo hunt at a major conservation fundraiser. I liked the idea that the money went to a good cause, and if successful we would deliver half of the buffalo to two different tribal chieftains who controlled the southeast half of the million-acre Kufe hunting concession area. The hunt would be conducted in one of Africa’s truly wild places.

Wild was right. Flames and smoke swept across miles and miles of grasslands and forest. High winds carried burning embers causing fires to hopscotch across the landscape. Animals moved out ahead of the fires. We moved out ahead of the fires. Once surrounded by fire, we drove to a pond, parked and wondered if we would have to submerge if the fires got worse.

This year, the annual grass burning done by tribes for centuries was delayed because of late rains. The fires are set to burn off old vegetation so new vegetation can sprout through feeding herds of antelope. I had expected to hunt in broken open glades burned off by earlier fires, but we were faced with a sea of grass taller than our heads.

To avoid the fires, the buffalo moved into dense woodlands during the day. The quick-moving hot fires blew over the woodlands that were still green and then died out. Four of five days we followed tracks into the thick tangled woodlands. Only once did I have an opportunity at a shot. A massive bull was 25 yards away in dark shadows, with a screen of brush covering most of his body. All that was visible was the glint of light off his eye. The PH whispered for me to shoot him an inch above the eye. Just as I got the 2 power crosshairs on him, he was gone.

LIONS IN THE WIND

The next morning, we found a herd of 35 to 40 buffalo at dawn. We followed their weavings in and out of the brush and high grass for an hour. We could see the grass move as they passed us not 40 yards away up wind. A horn here, gray skin there. This was going to be our best chance. Then the lions roared.

Lions were also hunting this herd and got our scent. We were between them and dinner and they didn’t like it. The roar was like a physical blow. Immediately we were huddled together, back-to-back rifles ready. We did not want to be the dinner of the day for the lions or trampled by buffalo. Thankfully, the buffalo galloped away and the lions disappeared with them. A lot of bad things could have happened quickly.

There is a classic Africa hunting book titled “Death in The Tall Grass.” I always thought it was a catchy title. Now I know what it means. Buffalo and lion in the tall grass are a double whammy.

Back at camp, we discussed the bad luck. Bad luck, said the PH, come with me I will show you bad luck. He took me to a chain-linked area where they let their trophies dry.

Four of the biggest sable antelope skulls and horns I have ever seen were scattered around it. Sables are regal and majestic antelope and renown for their courage to fight even lions when attacked. Hunts for them are closely controlled and monitored. The tribal fee alone to shoot one is $7,000. The remains of four magnificent animals laid before us. They had been poached and their meat dried for the jerky trade and the skulls discarded. Their meat would bring the individual poacher maybe $25 to $50. Tribal wardens were hunting the poachers. Grimed-faced and carrying 1950s era AK-15s, a team of five wardens were on rotating 10-day foot patrols looking for the poachers.

The next day, I took a mature bull as it came out of a densely brushed area into the open. If you have not experienced the ear deafening concussion of a truly big-bore rifle without ear protection, don’t volunteer. After my three shots with a 416 and the PH’s one shot with his 500 nitro, my ears were ringing for three days.

OFF TO SEE THE TRIBAL CHIEFTAINS

The hunting crew halved the buffalo with axes and saws. Efficient but brutal, they had the job done in 30 minutes. We wrenched each half of the buffalo into the truck and off we went headed four hours deeper into the interior to deliver buffalo meat. The local hunting staff got all the intestines, which are considered the “desert of the buffalo.” Without phones, there was no way to call ahead. The village didn’t have electricity or refrigeration. We had to hustle before the meat spoiled.

We drove through a maze of animal trails and then on to a dirt road and into the village. The chief was in and called a group of young men to carry their half of the buffalo to the butchery to be stripped and hung for jerky. A jovial man, he introduced us to several of his wives ranging in age from 14 to 60. He wanted us to stay and sample fresh-made beer before resting for the night. We still had another half-buffalo to deliver.

Each chieftain proudly showed me the motorcycle the outfitter Mohamed Bhagoo had bought for his village wildlife patrol officers. It was the only motorized vehicle in either village and gas was hauled in. Part of the government lease/concession agreement with the outfitter requires them to provide for poaching patrol and direct village assistance. That money comes directly from hunting proceeds. The hunting area had not been leased for the past several years and the tribes did not receive any compensation, and poaching had increased significantly. Now both tribes and concession operator were working to eliminate poaching and preserve the magnificent antelope, buffalo and big cats.