Reflections from a past life in Twin Bridges flood my reveries these days. Maybe it is the sign of getting old, or just that the uniqueness of the times is inspiring more introspection than usual. Sitting here, I can close my eyes and feel the warmth of a late hot August afternoon giving way to the lengthening cooler shadows of cottonwoods as hoppers buzz and water whispers through the riffles of low summer flows on my favorite section of the Ruby River. Looking for the first caddis to dance in the shade of an overhanging bush, I sit, wait, and know it will happen. It always does at this time of year. Back to reality, however, I wonder if my Montana is more dream than memory, well knowing that what once was is now giving way to something different; its rugged edges smoothed over by a genteel population more distant from the past than ever. Years ago I was fortunate enough to catch glimpse of the “Wild West” before it was gone, but now realize that I was among the first wave of a generation that more or less modernized the West as well.
In the early 80s I drifted into the Four Rivers Fly Shop run by the new owner Scott Waldie. He was a gentle soul, but only to those whom he deemed low on the bullshit scale. We hit it off right from the start, and his typical salutation to me whenever I walked through the door was a resounding “Kus”, and that usually led to lengthy discussions about fishing and other issues important to the day. As the years clicked by, Scott entrusted me to watch his shop when he needed a break, and I was usually flexible enough at my Winston job so that I could fill in on short notice. For me, chit- chatting about fishing all day and getting paid for it was a delight.
In the early 80s I drifted into the Four Rivers Fly Shop run by the new owner Scott Waldie. He was a gentle soul, but only to those whom he deemed low on the bullshit scale. We hit it off right from the start, and his typical salutation to me whenever I walked through the door was a resounding “Kus”, and that usually led to lengthy discussions about fishing and other issues important to the day. As the years clicked by, Scott entrusted me to watch his shop when he needed a break, and I was usually flexible enough at my Winston job so that I could fill in on short notice. For me, chit- chatting about fishing all day and getting paid for it was a delight.
When I got sick from epoxy exposure at Winston in the early nineties, Scott employed me as a guide on the Ruby flowing through Beans Wessel’s ranch until I got better. Beans was a “rootin’ tootin’” hulk of a cowboy kind of like the “Hoss” character in the TV series Bonanza. Stories of Beans’ wild exploits abounded throughout the valley along with those of some other real deal cowboys of the day. Those were the days when Montana was still raw, and outsiders were viewed with suspicion. Despite that, Scott got along with Beans well enough to send clients to his ranch water in a business arrangement that benefitted the valley in many ways.
Scott loved to write. Often during the slow times at his shop, he would be banging away at his typewriter composing a fishing article for one publication or another. His pieces were usually fishing stories with a bit of embellishment, and since I loved fishing stories, Scott’s dedication inspired me to take on a few writing projects myself. When his first book was published in 1997, I was excited to actually know a published author. Travers Corner is an acclaimed collection of stories about a fictional town in Montana that bares a familiar resemblance to Twin Bridges. It was the first of three books Scott wrote taking the reader to this imaginary place that seems more real to me now than present day actuality. More than ever, Scott’s work possesses the power to take one to a place where life was simple and genuine, a journey back into the way things once were…the Montana I remember.
Scott was very open about his congenital heart disease, and would occasionally go to the hospital for a tune-up. Although no one wanted to believe it, he always said he would die young. Thus so, on May 25, 2006 he passed away at the age of 59, but not after touching many lives and doing much for the local community. He was the first of several significant folks in my circle who have passed since then, but the thought of slipping into Travers Corners now and then for a visit keeps Scott alive in the kind of town that will forever live on in my heart.
Scott loved to write. Often during the slow times at his shop, he would be banging away at his typewriter composing a fishing article for one publication or another. His pieces were usually fishing stories with a bit of embellishment, and since I loved fishing stories, Scott’s dedication inspired me to take on a few writing projects myself. When his first book was published in 1997, I was excited to actually know a published author. Travers Corner is an acclaimed collection of stories about a fictional town in Montana that bares a familiar resemblance to Twin Bridges. It was the first of three books Scott wrote taking the reader to this imaginary place that seems more real to me now than present day actuality. More than ever, Scott’s work possesses the power to take one to a place where life was simple and genuine, a journey back into the way things once were…the Montana I remember.
Scott was very open about his congenital heart disease, and would occasionally go to the hospital for a tune-up. Although no one wanted to believe it, he always said he would die young. Thus so, on May 25, 2006 he passed away at the age of 59, but not after touching many lives and doing much for the local community. He was the first of several significant folks in my circle who have passed since then, but the thought of slipping into Travers Corners now and then for a visit keeps Scott alive in the kind of town that will forever live on in my heart.
