_campfire Cash Recipes

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• Campfires evoke memories from anyone who has ever sat around listening or telling stories by nature's own light. It is not uncommon for stories bordering on the bizarre to be told and re-told, but while camped at the river put-in on the Bruneau River in SW Idaho, a truly bizarre story unfolded before our eyes.Anyone who has ever floated the Bruneau River in Idaho's Owyhee County already knows that a big part of the adventure is just getting there! Mile after mile of rutted, kidney-jarring road across a seemingly endless plateau of sagebrush erodes the patience of all in the party. Suddenly what moments before appeared to be a sea of sagebrush is parted by the Bruneau River Canyon, just as the Red Sea parted for Moses and his followers in the Bible story! Though the float trip begins on the river, which twinkles at the canyon bottom, the adventure by road is not yet ended! Now the road descends through a lava escarpment. Chiseled and blasted from solid rock, this road challenges any who dare drop off the canyon rim! Rusted, burned-out hulks lying among the jumbled rocks below the escarpment bear mute testimony to the fate of careless drivers before us.After successfully making this first descent, my two pards, Jim Van Ark and Mike Brogliatti, and I watched our shuttle drivers attain the rim before starting to rig our boats. We had two days to burn while waiting for the rest of our party to descend the Jarbridge River in canoes and a kayak to where we were. The Jarbridge enters the Bruneau about a mile upstream from the put-in. We pitched our camp near an old bridge that is no longer safe for vehicles to cross. After getting the boats rigged, we checked out nearby Indian Hot Springs and rustled up some firewood for camp. Rather than set up a firepan, I chose to grill our elk steaks over an open fire in a rock fire ring made by previous campers. At one point I thought about relocating a couple of rocks in the fire ring to better balance my grill, but managed to get it steady enough that it wasn't worth the bother. But because I didn't move those rocks, I'll never know the answer to a question I ended up asking the next day. That evening the three of us sat around the fire telling stories, remembering other river trips, and wondering how our pards were faring up on the Jarbridge.The next morning after rolling out of bed, we immediately congregated around the fire again to ward off the late April chill. After warming my bones, I headed to Indian Hot Springs for a soak and a bath. Jim Van Ark followed minutes later taking photos. As an aside, it was at this time that Jim took the photo of me in the bathtub that appears on the back cover of this book.When camping, most folks expect some privacy or solitude as part of a camping experience. While camped at the Bruneau River put-in at the end of a dead end road, which almost defies description, 'isolation' better defines our campsite! Being mid-week and early in the floating season, we were not expecting to see anyone else that morning as we sat around drinking coffee. All of a sudden we heard a vehicle approaching and figured another party of floaters were coming in. For a couple of minutes before the rig came into view it almost sounded like an off road motorcycle. In all my years of patrolling and driving back roads in Idaho and other western states imagine my surprise when a two-wheel drive sedan of foreign manufacture came into view.Our surprise only increased when two fellows, one in his twenties and the other middle-aged got out of the car. Surprise turned to apprehension as these two characters approached us. Had we been in a movie theater I would've thought two characters from "Deliverance" had come to life. My officer safety training kicked in as both guys began to advance after just saying 'Hi'! The older fellow stopped when he reached the fire ring and bent down and rolled over one of the rocks. From underneath the rock he picked up a wad of bills folded in half. Even with a twenty-pound river rock setting on them this wad of bills was almost two inches thick. Before he pocketed the money I could see only the bill on the outside of the roll and it was larger than a twenty!After backing off a couple of steps the older guy said, "We left this here last weekend and decided to come back and see if it was still here!" He went on to tell us they'd been camped where we were and had hid their money under the rock before walking up to the mouth of the Jarbridge to do some prospecting. Even though I knew it to be a tacky question, I asked how much money was in the roll. He replied, "Just some pocket change." Pocket change my foot! Even if they were all one-dollar bills, these two guys had a bit more than pocket change hidden under that rock! I guess even in the woods folks hide their valuables in odd places! Although a bit bizarre but true, I still tell this one around the fire!Spiced with More Tall Tales - Meats

Steps:

• In a large ovenproof skillet over medium heat, cook and stir onion in oil under tender. Add garlic; cook 1 minute longer. Add potatoes. Cook, uncovered, for 20 minutes, stirring occasionally. , Add kielbasa; cook and stir until meat and potatoes are tender and browned, 10-15 minutes. Stir in chiles and corn; heat through.

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• If you're not a duck hunter or married to a duck hunter, just skip this recipe. Personally, I've never tried to cook a coot, primarily because I've never even shot at an "Ivory Billed Mallard". Remember, this is the guy who will eat every thing except grits and green lima beans. In this modern age, it seems to me, too many people blame events in their childhood for the mistakes or failures they make as adults. Some rightly so, but I can't help but feel a lot of it is over done!So where is all this leading, you ask yourself? Yup! you guessed it, my childhood. Since my dad first took me duck hunting at age three, the list of things I've done in life longer than I've duck hunted is fairly short. Memories of those first duck hunts are still vivid. Back in that distant past, I learned that the preferred duck of those who wait at home while others duck hunt, to be mallards. Those of the green headed variety! My dad, being a pretty fair hand with a shotgun, seldom got skunked in those days. He'd been there before, but it was a new experience for me, just four years old. About the only thing flying in the marsh that day were coots, which Dad had several different adjectives to describe. I didn't understand why dad didn't shoot them as they patterned by. At that time I obviously thought-ducks are ducks! Wrong! How long I pestered Dad to shoot them, I can't remember. What I do remember is him saying, "Mother didn't like any kind of ducks except those with green heads" and it wouldn't be very smart to take something home she didn't like. Though I was just four years old, that part I understood! I'm sure Dad first passed this recipe on that day. Over the years, Dad repeated this recipe so many times I've memorized it without ever having cooked it.A Back Country Guide to Outdoor Cooking Spiced with Tall Tales - Fowl & Fish