A tale of two Bens

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness…

Well, not really.

It was basically just a tale of two Bens.

Back in Badger Creek last weekend, about 15 miles from anyone or anything, it was about the young and the old, about the men and the beasts and a little about the fishing.

Okay, it was a whole lot about the fishing, but still.

There was the young Ben - the 15-year-old kid from Seattle who chides himself for not being able to grow any peach fuzz, the kid who already knows more about fly fishing than just about anyone you'll ever talk to, the kid who plans on paying for medical school by being a fishing guide through college.

He works at the Summit Station Lodge through an Orvis fellowship, spending his days tending to the fly shop, helping clients get ready for trips and learning all he can about running a lodge, riding horses and shooting guns.

Then, there was the old Ben - the grizzled Blackfeet Indian outfitter whose weathered smile belies years of knowledge, the outdoorsman that knows every peak and valley within a 50 mile radius, the former forest firefighter who has more interesting stories than I probably ever will.

He lives in Heart Butte, runs Northern Native Outfitters with his son Tony and spends most of his days in the mountains, looking out for bears and leading people on horseback through the wilderness.

Between the two Bens, they knew enough to fill a few books with actual information and make me feel like the most inadequate backpacker/fisherman in the history of time.

I figure I could fill up a book too, it would just be with hundreds of little cartoons or stories about getting angry, lost or disfigured.

But this isn't about me.

Young Ben, he didn't even bring a fishing rod. He was there, more or less, to teach me how to read water better, how to match hatches better, how to fish like an actual fisherman.

Old Ben, he told stories about grizzly encounters, about life on the reservation and even helped me learn how to ride a horse without wanting to steer myself off a cliff.

Young Ben, he cooked a mean dinner and a great breakfast and made me remember those first few times that I felt smarter than someone older than me.

Old Ben, he brought a can of Spam and made me wear his Ruger .357 Magnum while I fished.

"For the bears," he said.

There were some laughs, some fish caught and even a few saddle sores.

In all honesty, the only thing that was missing was a little bit of sunscreen.

They say the truth hurts, but then again, so does this sunburn.

John Vanvleet is a writer for the Hungry Horse News.