(Warning, Danielle! There’s blood in this post.)

Last weekend we went to Missoula and fished the Bitterroot River.  The Bitterroot is one of the prettiest and trickiest rivers we’ve fished thus far.

Our guide, Mark, was on par with all of the other great guides we’ve been lucky enough to meet throughout our summer adventure.  In fact, the Southerner liked him so much he decided to leave Mark with something to remember him by: hooking a fly to his face.

Mark took it all in stride, including our raunchy boat conversations about herpetic ostomies and my constant casts right towards whatever was in my immediate vicinity that I could get my line tangled around.  In short, thanks Mark.  We promise if you’ll have us back it won’t be as bloody.

After fishing Saturday, we went back to our hotel and “someone” (I’m not naming names here, but let’s just say that he has a thick Southern accent.) threw a minor temper tantrum because the college football game he wanted to watch was not being played on the tv.  After a few frantic phone calls to local bars, this someone with a thick Southern accent took off in search of his football game.  You’ve got to admire his tenacity.  Especially, after he texted me that he ended up having to bribe the bartender to play the game for him since the Montana Grizzlies were also playing that night.

I decided to stay at the hotel and try to nap, but after 30 minutes of restlessness my stomach started talking to me.  Feed me.  Feed me something good.  Feed me tapas. After a short conversation with the hotel concierge and a mile long walk, I ended up at The Silk Road .  I sat at the bar and started thinking about how this was the first time I’d eaten alone in three months.  It was a weird feeling that reminded me how much I enjoy the Southerner’s company, and how much I detest being hit on when I’m eating alone. (I do not consider eating alone as an open invitation to talk to me. In fact, I usually enjoy eating alone. It’s a special experience between me and my meal and I get very agitated when someone comes between me and this experience. Except the bartender. Because he refills my drinks.)

The Silk Road is a cute restaurant with a great bartender.  He was serious, bought me a drink when he noticed the other patrons were annoying me, and patiently answered my questions about the food.  I wasn’t overly wowed by the food itself, but I would come back and give it a second shot based on the comfortable environment and the friendly staff.

As I finished my meal, the Southerner texted me to meet him at a bar down the street where we could play poker.  I’ve never been so happy to see someone in my life.   Especially when that someone is my best friend and is waiting for me with a drink.  Sometimes a few hours of alone time does a relationship serious good.  The Southerner and I have spent every day together for the past three months in a small town where we have no friends except one another.  Miraculously, in three months we’ve only had one minor fight that actually began with the words “Why don’t you want to be my Facebook friend?”  We get along effortlessly and always have fun. I think it’s because we both know that we’re living a summer dream and that getting to live it together makes us extremely lucky.

Ok. I’m going to stop being cheesy now and leave you with a picture that pretty much sums up how awesome our lives are right now.

Lunch on the Bitterroot