Friends floating the Middle Fork the other day told me they’d been quoted a price of $80 to run their shuttle. I suggested they bag the shuttle and just go ahead and float. All one needs to do is wander around the West Glacier take out looking like an abandoned cat until someone feels sorry for them and offers a ride. That always works for me.
I’m not up on the economics of shuttle driving. I’m sure there are considerable expenses related to fuel and vehicle insurance. And folks who spend beautiful summer days driving other folks’ cars up and down Highway 2 so those folks can float the Middle Fork should be well compensated. Still, if it really pencils out that it costs $80 for someone to run a shuttle business at a fair profit, I suspect more and more folks will resort to my lost-cat routine.
I just don’t want to be on the river the day when everyone gets out at West looking for a ride, and there’s not a single shuttle car in the parking lot.
We floated Moccasin to West in late July and brought an extra car this time, making us a valuable commodity at the take out. While we were securing the boat a woman approached and pleasantly inquired if we had a ride back up river. We told her we did so she asked if we’d keep an eye out for her husband. They’d left a shuttle vehicle as well, but unfortunately the keys were still up at Moccasin (Rule No. 1 for proper shuttle organization: make sure the shuttle keys wind up where the shuttle vehicle is parked). Hubby caught a ride with one of the rafting companies out to Highway 2, she explained, and he was hitchin’ it from there.
Sure enough, when we turned east out on the highway there were a couple of dudes, one still wearing a PFD, thumbing for a ride upriver. Now I don’t want to minimize the dangers of picking up strangers alongside the road, but under the circumstances we figured this was a safe bet. One dude was in fact the husband with the key problem. Another was a guy from Whitefish pretending to be a lost cat.
Our shuttle vehicle was a Honda owned by the grad-student brother of one of my teen daughters’ friends. So our hitchers had to be patient as we cleared the back seat. I even ended up with a ratty dog bed in my lap. But anyone who has spent any time around rivers knows what to expect from shuttle rigs: they’re about as clean as the cars grad students drive.
We ran a near-perfect shuttle the other day. The Kid and I planned a quick after-work float from Teakettle to Pressentine, and since his car was on the fritz we needed a third so we could execute the proper three-person, two-vehicle shuttle. We invited another friend who didn’t fish, but had a functioning vehicle. Caroline agreed to join us.
The float went well. We caught a few fish and Caroline enjoyed her first-ever trip on the river. We’d put on late, which had me a little concerned, but we had plenty of light when we arrived at the take out. A storm was brewing over Blacktail, but as we secured the boat it seemed we’d dodged that bullet as well.
It turned out Caroline and I dodged it. As we drove back from Teakettle the front hit, delivering marble-sized hail and sheets of rain so thick drivers pulled their vehicles off Highway 2 due to visibility that was limited to about the end of your hood.
Not me. I had a shuttle to run and a fishing buddy left exposed to the elements. When I finally made to Pressentine my headlights illuminated The Kid, drenched to the bone and doing a pretty fair imitation of a poor, no-name slob looking for Audrey Hepburn.
We slapped backs in a proper man hug and loaded the boat. It was a good day on the river.