I hadn't passed this way since the 2007 wildfires sent flames leaping into the summer sky. With smoke filling the Missouri River canyon north of Helena, the fire crews I had come to interview raced to protect local history against the approaching Meriwether fire.

On that hot, dry day, we arrived by boat to watch the crew wrap a historic cabin at Meriwether Picnic Area in fire-proof foil. They ran a sprinkler line around the old building (used by James Harrison who spotted the Mann Gulch Fire in 1949) and sent streams of water jetting into the woods in an effort to hinder the advancing flames.

The irrigation worked to turn the hardened summer soil into mud. The constant stream of water also turned the woods so green it was easy, while standing among them, to mistake the glen for the mossy forests of the great Northwest.

Today, nearly two years after the Meriwether fire went out, the Gates of the Mountains Wilderness has once again found its color. Green as far as the eye can see, at least at a glance.

Stacy Cummings, my fellow paddler, suggested this trip early Sunday morning. For not having a plan -- and still waiting for the rivers to subside -- it sounded like a grand adventure that required little preparation.

We created our initial goal in the car, a place where possibilities are limitless, if not a bit unrealistic. We would paddle downriver to the Meriwether Landing, where Meriwether Lewis camped in 1805. We might travel on to Mann Gulch and take a hike through wildfire history while noting its potential tragedy.

It was a good plan indeed, but deep within the Gates, pitted against reality and the building wind, both landings seemed too far. But just ahead, a grassy knoll marked a welcome bend in the river. It sat far enough into the canyon to say the distance we had paddled counted as a true adventure.

Mann Gulch, while grand in concept, would require an earlier start. Meriwether Landing, while a noble destination, would have to wait another day. A cold beer and a rock chair with a view, Stacy agreed, was a good substitute for pressing on in the choppy conditions.

The stretch of river within the Gates abounds with fishermen. Two in particular lent us their Leatherman as a bottle opener. As the older man dug through his tackle box and sifted through his colorful rooster tails in search of the tool, the younger man stiffened sharply when his line went taught and the tip of his pole bent toward the water.

"This would be our second fish," he said excitedly, waiting for the trout to rise from the dark water. The fish's white belly flashed against the sun. It was the first indication of the trout's respectable size.

"Well now," he said, holding up the fish to give it an honest look. "That's not bad. I guess it's a keeper. We'll save it for dinner."

We thanked them for the tool and paddled to the grassy knoll. We climbed a small hill and found a rock with a view. Down below, the boats had staged along the river creating a flotilla when seen from above.

The boats drifted in the canyon's afternoon shadows. In the Gates, the line between light and dark cut sharply across the water. The clouds raced just out of reach and the river sparkled in silvers and blues, though an artist might argue it held more colors than two.

This is a land before words. Not until 1805 did Lewis and Clark put their observations down in writing, taking note as they ventured up the Missouri River in search of the Northwest Passage.

In his journal, Lewis wrote how "the towering and projecting rocks in many places seem ready to tumble in on us." He described the cliffs as having a "black granite" base while portions above appeared "to be of a much lighter color."

During his day, traces of Indian camps and "big-horned animals" lined the riverbank. The men wrote often of the prickly pear cactus and the increasingly shallow river. While the Indian camps are gone, the animals remain, though today they stand hidden from view.

The river itself -- if it can be called a river anymore -- slides past the rock. Waves lap at the stone creating imperceptible fractures. It is these fractures that change the landscape, or, as Lewis noted, "menace us with destruction."

Describing nature as menacing and destructive is an antiquated view of the world. The landscape here is more beautiful than daunting. It is more inspiring than dangerous. Wrapped in the canyon's silence, separated from the outside world, anything is possible.

In this part of the country, friendliness abounds. The fishermen tip their hats and offer unsolicited reports on the conditions. Passengers drifting by in the Hilger Rose raise their hands and point their cameras in our direction, as if kayakers are somehow rare.

A lone fisherman on a small raft waves too. He putters upriver and inches closer. Within earshot, he says he is running on a one-stroke engine, the other stroke having been lost to the effort of motoring.

Then, in storybook fashion, his last remaining cylinder cuts out and leaves him adrift. The current and wind drive him back downstream.

As he drifts away, it strikes me how the gentleman bears a striking resemblance to Santiago from Ernest Hemingway's novel "The Old Man and The Sea." And true to Santiago's fate, the fisherman is drifting in the wrong direction, though a giant marlin is hardly the cause.

His words are soon lost to the wind. Struggling upriver ourselves, there is little hope of offering him any help. The wind drives spray over our boats soaking us cleanly through. The effort is joyful yet rigorous, five strokes of the paddle required for every foot of progress.

Reaching the mouth of the canyon becomes a laughable goal. The rocky Gates becomes a point we dub the cape. I imagine the Horn of Africa, but Stacy says Cape Fear. The wind and waves threaten to drive us into the cliffs if we dare stop paddling.

Progress comes slowly but, as the story goes, we reach the lake and eventually the marina. All is well that starts well, even for Santiago, the friendly fisherman who found a tow back to the marina from a fellow boater running on all cylinders.

With a smile, the old man loads his broken-down raft onto his trailer and notes the fish he caught. There are few bad days in the Gates of the Mountains, where history, friendliness and adventure wait around every bend.

Getting there

Drive 20 miles north on I-15 and take exit 209. Drive 3 miles to Upper Holter Lake. There is a public boat launch and private boat tours. There are also several fishing access sites with boat launches along the entire Missouri River corridor.

Reporter Martin Kidston:

447-4086 or mkidston@helenair.com