[This is the third entry in our six part series on Northern California. To see the rest, click here: Behold The State Of Jefferson.] 

My quick and heartfelt relationship with Marble Mountain Ranch began through a series of emails and phone calls. Heidi Cole, one half of the couple that owns and runs the ranch, didn’t blink when I told her I was 6 months (actually 7 months pregnant). Horseback riding would be out of the question, but shooting and archery would be fine.

And then we got onto the topic of fishing, and my ears perked up.

I’ve never been fishing before. No, really. There was that time in the Amazon with the raw steak and piranhas in a literal black lagoon, but piranhas are dumb, ravenous things that only require a piece of string to catch.

We discussed the fishing options. Heidi was overwhelmingly patient  with my 7-month-pregnant-city-girl-looking-for-an-adventure self.

“Would you want to go reel fishing or fly fishing.”

“Oh, well, I’ve never done either, but fly fishing would be fun.” (I’ve seen Brad Pitt and Oprah do it on TV; I’m practically a rung below expert.)

“You’ve never been fly fishing before?”

“No, but I’m game.”

“You’ll have to walk into the river for fly fishing. Are you worried about the current knocking you down?”

“No, I could do that.”

“The current can be pretty strong, and you are 6 months pregnant.”

“Yep, but I feel pretty good.”

“Do you own waders?”

“No.”

“Ok, so reel fishing it is. I think you’ll have a good time!”

 

 

She was so kind about it, I couldn’t really object. We later found out that they had already decided to close for the season, but she took kindly to the adventurous pregnant lady and stayed open an extra weekend. This would be our first indication that Heidi was one awesome woman.

Heidi forwarded me a list of instructions on how to get to the ranch, which you’d think would have set off warning bells in my head but did not. Did you know cell phones stop working with any regularity once you travel beyond Healdsburg? It’s true!

As our car crept into the Marble Mountain Wilderness, our cell phones — and Google Maps — went dark. I assured myself that we’d spent decades of our lives untethered to smartphones; this was fine. Old timey! Getting away from it all!

We wove beyond the coastal redwoods, into green valleys and white limestone crags covered in fir trees. Per Heidi’s instructions, we stopped for gas in Hoopa; at an hour away, it was the closest gas station. Temperatures dipped, and the terrain lost any familiarity of the California we’ve known. Banners began to appear on our drive, proclaiming this the State of Jefferson. Without the instant gratification of Google, we brainstormed what they meant.

We squinted out the front windshield searching for any sign of Marble Mountain Ranch. We pulled up to a large green hall, wondering to ourselves if we were in the right place, relieved that we’d actually found it, wondering who in the world would want to live all the way out here.

Say hello to Heidi and Doug Cole.

Marble Mountain Ranch is owned and operated by the Cole family. Heidi and Doug raised their children on the ranch, and now their children and grandchildren work the ranch as well. Heidi and children prepare all of the delicious, fresh food. She and Doug also manage all of the activities: horseback riding, rafting, fly fishing, shooting, and archery. It is a family-run dude ranch in the strictest sense.

 

 

We weren’t the only ones struck by the ranch; Doug told us that they usually sell out for the summer by December. Families arrive for week-long stays. In the fall, serious steelhead fishers arrive with specialized gear to take advantage of its proximity to the Klamath River. It turns out we were very very lucky to be able to get in a night’s stay before they shuttered for the season.

The Coles ushered us down a dirt road to a series of cabins overlooking the horse grazing pasture.  Our small cabin was tidy and full of country charm. And, thankfully, had a wifi connection. They told us to come down to the lodge for dinner when we were ready.

Heidi had prepared a hot, welcoming meal. Potatoes and homemade bread, a wonderful salad, and a large broiled steelhead. We were the only guests at the ranch, and so we sat down to dinner with our hosts and volleyed questions of wilderness and city. What is Washington DC really like; how did you ever get involved running a dude ranch in the middle of nowhere? They were as gregarious and warm as we thought they’d be.

The next morning, we set out for our adventure. Doug and Heidi had helped us obtain steelhead fishing permits, as if we were about to catch any real quantity of fish. Heidi ended up joining us for some fishing, too. By which I mean she whipped us into shape.

 

 

 

At a large rocky bank, Doug handed us our fishing rods. I took mine and then stared back at him, having no idea how to even hold it. He stared back at me and then thought better of that decision. He delicately took the rod back and handed me a dingier one; the other one was one of Heidi’s favorites.

I quickly deduced Heidi was the more serious fisherperson of the pair. While Doug got his line caught on muck and grass (sometimes his own clothing), too busy laughing about something with Dave, Heidi was intent on teaching me how to reel fish properly. She wasn’t taking any damn pregnancy as an excuse, and next time swing your arm out a little wider and make sure your legs pivot like this. No, try it again, your arm should extend like this. I loved her for it.

A couple expecting their first child is basically catnip to experienced parents. I’m sure Dave and I came across as two anxious souls who only knew enough about child-rearing to be utterly terrified by it. As we cast our lines into the rushing blue water of the Klamath River, Heidi and Doug shared their parenting rules gleaned over the course of two decades, laughing back to their own frenetic newborn days and smiling wistfully recalling the afterschool sports years. They assured us love really was the only criteria. We still follow many of their rules today.

 

 

 

 

We caught and released some baby steelhead, not letting their diminutive size get in the way of proud fishing photos. Satisfied, we sat on the bank of the river and tore into a picnic packed by Heidi

As we said goodbyes with promises to send photos of the baby after she was born, Dave and I set back out into Marble Mountain Wilderness. Our heads swimming with parenting ideals and the beauty of our surroundings, we didn’t even notice when our phones went live again.

For the 24 hours we were in their hold, Heidi and Doug took us in, taught us how to fish and made us better parents than we would have otherwise been.  It is really no wonder that families come to spend weeks with them year after year.