Mayor of Mahoney

I haven’t always been mayor of Mahoney. But I am now and have been for 15 years or so. I don’t have to run for election. I’m it, unless I don’t show up anymore. Maybe then someone else will become mayor of Mahoney, but I doubt it.

So, where is Mahoney? How did I become mayor, and what does the mayor do?

To tell exactly where Mahoney is would be like telling everybody exactly where your best huckleberry patch is, or maybe where your elk honey hole is. So, I will tell you only that it is accessible only by airplane, is extremely remote, and all of its citizens are hunters. Mahoney citizenship is a fairly exclusive group — of the best kind of people.

I became mayor after many years of apprenticeship. Probably 20 or so years. Finally, by proclamation, it came to be that I was the first (and only) mayor of Mahoney. I liked it. But I recognized the actions and responsibilities that got me to this position, and I intended to keep up those responsibilities.

A little history on how this came to be, and what I did to gain this honor.

I first came to Mahoney in the late 1970s with three other hunter companions. We were totally unprepared for this experience and got our butts whipped — by the steep mountains, deep snow and cold weather. I vowed never to return to this unforgiving place. But I did return. Better equipped, in better shape, and with a better attitude toward this beautiful land. Gradually I learned what equipment provided us with safety and comfort. Each year I upgraded my equipment and learned more. But most importantly, I learned that the value of this experience was not just seeking out the huge mule deer rack, but was the people that came to experience this wonderful place.

I began to put into my planning process means to make the hunting experience better for us and for the other hunters who came here. I planned enough in my logistics to provide for some get-together meals and emergency provisions in case some other hunters ran short (and some did on more than several occasions). So, the value of my hunting trips to Mahoney became more of a total experience. I enjoyed the hunting experience, but recognizing the value of the total experience by recognizing the value of sharing the experience with other hunters made this experience much more valuable to me. Much more. And made me many valuable friends and memories.

Duties of the mayor? Well, mostly they were good. Some were not. Like the time I confronted a group of hunters about some “unethical” hunting practices they were using. I strongly suggested that they tag their animals and catch the earliest plane out. They agreed and left.

Mostly however, my self-imposed duties were enjoyable. Most centered on food, a few beers, and once in a while a sip of single malt.

There also were some administrative duties. Most significant was the protection of senior citizen rights (mostly mine). The country here is extremely steep. Everything is up (really UP), and down (sometimes when loaded with venison) can be even worse. So, in an effort to accommodate us seniors I made a mayoral decision to protect these rights. Happened kind of spontaneously. But any good mayor must be decisive.

So one day I was headed out hunting to a large area close to camp that is relatively flat and surrounded by steep country. Thing is that it is an easy hike from camp, and from the lower area it is easy to glass the surrounding hills to spot game, and make for a relatively easy hunt. However, on this day I encountered two other hunters coming from the opposite direction. I greeted these hunters cordially, but informed them that unless they were over 60 years old, they could not hunt this immediate area. I told them that when the Frank Church River of No Return Wilderness Area was established certain areas were “grandfathered in” and this area was known as “Medicare Flats” huntable only by senior citizens. “You are shi--ing me,” responded one of the other hunters. I guess my smile betrayed my best efforts to sustain my mayoral proclamation, and brought laughter by all with my admonition that maybe I misunderstood the rules. Since then however, this area has been (by those of us in the know) known as “Medicare Flats.” One of my most crowning achievements as mayor.

Then was the matter of saving lives. Really? Well, on several occasions there were citizens of Mahoney who claimed such was the case. One was the occasion when a hunter from Idaho came in with his son and one of his friends to hunt for a week. They planned carefully for their provisions that would last them for the week. All went well for them until day four of their six-day provisioning for their hunt.

So one morning my hunting partner Rich and I were having a somewhat late breakfast of huckleberry pancakes, bacon, coffee, and maple syrup laced with cinnamon. I happened to look out the tent and saw these hunters gathered around a meager campfire trying to stay warm. I asked Rich if he had seen them eat at all. He said he hadn’t, but wasn’t sure. I said I would be right back, but asked Rich if he could cook up a pound of bacon. I went over to the huddled hunters and asked if they would like a cup of coffee.

“I’d die for a cup of coffee,” was one response.

I asked if everything was OK, and the response was that they were a little stressed. Turns out that while the two adult hunters were out hunting on day three, the teenage hunter got into their carefully planned supplies and ate three cans of canned stew, ate two cans of chili, all of their tuna and nearly all of their supplies. He was hungry, he said. Consequently they were left with a few sacks of instant oatmeal and two cans of beans (the kid didn’t like beans). They had not eaten for more than a day, trying to make rations last until they were scheduled to leave.

“I think you guys need to come over to our tent,” I said.

They agreed. Needless to say, they complied, and ate an astounding number of pancakes and bacon. After breakfast Rich and I provisioned them with enough for their camp and told them breakfast and dinner was at our tent — no questions asked. They didn’t ask any, and for years the dad would say we saved their lives. I don’t think so, but hey, what’s a mayor for, anyway?

So, I am mayor of Mahoney, a title I will carry with me as long as I have the capacity to remember. And I believe there are those who will remember the mayor after I am no longer able to hold forth in this — this most beautiful place in my world.

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Lanny Olson, the mayor of Mahoney, is a Coeur d’Alene resident.