The ultimate fishing guide

The show “The Madison” on Paramount opens with a terrific first episode. The fishermen begin on the Madison River but end up on Idaho’s Big Lost River.

On my only fly-fishing trip, I was headed to the Madison. But the fish were under stress from disease, and the river was closed. Rather than cancel, I pivoted to Sun Valley, Idaho—though I had never even heard of the Big Lost. It turned out to be a fortunate decision.

That once-in-a-lifetime trip was made spectacular by our guide, Susanne Connor of Lost River Outfitters in Sun Valley. This Southern boy had never fly-fished before, so day one was practice. Day two showed promise as we worked a scenic stretch of river.

At lunch, Susanne produced beautiful sandwich wraps, most of it from her own garden. I took a bite and heard a crunch. Shrimp. I quietly started picking it out. She noticed.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“I hate shrimp.”

She lit into me—mostly in German. She reminded me she had asked about food preferences, and I had said I’d eat most anything. I told her I didn’t expect Sun Valley to be a seafood hotspot. That only prompted more animated German.

Day three gave me the most breathtaking outdoor scene I’ve ever experienced. I’ve seen some remarkable places, but nothing tops this.

Susanne had access to a large private tract where the Big Lost flowed. We would be fishing alone. To reach it, we crossed a beaver pond in chest waders, arms raised, carefully stepping through. Beyond us: no telephone poles, no cell towers, no highways—just silence and open country.

On the way back, I kept stopping to take it all in. More emphatic German followed as she urged me along.

It was late September. The mountains were lit with golden aspen. The air was crisp. Visibility was endless. That scene is burned into my memory.

The Big Lost itself is a jewel—so striking it ought to be on some national register. Not far from where we fished (a spot I wrote about in “A Whopper of a Story,” HHJ, Sept. 17, 2022), the river simply disappears.

Sadly, I’ve learned that Susanne has passed away.

No doubt there are other excellent guides. But I suspect none quite like her. Being fussed at in German was part of the charm. I’m not great at following instructions, and I like to think my stubbornness amused her as much as it exasperated her.

I never got to ski with her or fly in her glider, but she was a superb teacher, a gifted guide, a remarkable gardener in a place with a four-month growing season, and—by all accounts—a devoted mother, partner, and grandmother.

For me, she was the best guide I’ll have ever had. I won’t forget her.

“The Madison” is about loss and how people cope with it. Susanne’s family and friends surely feel that loss deeply. I only knew her for four days—but they were among the most meaningful four days of my life.

Kelly Burke was born in Knoxville where he spent his younger years, followed by high school years in Atlanta where he graduated from Georgia Tech, and Mercer Law School. He has been in private practice, a magistrate judge, and an elected district attorney. He writes about the law, politics, music, and Ireland. He and his wife enjoy gardening, playing with their Lagotto Ramanolo named George Harrison, and spending time with their grandchildren. To see this column or Kelly’s archives, visit www.kellyrburke.com. You can email Kelly at dakellyburke@gmail.com.