The fisherman's larder:
Blue lines and big water
Culinary fly-fisher Josh Crumpton prepares a delicious duck and huckleberry treat for a day on the water
I SPENT my morning on an unnamed blue line. It is a mere squiggle on the map, yet it is part of an intricate system that keeps the entire drainage breathing. The Westslope cuts in this section aren't trophies in the conventional sense. They are small, aggressive, and wear shadows that make them vanish against the cobble the moment they stop moving.
Fishing water like this requires quiet feet and an often-bent knee. There is no real casting; instead, you flick a three-weight into pockets the size of dinner plates under a heavy ceiling of brush. It is technical, intimate, and physically draining. I devoted hours ghosting up the current, plucking those jewelled fish from undercut banks and submerged logs. I wanted nothing but the sound of water over stone and the sharp splash of a cutthroat hitting a dry-fly.
On the hike out, I took the long way through the avalanche slide. The timber is gone there, leaving room for huckleberries to own the slope. It has become a midsummer ritual. I spent an hour in the sun, fingers staining purple-black, filling a quart container with fruit that tastes like the mountain distilled. They have a wild, sharp acidity — the kind of hit you simply cannot find at a grocery store.
I pushed the mail aside, ignored the water ring on the counter, and got the pot on the stove
The container rode shotgun in the truck. It rolled against the gear shift on the washboard stretches of road, the smell of fruit mixing with pine sap and the salt of dried sweat on my shirt. Every pothole sent a few more berries bouncing against the lid.
Home meant kicking off damp boots on the porch, moss still caught in the laces. The dogs did their usual rounds, sniffing for fish slime, while I dumped the berries into a colander. Debris whirled around in the sink: tiny leaves, a stray spider, bits of forest floor that made the journey. Under the cold tap, my hands faded from deep purple to a bruised pink.
I cracked a beer. That first sip hits differently when you are still wearing the sweat from the day’s “work.” The kitchen appeared too sterile, too organized. I pushed the mail aside, ignored the water ring on the counter, and got the pot on the stove.
A small, but beautifully marked cut extracted from a dinner-plate pocket.
A small, but beautifully marked cut extracted from a dinner-plate pocket.
The container rode shotgun in the truck. It rolled against the gear shift on the washboard stretches of road, the smell of fruit mixing with pine sap and the salt of dried sweat on my shirt. Every pothole sent a few more berries bouncing against the lid.
Home meant kicking off damp boots on the porch, moss still caught in the laces. The dogs did their usual rounds, sniffing for fish slime, while I dumped the berries into a colander. Debris whirled around in the sink: tiny leaves, a stray spider, bits of forest floor that made the journey. Under the cold tap, my hands faded from deep purple to a bruised pink.
I cracked a beer. That first sip hits differently when you are still wearing the sweat from the day’s “work." The kitchen appeared too sterile, too organized. I pushed the mail aside, ignored the water ring on the counter, and got the pot on the stove.
The chutney had to happen now, while I still had pine pitch under my fingernails. I watched the berries pop and bleed in the heat. I went for the good sherry vinegar I usually hoard and started grinding pepper — more than seemed reasonable, then a bit more. My wrist ached from the morning’s flick casts. I added salt until the flavors started to argue with each other.
A container bursting with huckleberries brought a smile to Josh's face on a tricky, cloudless day.
As the steam clouded the glass, I started planning tomorrow. The mallard rillettes were in the fridge, made from legs I’d saved from a December hunt with Rob. We had timed the flooded timber just right that day. By now, the fat is opaque and firm. Rillettes need that kind of time to become themselves.
I will tear the baguette by hand and spread that duck fat thick like mortar
I filled the leather bota bag with a Burgundy that had some dust on the bottle and tucked it away in the fridge. By tomorrow morning, it will be super chilled, which, after a few hours bouncing around in my pack, will result in the ideal temperature. Everything else went on the shelf beside the bota: the rillettes, a wedge of cave-aged Gruyère, and the jar of purple chutney. The early morning grab has to be seamless.
Tomorrow is for the main stem. Bigger water. Deeper runs. I can already see the midday break under the cottonwoods. I will tear the baguette by hand and spread that duck fat thick like mortar. Gruyère on top, then a heavy spoon of the dark chutney.
Rushing water and a fishing picnic. There are few better ways to spend a summer’s day.
When I tip that bota bag back and taste the wine warmed by the sun, the whole year hits the palate at once. December’s mallards. The huckleberries from the slide. The sound of water rushing against the rocks of the main stem. It is more than a meal. It is a way of stacking memories so that the sum of the parts is greater than the whole. Impactful and lasting.
Duck rilletts with huckleberry chutney
Duck rillettes Wild mallard or domestic duck, transformed by salt, time, and fat. True confit — legs submerged and surrendered — then shredded and finished with butter and cognac. The best energy bar you'll ever eat.
Yield: Approximately 1-1½ cups Ingredients:
For the cure:
- 4 wild mallard legs or 2 domestic duck legs
- 2 tablespoons kosher salt
- 4 juniper berries, lightly crushed
- 1 star anise
- 4 garlic cloves, smashed
- 1 teaspoon black pepper, coarsely cracked
For the confit:
- Duck fat, enough to submerge the legs (approximately 2-3 cups, depending on vessel)
For finishing:
- 2 tablespoons unsalted butter, softened
- 2 tablespoons cognac
- Kosher salt and black pepper, to taste
Method:
Day one: the cure
- Pat the duck legs dry. Combine the salt, crushed juniper, star anise, smashed garlic, and cracked pepper in a small bowl.
- Rub the cure mixture evenly over the legs, pressing it into the meat. Place the legs in a single layer in a dish or container. Cover tightly and refrigerate for 18-24 hours. The salt will draw moisture and season the meat deeply.
Day two: the confit
- Remove the legs from the refrigerator. Brush off the excess cure — do not rinse. The garlic, juniper, and star anise can stay with the legs.
- Preheat the oven to 225 deg F (110 deg C).
- Place the legs in a snug, oven-safe vessel — a small Dutch oven or deep baking dish works well. Melt the duck fat and pour it over the legs until they are fully submerged. The fat should cover the meat by at least half an inch.
- Cover tightly with a lid or foil. Transfer to the oven and cook until the meat is completely tender and pulls easily from the bone. For wild mallard, this takes approximately 3-4 hours. Domestic duck legs may take 4-5 hours. Low and slow. No shortcuts.
- Remove from the oven. Let the legs cool in the fat until you can handle them comfortably.
The shred:
- Lift the legs from the fat. Remove and discard the skin, bones, and any cartilage. Discard the star anise. The garlic and juniper can be mashed into the meat if you want or discarded for a cleaner flavor.
- Using two forks, shred the meat into rustic strands. Do not overwork it — you want texture, not paste.
- Transfer the shredded meat to a bowl. Add the softened butter and cognac. Fold gently until the butter melts into the warm meat and the cognac is distributed. The mixture should be rich and cohesive but still loose.
- Season with salt and pepper to taste. Remember — the cure salted the meat, so taste before adding more.
- Pack the rillettes into a jar or ramekin. Press gently to remove air pockets. Smooth the top.
- Refrigerate. The rillettes will firm as the fat sets. Best after resting overnight, when the flavors have had time to marry.
Notes:
Wild versus Domestic: Wild mallard legs are leaner and carry a deeper, more mineral flavor. They will yield less fat during cooking and benefit from the butter at the end. Domestic legs are fattier and more forgiving — the method remains the same. Saving the Fat: Strain and refrigerate the confit fat after cooking. It carries the flavor of the aromatics and can be reused for future confits, roasting potatoes, or cooking eggs. Serving: Remove from the refrigerator 20-30 minutes before serving to let the fat soften. Spread on torn baguette, topped with huckleberry chutney and aged Gruyère. Serve nuts alongside. Storage: Refrigerate and use within two weeks
Huckleberry chutney Make this savory-forward chutney where wild fruit remains the star. Built to play against rich fat — duck rillettes, aged cheese, game birds — while carrying the memory of the hillside where you picked the huckleberries.
Yield: Approximately 6 ounces Ingredients:
- 1½ cups fresh huckleberries
- 2 tablespoons golden raisins, roughly chopped
- 1 small shallot, minced
- 2½ tablespoons sherry vinegar
- 1½ tablespoons honey
- ½ teaspoon coriander seed, lightly toasted and cracked
- 1 sprig fresh thyme
- 1 bay leaf
- 1 strip lemon peel (about 2in, pith removed)
- Black pepper, to taste
- Pinch of kosher salt
Method:
- Combine the shallot, sherry vinegar, honey, coriander, thyme, bay leaf, and lemon peel in a small saucepan over medium-low heat. Let the shallot soften and the aromatics bloom, about 3 minutes.
- Add the huckleberries and raisins. Stir gently to combine. Bring to a low simmer.
- Cook, stirring occasionally, until the berries begin to burst and release their juice. Some will break down entirely; others will hold their shape. This is correct. You want texture, not jam. Approximately 15-18 minutes.
- Season with black pepper and a pinch of salt. Taste. The flavors should be having a conversation — fruit forward, acid bright, aromatics in the background. Adjust if needed.
- Remove from heat. Let cool slightly, then remove and discard the thyme sprig, bay leaf, and lemon peel.
- Transfer to a clean jar. Refrigerate. The chutney will tighten as it cools, and the flavors will continue to marry overnight.
Notes:
Too sharp: If your berries are particularly tart, add honey in small increments until the acid softens but doesn't disappear. Resting: The chutney is best after resting overnight but perfectly good the same day if patience fails you. Serving: Serve at room temperature for the fullest flavor. Fresh or frozen: Frozen huckleberries work if fresh aren't available. Thaw and drain any excess liquid before cooking. Storage: Refrigerate and use within two weeks.
PHOTOGRAPHY: JOSH CRUMPTON
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Josh Crumpton
Josh Crumpton brings 30 years of fine dining and wine industry experience to the outdoor world. Having worked alongside world-class chefs and served as a sommelier, he now applies that culinary expertise to hunting, fishing, and camp cooking across the American West. Based in Texas, he bridges the gap between haute cuisine and authentic outdoor pursuits.
