The Man Without a Plan

Weaving through faceless strangers on a sidewalk, the famed Murray Block stood motionless as tourists passed by. The rustic brick building exhibited a sense of dying history in the bleak, early afternoon light. I admired the strength of each brick as I waited. Each one stood for over a century to provide comfort and shelter from the unpredictable Montana weather.

At ten till two, my patience was quickly dissolving into anxiety. I worried that he had forgotten or decided that I wasn’t worth his time after all. My text remained unanswered no matter how many times I checked my phone. Then, finally, my phone buzzed to life with the message I was expecting for what felt like an eternity, “Come on in, just got here.” Relieved, I stood, shouldered my backpack, and pulled on the heavy wooden door that – according to the lightless neon sign above – would lead me straight into the Murray Bar.

I stepped inside and the darkness enveloped me as the door thudded shut. The hazy barroom was unexpectedly busy, considering how early in the afternoon it was. Waitresses and patrons bustled around me as I scanned every table and barstool for a face I had only seen in photos. At last, on the other end of the island bar, a waving hand and a bright, crooked smile caught my attention.

“Hey man, how’s it going?” The man said, extending a calloused hand. “I’m Callan.”

Callan Wink embodies Livingston, Montana. His face is tanned and weathered from working outside during the hot Montana summer. Creases and lines trail from the corners of his eyes from years of squinting through the sun and enjoying life. The man was as vibrant as the town itself –always lively, always moving and always up to something. Truly unpredictable.

An expanse of farmland bordered by deep blue mountain ranges suggests just another sleepy rural Montana town. Within the city limits, however, is a bustling mini metropolis. Rustic brick buildings covered in bold signs dominate the downtown architecture, notifying visitors of the history that the locals are passionately proud of. Within the sea of faded brick are new, brightly painted businesses that incorporate a modern, artistic look within the downtown area.

Livingston provides an endless diversity of entertainment. Award-winning restaurants, independent bookstores, cafés, fly shops and local miscellaneous stores can be found all over. But the crown jewel of the old railroad town stands tall on the corner of West Park Street. Since 1904, The Murray has been a focal point of the town’s historic past. A conglomerate of a hotel, a café and a bar, The Murray Block has welcomed the patronage of famous figures like showman Buffalo Bill Cody, renowned celebrity chef Anthony Bourdain and legendary writer – and parttime Livingston resident – Jim Harrison.

His handshake was firm and business-like in contrast to the toothy smile on his face and the kind, mischievous light behind his tired eyes. We settled side-by-side at the bar. Soon after, a bartender paused in front of us.

“What can I get you, Callan?” she asked.

“Well, it’s still early I guess,” Callan said. “I’d better stick with beer. I’ll do a PBR and Clamato.”

The waitress disappeared to the other end of the bar, then returned with a large glass, a brown bottle and a smaller glass filled with tomato juice.

“I’m more of a tequila guy anymore, but it’s before four o’clock and I still got shit to do today,” Callan said, laughing as he mixed his drink.

After a taste test of his orange concoction, he turned and stared at me expectantly. I realized he was waiting for the interview to begin.

“Well, I grew up in this tiny little town called Morley,” Callan said of his Michigan upbringing. “There were probably three hundred people, a blinking stoplight – you know – that kind of thing. I went to a high school that was like two towns consolidated. I think I graduated with like eighty people or something. But, yeah, it was a small town out in the woods. My mom was a teacher and my dad worked in construction.”

Callan’s mother held a firm belief that television rotted the young, developing minds of children. Therefore, not a single screen occupied the Wink household. Literature was the primary mode of entertainment. Callan constantly had his nose buried in paperback Western novels and poetry books. Soon, his love for reading grew into an obsession for writing.

“When I was pretty young, I started writing bad poetry and I still continue to do that,” Callan said. “Probably until my early twenties, I actually thought I wanted to be a poet. But then I just sort of realized that all my poems were just short stories that I was too lazy to actually flesh out.”

Like William Faulkner famously said, every novelist is a failed poet. Callan fits that adage.

“Well, I was never really a very good poet, but when I finally started, you know, forcing myself to work at it a little longer I was able to turn some of them into stories,” Callan said. “That’s what I should have been doing all along. I still think it’s good to start out thinking in terms of poetry for imagery and things like that. I don’t really read a lot of poetry though. I think I just liked it because you can just finish, you know, it doesn’t take so long. I like the sense of accomplishment.”

By the time Callan graduated from high school, he knew he loved two things: fly fishing and telling stories. The summer after he graduated, he moved to Missoula, Montana. He found a job working on a dude ranch as a fly-fishing guide in order to save up for college. Callan fell in love with the Montana lifestyle. He had discovered his home.

“After that summer, I moved down to Bozeman for college,” Callan said. “It would have been the end of my first full year full year in Montana, so 2003 or 2004. I can’t really remember exactly, but I moved down here because it was cheaper. I ended up working at Dan Bailey’s fly shop. I worked there all through college, and, for the most part, lived above it in the shitty little apartment they had up there. I liked Livingston because I was just used to small towns.”

Not long after, Callan found a family to go with his newfound home in a man named Dan Lahren, a fellow fishing guide.

“Yeah, Dan’s a character,” Callan said. “He’s kinda my surrogate dad here in Livingston. He’s a cantankerous little son of a bitch, but he’s funny and extremely smart. Pretty crusty but he’d give you the shirt off his back if you needed it. He’s a great cook as well. I benefit from it because I’m not and he takes pity on me frequently and makes me dinner a lot.”

After years of home cooked dinners, fishing trips, drinks and crashing on couches, Callan and Dan have built an unbreakable bond. Callan’s friendship with Dan has also introduced him to many opportunities, including a working relationship with Jim Harrison, who Dan had been taking on fishing trips for over thirty years prior to Jim’s death.

“[Jim] was one of the first writers that I got to know who was an example of how to be a writer,” Callan said. “Jim was the first real working writer I ever knew. He had a good work ethic. He wrote everyday for a longtime, no matter what he was doing, which I always thought was impressive. No matter if he was carousing, or fishing or doing whatever, he always got his ass up and wrote something in the morning. I appreciated that and I’ve tried to follow that.”

Despite his lust for literature and his run-ins with many writers, Callan has never modeled his writing after another author. He prefers to speak with his own voice.

After completing his bachelor’s degree at Montana State, Callan felt the need to continue honing his writing skills. He enrolled in the Creative Writing MFA program in at the University of Wyoming. Shortly after completing that program, Callan became a recipient of the Stegner Fellowship at Stanford University where he shared his knowledge and love of fiction writing with aspiring authors.

However, despite his impressive academic success, Callan longed to return home. Upon his return, he felt an entrepreneurial spark and started his own independent outfit as a fly fishing guide which has become yet another of his feats.

“Fishing is fun,” Callan said. “Dealing with people can be tiring though. At least with guiding you’re the boss of your own little domain, so if you don’t get along with the people you never have to take them again.”

Callan takes advantage of the area’s pristine fishing spots during the summer months, transitioning his aptitude for sharing knowledge from the lecture hall to the boat. However, a fly-fishing guide often finds business slow when the water freezes. For fishing guides, the winter months can be a difficult time. Many must search for other jobs. But not Callan.

“In some ways, it’s good,” Callan said. “When I’m done fishing for the year, I’m excited to write. But, it’s also hard to keep a schedule. It’s hard to do longer projects when I haven’t been writing for half a year.”

Despite his somewhat sporadic writing schedule, Callan has published four books: August (2022), Big Sky Country (2021), August: A Novel (2020) and Dog, Moon, Run (2016). Although he has proven himself capable of writing novels, he has found he lacks the patience most novelists have mastered.

“If I had my way, I would just write short stories because they’re more fun to write,” Callan said. “You could write a short story in a week. It’s hard to be a novelist only working half a year. Unfortunately, publishers don’t like short stories.”

Despite Callan’s distaste for writing novels, he has produced a few novellas, all focusing on the rural Montana way of life, a topic he feels the most comfort and passion writing about.

Most recently, Callan published an article in the Angler’s Journal. The article was a reflection of his career as a “rower of boats” and the approaching end of his career as age and uncertainty close in behind him.

“I don’t know,” Callan said. “You know, I haven’t done a lot of planning in my life thus far. Maybe I’ll regret not having a retirement plan, but I’ve got buddies who are still guiding into their sixties. I have a little more time to figure it out.”

Callan paused for a moment and took a sip of the tequila he had ordered at around three in the afternoon, maybe the clock on the wall was a little off. A deep sadness began to consume the light in his eyes.

“You know, my mom had a pretty gnarly stroke when she was in her early fifties,” he said. “It basically disabled her and she died. Shit like that changes your perspective. You live a little more short-term when something like that happens. It’s made it hard for me to spend too much time pondering my distant future.”

Instead, Callan spends his days fishing, writing, traveling, drinking and creating memories. He knows death is the only given in life, and he will not take the time he has for granted.

Callan and I sat in silence for a moment while he finished his drink. I was at a loss for words. I knew it was time for me to go, but all I wanted to do was sit and talk with this man I had just met but felt like I had known for years. The man without a plan.

Story and Photo by Nathan Feller & Art by Annalina Scalise.

story and photo by Nathan Feller, & art by Annalina Scalise