On the Missouri River in Montana in 1988, at the height of the big fires that year. It was bas enough that the State shut down all wilderness activity a couple of days after we put in on the river, but we had no way of being notified. A huge black cloud blew in, looked like a thunderstorm, but turned out to be thick smoke and ash. We pulled up camp in a rush and moved to an island in the middle of the river in the hopes that a moving fire wouldn't jump the gap, and spent a nervous night listening to coyotes howling on all sides, a beautiful, beautiful sound.

Got up the next morning with our gear covered in ash, but no fire, and the rest of the trip was great.