Glacial Lake. We Ride The Blackfoot. Ghost Rails.

Fair warning: this is gonna be a quite extended post; its contents will eventually include a kinda all-encompassing account of ONE TRIP we took to the Clark Fork River valley (and its tributaries) and Missoula. It will take me several days to get through all we did there. SO: if you are one of my readers who visit every day, keep looking at this one, because you will most certainly miss something if you only view it once...

Toward the end of May, we set our (ever-restless) sights on western Montana and the Missoula area. I had stumbled upon a geological phenomena I wanted to witness for myself (Google is the best thing EVER) out there, and the Clark Fork River and its surroundings are one of the 'must-sees' that all the Montana natives recommend.

For geological background, and before you proceed, you should go to this site:

http://www.glaciallakemissoula.org/story.html

and read about what most geologists (the secular ones, anyway) now concede constituted the largest flood catastrophe in Earth's history. It left its mark on the entire northwest section of what is now the continental United States, was unthinkably violent and, perhaps coolest of all according to current anthropological theory, was probably actually witnessed by the earliest Native Americans. After studying this event, this author decides that he would have cheerfully bartered any number of pretty important body parts in exchange for a front-row seat to the party... And, over about 2,000 years, it happened FORTY-TWO TIMES!

Anyway, that's only a small part of what we saw and did in the area. Like I said, I'm gonna (try to) just give you the photos and the captions and let you interpret as you will. If I see something that needs further narration, I'll just insert it by the pic.

Artist's Rendering Of The Missoula Area With Glacial Lake Full:


Another Geologist's Concept:


Missoula Valley Pic We Took From 'M' Mountain, For Comparison:


Go here for a Virtual Tour of the effects and scale of this astounding event:

http://www.glaciallakemissoula.org/virtualtour/

We also drove out to a place called the Camas Prairie, where you can still see 'ripples' and 'scours'. These were areas where the water drained so quickly that it left clues that first led geologists to the truth about this thing. Here are some pictures of that. Remember, looking at the images you can't even IMAGINE the scale of what happened here...

The Following 4 Pics Contain 'Scouring' And 'Ripples'. See If You Can Spot Them:








Hungry now. Be back later today with hypothermia-in-whitewater and The Ghost Rails Inn (and the Clark Fork at flood and blah blah blah lots more)...

OK, I'm back in the saddle. As usual, 'later today' means 'tomorrow' but never mind that now...

The Blackfoot River will be familiar, by sight if not by name, to anyone who's ever seen the movie 'A River Runs Through It'. It stars Robert Redford and Brad Pitt, among others, and is and based upon a short novel by a guy named Norman MacLean. The film's (and the book's) closing line goes something like this:

"Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world's great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of the rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs. I am haunted by the waters."

Serious challenge is involved in chronicling an adventure such as the one in which we find ourselves immersed (Q:"How did we GET here?" A:"I LED you here, my son, for I am Spartacus"): attempting to describe the magic, joy and overwhelming sense of wonder that often threatens to burst our hearts; to GIVE you what it's like, without becoming, in the process, putridly maudlin or tearfully (GAY-ly) sentimental. In that endeavor, as any of my consistent readers will testify, this author consistently fails miserably. Sorry.

We hired a company called 10,000 Waves (www.10000-waves.com) to take us rafting. It's owned and run by a very nice man-and-wife team, Kienan and Jeanette Slate. These folks are hard-core professionals, stringently licensed and regulated by the State of Montana, and as it was still the middle of May (and all the rivers here flood like hell in spring), they were understandably concerned about safety. Our first choice river, the Clark Fork (more about that monster later), was still considered way too high and dangerous, so they agreed to take us down a stretch of the Blackfoot that their calculations indicated was unlikely to whack us out, thereby preserving the spirit of their 'No-Killing-The-Clients' policy.

Like I said, it was early in the year, so we and one other couple had a boat all to ourselves, and Kienan was nice enough to do the honors as guide personally. I think most of his employees are seasonal, students at Montana State in Missoula for example, and were not on the scene that early in the year. So it was really cool to get to go with the company owner. The man knows his stuff... and he REALLLY knows that river.

The 10,000 Waves Shuttle And Our Boat:


NOTE: if anybody is expecting to see here a photo taken going through any really rough water, you might as well just skip it. I can personally testify that during those stretches (and there are LOTS of them) you are WAY too busy to think about hauling out the camera. These guys run a tight ship, and the rafters are required to WORK when the going gets tough. As captain, Kienan wasn't shy about letting us know what was expected to keep us oriented properly and safe, and he has my profound respect accordingly...

Allison Getting Ready; Note Wet Suit, That Water Is COLD:


Us And Shipmates During A Calm Stretch:


Allison The Trooper, Wet Cold And Scared:


Much-Appreciated Hot Chocolate Break:


On The Left Is Kienan Doing His Captain Bligh Impression:


By the way, this area is right where Ted Kaczynski (AKA The UnaBomber) hid out while playing his little explosives-mailing game...

A View By Kaczynski's Cabin, Taken From The Blackfoot:


OK, that's it for the raft trip. I can't describe adequately how much fun it was anyway, and there's (as always) not enough room for all the cool photos, so we're gonna move on now.

While we were in the area, and for about three days, home for us was a very cool B&B called The Ghost Rails Inn:

http://www.ghostrailsinn.com/

It's an old hotel, built in 1909, that used to serve the Milwaukee Railroad line between Chicago and Seattle. It's now owned by Thom Garrett and Grace Doyle; Thom was a science teacher here in Montana in a previous life, and I am indebted to him for both his in-depth knowledge of the Lake Missoula floods and his willingness to talk to me about the subject until (I'm sure) he was heartily sick of it. Grace is a quilter extraordinaire, and has some really fine work both on display and for sale there. They have spared no expense in both redecorating the hotel and making it feel like a personal home (which indeed it is, for them) and both the accomodations and the ambience are innately satisfying. No phones, no TV, no stress... an ideal 'base of operations' when visiting the area. And, they are the ones who turned us on to 10,000 Waves; they actually contacted the rafting company and had all our reservations made, per my request, by the time we arrived! Exquisite service.

The Ghost Rails Logo (I Actually Got Permission For This One):


Exterior Of The Ghost Rails Inn:


Our Room At The Ghost Rails:


Final notes about Ghost Rails: HIGHLY RECOMMENDED; they made the mutts feel as welcome as if they lived there, and the food was nothing short of fantastic. Scrupulously clean, well-run and homey. Thanks, Thom! Thanks, Grace!

The next few pics are from the Bison National Wildlife Refuge. This is a park in the mountains and tundra that rise above the Camas Prairie (mentioned earlier in the Lake Missoula section)

Deciding Whether To Charge The Car:


Allison And Dogs On Tundra:


Yes, Places Like This Really Exist:


Scotty On Bison Range Alpine Trail:


Mutant Mule Doe, Gotta Weigh 200 Lbs:


A 'Pleasant Pheasant' (And Your Author Is Losing His Mind):


Last, but not least, some miscellaneous pictures from the rest of our stay, with brief (for me, anyway, darned motormouth, what happened to hyperdrive?) captions...

Sitting On The Clark Fork At Flood; NOISY!


A Redundancy At Fish Creek, Lolo National Forest:


The Clark Fork River From Natural Pier:


Missoula And U of M From Insanely Steep Trail Above College:


Montana Grizzly Stadium From Same Insanely Steep Trail:


Quite By Accident, The Tallest Pine In MT, Lolo Nat'l Forest:
(Inevitable query: how do they know that? Did this tree return a Census form? If so, how does the tree get the form to the post office? Does the Park Service have one guy that just wanders the forest with a surveyor's sextant measuring trees? Or does this tree's mother maybe have, somewhere, a titanic door jamb upon which she (?) scrupulously inscribes with a giant Sharpie Junior's annual growth record? And then brags about it at the Conifer Mothers' Annual Tea And Brunch?)


And finally,

McDonald Pass Blizzard, On Way Back From Missoula, May 23rd:
(Note to self and others: does it EVER stop snowing here? The answer, apparently, is no. See what I mean in the next post.)


If you are paying attention, and if you read the previous captions and notes, you will be painfully aware that Your Author is tired enough that weird things are happening inside his head. SO: this post is done.

Next up: The Butte And Georgetown June Snowstorm. We Backpack Into Bear Country. Yellowstone Park. The Beartooth All-American Road. And much, much more.

A Really Lonely Place To Die

OK, guys and gals, I'm so tired of being behind on this thing that I'm gonna go 'hyperdrive' on the next few posts. That means less talk, more action. By 'action' I mean 'pictures'; they are much less time-intensive to post and I sometimes run short of sagacious and philosophical things to say anyway.

The first trip we took after 'landing' in Billings was the [obligatory when in Montana?] Little Bighorn National Battlefield. Here are some photos, and I can't tell you (and the pics don't do it justice) the sadness and heartache you feel while surveying the windswept, deolate plateaus where so many young guys, many there against their will, had NO CHANCE.

I am fully cognizant that this is only one of the many instances in American military history where inadequate or poorly-interpreted intelligence, incompetent leadership, or plain old bad luck doomed the rank-and-file foot soldier to a lonely, painful death far from home. In Your Author's travels, he has seen many such... but this is the one I'm writing about now.

As you look at the photos, be aware that every white marble marker is a place where the body of a U.S. Cavalry soldier was found; still, after heavy rainstorms and as recently as last year, the Park Rangers here are finding the remains of men and horses from that unspeakably violent day...

If you wanna read the entire story of what many historians consider the worst defeat in American military history, I like this one:
http://www.eyewitnesstohistory.com/custer.htm

Allison In 'Deep Ravine' Looking Up to Last Stand Hill:


Allison In The National Cemetery:


Looking West From Last Stand Hill:


By the way, the battle is named for the river on whose banks the Sioux and Cheyenne were encamped when Custer's Crow scouts located them. If you haven't read the narrative linked above, the Native Americans under Sitting Bull and Crazy Horse were seasoned, brave and well-led, and were fighting quite literally for their (and their wives' and children's) lives. It was well-known among the Indians that the U.S. Cavalry had, in previous engagements, made no distinction between warriors and non-combatants; this may explain the utter and complete lack of mercy shown the 7th Cavalry even after the Cavalry's defeat became inevitable.

Last Stand Hill; The Beartooth Mountains Are In Background:


NEXT: We Ride The Little Blackfoot; The Biggest Flood In The History Of The World. Stay Tuned!

Billings And The Yellowstone River

As detailed in the previous post, we made our destination. And none too soon; the 'Day Without End' in Nebraska had efficiently drained what small surplus had existed in our 'time bank', and it was now the 4th of May. Allison's first day was tomorrow, and we normally appreciate and require at least one day to get our act together after a long move...

Billings, Montana, Taken From The Rimrock:


The campground we had planned to use in Billings (which shall in this account remain nameless because 'if you can't say something good' blah blah) we found to be, for reasons any RVer will find familiar, unacceptable. That was disheartening, because I had spent innumerable cell minutes, and untold aggravation, to get these people to return phone calls from Georgia during previous months, just to get a reservation.

In any event, we found ourselves in front of the Billings KOA Kampground which, if you are unfamiliar with the franchise, was the very first KOA. It was founded in the '60s by a guy who 1) owned some unused land directly on the Yellowstone River, and 2) sensed an exploitable economic and cultural zeitgeist in the making. This phenomenon was personified in the hordes of Americans streaming through Billings heading for Yellowstone, the Beartooth Wilderness, and other pristine and, until advent of the Interstate Highway System, largely inaccessible parks and other recreational venues.

Anyway, the worldwide headquarters of KOA is still in Billings, downtown, and here we were at the campground, without a pre-made reservation (a BAD thing, we have found through unpleasant experience, at the very start of the busy season) sitting on their front doorstep.

Luckily the beginning of May, in this area, is still considered the tail end of winter, and the VERY nice proprietors (who have owned this place for thirty-five years) still had openings for the season.

Among veteran RVers, and among those who tent-camp but are not quite hard-core enough to go 'backcountry', KOA is known and appreciated as kinda a 'gold standard' in family-oriented parks. There are nicer campgrounds around, and more-expensive ones as well, but the KOA franchise is a solid, well-run business and when you stay at a KOA you can be assured of a good experience. In order to maintain his franchise, a KOA owner must agree to allow the corporation to inspect the facility on a 'snap' basis, and it is not unknown for a rogue operator to lose his right to display the KOA insignia if his facility doesn't measure up.

So, we were glad to get a spot here; the ONLY other option in Billings (which after all is a city of only about 90,000) is a (again nameless) place that calls itself a 'Trailer Park and RV Village' which, to the informed, means a run-down block consisting of mobile homes interspersed with 30-year-old Airstreams with no wheels.

Almost done, for now, with my signature endless introspection and mind-numbing crap! The KOA here is among the prettiest and most scenic we have experienced; our spot is about 30 feet from the Yellowstone River, with the Crow reservation bordering the shore opposite ours. That means there are NO buildings in sight, and it's mostly just pine groves and sandstone cliffs for a view. Deer, waterbirds, the occasional coyote, tons of Canada geese, and LOTS of prairie dogs are our neighbors. We are content.

Outside Our Front Door, Looking West:


Same Thing, Except Looking East:


A Neighbor Family:


A Solitary Fisherman:


When Listing Neighbors, I Forgot The Random Peacock:


Quiet Contemplation And A Blurry Dog:


Snowmelt Beginning To Cover Playa:


This Log Was High-N-Dry Two Hours Ago:


Taken At Indian Pictographs Park, Right Across The River:


Also Taken At The Pictographs Park:


That's about it for now, your author requires nourishment; man cannot live on Blog alone...(THAT was really stupid, sometimes I can't believe what falls outta my head)

COMING SOON: The Little Bighorn: A Really Lonely Place To Die. Missoula And The Clark Fork Canyon. We See Evidence Of The Biggest Flood In Earth's History. We Raft The Blackfoot River. We Climb The Bison Range. The Ghost Rails. And Much More.

A Day Off. Slip-N-Slide. Cabela's. Finally, Montana!

We were at the mercy of one of the biggest May snowstorms in years, stuck like a weed tick in a belly button at Ogalalla, Nebraska. For thiry hours, the snow never stopped, the wind never dropped below about 40MPH, and our lone recreation consisted of lively and spirited negotiations as to whose turn it was to take the dogs out. That day (Friday the 2nd of May, it was) my main occupation was keeping the trailer clear of the several inches of ice that wanted to form over the door and the slides.

Eventually, on that Friday evening, the snow and wind let up enough that we could drive to town (such as it is), get some groceries, and make a much-needed post office run. All the streets were icy, traffic was at a crawl, and I-80 was still closed, but at least we ate. And we were warm. The weirdest thing of all, that night, was the surrealistic sight of literally HUNDREDS of big trucks filling the town, parked anywhere or everywhere there was a patch of open ground. It was not unlike a herd of gigantic rectangular buffalo huddled together for shelter before the elements, each animal belching steam and exhaust as it idled all night to keep its occupant warm and dry. And there were cars, too, full of people without options, all available rooms long since filled, motel lobbies packed with refugees with nowhere else to go. Everyone was just waiting. And waiting.

Saturday morning dawned bright and sunny, albeit at about 10 degrees, and the gates to the highway were UP! We prepared to continue on our way. I knocked the ice off one more time, and we retracted slides, hitched up (frozen fingers AGAIN) and hit the road.

NOW: you are aware, Dear Reader, that it's been below freezing for two solid days. We were counting on the fact that the wind had never let up during the storm to have kept the highway relatively clear, and indeed that was the case, but still there were ice patches here and there. They usually form on the lee side of the ubiquitous drift fences that shelter all major highways in the Mountain West, and can be unexpected and treacherous.

Well, we were unprepared for the carnage that awaited us west of Ogalalla. Within the first twenty miles we saw no less than FIFTY freighters upside-down in the ditches. It looked like a buncha pathetic, helpless steel dinosaurs. Some of their drivers were standing forlornly around, waiting on overwhelmed tow services to reach them; others were obviously abandoned, their operators either injured or forced to whatever shelter they could find 'cause their engines would no longer run to provide interior life support. In any event, their numbers and frequency were more than this author has ever witnessed, in half a lifetime of living around mountains...

Anyway, we soldiered on right up until, while accelerating up one of the innumerable long hills in the area, I suddenly felt that (unfortunately familiar) stomach-turning, zero-gravity drift, as our F-450's rear wheels (all four of 'em) parted company with the pavement, on an unnoticed frozen patch. For about a lifetime (probably all of a half-second) it appeared that the rear end was gonna try to precede us down the highway, which is unsettling enough WITHOUT the nine tons of dead weight hooked to the back. In this case, however, it damned near gave me a heart attack, and Allison's *ahem* 'verbalizations' didn't help matters none. We immediately took a vote and, without any dissenters (although the dogs abstained), the 'Get The Hell Off The Highway RIGHT NOW' bill was passed unanimously.

We were, fortunately, right up the road from what's probably the only Cabela's (an outdoorsman's 'superstore' chain common in the Midwest and West, for the uninformed) in western Nebraska, and they had a nice, long easy-on-and-off exit, so we pulled off S-L-O-W-L-Y, to wait till the sun was a teensy bit higher. Kinda nice, in a way, 'cause they were having an unscheduled buffet that morning. Turns out that a lot of the trucks we saw off the road, their drivers had ended up there, some as much as two nights earlier, before the highway closed down.

So, we ate a little, shopped a little, gabbed with the other stranded unfortunates, and about ten we headed off again. This time the sun had indeed done its work, and the blacktop was wet but thawed. Mere minutes later (about fifty of 'em, to be exact), we were in Cheyenne, and we exited to I-25 and again headed north.

Nothing much of note happened in Wyoming, and my fingers are about to fall off, so suffice it to say we eventually crossed the Montana border. We had intended to make it all the way to our destination campground that day, but most (all) campgrounds, especially the nicer ones, prohibit any washing of rigs, and we were about as dirty as it's possible to be. We were, truck AND trailer, covered up with sand and salt from the road crews' work the previous coupla days. We therefore decided to stop about a hour from Billings that evening, camp there, and find a truck wash to clean up the trailer before throwing out the anchor for three or more months.

We stopped, therefore, at a park right on I-90 (which we had picked up at the very end of I-25), next to the Little Bighorn Battlefield, called The 7th Ranch. I didn't snap to the meaning of the name until Allison observed (with considerable satisfaction 'cause I didn't get it) that Gen. G.A. Custer's regiment was the 7th Cavalry. Oh, well, I'm allowed to miss a connection now and then. Just so it doesn't become a habit.

7th Ranch is a very nice place, reasonably priced, and geared very much toward people transporting livestock. They have beautiful horse accomodations and are very convenient to the Billings Livestock Auction (more about that later) and the big rodeos in Sheridan and Cody, Wyoming.

7th Ranch Campground. Big Sky Country!


Horse Accomodations At 7th Ranch:


7th Ranch Wide View:

The Trip North. A Nebraska Blizzard.

At the end of April, we planted all recent Tribulations squarely in the rearview mirror and pointed all four (hominid and canine) noses north. Finally, we were on the road again!

Many of my readers are already aware that this author grew up at between 6,000 and 8,000 feet in the Colorado Rockies. This accident of nurture leads me to be, perhaps, more aware than those accustomed to more southerly climes, and/or lower altitudes, of the vagaries and vicissitudes of spring weather. Nonetheless, I was destined to be surprised...

As is by now our custom when we head north, we drove the first day from D-FW to Perry, Oklahoma, where my Dad lives, and stayed the night at the Sooners' Corners Motel/RV Park/Truck Stop/Diesel Repair Shop. This little slice of heaven consists of an eight-room flophouse, a greasy spoon diner, a rusty corrugated building where loud engines roar 24 hours a day, and a cow pasture with nominally-sufficient RV hookups attached to the fence posts. It is, in any event, the only overnight RV facility within 40 miles of Dad's house, so we tolerate it when we are there.

Had a good supper with Dad and Stepmom (Thanks Patsy!), got back to the rig at about 9:30 and went to bed; we wanted to be on the road early. I had seen the weather forecast on TV, and it suggested that we COULD be in for a rough ride the next day; a front was coming in from the West Coast, and cold air fom Canada was expected to caggravate matters, mostly with wind and cold rain. Our house pulls fairly well in windy conditions, and rain is just, well, wet. But put both together, especially if the wind is across the highway, and it gets rather more complicated.

The wind blew like hell all night, encouraging anyone sleeping in a trailer to dream intermittently of schooners and the Spanish Main, and not making for a terribly restful slumber... In any event, we got up early and checked the weather again. It was starting to look rather grim. Our proposed route took us through relatively mild altitudes and climates through Kansas and Nebraska, not terribly worrisome at this time of year, but then you gotta turn west toward Wyoming and begin trending uphill as the Rockies grow nearer. That was my main concern; I did NOT wanna get caught in the proverbial trousers-at-ankles posture at a mile high. Been there, done that, don't wanna do it with 40 feet of trailer hangin' on my rear end. So we decided that we would watch the radar (we LOVE the Sprint Mobile Network we subscribe to for our Internet; high-speed Web while doin' 70 down the Interstate is REALLY good stuff) and try to get as far as Cheyenne that night. That would place us in good position for a 'final assault' on Billings the next day. 'The best-laid plans of men and mice...'

We fought an incessant northwest headwind (and, incidentally, achieved a rip-roaring 7.5 MPG) across Kansas, and charged into Nebraska with bright eyes and bushy tails. Made a hard left at York, NE and headed west on I-80 at about noon. Cheyenne was still possible by dark, and the outside temp per the Ford's thermometer was still indicating about 70 degrees, but the western sky was lookin' kinda gray. The Sirius now said snow was falling in both Grand Rapids SD and Casper, and we were getting a little nervy, bay-beee (with apologies to Austin Powers).

North Platte, Nebraska: weather deteriorating rapidly. The wind, about 20MPH in our faces all day, picked up to about 35, and the outside temperature dropped more than 30 degrees within about 15 miles of travel. Weather.com and the radio were now saying that blizzard conditions had moved into central Wyoming, and I-25 north of Cheyenne was closed because of blowing snow. We needed a place to stop, like, RIGHT NOW. Intrepid Navigator Allison hopped back on the Web and found a place called the Country View Campground in Ogalalla that, when called, said they had availability for that night, but that we had better get there right away 'cause the snow had already begun.

Another 30 miles, windy and cold, raining just a bit now, and the occasional snowflake just to remind us that we were about three weeks too early at this latitude. We pulled in to the park just as visibility contracted to about 100 yards. As we started to unhitch, the wind chill was about 10 degrees, snowin' and blowin', hands frozen and travel plans evaporating before our very eyes. Radio now said ten inches of snow were likely, and from our vantage point above and directly south of I-80 we had a clear view of a Nebraska State Trooper lowering the gates at the freeway entrance ramps, effectively closing the Interstate to further travel west.

Country View Campground, Ogalalla NE, From Their Web Site:


Contrast: The Country View Campground We Saw:

Below you can view a video of what it looked like that evening, taken before I got disgusted and stopped taking pictures of any kind. It's 5:30, about 20 degrees, and this is about the last time we could really go outside for the next 30 hours.

Video Of The Campground That Night:


NEXT: An unwanted day off. The great Slip-N-Slide. The fortuitous Cabela's. Wyoming into Montana. The Seventh Ranch CG at the Little Bighorn.

Stay tuned.