Montana: A Good Bet

"I am totally enjoying all these free things," said Andy on Monday morning, Columbus Day. We walked around the outside of Lewis and Clark Interpretive Center; it was closed for renovation and expansion. Here in Great Falls, Montana, on the banks of the South Fork of the Missouri River, Lewis and Clark portaged 18 miles around five waterfalls. But the area provided a plentiful food supply for them, as buffalo fell to their death over the cliffs near the river. The expedition replenished the store of dried meat for the long trip back East. Lewis even wrote in his journal that they couldn't send one man out alone on an errand because of the presence of wolves and grizzly bears feasting on rotting buffalo.

Lewis and Clark's Expedition of Discovery named Tower Rock. We took the trail along the base of what is now Tower Rock State Park for a quarter of a mile, watching all the while for rattlesnakes in the tall grass. The explorers regretted going beyond this point on the way home, because it meant no more buffalo. Instead, they learned from the Indians to utilize sunflower seeds.
"We're in the Rocky Mountains now. This is the first day it really feels like fall," said Andy. In spite of the clear skies and bright sun, the temperatures never climbed above 51 degrees. With the wind chill, it felt like 30. We cruised along Interstate 15 toward Helena, mountains on both sides. "I can't believe they don't have scenic pullouts," said Andy. Peaks rose above us at Gates of the Mountains, a valley preserved by two ranchers. Andy turned off I-15 and took Frontage Road the next 12 miles. Then we ran out of frontage, as I-15 turned away from the Missouri River.

Small one-room casinos dotted the roadside in Helena, just as they had in Billings and Great Falls: Lucky Lil's, Best Bet, Magic Diamond, Sunset, Copper Club, Montana Nugget, Loose Caboose. "How can people afford to lose so much money," I asked Andy.
"They don't. It's saturated," he answered. "I doubt all the casinos can possibly stay in business."
At Vista Point of MacDonald Pass, 6470 feet, the wind blasted at 40 m.p.h. Trees dead from the pine bark beetle outnumbered the live ones in some spots. "This reminds me a little of Jackson Hole, Wyoming," said Andy. "And all these trees will die if they don't find a way to stop the beetle."
"I remember Jackson Hole as being warmer," I told him. We had been there in August a couple years ago.
The valley spread before us... breath-taking, panoramic, awe-inspiring, but destined for destruction unless something is done environmentally to save the trees and preserve the natural beauty.

Heading across Montana

The Bighorn Mountains around Red Lodge were covered with snow as we drove by this morning, but we left the snow behind by heading north. Go figure.

On Route 89, toward White Sulphur Springs, we noticed many trucks pulled out along the road into ranch field turnouts.

"What do you suppose they are doing?" I asked Andy.

"Hunters," he responded. "They are out for deer. If you look across that field, you can see two of them in the distance."

I spotted the fluorescent orange jackets immediately.

"I didn't know hunting was allowed on Sunday, but I guess Montana laws are different from back home. And I'm not a hunter," he said.

We passed an SUV with two gutted deer on the roof. "I don't feel too bad," I told him, and yet every time we had passed a huge animal transport, I had squinted to see if cows or horses were traveling to market. Each time my stomach did flip flops.

"No, it doesn't bother me either," he agreed. "It's being used for good purposes and not wasted... so much better than roadkill. And just think about the hundreds of dollars of damage the deer have done around our house."

We crossed Little Belt Mountains; the highest elevation on the road was 7,417 feet. There wasn't any snow, but people outside mending roofs and fixing mailbox posts wore heavy sweatshirts and hats.

By the time we reached the Lewis and Clark National Forest and stopped at Memorial Falls of Belt Creek along Kings Hill National Scenic Byway, we walked the mile-long trail to two waterfalls in shirt sleeves. Pink cliffs of Neihart quartzite, the hardest sedimentary rock, contrasted with the rushing water and glistened in the sun.

"The room isn't ready, and I chose not to stay in a hotel downtown on the first floor," said Andy once we had arrived in Great Falls. "We are going to drive on up to Fort Benton and explore. See if you can find it on the map." The extra mileage meant today was our longest drive yet: 357 miles for a total of 4,363 miles.

We walked the trail to the overlook at Sluice Boxes Primitive State Park; hiked across the old Missouri River bridge in downtown Old Fort Benton; strolled along the river at the Upper Missouri River Breaks National Monument; walked the main street of Fort Benton, reputed to be the wildest single block of the Old West; and photographed the Montana Memorial to Lewis and Clark, where the two explorers chose the South Fork of the Missouri River and consequently saved the expedition. Reading the signs, we learned that the crew preferred the North Fork, which would have taken them into the Rockies, and they could not have returned before winter. It seems likely that the entire expedition could have perished, based on one unlucky decision. Instead, Lewis and Clark lucked out.

Again, Andy and I marveled about the twists of history we learn through travel.

Where Custer Made a Stand

In a cold rain we stood on the hill where Custer made his final stand against five tribes of American Indians on June 25-26, 1876. He and 210 cavalry officers and troopers fought desperately and died.

Covered with plastic ponchos, Andy and I battled the 40 m.p.h. wind gusts and squinted out from the tied hoods of the flimsy coverings. "Maybe it will let up," said Andy. "Predictions said showers, but I thought it would be intermittent."

I read the historical markers in the car as we waited for the rain to ease.

"Did you notice that every time a cloud lifts a little, you can see the marble markers where soldiers died?" pointed out Andy. Most of them read "U.S. soldier" with no identification.
The Sioux, Crow, Cheyenne, Arapaho and Arikara, angered by demands that they had to live on reservations and dramatically change their nomadic plains lifestyle, held their ground against the U.S. Army. Here on the slopes and ravines near the Little Bighorn River, the confrontation came to a head. Even though the Indians won the battle, they lost the war, as Army regiments under Gibbon and Terry moved into the area.

The Little Bighorn Battlefield National Monument is a tribute to both sides, recognizing that death and history do not take sides. Even the 39 cavalry horses killed by Custer and his men to form a protective balustrade were remembered with a marble marker. With a motto of Peace through Unity, the monument preserves the history and honors the memories of the brave on both sides who fought for their ideals.

At night the rain cleared in Billings, Montana, as far West as we had ever driven in 41 years.

Engendering an Awful Quiet

N. Scott Momaday wrote that the Devils Tower "engenders an awful quiet." At 5,112 feet high, the granite monolith is sacred ground for many American Indian tribes. President Theodore Roosevelt recognized the geologic importance of it when he declared the tower and surrounding area as the first national monument in 1906.

Andy and I walked the 1.3-mile Tower Trail and the 2.8-mile Red Beds Trail, circling the monolith twice. We read about the six-sided columns that make up the tower as being the most stable geologic formation and how the tower has the tallest and widest columns anywhere in the world.

"I think I understand what Momaday meant," I told Andy. "It's like Mother Earth reaching up to connect with the sky. The awesome size is almost saying, 'I'll survive no matter what.' It's almost thumbing its nose at the world."

We watched two climbers free climb a few hundred feet from the top, using the crevices to inch themselves upwards. The quiet was inspiring.

Friday is Field Trip Day. Three school bus loads of kids pulled up as we finished the first hike. The teenagers were probably on a geology study, but we didn't wait around to find out. We liked that "awful quiet."

"We're in sagebrush country," Andy announced as Little Red cruised along I-90 west of Gillette, Wyoming. By evening we had covered 3,783 miles--11 states in 25 days.

As we crossed Crazy Woman Creek and looked out on the horizon, the Big Horn Mountains loomed ahead--a long black silhouette lined by heavy grey clouds.

"It could be snowing there," said Andy. "They are high enough."

"Do you really think so?" I asked. Even though it was brisk at the Tower and sprinkles threatened all day, I don't think it dropped below the mid-60's. My geography kicked in. "I guess it would explain why it has been getting more and more arid though," I reasoned.

By the time we reached Buffalo, Wyoming, the temperature had dropped to 51 degrees.

Tooling around South Dakota and Wyoming

We followed the fence-lined paths of Roughlock Falls Trail to four overlooks in Roughlock Falls Park and watched two fishermen fly cast from the dam.

"What time is dinner?" I asked.

One fisherman chuckled.

We could see small trout--brown, brook and rainbow--skirting the edge of the water plants just below us on the bridge.

"This is the first time on this trip that I really feel like it is fall," said Andy as we walked single file on the trail. A few yellow paper birch leaves drifted down around us, dancing in the up-currents of breeze along Roughlock Creek. Intermingled among the pine, many of the birch stood bare, white silhouettes against the yellow and pink limestone cliffs. Under my feet the fallen leaves formed a crisp carpet, crunching in harmony with the rush and bubble of the brook to our right. Riparian habitat, where land meets water. That's how the nature sign explained the environment. We took deep breaths and looked at the cliffs, where heaven meets earth.

Coming back, we passed a small group of elderly walkers going the other way. The two men wore cowboy hats and the two women stepped gingerly, each one feeling her way with a cane.

"Is it far," they wanted to know.

"Did you ever notice that men when they get older always seem like they are in better shape than the women?" asked Andy, chuckling, after we passed the group,

I laughed. "Thanks a lot. Did you ever wonder why they die sooner?"

"Yeah, I guess so. Maybe they expend all their energy keeping in shape," he offered.

"I think I'll sit down and take some pictures," I told him.

Spearfish Falls, another riparian habitat, plunged over a 110-foot wall of rock and joined another fast-flowing stream at the bottom. The three-quarter mile trail included signs about gooseberry, choke cherry and box elder that grew in the region.

At Bridal Veil Falls we stopped for a picture, but the wind drove us back.

"It has to be 50 m.p.h. gusts," I told Andy.
"Easily," he agreed. "But it's hot air. It must be the narrowing of the canyon walls, because it's not like that anywhere else."
I didn't photograph the falls. The water in the shadow of the rock was only a trickle compared to the other two waterfalls in the canyon.

"I'm looking for the geographic center of the United States," said Andy, taking out his map when we unlocked the car. "It's somewhere in Belle Fourche, South Dakota.

I tried punching in Point of Interest in the GPS as Andy turned several times in the downtown Belle Fourche area. Suddenly directions popped up.

"The GPS says turn left," I told him.

He turned.

"Now GPS says it's 29 miles out Route 85.

"That's ridiculous. I'll go a little ways on 85, and if we don't find it, okay, that's it," he declared impatiently.

"There's a park to the right, and I see flags," I pointed out.

"Stupid GPS. See, it was right in town, not 20 plus miles away." He was elated.

We got out and read the sign outside the visitor center: "Due to the remote location of the exact geographic center of the United States when Alaska and Hawaii were added as states, we selected this site for convenience of visitors. The actual geographic center of the country is about 20 miles north on Route 85."

Only in America!

The Aladdin Tipple Historic Interpretive Site displayed the coal shaft and sorting machine for coal mining and delivery from the early 1900's. Miners were paid $.75 a ton for getting the coal out of the hillside, and the tipple dropped the coal pieces into bins by size: nuts, eggs, and lumps.

Nearby in Wyoming was the town of Aladdin, population 15, a 110-year old General Store with the sign out front: "Cowboys, scrape shit from boots."

I wonder what Aladdin teenagers do for fun.

Revisiting the Past

In a way Deadwood, South Dakota, is a tribute to American ingenuity. The Comfort Inn host in Hill City wouldn't think so, but the town has managed to recreate itself and survive. Tour buses clattered down bricked Main Street, pulled up to Saloon #10 where Wild Bill Hickok was shot and let the senior citizens out to explore the storefront casinos. Even though it is almost all gambling oriented, the town has survived.

Andy reminisced, "When we were here at least thirty years ago, we drove right through and didn't even stop. There wasn't much left of Deadwood back then."

Tonight the Innkeeper commented, "The true South Dakotans are disappointed with what has happened in Deadwood. It's all gambling. The elderly climb down from the bus, wave their social security checks and go back home with nothing. We have lost the history of the old mining town of the Wild West."

The building fronts remain, and a real history buff--ignoring the tour buses and clink of slot machines--could come away with the spirit of the past. And because of the gambling, Deadwood is still alive, no matter how you cut the cards.

Lead (pronounced "LEED"), South Dakota, was our next stop and what is left of the Homestake Gold Mine, a 124-year run that added to the fortune of William Randolph Hearst. Even though the employees pulled out the last ton of ore on January 18, 2002, the mine still stands high above everything else in town. It will probably be there long after the town. In fact, one sign explained that various sections of the town were swallowed by the mine; one section of Main Street plunged 300 feet down when land underneath collapsed. But history does live, and it's fun to see it.

Jewel Cave, a Gem in the Wild

"Today we are going to see Jewel Cave," said Andy as we climbed in the car.

"Are there any buffalo?" I asked.

"No," he promised.

Jewel Cave, the second largest cave in the world, is a fascinating underground gem. The miners who discovered the cave thought so too, only they were looking for gold. Instead, they found black manganese and calcite, both worthless for miners. They decided to sell mine tours. With 151.5 miles of spaghetti noodle passages winding down under about three and a half square miles, the cave features almost every calcite formation possible: stalactites, stalagmites, columns, soda straws, bacon and flow stone. Ranger Lydia, a permanent ranger in the park system who was leaving in 24 hours for a honeymoon in Hawaii, told us the story.

"This was considered a very small cave for years until the 1950's," she explained. "In fact, last week the cave was only 151 miles of passages. We find new areas about every two weeks. They think that only about 5% has been discovered, based on the air flow in and out of the cave."

With only 13 in the tour group, we had plenty of opportunity to view the formations and ask questions.

Outside, Andy and I hiked the Canyon Trail, a three-and-a-half mile loop through the controlled burn of 2010 and the remnants of the Jasper fire of 2000, an arsonist blaze that destroyed 87,000 acres. We saw mule deer, the only natural entrance, and the original cabin that was used for tours before the park service took over Jewel Cave.

A visit with rangers Barbara and David before we left the park completed a wonderful experience. "That was a gem," I told Andy, "and you were good for your word. No buffalo."