Sunrise over the Sapphires.

August, ca 2018

The day begun with quite the flamboyant salutation from the Great Creator as he sent his sun rising from behind them Sapphire Mountains. Me and Ol’ Black Tahoe, my trusted steed, had lit out early morning and headed north up the Bitterroot Valley to the Lolo Pass. 

Atop Lolo Pass.

Caution on the trail.

The trail this day would be some 200-mile going and another such returning, taking us deep into the Nez Perce Clearwater Wilderness and then beyond. 

From high in them mountains, creek and river was ever present along trail’s entirety. 

Lochsa River, pronounced "lock-saw."

I had first perceived mile upon mile of flowing water to be a fisherman’s delight, but then changed thinking as we come first along the Lochsa, a beautiful and slowly meandering body of water with terrible high rocky banks and filled with bone-breaking boulders, some big as a buggy. 

Boulders in the Lochsa.

Perhaps those younger and more agile than I would dare its harsh terrain, but the wisdom of age (and me preferring bodily parts to remain intact) prevented me from giving it a go. I simply enjoyed its company as it traveled along with us.

The trails in these high places can be treacherous should misstep be made, and we soon come upon evidence of such as fellow rider had turned wagon to its side on tight curve. None was injured and assistance was forthcoming from closest community so we continued onward.

Sometimes the trail is right tricky.

Further into that wilderness, at the settlement of Lowell, the Lochsa met up with Selway River and become the Middle Fork of the Clearwater.

It were about here on the trail we come upon the Nez Perce Reservation. It is wondrous country, yet with story as sad as land is lovely.

Entering the Nez Perce Reservation.

Back in 1877, many of Nez Perce, having tired of broken treaties and wanting to live free rather than on reservation, lit off from ancestral lands. Them people was then relentlessly pursued by US Army soldiers for near to 1,200 mile. After many clashes and death-dealing conflicts, what included the killing of women and children, final battle occurred at the Bears Paw Mountains in Montana. They was defeated. One of the Nez Perce leaders, Chief Joseph, uttered words what was translated and still remembered to this day…Hear me, my chiefs. I am tired. My heart is sick and sad. From where the sun now stands, I will fight no more forever.

Tho none possess power to alter what was, I would care to imagine there at least be a better learning from it – thinking perhaps a country seeking to be great again might commence that quest with compassion for all humankind rather than the building of walls and the winning of trade wars. Maybe then greatness would come so much the sooner. I do not know. 

Traveling on into reservation, we took short rest in township of Kooskia and found fine and pleasing nourishment at the Kooskia Café. The eggs, bacon, hash browns, biscuits and coffee fortified me nicely for the trail still to come.

The Middle Fork and South Fork of the Clearwater join here and so we continued along main river channel as we pushed into Lewiston. 

Cut with soft curves like that of a generous women, the Clearwater sweeps gentle into tall canyons and flows lazily some 70 mile until it meets up with the Snake.

Clearwater River.

Having reached Lewiston, we crossed over the Snake and looking north could see the wide and open confluence of the two rivers.

It was here, also, we entered into Washington. While having no wants or warrants against me in that territory, at least none of which I am aware, I still did not linger long and so began the long journey back home. 

As we made our way again through the Nez Perce Reservation, we paused a while at Heart of the Monster. It is a distinctive rock formation in the earth here and sacred to the Nez Perce as the Place of Beginning for the Niimíipuu, “the walking people.” 





After 12 hour on the trail and at long last, we arrived back at current homestead of Hamilton with a desire to ease our way into evening’s rest. 

So we rid down Main Street and reined up at Blodgett Canyon Cellars.


It is a place that kindly spares its patrons all pretentiousness and is most agreeably welcoming. They make they’s own wine here and serve up delightful dishes paired with such. I myself am partial to the Margarita Panini, an unexpected preparation of quite flavorsome fare. I intend to sample the Antipasto Board upon future visit. 

Skye at Blodgett Canyon,
Hamilton, Montana.

This night, a handsome young woman and friend name of Skye stands behind bar and greets all who enter with generous smile and eyes reminiscent of twilight, soft and glowing. She pours the red nectar and explains where grapes are from and what pleasing surprises palate might soon perceive. I was not one speck disappointed by that rich elixir.


Having been refreshed by pleasant company, tasty grub and good wine, I headed home full with gratitude, and yearning for nothing more than that which now comprises current circumstances here in these northern territories.

I have not died today. And that is a fine thing. Yours truly...