A Montana Journal

Painted Rocks, Montana. April, ca 2018 I had me a friend onest. She was tall and handsome and her character sturdy. She weren’t a lover, but she was dearly loved. Is still, I reckon. I think on her from time to time. And so it was that she pressed heavy upon my heart as me and Ol’ Black Tahoe, my trusted steed, lit off into the high country this day. I can’t summon up why she rode with us, but nonetheless she was there in my thoughts. At dawn, we made our way south through the valley as the clouds come in covering mountain’s glory, yet kindly presented a loveliness all their own. We then rid up along the West Fork of the Bitterroot River to the place they call Painted Rocks. The mountainsides here are like a canvas what was delightfully touched with colors abundant, decorated with divine strokes of bright yellows and reds and greens and blues from the Great Creator’s palette. It steals the breath in the beholding of it. And it brings a pure pleasure to these eyes. Ri...

Lost Horse, Hamilton, Montana. October, ca 2017 In my many years traveling through the Great Creator’s earthly paradise , I have paid visit to many places of worship. Yet I can recall none so achingly lovely as the West. I have not died today. And that is a fine thing. Yours truly...

Entering the Skalkaho Pass. September, ca 2017 The need to wander come sudden upon me this day. So me and Ol’ Black Tahoe, my trusted steed, lit out for the high mountains over the Skalkaho Pass. As flames have blacked and charred near to a half million acre in these Montana territories, the sun must have decided to share beauty anew by availing of smoky skies to paint quite the lovely face for its morning routine. Trailing into them high places we met mule deer and white tails along the way.  We was then kindly rewarded more by the spotting of bull, cow and calf moose. The bull stood not fifty foot from me as he sipped green willow leaves from branch, while cow and calf took cautious concealment in woody cover. Not much farther on, the trail revealed them again lingering in lush meadow. It is certain impossible not to take pleasure in the Great Creator’s natural makings. I perceive there is naught but goodness here…no anger, no commentary, no protes...

On the trail into the Medicine Lodge. August, ca 2017 Bitterroot River. Taking leave of high plains and buttes and Missouri River territories , I have of late made new homestead in mountainous region known as the Bitterroot Valley, where the lodge pole, green sage and rocky crevice give shelter to bear and elk and other wild critter. The Bitterroot River meanders lazily through this valley and I have in years past set my hook on many of its feisty trout. I intend surely to do more of the same in times coming. Though having traveled often these close surroundings, I find there are yet untold trail to be discovered and adventure to pursue. And such the reason why me and Ol’ Black Tahoe, my trusted steed, lit out this day under starlit sky to make our way down into the Medicine Lodge.  We trailed south high up into the Bitterroots, and coming to mountain’s crest at the borderline of Idaho, we then pushed east keeping the Beaverhead ever forward of us. We took sout...

A beautiful and loving gift. Late December, ca 2016 I awake this fine morning here in these Rocky Mountains to the soft and silent hush of camp covered new in a snowy white. The powder is falling still, descending quite and whispering past these eyes until the earth and everything on it is hid beneath. I can hear no sound at all but that what I reckon is the breath of the Great Creator. In my days on this trail, there have been many tales told about this day. Yet I have come to find my own way of it, knowing true inside that He come in love, He lived in love, and for love He let Hisself be hung to a tree. To this heart, it justly seems fitting that such a day of love coming should be wrapped in pure white. Quite the satisfying gift this Christmas morn. I have not died today. And that is a fine thing. Yours truly…

A  Montana  Journal, ca December 2016 I scribble these words from Sheridan, Wyoming, where I have made camp for the night on the trail back to Montana. After the rising and setting of many suns down in them southern parts, and many sincere moments between me and the Great Creator, I have come to know certain that though my roots are there in Georgia, my soul resides here among these tall Rocky Mountains. Being confident of such, me and Ol’ Black Tahoe, my trusted steed, lit out these two days past for the northern territories. We made our way high over the Blue Ridge in thundering rain and traveled onward into Tennessee. We passed over the black waters of the Cumberland in Kentucky, and under cover of stars we pushed west, fording the Big Muddy and making way into Missouri territory. Coming up through the heartlands, I was not to be disappointed in the Creator’s handiwork. Great open fields of turned earth stretched either side as far as these eyes could see and were...

The Blue Ridge. July, ca 2016 Having crossed the Big Muddy and following trails eastward through Mississippi, Alabama and into Georgia, me and old Black Tahoe at long last reached journey’s end. The trail was both kind and cruel as we made our way among the blessing of bright blue heaven and, too, through storm and terrible wind. Many a fellow traveler took their leave of trail to wait out the danger of them dark clouds that drenched and disoriented. Passing through, family was waiting with hearts open to welcome this weary traveler after some 2300 miles put behind. The finishing of this trail, I reckon sure, is only the beginning of another, as I will soon make settlement in mountains north of here. I look ahead with great expectation to the adventure of wondrous discoveries in that unexplored territory, be they new encounters with fishing holes, mountain ridges, peoples or the Great Creator hisself. For now, though, there is rest and comfort with those who I dearly love and h...

We arrive in Memphis and make camp along the Big Muddy. July, ca 2016 We have reined up on the Big Muddy and set camp along its western banks. Having departed the Dakota Territories two days past, me and my trusted steed, Ol' Black Tahoe, made trail through Iowa and followed along the Missouri down into Nebraska. We passed the headwaters of the Platte and further on crossed the Tarkio somewheres south of Council Bluffs. The rain fell fierce and the winds came rapid and reckless for mile after soaking mile, but Ol' Black Tahoe kept steady the pace. I was grateful to the Father, though unknowing of true season, for having no contentions with one of them tall towers of twisting air that will rip the land in these parts. Riding further into this country and out of harsh weather’s way, I noted corn sprouting abundant from horizon to horizon and dressed in a splendid green the Creator seems to possess in endless supply. We rid on into Kansas City where we found easy passage o...

A warm embrace as we depart Montana. July, ca 2016 Today I take my leave of Montana. Having family concerns back in Georgia, early this morn, me and Ol' Black Tahoe lit out for southern territories. The journey long, but my trusted steed carried my traps well as we gave our farewell to the Rockies. It appeared, judging by the look of such glorious surroundings, that mountains and sun and Him who created them offered quite the warm embrace at my departing. We forded the Yellowstone and rid on past the Beartooth and the Big Horn, crossing into Dakota Territory near full dawn. We camp tonight in Sioux Falls, having trailed some 800 mile of hills and plains and prairie. Now I turn my face to the Smokies, and to home and family. I have no regret, aside from one which will remain unspoke, of my many days and seasons in that northern paradise. For its powerful beauty was daily a comfort to my soul and a joy to my eyes. Yet I know certain that the Father’s wonders upon this ear...

Breath was stole from lung at the sighting of these wonders of creation. September, ca 2015 Today me and Ol' Black Tahoe, my trusted steed, lit out for the mighty Tetons. Those tall stone mountains set just a few hours south of present homestead. It was not for cause nor commerce we rode this day, but only that I felt the powerful draw toward the Creator's handiwork. And truth be spoken, I weren't one bit disappointed by His masterful touch. We rode south before day's light come peaking over the treetops and headed past the Big Sky along the Gallatin River. Then took an easterly track through Yellowstone, an amazement in itself, and finally rode the trail south again along the Snake River (I will assume named so for its undulations as it meanders about the territory and not for the abundant presence of venomous varmints). I saw many an Elk and Bison, but took none as I tote no powder nor long gun, and besides did not need the meat. My first glance at them towerin...

Two fellow travelers along the trail. March, ca 2014 With business concerns in Last Chance Gulch , today knowed as Helena, me and Ol’ Black Tahoe ride trail to that destination. We will ford the Mighty Mo’ thrice during our travels as it being a long and mighty piece of water meanders hither and yon  throughout  these  territories.   The trail takes us northwest from present location past the Three Forks and it seems a kindly one, with the Great Creator's wonders ready to present themselves at every passing mile. The yellow metal discovered at the Last Chance Gulch come by way of four prospectors who was from Georgia, my own starting point on this journey to northern territories, who was at wit's end and thought to give it one “last chance” before calling it quits. So named they that crick where they come to find the color, and the name stuck for settlement as well. Long since played out, though, I have no dreams of it myself. I have not died today. And th...

No words can describe such wonder. January, ca 2014 Yellowstone National Park. I have been to where the beauty of the Great Creator does treat and tickle a man’s eyes. It become hard to breathe whilst among it all, despite the many times I would gasp air into these lungs having spotted the next miraculous vision of meanderin’ river, mountain peak or magnificent critter. Deer and Elk abound in these parts and, as a relation of mine onest made utterance, they’s shooters. Though, I pack no powder or pistol or long gun on the trail, as I can’t bring myself to ending the life of something so wondrous, I yet fathom hunter’s desire to fell these beasts of nature. Were I to need the meat, I suppose I’d do me the same. The snows having stopped progress at the trailhead, I will make my way to these parts another day and finish my travels into this high country to see what other glorious visions the Mighty Father would bestow to these wanderer’s eyes. I have not died tod...

A right lovely trail leads to Virginia City. July, ca 2013 Me and Ol’ Black Tahoe will make our way down the trail to Virginia City this day. The yellow dust that makes a man’s mind run wild with the thought of riches was discovered in them parts many year ago. Today it’s but a ghost town entertaining trail riders during some few months of summer. It is, however, the history of the place that draws me to it. Bannack (a short trail ride away) and Virginia City is where the first rough and rugged emigrants – so named of those who come from “America,” thought as a entire different country back in them days – come to these territories. Most was hoping to make fortune from the color in the ground but finding instead little other than despair. For them what found the placer gold, there was road agents to take it away (one of the most notable outlaws being a man name of Plummer, hiding behind a lawman’s badge and soon hisself hung for his vile deeds), as well the claim jumper, har...

The Beartooth mountains from afar. May, ca 2013 The ride to Red Lodge. I’ll be trailing down through the settlement called Absarokee, that being the name of the Crow Nation in they’s own tongue. I’ll traverse along the Stillwater which takes its leave of the Yellowstone and run down to Custer National Forest, named as I’m sure you are aware for the arrogant man who led many a young soldier to slaughter as well as hisself. Me and Ol' Black Tahoe, my trusted steed, will be making passage East of Butcher Mountain, Grizzly Peak and other darkly named places in search of the great Beartooth Trail that come out of Red Lodge and carries those willing into the high territories of the same-named Beartooth Range. Ten-thousand feet up into them mountains won’t be passable this time of year, but I aim to find me that trailhead for travels ahead when snows relent.  I ride today with the discomfort of a broken and unreliable iPhone. Though not to prevent me from takin’ on the...

A fine fishing spot for when warm weather arrives along the Madison River. Late March, ca 2013 Today, me and Ol' Black Tahoe, my trusted steed, will mosey down to upper Madison territories just north of Coffin Mountain. I hate to ponder how the mountain got named such as I am sure it come from no good thing. I had previous rid this way but reined up outside Ennis and never ventured much south. I am thinking to explore this part of the land afore heavy snows lay in. My maps make out there are some mighty appealing spots along the river where a man can enjoy the Great Creator’s creations and be in fear of nothing 'cepting a rattler or two. And perhaps the griz. Though I am confident them critters all is laid up to den this time of year. I pray no harm befall me on journey into this wide and wild country. I have not died today. And that is a fine thing. Yours truly…