A Montana Journal

Hogan Cabin in the Beaverhead-Deerlodge. Late July, ca 2018 These few days past, me and Ol’ Black Tahoe, my trusted steed, looked out over a new horizon of adventure as we trailed again into them high mountains and made way deep into the Beaverhead-Deerlodge. There’s this rugged old cabin up there what is located as close as a person might get to the middle of lonely, situated in a vast and open mountain valley some 7,300-foot up. The government built the place back in the 1920s; giving fine and sturdy accommodation to smoke chasers, trail crews, timber cruisers and others working this high country. Tho there be no water nor electric nor other common convenience, it does possess beauty aplenty in its surroundings.  Packing in gear and grub, water and whiskey, we made camp here for two night among the trees and the stars and the wild things. On arrival, I took particular note of air itself, smelling of the earth and grass and them pines what are present here in great ...

Along the Bannock Bench. Early July, ca. 2018 Like some gentle and caring mother, the sun rose up quietly from under cloudy covers to tenderly awaken her world. And I again was a fortunate witness of her morning’s embrace. The trail this day led me and Ol’ Black Tahoe, my trusted steed, high into the Beaverhead. We crossed over the Great Divide and then made our way into the Big Hole Valley. Bannack Bench. The air was a bright 38 degree as we rid a long and lonesome bench heading west to the Bannack Pass, some 7,600 feet high into them mountains.  The soul-satisfying delight of living in these wondrous territories was promptly apparent, and we paused at the crest for no other reason but appreciating the natural bounty what was spread out before us. Bannack Pass. We pushed on into Idaho and next took northerly direction along the Lemhi River. After arriving at Tendoy, a small settlement named after a chief of the Lemhi Shoshone and  nephew of Ca...

Niece Mattison's 19-incher! June, ca 2018 I write these words alone again here in this mountain valley, missing kinfolk who come visiting these northern parts most recent. Brother Matthew and his young’un, Mattison, joined me this week past on a trail what led us to the banks of the Bitterroot River and also beyond, their presence here being a joy to my heart.  We made camp along river’s edge at Otto’s Cabin, a rustic place that is to this day filled with the comfort and warmth of Otto Teller, the man who built it some years back.  Otto's Cabin on the Bitterroot River. Tho now passed, he was a man possessing a profound passion for these natural surroundings and the wild things living here and, I hear tell, quite the genuine and decent fellow.  Local folk Brett and Sherrie Adolphson kindly board travelers here in the Bitterroot and did as such for us as proprietors of bitterrootcabins.com . Theys good people and ready always to accommodate the weary wander...

May, ca 2018 The trail today took us high into the Bitterroot Mountains  to explore territories heretofore unseen by this traveler’s eyes. As sun commence its obedient appearance, we began our wanderings on the Lost Horse trail, what leads a rider into deep, lush forest and does not cease from pushing skyward until mountain’s crest. The thaw has come to these northern parts and tho mountaintops are still covered in a snowy white and creeks are flowing frothy and fast, the track was passable into them high places.  The trail here is narrow and cut into steep slope of mountainside for its ascent, threatening rider and mount with disastrous tumble should misstep be made. But Ol’ Black Tahoe, my trusted steed, did not lose purchase as we clung close to mountain’s tall side. We made our way up through the Great Creator’s handiworks of nature, and eventually come to end point of our journey, that being Lake Como, what is tucked into them mountains and offers love...

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...