Early in the day, I gathered up water, snacks (for me and the doggies) and binoculars, and headed up the Jeep road, into the gashed and weathered hills above Fort Peck Lake. Wary of snakes, I sternly commanded the dogs to stay behind me and, surprisingly, they obeyed. As we walked, swarms of grasshoppers exploded like popcorn around my feet. Most make no sound, but there are larger ones, with inner wings of bright yellow or red, that make a harsh clacking as they fly. On either side, sagebrush, coarse grasses, fatbush, juniper, and prickly pear speckled the ground, and stunted evergreens clung impossibly to the hillsides.

A young man at camp told me that, as a boy growing up in Ohio, he dreamed of seeing Hell Creek, where the first T. rex skeleton was found, and where important discoveries of Triceratops and other fossils were made. Even today, new fossils are found as bones literally appear out of eroded hillsides, and I was eager to discover the area for myself.

We walked on, the heat oppressive even in the early morning, and soon the dogs were panting. I didn’t need encouragement to stop frequently, to take in the amazing views. These badlands, I’m told, run all along the Missouri River, and in many other areas where water has carved deep, twisting canyons through the soft sandstone. Wherever harder rock inclusions exist, they form fantastic sculptures. 

We reached the sign telling us of the importance of these fossil beds, and warning us not to disturb the fossils. As we trudged on, now on a single track trail, I looked at the crumbling hillsides on either side.

They were littered with broken rocks, pieces of larger shapes now crushed by the elements. As I sat to water and feed the dogs and myself, I looked down and spotted a thin sliver of rock with the faint outline of a leaf impressed on it. 

That’s when I knew I was very likely walking on the bones of ancient beings. I sat for a while, contemplating the very different planet on which they lived and died. Then we walked—carefully—back down to camp. 

Russ was very concerned about the next few days—it promised to be hot, and there are very few towns with services along the route—in some cases, he would have nearly 70 miles between places to stay. He was panicky about the cabin he’d reserved in Stanford, the next town, so I promised to stop on my way through and confirm. (No one was there, so I left a threatening note.)

I myself had a 5 hour drive to Jordan and Hell Creek Campground, on Fort Peck Lake. While most of central Montana is dry, flat, and featureless, 

not all of it is. I passed three mountain ranges: the Little Belt, the Great Snowy, and the Judith. Along the way, we also passed mesas (buttes? I’m never sure) that abruptly rose above the flat plains. 

I finally reached Jordan, and turned north onto the twisting, rutted, 25-mile gravel road that leads to Hell Creek Campground. That’s when the landscape suddenly got freaky.

I would have taken more pictures, but I was trying to keep the car and camper from sliding off the road. Late in the day, I made it to the campground, which is on the shores of Fort Peck Lake.

More exploring tomorrow. 

I found out from a neighbor at the KOA that there was a western art show at the Montana Expo Grounds in Great Falls. I decided that would make a nice break in the hot weather, so on Friday, off I went, with the dogs safely stowed away in the air-conditioned camper. 

Now, western art isn’t really my thing (probably because I’ve never been out west), but there was a lot of very impressive stuff there. The show benefits the CM Russell Museum, with its collections of western art (Charles M Russell and Frederic Remington are considered the two great western artists). Interesting, but still not my thing, until I came to the booth of Deb Schmit. Not only was her work distinctly different from everyone else’s, we had a good time chatting. One small watercolor caught my eye, but I would have to make some financial transfers to purchase it, so I promised to return the next day with Russ, who would hopefully agree with my choice.

I was about to head back to the car when I learned that there were TWO MORE BUILDINGS of art, so…

Along the midway, I came across a group of vintage campers, all owned by members of a women’s fly-fishing club called Sisters on the Fly. They were open for viewing, so in I went, and they were adorable! I didn’t get pictures of all of them (one was completely decorated in a Wonder Woman theme), but I chatted with the owners, and nearly forgot about the rest of the show.

The heat finally drove me back inside, though, and that’s when I met Jennifer Solberg, with whom I shared an immediate connection. And her jewelry, journals, and kaleidoscopes were beautiful! I had to have one of her journal necklaces—the perfect place to store some of the most important things I’ve learned in life and on this trip.

She offered to bring me extra leather ties the next day, and, since I’d be returning with Russ anyway, I promised to see her again. We parted with hugs. An instant friend!

Russ had just arrived when I finally returned, and was thrilled to find out that they’d just restocked their ice cream at the camp store. (You can guess where we went next.) The next day, I finally convinced him to come to the show with me, by promising that I wouldn’t be long. In fact, Russ and Jennifer’s husband Troy hit it off almost as well as Jennifer and I had, as he peppered Russ with questions about his trip. I showed Jennifer the messages I’d already inscribed in my journal, as we compared life stories and hard-won wisdom. We stayed with them for almost an hour before I pulled Russ away to confirm my choice at Deb Schmit’s booth. Russ immediately chose the same painting I did, enjoyed talking to Deb, and I happily walked off with a great memento of our trip. (BTW, he also found the vintage campers fascinating, and spent quite a while talking to the owner of one of them. For a guy who doesn’t want to go to craft shows, he can be surprisingly hard to dislodge.)

Russ wanted to see the Lewis and Clark Museum next to the state park I’d visited earlier, so off we went. It was an immersive journey through their expedition, from planning to finish, and we only left when they forced us out at closing. We returned to camp for more ice cream and a good night’s sleep before both of us headed out the next morning. 

Tues., August 18 I drove through sweltering temps to the KOA campground in Great Falls. I decided a little pampering was appropriate (and a long shower was absolutely necessary). The entrance to the campground, beside a Walmart and through an industrial area, wasn’t promising, but the campground itself is well shaded and quiet, except for the occasional helicopter flyovers from the nearby Malmstrom Air Force Base..

After a hot shower, dinner, and a good night’s sleep, I was ready to explore the area. Giant Springs State Park has miles of walking paths and trails along the Missouri River and a Lewis and Clark Trail Interpretive Center. The Great Falls of the Missouri is a short drive away (where Great Falls got its name).The boys and I set out.

The Giant Springs are a shady, cool retreat right next to the river.

After a stroll along the river to look at all the watefowl, we drove downriver to Ryan Dam and the Great Falls. Unfortunately. pets aren’t allowed on Ryan Island, where you get the best view of the dam and falls, so I snapped a few quick photos and returned to the car before Moe and Scooby expired in the heat

We reluctantly left Duck Lake on Tuesday. Russ and Matt had struck up a friendship, and I enjoyed talking with Matt, his wife Sharon, and their grandson Justin, who became a regular visitor to our campsite to play with the dogs. Matt even loaned me a copy of a book of Blackfeet tales of Glacier and the surrounding territory (all part of the Blackfeet Reservation). I felt they deserved something for all their kindness and friendship, so on leaving, I presented Justin with O Bear, the stuffed toy black bear that I had carried with me the whole trip, asking him to take good care of him, and to see that he got to visit Yellowstone again some day.

Now, KOA campgrounds are not my favorites, but heading east across Montana, the campsites are few and far between. And after ??? days where my only shower was a dip in Duck Lake, I was ready for all the amenities. Great Falls KOA is actually pretty nice: shaded, quiet, just outside of town and convenient to shopping.

I was grateful for all of the above (especially the showers) after a long, hot day of driving through the arid Montana grazing lands.

Then i came across these guys!

This isn’t too bad:

I settled in, then got food for myself. I’ll do a bigger shopping trip when Russ gets here on Thursday. In the meantime, I think I’ll check out Great Springs State Park on the other side of town, and the falls that gave Great Falls its name.

Monday I was up and raring to go. It was another warm, cloudless day as we prepared breakfast and got ready to head to Glacier. And then….

This is bear country, they said.

Stow all your trash safely, they said.

Did we listen? No!

Our trash was invaded!

Off to Glacier! We got there before the crowds, and just in time for the first big shuttle bus toward Logan Pass. We saw a grizzly bear on the way, but I didn’t get my camera out in time.

Hiking from Logan Pass up to the Hidden Lake overlook:

…and then my phone died. You can see Russ’s blog (russloomis.com) for the rest of the pictures of this spectacular place. He did share one with me:

We rested for a snack at Hidden Lake overlook, where the ground squirrels (locals call them gophers) are very tame. They will climb right up into your lap for treats. Luckily, we had some fruit and nut mix. I was in heaven, and shared my treats with several kids, who were thrilled.

At the overlook we saw mountain goats snoozing on rock ledges across the way, then were treated to the sight of one ambling right across the trail. As we headed back to the Logan Pass visitors center, we saw two bands of bighorn sheep, resting and grazing near the trail. There were more ground squirrels, both gophers and the smaller golden-mantled ground squirrels that look like chipmunks. We also saw a couple of marmots. The pines smelled heavenly, and the views were breathtaking. I could not even begin to put into words how magnificent this place is.

We hopped the shuttle down to the trailhead to St. Mary’s Falls, and hiked there and back, but decided at that point that we’d better think about going back to our campsite and rescuing the dogs, who’d been cooped up all day.

The shuttles are crowded, even on a a Monday, and the drivers have their own system for letting people on, based on who will be leaving and entering, and at what points. At our last hop, a family of five was trying to make a connecting shuttle by 5:30. We entered, but that left only three places. I could hear the driver giving them a hard time, so I came forward to offer our seats, as we could wait for the next shuttle. At that, the driver agreed to let the family on after all. The dad tapped me on the shoulder to thank me, and said something profound: ”Sometimes it just takes one act of kindness to open the gates of kindness.”

And we got to see another grizzly!

Thursday morning, I heard from Russ—his hosts of the night before had convinced him to ride Going to the Sun road through Glacier National Park, and to meet me at Duck Lake by turning south from there, rather than coming north from route 2. So as I skirted the southern edge of Glacier with the dogs and my newly beefed-up hitch, Russ was riding through the heart of those majestic peaks. He promised to catch up to me on Friday, and to stay for some hiking. 

Duck Lake was unexpected—just 20 rustic, widely spaced campsites, all on the shore of the lake. There’s no water, but several sites have electric hookups. Not far from the eastern entrance to Glacier, it’s on the Blackfeet Indian Reservation; indeed, next door is a tribal campground, closed to outsiders. No one was in the office when I arrived at 5:30, but a passing camper suggested I find a site I liked and check back. I left the vehicles at the office and walked the dogs up the dirt road past the campsites, to stretch our legs and scope out the options. I met Matt, one of the hosts, chatting with another camper near the end of the line. He offered me and the dogs a ride back to the office in his car. On the way back, I pointed to site 8 as a possibility, but he quickly dissuaded me, saying “You don’t want that one. It’s haunted.” He did not elaborate. 

I decided to take site 7 instead, especially after he also told me that he’d frightened a grizzly away from site 8 just the day before. I have noticed that everyone here carries their bear spray with them, so I don’t think he was joking.

Then we ran into a problem: they don’t take credit cards or out of state checks. I’m one of those people who don’t carry cash any more, so that left us with a dilemma. After a telephone confab with his wife (“She’s the boss.”), it was agreed that they would trust me until the morning, when I promised to drive to the ATM in Leaning Tree. I settled into my shaded spot, and spent some time watching grebes, gulls, and pelicans on the lake. After watching the sun set behind Glacier Park, I snuggled in for a deep sleep. 

The next day I did, indeed, drive to Leaning Tree for the ATM—and an excellent breakfast. I returned to camp, and settled in to wait for Russ. In the meantime, I swam in the crystal clear waters of Duck Lake, relaxed in the cool breeze, and generally enjoyed the view of nearby Glacier Park. I was astonished to be approached mid-day by the hosts with a question: “Would I like some fish?” They handed me a beautiful rainbow trout that had to be at least 16 inches long. “Just caught this morning,” they assured me. Of COURSE I would like some fish! I thanked them profusely, and made plans to grill it for dinner after Russ arrived.

And then I waited, and waited…. and waited…

It wasn’t until nearly 7:30, when I went to the office to tell my hosts that I would drive to Leaning Tree, where I could get cell service, that they remembered that their WiFi had finally been repaired, and that I could use it. Then I received all of Russ’s messages from the previous two days, and found out that he had been directed all the way from Saint Mary’s, 9 miles away in Glacier Park, to Browning, 30 miles south of me, to a Duck Lake Campground that didn’t exist.

We finally connected by phone, and I set off to get him and his bike, which meant first emptying the back of the car of a great deal of weighty tools, equipment, extra food and clothing, storing anything that might attract bears in the camper, and then driving 30 miles to Browning with the dogs, who could not be trusted with all that extra food in the camper. Russ was starving when I found him, so after a quick stop at a gas station for fuel, we headed to the casino, the only place still open after 8 pm. Not our first choice under any circumstances, but they had burgers and fries, and—most importantly—ice cream. 

We left the casino after dark and were headed back to camp when a warning light I’d never seen before started flashing.  I pulled into the gas station where I’d just gotten gas a hour ago, and pulled out the car’s manual to find out what was going on. According to the manual, the engine was about to overheat. Russ was exhausted and brain dead by this time, so it was up to me to figure out what to do. I’m sure those of you who know more about cars would know immediately, but I was very glad for the help of two young Blackfeet men, who tactfully showed me how to fill up my coolant and got us back on the road.

Goodness knows how late it was when we got back. We still had to get the bike stowed, move all of the stuff back into the car, and then set up the bed in the camper before we could flop down and sleep. The fish would have to wait for another day. 

Saturday Russ worked on his bike, and we did finally grill that trout. It was delicious with grilled onions and sweet peppers, and some pretzel rolls I’d found on my trip here. 

Sunday we planned to return to Glacier so I could see the park, but I was feeling queasy and headachey so we decided instead to stay one more day and see Glacier on Monday. Hopefully I will feel better, and we will find it less crowded. 

Wednesday morning, I woke in a panic. Despite setting my alarm last night, it didn’t go off, and I was already half an hour late to get my car fixed. I threw on my clothes, threw the dogs and their leashes in the car, and drove like a bat out of hell for Libby.

At Twinkle Welding, Trapper was calm, as usual, and brushed aside my abject apologies. He and his crew set right to work, and in less than three hours had a new hitch installed and my broken frame welded. And he charged me less than his quote! I could not resist giving him a hug, and promised to share my great experience on the web. If you are ever in the area of Libby, MT, and need welding or hitch services, call Twinkle Welding and tell Trapper I sent you!

Next on my agenda was breakfast—I was starving! At the nearest place, I waited in line with a nice couple. We hit it off and they invited me to join them at their table. Butch and Josie and I had a great time talking about our travels and interests, and we lingered quite a while, swapping stories over our meal. Finally, I said goodbye with reluctance, and headed back to the car and my two very impatient dogs. 

I decided that, since I was already in town, I would see if someone would look at my exhaust system, since I’d been hearing a concerning rattle. However, after a quick check, I was told that there was nothing wrong with my exhaust—the rattle was only a heat shield (notorious for coming loose on Subarus). But had I noticed the rhythmic thump from my rear end?

Ugh. Back the other way on route 2 through Libby, this time to a Les Schwab, the chain that had replaced my front brakes on our first leg through Montana. I thought they would tell me there was a problem with one of my rear tires. I was not prepared to be told that both rear brakes needed replacing, and they MIGHT fit me in on Friday. I told them I’d have to stop at the next Les Schwab heading east, upon which they decided that they could, in fact, fix my brakes right now. I didn’t mind paying $500 to get my hitch and frame fixed, not so happy about having to unexpectedly pay $900 to replace both rear brakes, when I didn’t even realize there was a problem. 

So that was my Wednesday. By the end, I was exhausted, the dogs were bored out of their little minds, and my wallet was a great deal lighter. It was all I could do to pick up a few groceries, drive back to camp, eat, and fall into bed. 

SAM OWEN CAMPGROUND, IDAHO

Sam Owen Campground in Idaho was my third boondocking site in a row, after Washington Park and Roosevelt Lake, and I began to notice that my battery was losing its charge faster than before. Was it not charging fully from my car between campgrounds? I hoped there wasn’t a short somewhere. Meanwhile, i enjoyed the lake, where the dock was the only place to get cell service

I’d planned to go from Sam Owen to a National Park campground somewhere in Montana next, but when there was no place for me to stay an extra night at Sam Owen, I had to find another campground on short notice—and on a Saturday! I was lucky if I could get minimal pgone service at Sam Owen, so a thorough internet search was out of the question. I found Koocanusa Resort and Marina, and was told they did have an opening that night. I grabbed it. I expected a busy, crowded RV park.

KOOCANUSA LAKE CAMPGROUND, MONTANA

I wasn’t expecting a quiet, shady, full hookup, private site on a gorgeous lake! They even had showers, laundry, and a bar and restaurant. Koocanusa Lake is just east of Libby, MT, and was created by another one of those Army Corps of Engineers projects, the Libby Dam across the Koote ai River. It’s surrounded by ponderosa pine-covered mountains and miles of federal lands, and is well stocked with fish, making it a popular destination for fishermen. No building is allowed within 300 yards of the lake shore, which means all the views are of unspoiled mountains (except for logging cuts). For some reason, it’s very popular with people from Alberta (I saw lots of Alberta license plates in the campground). And with an electric hookup, I wouldn’t have to worry about my battery draining again.

I took advantage of the kayaks for rent, and spent most of one day paddling across the lake and around two islands, where there are boat-access only campgrounds. Along the shore, I found a floating cooler of beer, and then found the owner, camped on one of the islands! He was most grateful for its return.

Then Russ noticed that my hitch was ‘drooping’. He pulled up on it, and it was clearly loose. So much for leaving the next day: I was going nowhere until I could get that hitch looked at. Craig, the campground owner, suggested Twinkle Welding back in Libby, so I called them first thing Monday morning. Over the owner’s protests that he was already ‘double booked,’ I pleaded with him until he at least agreed to take a look at it, and I raced the 20 miles to Libby.

As promised, he slid under the bumper to look at the hitch—and came out with a grim look on his face. “It’s not your hitch,” he said. “Your frame is broken.” There would be no fixing that, he told me, since no one could—or would—weld that back to like-new condition. Under no circumstances should I try to pull my camper. I asked him to give me a moment, turned around—and burst into tears. Now what? I envisioned being stuck in rural Montana, with no car, and no way to move our camper.

I did what any sensible person would do under the circumstances: I called my sister and sobbed out the situation to her. After consoling me, Sue—ever practical—commented “Well, at least you’re someplace where there will be a lot of used trucks and SUVs for sale.” Then I texted Russ, who responded, somewhat less helpfully, “Yikes!”

Meanwhile, the owner of the business, between customers, asked me to wait while he tried to find another solution. One customer, who had pulled in while I was being given the bad news, and who heard me say I was following a through-bicyclist, told me he was real sorry to hear about my predicament, but maybe I should buy another bicycle instead! That made me laugh, even through tears. 

Finally, the owner—everyone calls him Trapper—came back with a solution: a different type of hitch, which would mount on the main frame of the car (the one I have mounts on something called the bumper cross bar). And, even though they were booked out at least a month, he was willing to come in at 6 am that Wednesday (after waiting a day to get the parts) to fix it for me. He somewhat apologetically told me the cost would be $500-600. I was so grateful, I nearly kissed him! Instead of buying a new car, I would only have to get a new hitch installed, and have the broken frame bar re-welded. He reassured me that it would be fine, as long as I didn’t try to tow anything with the bumper crossbar again.

Back at camp, there was no problem with me staying another couple of nights. I released Russ to continue on his journey on Tuesday morning, and watched a deer stroll through the campground. Think I’ll take a leisurely stroll with the dogs after I finish my chai. Inhale. Exhale. Sigh. 

Echo Chambers

Social Divisions

Wedge Issues

Polarization

On my mind this morning, as I’m reading an article in The New York Times about book banning, and how it has gone from a family or community issue to a political one, thanks largely to social media.

I’ve had other discussions with fellow campers over the last 3+ months or so about the deep divisions I see in today’s society. Some felt that it was an “us versus them” issue, others pointed to this or that party, to the media, to the internet. 

I, having grown up without the ripple effects of social media, feel that the internet, with its infinite, deep rabbit holes, has created a new society, one thwt is dangerously anonymous. It’s like that old cartoon by New Yorker cartoonist Peter Steiner:

This cartoon inspired the play Nobody Knows I’m a Dog by Alan David Perkins. The play revolves around six individuals, unable to communicate effectively with people in their lives, who nonetheless find the courage to socialize anonymously on the Internet. 

Which illustrates my anxiety: On line, the only identity you have is the one you choose, and the friends you have are the ones who agree with you. You need never interact with others with different ideas. What results are people living in deeply divided echo chambers, some very radical and some very dangerous. 

A young man from California I spoke with yesterday admitted that the internet had, in many ways, become an echo chamber (“Just because they agree with you doesn’t necessarily make them good people to hang out with,” he said.), but also pointed out that for many young people, like the characters in the play, it was a source of support, a space for the ‘different’ (or just socially awkward) to find others like them. We both agreed that there was little or no place for a middle ground: politically or socially, and he told me of his experiences in the early gaming community (he was from Silicon Valley, after all), where to be a fan of one game meant disparaging those who played another game; there was no place for someone who would ‘cross the lines.’ 

And yet, as I meet individuals in my travels, this is seldom an issue. We talk about our homes and families, our travels, we compare campers and gadgets, we complain about or exult in the weather. Occasionally, we go deeper. Some exchanges don’t go so well, as in Montana, where I started a conversation about the January 6th hearings with a man in line with me. He blames a Democratic plot. Somehow, we moved on to religion. This Christian told me I had to accept the Bible as the inerrant word of God, written by God. I kept thinking that as Christians, the same things should upset us, but that was not the case. He was upset about liberals, abortion, immigrants taking jobs and ‘government handouts’; I was upset about poverty, racism, gun violence, and womens’ lack of control over their own bodies. No doubt, he was convinced I was going to hell; I told him that his tattoos were specifically forbidden in his Bible. It did not end well.

In Oregon, sitting around a campfire with shots of Irish whiskey, Russ and I got into a political discussion with a man who had voted for Trump, and who thought that Trump and the Republicans had done good things for the country. We spoke of our concerns; about poverty and racism, about the high cost of medical care. He was not a hard-liner: he disagreed with the overturn of Roe v. Wade, and he listened as I gave my viewpoint on the ‘good’ that Republicans have brought to this country. I conceded that he could keep his guns, as long as we could find a workable solution to gun violence. Russ said something brilliant, which we all heartily agreed with: the media presents the ‘news’ so as to divide us and create fighting, which creates great news. And so the cycle goes. We parted the next day, thanking them for the exchange.

So where is the middle ground, where people can agree on goals and work out their ideas about how to achieve them? Where are the safe spaces for the ’different’, the shy, the ones who are struggling to be connected? Where can dangerous ideas be heard and alternate ideas be presented, or help given?

I don’t know. I think our church is doing a pretty great job of being a middle ground, allowing everyone to be themselves, to be heard and accepted, but not everyone will accept the forum of organized religion. Maybe we all need to sit together around a campfire once in a while. Whiskey optional. S’mores might help.