Empty Chairs at Empty Tables

Oh my friends, my friends forgive me
That I live and you are gone.
There's a grief that can't be spoken.
There's a pain goes on and on.

Phantom faces at the window.
Phantom shadows on the floor.
Empty chairs at empty tables
Where my friends will meet no more.

--Herbert Kretzmer

NOTE: All photos can be seen full screen by double clicking on them. The complete set of photos taken by Kevin and myself can be seen on my Picasa web gallery.


The following letter was written on February 9th, 1989, almost twenty years ago. As I reread it this morning, I wanted to share it with you all, partly as an historical document, but also because I feel the message is still relevant, even if dated. It was written to the ex-wife of a dear friend, a woman living in southern California and working in the entertainment industry. She and some colleagues wanted to put together a performance piece dealing with the way AIDS was effecting people in rural areas. I wrote of my own experience. In reading this, remember that this is a history, and does not reflect current facts. Missoula, for example, is now Montana’s second largest city. It remains a small town. Also many more than six have now died in Missoula.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Dear Dale,

When I think about AIDS in Montana many images come to mind. The first, of course, is Richard. When he was diagnosed in June, 1986, his was the first case to be diagnosed in Missoula County. It made the daily paper. No names were mentioned, fortunately. We expected the house to be fire-bombed. This is, after all, the town where the Mayor asked the City Attorney to ban a gay dance because gay people would bring AIDS to Missoula.

The local gay rights group, Out in Montana, had just started an AIDS Support Network, anticipating a future need. We didn’t tell them of the diagnosis because we didn’t have the strength to deal with both the disease and with their ignorance. We didn’t have the energy to train them to deal with people with AIDS. So we stuck it out alone, just the two of us. Richard asked me not to talk to anyone about his diagnosis, nor would he talk to me about his weekly conversations with his doctor, so for at least the first three months I was completely alone. Of course there weren’t many people in town who would have understood what we were going through.

Missoula is a small town, even if it is Montana’s third largest community. Word got out, and people in other offices on campus called me to offer condolences. I told them that while the situation was indeed difficult, it was basically no different that watching a loved one dying of cancer or some other fatal disease. I felt that I had to reassure them because of all the ignorance about AIDS.

From the time he noticed the first KS lesion in February, 1986, it took Richard a year and a half to die. We both learned a lot during that period. As time went on, we taught others a great deal, also. I did things I never dreamt I would do. I learned to give hypodermic injections. I learned to handle syringes and needles, subclavials, i.v. bottles. I never expected to become a nurse.

When Richard died, I was told to prepare his obituary myself unless I wanted the mortuary to do it for me. Since I had no control over what the mortuary would say, I wrote the thing myself, at work, the morning after he died. That was all I did at work that day. When I turned the obit in to the paper, it caused quite a stir. They wanted to interview me and they didn’t want to say that he was survived by his “lover.” We finally compromised on a less loaded term, and I agreed to an interview.

The interview appeared on the front page of the paper, complete with a picture of Richard, Thursday morning. (Richard had died Tuesday evening.) They didn’t waste any time. Within two weeks, the article had appeared in every daily paper in the state of Montana. (It is a small state, after all.) Again, I expected the house to be fire-bombed. That didn’t happen. What did happen was amazing. I received cards, letters and phone calls from friends, of course, but also from complete strangers scattered across our state. A woman from Phoenix saw the article in the Billings Gazette and sent it to me. A man read it in the Bozeman Chronicle and called me. An elderly neighbor called me to offer her love and support. Two people called the President of the University and demanded that I be fired. (I wasn’t.) The house was not fire-bombed.

After Richard’s death, a support group was formed that met with a counselor on a weekly basis. I attended the meetings, even though I no longer fit the criteria for attendance (i.e. sero-positive test result, AIDS/ARC diagnosis, partner/spouse/lover of either which assumed that the partner was still alive, or current care giver). Our group of ten quickly dwindled to a group of three: the counselor; a young man with KS; and me. Once again, I was being a support, but not getting much support. At the end of the year, when that young man died, I ceased all involvement with AIDS work. I have to heal myself and see no outside help available here. The truth of the matter is that if you want to be involved in AIDS work, even in Montana, there are more than enough sick people who need your help. Little time is available for those who are physically well, but emotionally drained.

The Missoula Gay Men's Chorus
9-18-08

Other aspects come to mind, though. The wonderful lesbian who has been at the bedside of nearly every man who died of AIDS in Missoula (six to date). She, too, is burning out, and I hope that she can find her own strength again. The population in Montana is small enough that we know each other. We’ve been friends, family, for years, and now we watch our brothers die. We also see others coming home. Men who left Montana at 20 full of health and energy are returning at 40 to die. The truth is that those of us born and raised in the state will always be Montanans, wherever we may end up. Perhaps half the cases of AIDS treated in Montana were diagnosed elsewhere: in San Francisco, Seattle, Denver, Portland, Chicago. This has other implications as well. A (Montana) friend died last Saturday in San Francisco. I was told via long-distance from Washington DC and was asked to pass the word along to other friends. This meant calls to Seattle, Portland, and even to San Francisco, because so many gay Montanans leave the state, and David’s friends were no exception.

AIDS in Montana. The contrasts under the Big Sky are amazing. A gay man with AIDS in Great Falls has to see a dentist in Helena, 90 miles away, because no Great Falls dentist will work with him. A Missoula man dies in a Billings nursing home, 350 miles from home, because no Missoula nursing home will take him. The Billings AIDS support Network passes out condoms and safe-sex brochures to prostitutes on the street corners. The alternate test site in Havre (population 10,891) tests more IV drug users than all the other alternate test sites in the state combined. Medical personnel state that Montana fits the third world scenario for AIDS distribution, i.e. heterosexual transmission. No one is quite sure what this means, because the official figures do not seem to back it up. Maybe it’s their own homophobia coming out. Montana is the only state in the region that does not require reporting of names of those testing sero-positive. As a consequence, our alternate test sites serve North and South Dakota, Wyoming (which until recently had no alternate test sites), Idaho and even Washington residents. State health officials fear that the Legislature will change our unique regional standing.

Well, I fear that I have rambled enough. I hope this helps. Thanks for asking.

Sincerely,

Bryan

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Thursday, September 18th, 2008. The NAMES Project AIDS Memorial Quilt came to Missoula. Well, seventy-five panels, each with at least eight quilt pieces, were put on display in the Adams Center, beginning with an opening ceremony. University President George Dennison spoke about the importance of educating our community. The Missoula Gay Men’s Chorus sang two numbers. Keri McWilliams, Executive Director of the Missoula AIDS Council and Gert McMullin, Quilt Production Manager from the NAMES Project office in Atlanta, Georgia, spoke. Twenty-seven people read the names of the men, women and children whose lives were remembered on the displayed panels.

If you’ve never seen The Quilt, let me tell you that it’s an emotional experience. I doubt that it’s possible for anyone to come away from a display untouched. But then, I have a personal stake in The Quilt. The panel I designed for my lover, Richard Donovan, was the first panel submitted from the state of Montana.

Richard died on the evening of July 21st, 1987, thirteen months after being the first person in Missoula County to be diagnosed with the disease and eighteen months after he first noticed a couple of spots on his shoulder which he suspected were KS (Kaposi’s Sarcoma) lesions. July 21st was a Tuesday. On Thursday, the 23rd, the Advocate showed up in my mailbox. The Advocate, then as now, is the nation’s leading gay news magazine. The July 23rd issue had a notice about a new project just getting started in San Francisco. Cleve Jones and a group of his friends wanted to remember the people they were losing to AIDS in the form of a quilt. There was a number to call for more information, so I called.

“Montana?” The person on the other end of the line cried. “Montana? We never thought we’d hear from anyone in Montana.” I learned that the quilt panels were to be six foot by three foot, roughly the size of a casket, and that everything should be sewn down, not glued. The plan was to get everything collected in San Francisco, then display the quilt for the first time at a special ceremony to be held on the US Capitol Mall, on Sunday, October 11th, 1987. Richard’s fortieth birthday.

I designed Richard’s panel, using his favorite denim jeans and vest. Richard was a tailor, and had made all his own clothing. It seemed only appropriate to use his work to remember him. Richard’s friend, Susan Gilmore, did the actual work of putting the panel together, and we shipped it off to San Francisco.

On Sunday, October 11th, I was in Washington for the opening. Whoopi Goldbert spoke at length, as we stood silently lining the sides of the Mall. Finally the quilt was opened, and readers started reading the names. I found Richard’s panel, and stood a while in thought.



Portions of the Quilt have been shown in Missoula on three other occasions. I have also traveled to Seattle to see it displayed there. The Quilt, as it is displayed, makes me think of the experience of walking through a military cemetery on a battleground. I have the same feeling of needless loss that I felt walking through the cemeteries of Gallipoli. But the pain is much more personal.

I used to keep a list of the friends I have lost. When the list of Montana names reached fifty, I stopped counting. My friends continued to die, but I could no longer bear holding that list. Things have changed. Today I have many dear friends living with the disease. It is no longer the automatic death sentence it was twenty years ago. It is still a horrifying disease. When I read about young men, “bug catchers” as they call themselves, who are actively trying to contract the disease, I want to scream. When I read about people who want to have only unprotected sex, I want to take them by the neck and shake them till they wake up to the reality of this disease.

Mostly I feel like a survivor of a war. When I go out to a gay venue, I see a few people older than I. Mostly I see men twenty to thirty years younger than I am. I see very few people my age. We lost the better part of a generation of gay men to this disease. Beautiful, handsome, strong men. The leaders of our community, gone to a virus. I want it to stop. I want it never to have happened. I want Richard back.

Richard Donovan
10-11-47 -- 7-21-87

Let's Do What We Can Do Together

Peace Within, Peace Without
Taken 9-14-08 in Missoula Montana
by Kevin G. Kerr

Note Please: All links open in a separate window, and all pictures can be viewed full screen in a separate window by double clicking on the picture itself. A selection of the pictures Kevin and I took can be found on-line at my Picasa web site here.

Livin’ in this crazy world
So caught up in the confusion
Nothin’ is makin’ sense
For me and you

Maybe we can find a way
There’s got be a solution
How to make a brighter day
What do we do

--Ziggy Marley

In 1916, the people of Montana elected the first woman to serve in any western nation’s national legislature. Jeannette Rankin, born in 1880 in Missoula, Montana, took her seat in the US House of Representatives on March 4, 1917. Four days later, she made history again by voting against US entry into World War I. As she cast her vote, she said “I want to stand by my country, but I cannot vote for war.” She was not re-elected in 1918.

A single term in Congress was not unusual in Montana history. Since becoming a state in 1889, Montana had elected nine congressmen prior to Ms. Rankin, four of whom served only a single term and two more served just two terms. What is remarkable is that in 1940, Montanans sent Jeannette Rankin back to Congress where she cast the only vote against US entry into World War II. This time she said, “As a woman I can’t go to war, and I refuse to send anyone else.” Her position caused her to be vilified, and again, she served only a single term. After leaving Congress in 1943, she spent the rest of her life working for peace. In 1985 Montana sent Ms. Rankin back to Congress, this time in the form of a statue to be placed in Statuary Hall in the US Capitol. Today her statue can be found in the House corridor, first floor. (Statuary Hall allows each state two statues. Montana's other statue honors Charlie Russell--the only artist to be found in this national collection.)

In 1986, a group of Missoula area activists came together to found the Jeannette Rankin Peace Center. In the twenty-two years since, they have built an organization that is making a difference world-wide. In Missoula they operate a store and library downtown, and sponsor several activities throughout the year. They have acted as fiduciary agent for various peace and justice organizations, including the Western Montana Gay & Lesbian Community Center which was formed ten years ago. One of the principal fund-raisers for the Jeannette Rankin Peace Center is their annual Peace Party, held this year under the big tent in Caras Park on Sunday, September 14th.

The Missoula Gay Men's Chorus
Taken 9-14-08 in Missoula Montana
by Kevin G. Kerr

Members of the Missoula Gay Men’s Chorus were asked to show up at 2 pm sharp for a sound check. We joined the women of the Missoula Women’s Chorus, and ran through a couple of numbers. The festivities were scheduled to begin at 4:30 when the children of the Lewis & Clark Grade School choir would take the stage to sing a song they had written themselves. The men and women would sing along on the chorus with the children.

The event actually began with men, women and children forming a circle and dancing several dances from various traditions in what has come to be known as the Dances of Universal Peace. I had heard of this activity, which in Missoula happens on the third Friday of every month, but I had never participated. Nonetheless, when the audience was invited to join in the dance, I gladly entered the circle. Dancing has always been one of my great loves. I had no idea that I was becoming a part of an international movement that meets not only in Missoula, but in four other Montana communities, twenty-two California communities (both large and small), and countless other places around the country. There are even two groups dancing in Wyoming and one in West Virginia.

A Dance of Universal Peace
Taken 9-14-08 in Missoula Montana
by Kevin G. Kerr

After dancing and chanting prayers in English, Sanskrit, Arabic, Hebrew, and I don’t remember what all else, the children took the stage and the men and women singers joined them. Throughout the evening, the men and women returned to the stage numerous times to perform together and separately. We men sang five pieces in total, two by ourselves, two with the women, and the opening number with the women and children.

The Missoula Women's Chorus
Taken 9-14-08 in Missoula Montana
by Kevin G. Kerr

In addition to our singing, the Peace Party included dinner, a silent auction, a live auction and several items which were raffled off. Many of the items in the live auction were dinner parties hosted by prominent Missoulians. The one that really caught my attention was an Ethiopian dinner for six at Granite Hot Springs, but that one went for over $100 a plate. Kevin, knowing how much I love exotic food, bid for (and won) a Persian dinner for eight which we will enjoy on Friday, April 24th, 2009. We quickly found six friends to join us at $55 a plate.

While I don’t know just how much money the Center raised, I know that the participants enjoyed themselves thoroughly. Each table had a jar for pennies, those jars going to build schools through one of my favorite organizations, The Central Asia Institute, which I wrote about back in January. Once again, I urge you to read Greg Mortensen’s book Three Cups of Tea and then to do whatever you can to support this worthy organization. The children of Missoula have collected over $5,000 in pennies to build schools in Pakistan and Afghanistan, and have set themselves the goal of collecting $50,000 so that they can pay for a complete school.

Pennies for Peace supporting the Central Asia Institute
Taken 9-14-08 in Missoula Montana

For us, the evening closed with the men and women on stage singing Ziggy Marley’s “Give a Little Love,” after which we packed up and left the volunteers to take down the displays and empty the tent. Five of us piled into the Volvo and headed out to Lolo Hot Springs for their clothing optional swim night. A fun time was had by all.

Seriously, though, ask yourself “What can I do to promote peace at home, in my community, in my country and around the world.” As Ziggy puts it:

We got to give a little love, have a little hope
Make this world a little better
Try a little more, harder than before
Let’s do what we can do together

The Men and Women's Choruses of Missoula
Giving a little love
Taken 9-14-08 by Kevin G. Kerr

Twin Lakes--Reflecting the Big Sky

Twin Lakes, Beaverhead County, Montana
Taken 9/6/08

I’d like to say a word for the cowboy.
The road he treads is difficult and stony.
He rides fer days on end with jist a pony fer a friend.
I sure am feelin’ sorry fer the pony.

--Oscar Hammerstein II

Beaverhead County is Montana’s largest in area and last Saturday, September 6th, we drove most of it. Well, not really, but when you’re driving over Forest Service Roads at five to ten miles per hour for four hours it sure feels like you’re never gonna get home again. Between the rocks and the ruts, the truck bounced and jittered, and the camper swung back and forth so violently, that I feared the truck bed would separate from the cab or the weight of the camper would have us on our side.

Admittedly, my DeLorme Montana Atlas bears a 1994 copyright, but do roads just disappear? Our friend Stan had the same atlas, but with a 2001 copyright, and his showed the same roads. Both books claimed we were on Forest Service Road 945.1, but all the signs said 944. And try as we might we could not find the connecting road that would get us to what my atlas named Road 12. Stan’s atlas called it Road 945.2. Maybe that should have told us something.

Our friends Stan and Leon live on top of a ridge near Stevensville, Montana. Whenever they can, they like to put their canoe on top the Jeep and head out for some fishing and canoeing. I had mentioned that if they ever wanted company, they should let us know. Thursday, September 4th, Leon sent me an e-mail saying that they were planning on spending the upcoming weekend at Twin Lakes in the Big Hole Valley. While I’ve spent lots of time in the Big Hole, I’d never been to Twin Lakes.

Kevin had, as he grew up in Beaverhead County, and when I started looking online for geocaches around the town of Wisdom, Kevin informed me that we wouldn’t be going anywhere near Wisdom. Now as I looked at the map, the only alternative to driving through Wisdom was to take a Forest Service road that followed the base of the mountains. Still I bowed to his experience and said “Drive on!” We met Stan and Leon at the supermarket in Stevensville, and they agreed to try our route, so the four of us took off on Captain Clark’s 1806 route through the Bitterroot and Big Hole Valleys.

On their return from the Pacific in 1806, Lewis and Clark’s Corp of Discovery camped at Traveler’s Rest, now a Montana State Park just a few miles south of Missoula. On July 3rd, the company split with Lewis heading north and Clark south. Lewis and his men spent July 4th on the site of what is now Missoula and sure enough, there is a plaque right downtown saying “Lewis slept here.” Well, maybe not in so many words, but that’s the jist of the message—and right in front of a motel, too.

Clark took his men and headed south, traveling up the Bitterroot River and crossing the Continental Divide at Gibbon’s Pass. You can read about the whole Lewis and Clark adventure here. And while we’re on the subject of Lewis and Clark, all Montana school children learn that the Corps of Discovery followed the Missouri River upstream to the point where three rivers come together—the site of present day Three Forks, Montana. We learn that the three rivers are named the Madison, the Jefferson and the Gallatin—named for the Secretary of State (and fourth US President) James Madison, President Thomas Jefferson, and Secretary of the Treasury Albert Gallatin. Wikipedia will even tell you that Lewis himself named the rivers on the way west in 1805. What isn’t so well known is that while traveling up the Jefferson, they came to another confluence of rivers which they named Philanthropy, Philosophy and Wisdom. Today we know these rivers as the Ruby, the Beaverhead, and the Big Hole. The Big Hole flows right past the town of Wisdom—the only place name where Lewis’s appellation still exists. (I hesitate to suggest that there is no philanthropy or philosophy in Montana.)

The Big Hole is also the site of one of the great tragedies of US history. In 1877, a band of Nez Perce Indians, led by Chief Joseph, fled their homeland in northeastern Oregon heading east. The US Government was determined to place all native peoples on reservations, and this group of Nez Perce resisted. They crossed the Idaho panhandle and entered Montana Territory at Lolo Pass. Like Clark, they traveled up the Bitterroot and crossed the Continental Divide into the Big Hole Valley. Believing themselves safe, they camped for several days in early August, only to be awakened by gunfire. The cavalry had arrived. Roughly one-tenth of the encamped Nez Perce were killed—men, women and children, but the survivors were able to force the US military to retreat. After the battle was over, the Nez Perce continued east, through Yellowstone Park then north across central Montana until they were finally stopped at the Battle of the Bear Paw, near present day Chinook Montana. The Nez Perce had traveled 1100 miles, fighting US forces the entire way. When captured at the Bears Paw, they were less than 40 miles from the Canadian border. Chief Joseph’s speech of surrender remains today one of the great pieces of American literature. It bears repeating in its entirety.

________________________________________

Surrender Speech In the Bear Paw Mountains
- October 5th, 1877
________________________________________

I am tired of fighting.
Our chiefs are killed.
Looking Glass is dead.
Toohulhulsote is dead.
The old men are all dead.
It is the young men who say no and yes.
He who led the young men is dead.
It is cold and we have no blankets.
The little children are freezing to death.
My people, some of them,
Have run away to the hills
And have no blankets, no food.
No one knows where they are-
Perhaps they are freezing to death.
I want to have time to look for my children
And see how many of them I can find.
Maybe I shall find them among the dead.
Hear me, my chiefs, I am tired.
My heart is sad and sick.
From where the sun now stands
I will fight no more forever...

Hinmahtoo Yahlatkekeht of the Nez Perce
("Thunder Rolling in the Mountains." or "Chief Joseph")

I cannot visit the Big Hole Battlefield without choking up. Even today, as I write of these events, I feel my throat closing and my eyes filling. The only other places I’ve visited that have the same effect are Culloden Moor in Scotland, and the Gallipoli battlefields in Turkey. Even as a child, the Big Hole spooked me in a way that Montana’s other “famous” battlefield, The Little Big Horn, did not. As the bumper stickers say, “Custer had it coming.”

This weekend we were not stopping at the monument. We had driven up the Bitterroot on US 93, and turned east crossing the Continental Divide at Chief Joseph Pass. We drove into the Big Hole on Montana 43, turning off the highway just east of the monument.

Land of 10,000 Hay Stacks
Taken 9/7/08
Big Hole Valley, Montana

The dirt road ran in a southwesterly direction across the hayfields of the Big Hole Valley, known locally as the home of 10,000 hay stacks. Relatively smooth, as dirt roads go, our route was taking us toward Forest Service Land and the Continental Divide and Idaho. It was also supposed to take us to another Forest Service road that would connect up with the road to Twin Lakes. Or so both DeLorme and Kevin assured me.

Passing numerous groups of hunters out for the opening weekend of archery season, we followed a game warden right up to the point where he headed west toward Idaho and we turned south toward Twin Lakes. I wasn’t watching the odometer, but Leon tells me we’d traveled twenty miles from the highway when we finally gave up and turned around. Oh we didn’t want to give up, but our road had become two tracks, branches were breaking off as they scraped the camper, and there was a log down across the “road.” Somehow Kevin managed to get the F250 turned around without having forty acres, and we started back toward the highway.

Not the end of the road, but enough for us
Taken 9/6/08
Beaverhead County, Montana

Still believing our maps, we explored a couple of roads that forked off road 944, but in the first case, we came to a fence and a no trespassing sign, and in the second we found ourselves at an impassable irrigation ditch. Giving up, we returned past all the hunters and turned east on Montana 43. We were going to go through Wisdom after all.

The road to Twin Lakes was in better shape than Forest Service 944, but it was still a dirt road, and it was still slow going. This time, sixteen miles after turning off the pavement, we found ourselves at a beautifully maintained campground on the shore of the lower of the two lakes. We built a campfire and Stan and Leon set up their tent. As we were carrying our house on our back, or rather the truck’s back, Kevin and I just sat back and watched.

Twin Lakes sits below the mountains of the Continental Divide on the Montana side of the Montana/Idaho state line. At 7200 feet, the campground was higher than our last excursion—Pat’s Knob, but the weather was crisp and clear. The lakes looked inviting, but we decided that we’d wait until after dinner to get out on the water. Unfortunately, by the time we finished eating and cleaning up the campsite, it was too late to canoe.

I won’t speak for anyone else, but I slept well Saturday night, and when I awoke Sunday morning, Stan and Leon had a fire blazing and were off hiking along the lake. The water was glass smooth, and reflected the mountain scenery to perfection. As you look at the scenes in my Picasa gallery, you’ll assume that some of the photos are upside down. Nope, it just that I aimed at the water and not the sky.

Reflections in a clear blue lake
Taken 9/7/08
Twin Lakes, Beaverhead County, Montana

As we ate breakfast, clouds started moving in and the temperature dropped. Remembering how cold we had been on Monday, neither Kevin nor I were keen on getting out into the middle of the lake in a rain storm. As it turned out, Stan and Leon were just as happy to leave their canoe on top the jeep, so none of had a chance to glide cross that beautifully clear water. We all agreed that Twin Lakes was worth another trip—this time without exploring the National Forest’s back roads.

Typical Montana Ranch--what a view!
Taken 9/7/08
Big Hole Valley, Montana

On the way out, Kevin stopped frequently so that I could document the scenery. We had lunch at Fetty’s Café, in business since the 1930s, and this time I can really recommend a place. Kevin’s burger was moist and my salad and chili were fresh and tasty. The waiter was cute and with tip, our lunch came to $25.00. I’ll go back to Fetty’s.

And by the way, I found two of the three geocaches I was seeking in the Wisdom area. Can’t wait to get back over there.

Pat's Knob, Labor Day 2008

I know I need a small vacation.
But it don't look like rain.
And if it snows that stretch down south,
won't ever stand the strain.

--Jimmy Webb

Pat's Knob USFS Lookout (and Radio Tower)
Taken September 1st, 2008
Pat's Knob, Sanders County, Montana

Glenn Campbell can have it. I want no part of climbing poles, towers, anything else in a blizzard. It was bad enough just standing on the mountain watching (and photographing) the guys hanging from their belts.

If you read my previous blog, you’ll remember that Sunday, August 31^st, brought torrential rains. Monday, September 1^st, it was still raining, albeit not as hard, as Kevin and I headed out of Missoula at 6 am. We were on the way to meet friends of his in Dixon, Montana—a small Sanders County town on the Flathead Indian Reservation about 60 miles northwest of Missoula. Prior to this, Dixon was known to me as the place where the Beatty family, friends of my first partner Stephen Eberhart, raise melons. It is also the home of the Dixon Bar where poet Richard Hugo used to hang out. Now I know it to be the home of Keith Rogers, owner of the ham radio repeater station located on top of a mountain near Plains, Montana.

This is the story of how I spent a day on top of Pat’s Knob. Get your mind out of the gutter. Pat’s Knob is the name of a mountain three air miles south of Plains, Montana—three miles that takes roughly an hour to cross in a car. The US Forest Service has a fire lookout on top of the Knob, and the FAA, the Montana Highway Patrol, the Montana Department of Natural Resources and Conservation, and numerous other agencies and companies have transmission towers and antennae up there. The Knob itself is close to 7,000 feet above sea level, and being the highest point in the area, it’s subject to just about every weather pattern that comes through. That was certainly our experience on Labor Day.

The rain had stopped by the time we reached Keith’s home in Dixon. Another ham radio operator, Cory, joined us and while I took pictures of Keith’s flower garden, the three radio guys strapped a new 20’ antenna on top of Kevin’s Ford Expedition. Once we had everything tied down securely, we headed out on Montana Highway 200, cruising alongside the Flathead River toward its confluence with the Clark Fork near Paradise, Montana (home of the Pair-A-Dice Bar).

A few miles further west and we pulled into Plains, Montana, also known as Wild Horse Plains, or the place where the wild horses gathered back in the days when this was all Indian Country. Kevin and I were in the Expedition, Keith and Cory in Keith’s truck, and meeting us in Plains were Bruce and his son Tyrel, driving in from the West. We all met at Benji’s Restaurant, even though Bruce and Ty had already eaten. Keith pointed out that we needed time to commune with our fellow radio folk.

I hate to have my blog turn into a series of bad restaurant reviews, but I call it as I see it. Used to be you could get a decent meal at Benji’s right in the middle of downtown Plains. These days Benji’s is under new ownership, apparently the same people who own Quinn’s Hot Springs near Paradise, and one of the local motels. I’ll keep this short, but we probably should have taken it as a sign when the waitress asked everyone at our table if the bacon was fixed correctly. Unfortunately, it wasn’t. We all felt the bacon was too greasy and not fried sufficiently. There were two ham and cheese omelets on the menu, one with just Tillamook Cheddar and the other with a three cheese combination. I ordered the more expensive three-cheese omelet, and was charged for it, but I couldn’t find any swiss or pepper jack cheese in my eggs. I don’t think there was one of us happy with breakfast.

While eating, Keith realized that we had left Dixon with the antenna, but without the supporting rods that held the antenna to the tower. While Kevin, Bruce, Ty and I drove “SLOWLY” up the mountain, Keith and Cory returned to Dixon to pick up the remaining hardware. Keith told us at least three times to make sure we drove slowly.

I think the first sign for the lookout said that we had thirteen miles ahead of us. Thirteen miles of Montana mountain dirt road. Along the way we noticed huckleberries hanging full on their bushes, along with a few thimbleberries and even some wild raspberries. At least we wouldn’t starve to death on this trek.

Plains, Montana in the distance

Taken September 1st, 2008

Pat's Knob, Montana

The top of the mountain holds numerous microwave and radio relay towers. Keith had put a smaller antenna up many years before, but it was time to replace it with something stronger. The base of the Forest Service lookout is an enclosed concrete block structure housing radio set ups for various Montana state agencies. It also houses Keith’s repeater. Looking much like an unfinished basement, the room provided us with shelter from the weather.

Shelter wasn’t a concern when we first arrived. The sun was shining, the sky was blue with clouds in the distance, and the temperature was probably close to 60. It looked to be a beautiful day to work on a mountain top. The big concern was temperature. Last year, Labor Day had near record high temperatures, and no one was looking forward to broiling under the hot sun. We needn’t have worried.

As Kevin and Bruce unloaded the antenna from the Expedition’s roof, Ty and I did some exploration of the Knob. The views on all sides were wondrous, with vistas overlooking the Clark Fork flowing from the Southwest, the Clark Fork flowing toward the Northwest, and the Flathead flowing from the East. I played with all my lenses, and got out the new 2x extender which allowed me to pull up the railcars on the Paradise siding and the Sanders County Fairgrounds in Plains.

It wasn’t long before Keith and Cory arrived with the support poles, and work could begin in earnest. While Bruce and Kevin stayed on the ground, Keith and Cory donned climbing harnesses and ascended the tower. Using a series of ropes and pulleys, Bruce and Kevin passed each successive piece up the tower where Keith and Cory fastened them in place.

Keith and Cory fasten the first support in place

Taken September 1st, 2008

Pat's Knob, Montana

The first supporting rod went up fairly quickly, and the second didn’t take much more time. As we left Missoula, I had asked Kevin just how long we should expect to be gone. Kevin assured me that we’d be done by noon. My concern was that the Missoula Men’s Chorus rehearsals are on Monday evening, and I didn’t want to miss that with three performances coming up in September. Between stopping for breakfast and the long, slow drive up the mountain, we got to the mountain top around quarter of 11:00 and had the first support rod in place by 1:00. The second rod was in place by 1:30 and things seemed to be moving right along. Then the storms hit.

By 2:30, we were fighting snow and wind, not to mention rapidly dropping temperatures. As the men began pulling the antenna up the tower, the snow was making it dangerous to remain balanced on metal braces. Even wearing climbing harnesses, Keith and Cory found their footing becoming slippery. They descended from the tower and all of us tried to warm up and thaw out in the lookout’s basement.

The storm clouds meet to surround us

Taken September 1st, 2008

Pat's Knob, Montana

A break in the storm allowed our climbers to start the process of securing the top brace around quarter of four. But as we watched, the storm approached from the west, blocking out all visibility. The way the storm surrounded our perch fascinated me, and I snapped away at the clouds filling the sky on the south, on the west, on the north, and eventually meeting to our east. At that point we were completely encased in the storm.

The plan was to get the antenna and its three supporting rods up, attached to the tower and wired. Once everything was secure, the supporting rods would be pushed out moving the antenna away from the tower and minimizing any radio interference. Unfortunately, by the time everything was in place, the snow and wind had frozen the pipes to the tower and they could not be moved. If you look at the pictures from this trip on my Picasa gallery, you’ll see the snow blowing across the scene and sticking to our clothing. You may even find spots from the snow hitting my lenses. I tried to clean up the images, but in some cases there was just too much snow to eliminate it all. Besides, you wanted to share in the experience, didn’t you?

Cory covered in snow and hanging from the tower

Taken September 1st, 2008

Pat's Knob, Montana

At five, I knew I would not be back in Missoula in time for rehearsal. One thing about being on top of a mountain with lots of radio antennae, we had great cell service. I called the chorus director and explained where I was and why I wouldn’t be at rehearsal. I knew that we’d be on top of the mountain for at least another hour.

By six, it was clear that we would not be able to finish the project, so we cleaned up the area, packed up our trucks, and started down the mountain. An hour later we were back in Plains, and Kevin and I were back in Missoula by 8:30. It took another two days for me to thaw out.

We still have to return to Pat’s Knob. The antenna has to be moved away from the tower, and Kevin and I will be back to help Keith and Cory get that done. In the meantime, the new antenna is working well, and ham operators throughout the area are noting how much better their signal is.

Keith is after me to get my ham license, but as it is I have too many expensive hobbies I have no time to enjoy. Still, it is interesting riding along listening in to all these not-so-private conversations, and, at least in Montana, there still are places where cell service is non-existent but where Kevin can talk with others on the radio. I’ll have to give Keith’s urgings some serious consideration.

Just in case you were confused

Taken September 1st, 2008

Pat's Knob, Montana

Muskrat Love--or were they Beavers?

And they whirled and they twirled and they tangoed
Singin and jingin the jango
Floatin like the heavens above
It looks like muskrat love

--Willis Alan Ramsey

Looking out our backdoor
Taken 8/26/08
Harper's Lake, Montana

Around ten years ago, I wrote up my ideal first date on my geocities website. On the page I titled “My Country-Western Page,” I wrote:

My dream date would be a weekend camping on some mountain lake where we could swim, fish, canoe during the day, and explore each others' minds and bodies in front of a campfire at night. I'm incurably romantic, and expect everyone else to be as well, which often leads to disappointments in this very real world.

About the same time, I was taught the “magic” of having a written list of twenty motivational reasons. One of my twenty reasons, still visible on the white board in my study, is to have a water-front second home.

This past week, Kevin made both dreams come true.

For a place that is mostly high-mountain desert, western Montana has lots of lakes. Some are big. Flathead is the largest fresh-water lake west of the Mississippi. Some are not. As lakes go, Harper’s Lake, the southernmost in the Seeley-Swan chain of lakes, could pass as a large pond. Still, it’s big enough for fishing, swimming, canoeing, and I’d even be comfortable putting my sailboat in its water—if it had a boat ramp.

One mid-August Sunday, Kevin and I, along with our friends Mike and Norman, drove east from Missoula up Montana highway 200, then north on Montana highway 83. We were out for a Sunday Drive, it’s true, but we were also scouting locations for an upcoming camping trip. Having gone to the trouble of putting the camper on the pickup for the Meet Me in Montana gathering, we decided that we really needed to put our toys to use. We checked out Salmon Lake, Seeley Lake, Lake Inez, Lake Alva, and Holland Lake. We looked for relatively uncrowded campgrounds with close access to the water. A few days later, we drove up Rock Creek, again with Mike and Norman, looking at the Forest Service campgrounds on that blue-ribbon trout stream.

Now I’ve been living in western Montana for most of the past thirty-three years. I’ve spent lots of time at Seeley Lake, and have had my sailboard, sailboat, and/or canoe in most of the waters in the valley. In all those years, I’ve driven past a sign pointing to the Harper’s Lake Fishing Access, just west of highway 83 about a mile north of Clearwater Junction. I’ve always wondered about this lake, but never did I turn off the highway to see the lake for myself. Not before that Sunday drive, that is.

Water Lily (one of hundreds) on Harper's Lake
Taken 8/26/08

Heading north on 83, turn left to reach the Harper’s Lake Fishing Access. Roughly one half mile west of the highway, you learn that there are two lakes, one on each side of the dirt road you’re on. The lake to the north is Blanchard Lake, and the one to the south is Harper’s. There is a boat ramp and parking area for Blanchard Lake, but you have to traverse a steep bank to get to Harper’s. A little further on, there is a campground where for the princely sum of $6.00 a night, you can pitch a tent or park your camp trailer.

Driving into the campground area, we noticed a large motor home parked on the east bank of the Harper’s Lake. We also saw a few tents pitched on that same bank. What we couldn’t see was a road that would take us there, and the Clearwater River, between us and those camped on the lakefront, had no bridge. Afraid to ford the river in our Swedish-built Ford, we knew there had to be another way to access those campsites, and we set out to find it.

After a couple of misadventures, we found a dirt road leading north off Montana 200, just west of the Clearwater River bridge. Following the river upstream, we passed many primitive campsites, and finally reached Harper’s Lake and the motor home. We also found a beautiful campsite on the point where the Clearwater River flows into the lake. While the site was occupied on the weekend, it would likely be free midweek. We knew we had to return.

We had talked about inviting other people along, but in the end, on Tuesday, August 26^th, Kevin, Minnie, Gypsy and I took off, Kevin driving the F250 with Minnie riding shotgun, while I drove the Volvo with Gypsy. By taking both vehicles, we could leave the camper parked and do any shopping or sightseeing with the car. It made good sense at the time.

We settled into our lakefront “home” Tuesday afternoon. Kevin built a campfire in the fire pit, and I took the canoe out for a cross-lake paddle. The dogs explored the area and declared this good. The site was surrounded by chokecherries, rosehips, and a white berry I could not identify. Mike drove up from Missoula, bringing his German Shepherd Kira along. We feasted on tacos and chips, and relaxed around the fire while the dogs played. As evening came on, ducks swam cross the lake and back, kingfishers flew overhead, and some mammalian creatures glided through the water, disappearing just before reaching the lily pads. My first thought was that we were seeing beavers crossing the pond, but as we never saw a tail, Mike suggested they were probably muskrats. I can’t think of muskrats without thinking of the song “Muskrat Love,” so that tune filled my head for the next several days.

Rainbow over Harper's Lake
Taken 8/27/08

Overnight, we heard the unmistakable sound of rain on the camper’s metal roof, and Wednesday we woke to a gray, wet morning. As it rained most of the day, we stayed in the camper playing two-handed Mah Jong. With evening, the sky cleared leaving a rainbow visible just across the lake. After dinner, we headed up the river for a walk with the dogs.

Thursday gave us the chance to use that second vehicle we’d driven. Fourteen miles north of us, Seeley Lake beckoned. A resort community of 2,500 residents, Seeley had the hardware store, grocery store, and restaurants we needed to replenish ourselves and our supplies. At Rovero’s Ace Hardware, we picked up a wasp trap to help us deal with the constant threat of yellow jackets drawn to all the fruit around us. At the Ice Cream Shop, we had burgers, fries and shakes for lunch—setting us back $15.00 for the two of us. Trash bags were the main item on the list for the Valley Market, and by mid afternoon we were back at our lakefront cabin, er camper.

Thursday evening, Kevin decided he had to have steak for dinner, so back to Seeley we drove, reaching Lindey’s Steak House just after they opened at 5 pm. Now I’ve eaten at Lindey’s before. It’s a Seeley Lake tradition, with a history going back 40 years. I learned years ago that you don’t take a vegetarian to Lindey’s, because the restaurant takes its “Steak House” appellation seriously. What I had forgotten was just how limited Lindey’s menu is.

Consider what comes next a rant, or a warning, whichever you prefer. After seating us at our window table overlooking the lake, our waitress placed a signboard on the floor at the end of our table. This was our menu. It consisted of three choices, that’s right, 3! At the head of the list was “Lindey’s Special Sirloin” at $27.75. Next was the “Premium Sirloin” at $26.65, and finally the “Chopped Sirloin” at $19.95. Yes! A hamburger patty for twenty dollars. Those are your choices, take ‘em or leave ‘em. The waitress explained that all selections were the same size, but the Special was really worth the extra dollar. As part of the dinner we got green salad with the restaurant’s special “blended dressing,” “greaseless hashbrown potatoes,” watermelon rind pickles, garlic toast and coffee or tea. Apparently iced tea doesn’t count as it was a dollar extra on our tab. I admit that it’s been a while since I had eaten at Lindey’s, but I was expecting dinner to run $20 each, not $30.00. I also would have appreciated a green salad that was more than chopped iceberg lettuce and a dressing choice other than something that looked and tasted like a combination of French and thousand island—without the pickles. When the entrée arrived, the potatoes looked like a white brick, and the iced tea was bitter. The toast looked like someone had taken an old baguette, sliced it thin, and tossed it in the skillet with some garlic butter. In fairness, the steak was superb, but at least in my opinion we were paying almost thirty dollars each for a meal where only the steak was edible. One taste of the potatoes left me happy that I finally had a reason for refusing to eat carbs. I did order a side of sautéed mushrooms, and they were quite good, but with the tip, our dinner for two came to $75.00. A bit pricey for steak, if you ask me. It will be a long time before I return to Lindey’s.

Friday morning I awoke realizing that Monday would be a holiday and I had to do some banking before the end of the month. While Kevin slept in, I jumped in the Volvo and drove into Missoula where I showered at home, fixed coffee, and headed out to the bank. Wednesday evening I had misplaced the lens cover for my 70-300 tele-zoom macro lens, so I stopped at The Dark Room to replace it. While there, I looked at some really neat lenses to add to my dream list, and expressed an interest in finding a 2x tele-extender. Lo and behold, they had one, used, and it fit both the Nikon D80 and the Sigma 400 mm telephoto lens I have. As they’d had the lens for a while, the shop dropped the price to a point where I couldn’t help myself. OK, the last time I priced this particular piece of equipment, Ritz Camera wanted $400+. The Dark Room let me have mine for $100. How could I say no?

Back at camp, I set off to see just what I could photograph now that I had length on my side. The Picasa gallery I set up for this trip includes several shots taken with the 400mm lens and the 2x extender. Suddenly those ducks were a lot closer than before.

Clearwater River (Near Montana Highway 200)
Taken 8/29/08

Saturday afternoon, Mike and Norman joined us for steaks and corn on the cob. Mike had purchased the steaks at Costco and had marinated them in teriyaki sauce. The corn came from local Missoula-area gardens. With some baked beans on the side (thank you, Jay Bush), we had a superb meal for a fraction of the cost of Thursday’s steaks. Mike and I took the canoe out for a spin around the lake, and a fun time was had by all.

Relaxing in the shade after dinner, I woke to the fact that I had my second home on the water. And the best part is that I can take my “home” to any waterfront I want. Hmmm. One more of my twenty reasons I’ve realized in the past few years. The canoe, which has been languishing in the backyard for the past seven years, finally got some use. We were out on the lake every day but one. I’ll admit to being averse to canoeing in the rain.

Kevin and I had already decided that we’d head home on Sunday, so when we awoke to torrential rains, we weren’t terribly upset. It did mean gathering up the wet lawn chairs, hammock, and fishing gear, and loading the canoe onto the camper in the rain, but such is life.

On the way home, we stopped at McNamara’s Landing on the Blackfoot River for a fine breakfast. We pulled up to the Missoula house around noon, and reflected on what a wonderful time we’d had. We continue to learn about each other, and find that we can take most setbacks in stride. We’re now talking about taking the camper north. Kevin has never been to Jasper National Park in the Canadian Rockies, and I’d like a chance to visit that area again—with the digital camera.

By the way, Saturday evening, a couple of fishermen directed their boat a little too close to one of those swimming mammals we'd been watching all week. The mammal's back went up, the tail came out, and WHAM! Hmm, guess they were beavers all along. Too bad about the Muskrat Love.

The death of my good friend, Jim Kriley, forced me to re-evaluate my own priorities. As I wrote in my most recent blog, Jim lived his life at the highest levels of self-actualization. It would be a disgrace to his memory for me to strive for anything less. This means getting out and doing what I love. A week on the water with a good man and two great dogs. As I look at my life, I am indeed blessed.

Canoeing with Mike on Harper's Lake
Taken by Kevin Kerr
8/30/08