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

James D. Kriley--A Very Personal Appreciation

When Irish eyes are smiling,
Sure, 'tis like the morn in Spring.
In the lilt of Irish laughter
You can hear the angels sing.
When Irish hearts are happy,
All the world seems bright and gay.
And when Irish eyes are smiling,
Sure, they steal your heart away.

--Chauncey Olcott & George Graff

Dr. James D. Kriley
Wildhorse Island, Flathead Lake, Montana
Taken Summer 1995

The first call came yesterday at 9:45 am, the last at 10:04 p.m. In between several calls came from friends and former colleagues all wanting to make sure I had heard the news. Dr. James D. Kriley had died, doing one of the things he loved the best, in one of his favorite spots. We should all be so lucky.

My first memory of Dr. Kriley, or Jim as everyone knew him, was a conversation he had with my boss, Sr. Kathryn Martin, as the three of us walked across the University of Montana campus. Kathy was Dean of Fine Arts, Jim was Chair of the Department of Drama/Dance, and I was the new Administrative Assistant in the Dean’s Office. UM had just hired a new president, one of the seemingly endless series of presidents before George Dennison arrived, and Jim had one simple question. “Does he drink?” He then added the statement that would color my view of him for several years. “I don’t trust someone who doesn’t drink.” As my parents were strict teetotalers, Jim’s expressed opinion was enough to make him suspect in my eyes.

In 1986, Sr. Kathy accepted the position of Dean of Fine Arts at Wayne State University in Detroit. UM began the process of conducting a national search to replace her. The University’s administration appointed Jim as Interim Dean. Remembering both that earlier conversation and the numerous battles that had been fought between our office and the Drama Department, I prepared myself for the worst. Our office secretary quit because she knew she couldn’t work with “that man.”

My situation was complicated by the fact that just a few weeks earlier, my partner, Richard Donovan, became the first person in Missoula County to be diagnosed with AIDS. AIDS was an unknown quantity in western Montana—a disease that “those people” got in the big cities. Richard and I knew our home would be fire-bombed if the word got out. Our doctor, a family friend, urged us to move to Seattle where Richard could get better care. Knowing that Kathy was leaving, and fearing the reaction of the community, I had not told her of the diagnosis. Now I had a new boss, albeit an “interim” one I didn’t completely trust, and a decision to make. How honest could I be with this man?

The situation was taken out of my hands when Richard was hospitalized for the first time at the end of August. For years I had written all the grant proposals submitted out of the Dean’s Office, and a major submission deadline was September first. Jim let me know that my place was at the hospital and that I was not to worry about the grants. Throughout the course of Richard’s illness, Jim continued to remind me that my first priority was to home and family. I assume the office work got done. All my memories of that period center on Richard.

The next Spring, the University offered Jim the Dean’s position. In the same way he had convinced the search committee that he was the right person for the job, he had won my support as well. When Richard died in July, our local newspaper interviewed me for a front page spread. A few people phoned the University demanding that I be fired—“a person like that has no business working on campus.” Jim told them that they didn’t know what they were talking about.

For the next twelve years, Jim and I worked closely. Under his leadership, the School of Fine Arts moved from being the ugly step-child of the University to one of the central units of the school. Our budget, always insecure in the past, firmed and grew, and with increased financial security, the School’s faculty grew in number as well.

To be sure there were battles that Jim did not win. We don’t need to revisit them. The battles he won, in my opinion formed on the inside, saved the School of Fine Arts. Prior to Jim’s tenure as Dean, the School’s history, for at least fifteen years, had been one of attrition and loss. Both the Art and Music Departments had lost a quarter of their faculty. Art lost their colleagues in a single budget cut. Music lost theirs one by one, with the Full Time Equivalent (FTE) faculty being reduced year after year until by the late 1980s, the Department members were shell-shocked, always wondering what head would be axed next. There were even calls for eliminating the Department altogether. With Jim as Dean, the faculty losses stopped.

In an academic field where doctoral degrees are the exception, Jim held an earned doctorate, a PhD, from the University of Washington. While I am not sure of the exact nature of his doctoral work, my memory leads me to believe it had to do with Abraham Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs.

What I do know is that his own education led Jim to propose a new undertaking for the School of Fine Arts. Traditionally the School saw its mission as training artists, arts educators, and, to a lesser extent, future audiences for those artists. Jim’s proposal, which grew into The Creative Pulse, expanded the School’s teacher education programs to bring back established K-12 teachers and further their education in the arts and education during their summer breaks. In this, Jim usurped the prerogative of Schools of Education. With the Creative Pulse, the School of Fine Arts took on the mission of re-educating the educators.

Dr. James Kriley
Flathead Lake, Montana
Taken Summer, 1995

I could write at length of the successes of this program, of the untold number of grade-school and high school students whose education has been enriched because Jim conceived the Creative Pulse. To be sure, Jim would be the first to admit that the program was a collaborative effort involving faculty from across the School. I am equally sure, however, that had it not been Jim pushing the Pulse, the program would not have happened. In the ten years I was involved in the Pulse, I came to see it as the most important work we were doing in the School.

Often have I said that the one saleable skill I got in grad school was the ability to type. Jim did not learn typing in school. As computers became more and more common on desk tops across campus, Jim kept looking for voice recognition software so that he wouldn’t have to use the keyboard. We tried a variety of unsatisfying programs to no avail. That doesn’t mean that Jim was a Luddite. Far from it. His embrace of new technology led to the development of the Media Arts program at UM. This program grew out of Jim’s conviction that we were failing our students if we trained them only for the traditional performance stage and ignored the reality of a market place increasingly dominated by the likes of George Lucas.

Jim was a story teller and he saw the potential of new media technology in sharing our stories. I remember a conversation he had while giving UM Alumnus Carroll O’Connor a tour of the Media Arts facilities. Carroll was most impressed watching our students in the editing lab. He regretted that he had not had the technology available for All in the Family. Thanks to Jim Kriley’s vision and dedication, future UM alumni won’t share that regret.

Prior to being named Dean of Fine Arts, Jim served as Chair of the Department of Drama and Dance. During his tenure in that position, he took a sabbatical leave and studied in Los Angeles. While in southern California, he also studied sailing. After returning to Missoula, he bought a small sailboat which he kept moored at Flathead Lake. Eventually his skills and desires outgrew the first boat, and he found a 27’ Erickson for sale in Portland, Oregon. Using my pickup, he brought the boat back across the mountains. (I got to tow the empty trailer back to Portland on my next run to California.) The new boat replaced the old at Flathead. For those of you who don’t know Montana topography, Flathead Lake is the largest alpine lake in the US and the largest freshwater lake west of the Great Lakes. It stretches approximately thirty miles north to south and fifteen miles east to west. If you have a sailboat in Flathead Lake, you don’t really need to sail anywhere else.

Jim loved sailing and he loved the Lake. He always had a cabin on the west shore of the Lake, and we had many faculty and administrative retreats at Jim’s cabin. The highlight of any lakeside retreat was a day spent sailing. Usually we’d sail from Big Arm where the boat was moored to Wild Horse Island and back. We’d snack on board, then have a big dinner on shore. Jim was a fine cook as well, and the only person who could fix salmon in a way that I would enjoy eating the fish. We always ate well on our retreats.

Drs. Randy Bolton and James Kriley
Flathead Lake, Montana
Taken Summer, 1995

If Randy Bolton accompanied us, as he usually did, Randy would make gin and tonics in the boat’s cabin as we tacked across the lake. It was on Jim’s boat that I learned to drink g&ts.

Dr. James Kriley was the best boss I have ever had. He was my friend, my colleague, my mentor, my confessor. I’d like to think I served some of those roles for him as well. After my father and John Wesley, he was the most influential male in my life. I will miss him terribly. In Maslow’s hierarchy, the top level is “Self Actualization.” This is represented by morality, creativity, spontaneity, problem solving, lack of prejudice, acceptance of facts. This is the level where Jim Kriley lived. This afternoon, in my own private Irish wake, I intend to lift a large gin and tonic in remembrance. Henceforth every g&t will be a toast to Jim.

My heart goes out to his wife Mary Kay, his daughters Megan, Casey and Colleen, and to all of our mutual friends and colleagues who I know are as bereft at this point as am I.

According to the news report, Jim’s unoccupied boat drifted ashore at 4 pm, Monday, August 18^th, 2008. An aerial search of Big Arm Bay enabled searchers to locate his body. As Jim was an excellent swimmer, I have to assume that he had a heart attack and died instantly. He was in a place he loved, doing something he loved. We should all be so lucky.

For the local reaction to this loss, read today’s Missoulian .

There's a tear in your eye,
And I'm wondering why,
For it never should be there at all.
With such pow'r in your smile,
Sure a stone you'd beguile,
So there's never a teardrop should fall.
When your sweet lilting laughter's
Like some fairy song,
And your eyes twinkle bright as can be;
You should laugh all the while
And all other times smile,
And now, smile a smile for me.

When Irish eyes are smiling,
Sure, 'tis like the morn in Spring.
In the lilt of Irish laughter
You can hear the angels sing.
When Irish hearts are happy,
All the world seems bright and gay.
And when Irish eyes are smiling,
Sure, they steal your heart away.

For your smile is a part
Of the love in your heart,
And it makes even sunshine more bright.
Like the linnet's sweet song,
Crooning all the day long,
Comes your laughter and light.
For the springtime of life
Is the sweetest of all
There is ne'er a real care or regret;
And while springtime is ours
Throughout all of youth's hours,
Let us smile each chance we get.

When Irish eyes are smiling,
Sure, 'tis like the morn in Spring.
In the lilt of Irish laughter
You can hear the angels sing.
When Irish hearts are happy,
All the world seems bright and gay.
And when Irish eyes are smiling,
Sure, they steal your heart away.

Meet Me in Montana

The group as of Saturday Morning, August 2nd, 2008
Taken at St. Regis Montana (Fuji disposable camera)
Kevin and I are front row on right behind dogs

Won't you meet me in Montana.
I wanna see the mountains in your eyes.
Woah, woah, I had all of this life I can handle.
Meet me underneath that big Montana sky.

--Dan Seals

A bit of history. In 1982, I rode (a horse, that is) in the Grand Entry of the Reno Gay Rodeo. I made a pair of leather chaps from a dyed red hide I purchased at Tandy, had a friend make me a cowboy shirt with a blue bandana print on the cuffs and yoke, and put it all together with a pair of blue 501s, a Resistol Silver Belly hat and Tony Lama boots. Did I look like a cowboy? Probably not, but I was dressed to the nines and carried the Montana flag proudly. Joan Rivers was the Grand Marshall that year, and I got to be real close to her in her pre-botox days.

By the late 1980s, a group of guys living in the Billings area started the Big Sky Gay Rodeo Association for Montana and northern Wyoming. I joined the group and got their t-shirt. In 1995, a friend and I traveled to Phoenix with the intent of buying a business. The purchase fell through, but my friend and I attended the Phoenix Gay Rodeo and had a ball. That is the sum total of my gay rodeo experience. Until the first weekend of August, 2008, that is.

In 2006, Jeff Taylor and John Tomes opened their Cowboy Up Ranch near St. Regis, Montana, for a weekend of camping, dancing, floating the river and making good friends. The weekend was called “Meet Me In Montana,” and was sponsored by the Pacific Northwest Gay Rodeo Association. Somehow I managed to get on their mailing list and read about the gathering, but as I was in California looking after my mother, I was not able to attend.

The second annual gathering happened in 2007 as I was getting ready to set out on the 6,000 Mile Sunday Drive. Again, circumstances did not allow me to attend, but I was determined to make it to the 2008 weekend.

With that goal in mind, Kevin and our friend Mike spent a Sunday afternoon in late July putting the camper back on the pickup. The camper has been sitting up by the cabin for quite some time. (I unloaded it from the pickup long before I headed to California.) The camper was dirty inside; some of the expected gear was missing, and one jack had lost all its hydraulic fluid and would not support the weight of the 11 foot long beast. While I went into Stevensville to look for hydraulic fluid, Kevin and Mike managed to get the camper off the ground, onto the pickup, and off the mountain. I’m glad I wasn’t there to watch.

There were, of course, other problems with the camper, but Kevin assured me that we could get it fully functional, and by cracky, we did—almost. OK, the air conditioner needs to be recharged, and the heater isn’t working properly, but all the water lines are now good and we can use the sinks, the toilet, and the showers. Yes, it has two showers: one inside and one outside.

Friday, August 1^st, we drove west on Interstate 90 heading toward St. Regis and the 2008 Meet Me In Montana gathering. It was a beautiful day to be heading into the country, and all went well until we passed a motor home near Superior. For you history buffs, the very first Gideon Bible was placed in a hotel room in Superior, Montana way back in 1908. One hundred years later, as we were nearing the town, our truck began a bump and grind that had me grabbing the door trying to hold it in place. A roadside inspection showed that all tires were fully inflated, and the tread all looked good, so we weren’t suffering from a flat. Kevin assumed that we had lost the balancing weights from the front passenger side tire, and appeared relatively unconcerned as we drove the final fifteen miles to St Regis at a reduced speed. As for me, well what do I know? Kevin is the one with the CDL and the big rig driving experience. If he wasn’t concerned, why should I be.

Once at the Cowboy Up Ranch, we found a relatively level spot in the area set aside for trucks and trailers. Having claimed our spot, we walked over to the only other vehicle parked in the area—a truck and horse/camper trailer rig from Moscow Idaho. Three men and two women from the Moscow/Pullman area were happily sipping cocktails while their horses were pastured in the next field. We introduced ourselves and settled in with them.

Over the next few hours, more guests arrived, setting up tents on the ranch house lawn. While we expected folk from Washington, Idaho and Montana, we learned just how wide a circle Jeff’s email reached as we gathered at the fire pit for the early evening Meet and Greet. Joe was from northern Louisiana. Kirk from Boston. Carlos from Barcelona—yes the one in Spain. All told there were folk from eleven states, Canada, Spain and Switzerland. Were they all cowboys? Hardly. But it was a great group of men and women.

It became obvious that many of the people present were old friends. I was able to reconnect with some friends of my own—men I hadn’t seen in years. Abe and Dave drove down from Bigfork with their four dogs. Roger came from Missoula. Tim and Bill drove over from Heron. I hadn’t seen any of these men since before I went to California. I was pleased to be able to introduce them to Kevin, and he now has several more friends than before.

In talking with Kirk from Boston, I learned that he was interested in geocaching but had never actually been out hunting for hidden treasure. I had done my homework and I knew that there was one (just one) cache in the St Regis area. There was no way I was going to move the pickup, but since Kirk had a rental car, I asked if he’d be interested in finding the cache. According to my Garmin GPS unit, the cache was just about two miles from the ranch.

On the west side of the town of St Regis, there is a nature trail that winds through a swampy area. As Kirk and I hiked, we came to a dead tree on the ground just off the trail. Kirk informed me that he was not about to put his hands in that mess, and I assured him that the cache was almost certain to be exactly where he was loathe to venture. Sure enough, I was right. We found the cache easily, and I reminded myself once again that I should always carry heavy gloves with me for just such a find. Hey, I’m not all that keen on putting my bare hands and arms into dark, dank places where a cache is likely to be guarded by all manner of creepy crawlies.

The Barn where we danced
Taken at St. Regis, Montana
August 2nd, 2008

Back at the ranch, we dined on excellent chicken enchiladas, then gathered in the barn for an evening of dancing, story telling, and catching up with friends. We began by learning a round dance mixer—the Barn Dance. Some two-stepping, some line dancing, and a waltz or two followed, but most folk stayed on the sidelines chatting with old friends and making new ones. It was sort of like the old junior high school dances where no one actually danced.

I have no idea how late things went on. Kevin and I headed for the camper and our bed long before midnight. Saturday was going to be a full day and we needed our beauty rest.

Saturday morning dawned gray and dreary. We had heard some raindrops on the camper roof during the night, and while the ground was relatively dry, the sky did not bode well for a day spent on the river. Nonetheless, after breakfast some thirty men and women boarded an old school bus for the ride to our put-in point on the Clark Fork.

There are three major rivers that carry water out of Montana. The most famous are the Missouri and the Yellowstone, both of which flow east from Montana into North Dakota and then continue on to the Mississippi and the Gulf of Mexico. The Clark Fork of the Columbia flows west into Idaho. It has the largest volume of the three and there are places between Missoula and the Idaho state line where the river is a raging torrent.

I had signed up for the river float, but I was not sure which stretch we would follow. Accordingly, I left the Nikon in the camper and brought along a disposable water-proof Fuji. There was no way I was going to risk losing my gear to the river rapids. As it turned out, I needn’t have worried. The river we rode that Saturday was remarkably flat.

Pushing the bus off the road
Taken at St. Regis, Montana
August 2nd, 2008 (Fuji Disposable Camera)

Getting to the river turned out to be the biggest adventure of the day. Shortly after our bus left I-90 at the Sloway exit, it began losing power. Less than a mile down the road, our driver/guide pulled the bus over and stopped. A few people got off the bus for a cigarette break, and the owner of the home in front of which we were parked, came out to see if we needed help. Well, actually, we did. We were still two miles from the rafts, and the bus wasn’t going to move another inch. Our knight in shining pickup truck (two points if you recognize that line) loaded us in his truck’s bed and ferried us to the rafts.

Once at the water’s edge, we divided ourselves among three rafts, three inflatable kayaks and a large inner tube. Several of the rafters had water cannons and I have to admit, had the day been bright and sunny, the prospect of getting soaked would have been fun. Instead, I was more worried about hypothermia than heat stroke. August 2^nd, and we’re wondering if Summer is over.

To add to our fun, the wind came up, and was blowing from the West. There were places on the river where we had to paddle continuously just to keep the rafts from blowing upstream. We began to wonder if we’d be home in time for supper.

The various misadventures and the uncooperative weather didn’t dampen our spirits however, and as we floated we saw osprey, hawks, a golden eagle, a group of bald eagles, geese, mergansers, and several smaller birds. Had I had the Nikon and a long lens, you’d be seeing these birds as well. Alas the Fuji wasn’t up to the task.

Eventually the St Regis bridges came in sight and we knew we’d be back at the ranch soon. As the bus was still out of commission, Jeff and some of the guests who hadn’t floated the river met us on the bank and drove us home—again in the back of pickup trucks. It was just like being a kid again, getting to ride in the pickup bed.

Camping on the lawn of the Cowboy Up Ranch
Taken at St Regis, Montana
August 2nd, 2008

Saturday’s dinner was steak, after which we adjourned to the barn where we danced the Barn Dance once again. We two-stepped to Marie Osmond singing “Meet Me in Montana,” and the band played on into the night. (Click on the link to see and hear Marie singing.) I watched handsome men moving in sync to “Dizzy,” but try as I might, I couldn’t get the choreography down to dance with them. “Dizzy” is a line-dance that everyone assumes you know, so no one ever teaches it. Once home, I went on-line and found the directions. Next time I’ll be able to dance with those handsome men.

Once again, Kevin and I turned in early. I heard no raindrops over night, and Sunday we awoke to a beautiful, clear blue sky. Jeff served up a scrumptious Sunday brunch, and we said our goodbyes. I can’t speak for anyone else, but I was a happy camper. Kevin and I had a great time and we look forward to next year’s gathering. And yes, we’re going to join the Pacific Northwest Gay Rodeo Association. Ya never know when you’ll need a cowboy around.

By the way, I took along my kite bag, and was able to get five of my stunt kites into the air at one time or another. Here’s a picture of truck, camper and kites as set up on the Cowboy Up Ranch grounds. Oh, and the bumpy ride, it turned out, was caused by the belts in a fairly new Michelin radial which were in the process of separating. We got home and bought a new tire. Problem solved.

Our Home Away from Home
Taken at St. Regis, Montana
August 3rd, 2008

To see all my pictures from the weekend, go to my Picasa on line gallery here.