The Two Thousand Mile Sunday Drive--Day Two

The Yellowstone River at Gardner Montana
North Entrance to Yellowstone National Park
Taken 10/4/09

Well, there are worse things
Than staring at the water on a Sunday
There are worse things
Than staring at the water
As you're posing for a picture
Being painted by your lover
In the middle of the summer
On an island in the river on a Sunday

--Stephen Sondheim

To hear Jenna Russell sing "Sunday in the Park with George," click here.

Well, there are worse things than driving by the water on a Sunday when you're riding in a truck being driven by your lover in the surprising early winter on a highway by the river on a Sunday. We got a late start out of Bozeman because Kevin had to repair the camper's toilet. We'd bought the parts as we were leaving Missoula, but wanted to get on the road, so it was good we camped out at a rest area Saturday night. Sunday morning meant that we had to get the toilet fixed, and Kevin fixed it. But by the time we were ready to roll, it was ten a.m.

And we weren't really ready to roll, as I had forgotten to pack the battery charger for my camera. Modern cameras don't, as I'm sure you're aware, use any old Duracell battery you can pick up at WalMart or Costco. There was a Staples near us and there had to be a Best Buy nearby as well, didn't there? We headed first to Staples where they could not help us. What about Best Buy? There isn't one in Bozeman. Ah--but there is F 11, arguably the best camera store in the state of Montana. We'll head over there.

Oh, it's Sunday. OK, I'll try to hold out for Rapid City--the next "large" town we'll visit. In the meantime, let's shoot the Gallatin County Court House and get on the road for Livingston.

Livingston is not only the seat of Park County, but also Kevin's home town. Crossing Bozeman Pass, the snow began to fall. This is not unusual on Bozeman Pass--I've been caught in blizzards there in June. Our weather was not that bad, just an unseasonably early winter storm. Kevin pointed out the hills where his family ran cattle. He mentioned the names of all the folk who had owned property between the pass and Livingston back in the 60s. He showed me the farm where he grew up.

In Livingston we drove around in circles looking for the Court House. For some reason it's not downtown, but in an otherwise residential district. Eventually, with the help of a woman just getting out of church, we found the "City-County Complex." Like other places around the state, Livingston and Park County have combined their forces in a single building--unfortunately a rather modern, non-descript building at that. I won't share the pictures I took of it here.

Before getting back on the road, Kevin filled the truck's tank, topping us off after driving 48 miles from the last fill, and I headed over to Albertson's for some provisions to fill the camper. That done, we headed south on US 89, the Montana Centennial Highway which runs north/south between Glacier National Park and Yellowstone. We were headed for Gardner, Montana, the North Entrance to Yellowstone.

Devil's Slide on the Yellowstone River
Park County, Montana
Taken 10/4/09

Along the way we drove through the Paradise Valley, known as home to various celebrities including Peter Fonda. Jimmy Buffett spent a lot of time in this region, and has written and sung lots of songs celebrating, if that's the word, Livingston, including "Livingston Saturday Night."

This is also the region where I spent a lot of time as a child at Luccock Park, the Methodist Church Camp in the valley, and it's where we got our first Miniature Pinscher, Dinah--the dog I grew up with. I tried to point this out to the kids, but they seemed supremely uninterested, even when I told them that none of them would be in my life if it weren't for Dinah.

One final note on the Paradise Valley. This was the home to a large cult called The Church Universal and Triumphant, run by Elizabeth Clare Prophet. The link will take you to the Wikipedia entry on that group. It seemed to me appropriate that in the same general area is a large, red, rock slide called "The Devil's Slide." I made sure to photograph it.

Once past the town of Gardner, we drove through the Roosevelt Arch and entered Yellowstone National Park. One of my favorite locations in the Park is Mammoth Hot Springs. We stopped and took some pictures, while Kevin commented on the smell. Yes, there is a definite odor of sulphur in the air. It reminds me that when John Coulter, the first caucasian to visit the area returned to "civilization" and reported on what he'd seen, his friends referred to the region as "Coulter's Hell."

Bison grazing along the road
Taken 10/4/09 in Yellowstone National Park

Snow continued to fall as we drove south. Some roads in the park were closed because of construction, and some due to snow and ice, but we were able to drive from Mammoth to Norris, Norris to Canyon, Canyon to Fishing Bridge, and then out of the Park through the East Entrance into Wyoming. Along the way we did not see much in the way of wildlife, except for a couple of herds of bison and a few big horn sheep. We did see a surprising number of tourists considering that we were all braving the elements and road closures to drive through the Park. I reconfirmed my suspicion that Kevin had not grown up visiting the Park, the way I did, and he assured me that this was probably the third time he had ever been in Yellowstone, and the first time he'd actually stopped to see the sights. I just can't fathom that.

Lower Falls of the Yellowstone River
Taken 10/4/09 at Artists' Point

Another of my favorite spots in the Park is the view point for the lower falls on the Yellowstone River. My father took some wonderful shots of this feature, and I keep trying to keep up with him. This trip we took the drive up the South Rim to Artist's Point where I got some good work done, if I do say so myself.

At Fishing Bridge, we turned east and headed toward Cody, Wyoming. We drove through miles of forest land burned a few years back and not doing particularly well at reforestation. Up and over Sylvan Pass, we drove down alongside one of the tributaries to the Shosone River. Most of the Park is within the limits of the state of Wyoming, with only small portions in Montana and Idaho. Of the five entrances to the Park, however, three are in Montana. We had entered at the North and were leaving by the East. Another fifty miles of beautiful scenery and we arrived in Cody, the nominal home of Buffalo Bill. After a fine dinner at a Mexican Restaurant named La Comida, we parked the beast at (Don't gasp now) Wal-Mart, and became one more of those RV'ing families who drive from Wal-Mart to Wal-Mart.

One fork of the Shoshone River, Fall Colors
Taken 10/4/09 in Yellowstone National Park

The snow was coming down in earnest now, and a reader board we had seen at Walgreen's warned of a Winter Storm through the next morning. We hunkered down and rode it out.

More to come.

The Two Thousand Mile Sunday Drive--Day One

On the road again
Just can't wait to get on the road again
The life I love is makin' music with my friends
And I can't wait to get on the road again
On the road again
Goin' places that I've never been
Seein' things that I may never see again,
And I can't wait to get on the road again.

---Willie Nelson

To hear Willie Nelson sing "On the Road Again," click here.

Powell County Montana Court House

Taken 10/3/09 in Deer Lodge, Montana

It's four o’clock Sunday morning, the fourth of October. I’m wide awake, and the camper is pitching like a small boat at sea. That tells me it’s time to share my adventures with you, my faithful public. Oh, but there’s no internet connection available to me here in this rest area on the west side of Bozeman Montana. Well then, I’ll write it up and get it on line when I can, even if that means a week from now. So how did I come to find myself in this odd situation? Sit back, relax, and I’ll share the story with you.

Around the middle of August, when it became apparent that we were not going to have a summer vacation, Kevin started telling me “You have to take the first two weeks of October off.” I replied that with our office hosting a conference the third week of September, another one the very end of that same month, and a third the third week in October, there was absolutely no way I could take two weeks off when he wanted me to. Then I started getting sick.

I’ve been prone to attacks of vertigo and nausea in the past—many, many years ago, but I hadn’t noticed any problem in that area for at least thirty-five years. When I woke one Wednesday in early September unable to comfortably navigate my way downstairs, I assumed from the symptoms, that I had contracted a variety of flu. It’s all the rage these days, and our local paper was reporting on the number of people who were missing school or calling in sick to work because of it. When the symptoms didn’t clear up after a week, I called my doctor who assured me that the change he had just ordered in my medication (Metformin to get my blood sugar levels down) could, indeed, cause similar symptoms. He cut me back to my previous level and the symptoms disappeared.

By now it was conference time and we were all going full-tilt boogie trying to keep on top of the daily office work while chauffeuring conference speakers from their hotel to campus, to the various dinners we had arranged for them, and to and from the airport. Oh, and did I mention we were trying to attend the conference sessions as well? The symptoms returned.

Now I’m no fool. I can recognize the affects of stress as well as the next guy. I told Kevin I’d ask for the first week in October, but there was no way I could take two. That would only add to my stress as I’d be thinking of all that wasn’t getting done while I was out “relaxing.” And so Friday, October 2^nd, as I turned the van in after spending another week chauffeuring conference speakers around, I told Kevin “That’s it. I’m all yours.” And we hit the road.

Well, it wasn’t quite that easy. First we had Friday dinner with our good friends Mike and Norm. We do this just about every Friday. Then we noticed that the refrigerator/freezer in the camper wasn’t working. When you opened the door, you didn’t get a blast of cold air but rather a face full of ammonia. Not pleasant at all, and not a good prospect for storing food. A call to Gull Boats and RV, the authorized Lance camper dealer in Missoula, taught us that the unit had died and would have to be replaced. That would take at least $1500 and a week’s time. “But we’re leaving tomorrow,” I cried. Oh well, that’s why we have ice chests.

Neither Kevin nor I slept well Friday night, but upon arising Saturday morning, we were ready to drive. Almost. We had filled the camper’s water tanks when we thought we’d be getting out earlier in the summer, but that water had sat, unused, for months. Kevin felt it best to drain the tanks and refill them. Fine by me. Also, the 80+ degree temperatures we’d had all of September had left us with the advent of October, and we were now looking at snow on the mountains and night-time temperatures in the thirties. Good thing we have a furnace in the camper.

While Kevin ran some last minute errands, I started packing the clothing and food we’d want to take. The symptoms returned. Kevin got home to find me lying down, attempting to control the vertigo. Some clothing packed, but not all, and no food. Kevin finished the packing, having asked me if we should cancel the trip. My response was “NO WAY!” He then refilled the water tanks, opened the camper’s bathroom door, and found that he’d flooded the bathroom. Apparently the water connection to the toilet had broken. Turning up the thermostat to check on the furnace operations proved to be futile as the furnace just wouldn’t kick on. All righty then. Still the show must go on, so before we could leave town, we pointed the truck in the direction of Gull Boats to get the parts needed to fix both the toilet and the furnace.

At this point, you’re probably asking “Why on earth are you so intent on leaving town?” Good question, and one I hope to answer over the next week. For now, a bit of history.

A little over twenty years ago, standing in front of the Judith Basin County Court House in Stanford, Montana, I was struck with how stately a building the very few people of that county had erected to hold their local government. As I drove around the state, I kept being impressed by the various county court houses I found in Montana. A plan came to mind. I’d do a coffee table photo album showcasing the fifty-six Montana court houses—a section on each of the state’s counties. The statehood centennial was approaching in 1989, and I figured this would be a great centennial project. But having neither the time nor the money to undertake the project, it sat, undone, in the back of my mind. As I’d drive the state’s highways, I’d stop to photograph any courthouse I saw, but I never made it to all fifty-six counties.

As my long-time readers will recall, in 2007 I took my “Six Thousand Mile Sunday Drive,” documenting that adventure in words and photographs—including several photos of government buildings. I even managed to pick up a few out-of-the way Montana court houses. Recently I put several of my court house photos up on my sales site at RedBubble and was encouraged to continue the project. When Kevin suggested a week off, I thought, “Great, I’ll capture more courthouses.”

Kevin had recently confided in me that his childhood was quite different from my own. He lived for many years right on the northern border of Yellowstone National Park, and never visited that scenic wonder. My parents, on the other hand, took every visitor they could drag along into the park. Kevin had also never seen Mount Rushmore, or the Dakota Badlands. Maybe we could combine objectives, and take a shorter version of my 2007 trip—a “Two Thousand Mile Sunday Drive.” And that’s why we’re on the road today.

Gull Boats either did not have the parts we needed or the clerk in the parts department was ill-informed, I don’t know which, but while the four dogs and I waited somewhat patiently in the pickup cab, Kevin spent twenty-five minutes inside not getting any satisfaction. We drove on to Bretz RV and Marine, where we should have gone in the first place, and he returned in no time, parts in hand. By the time we filled both propane bottles for the camper, we were finally ready to get on Interstate 90 and head east. Except by now it’s past two o’clock and we haven’t had lunch. One more stop at the truck stop east of Missoula for Arby’s, and by three we were finally “on the road again.”

Within ten miles it was clear that we were driving into the wind. The gusts made it hard to control the truck, and while it pitched and rolled, Kevin fought valiantly to keep it within the white lines on the pavement. After about an hour of this, I asked if we were, indeed, fools to undertake such a trip given the prospect of wintry weather and high winds. Kevin replied “Probably,” and kept driving. As Interstate 90 turned south at Garrison Junction, our winds became trailing, pushing the rather large box down the highway at a good clip. Alas, only a small portion of our route involves southbound travel.

In Deer Lodge, the first town of any size east of Missoula, we stopped at Les Schwab and had the “Ride-Right”s pumped up. This is a system of airbags I added to the pickup when I purchased the Lance camper. It helps the springs support the additional weight and gives a much smoother ride. When we pulled in, the system was holding 35 pounds pressure. We left with 50.

Just two blocks from the tire store sits the Powell County Court House, one that I hadn’t previously captured. While I shot the court house, Kevin walked the dogs. Soon we were back on I-90, and the ride was considerably smoother. The wind was still at our back and we wasted no time getting to Anaconda, the seat of Deer Lodge County. (No, you’re not confused—the city of Deer Lodge is the seat of Powell County. Anaconda is the seat of Deer Lodge County. Don’t they do things like that in your state?)

Anaconda Smoke Stack State Park

Taken 10/3/09 in Anaconda Montana

Anaconda is known for several things. It has a world-class golf course designed by Jack Nicklaus. It has a state park that no one is allowed to visit (the smoke stack from the now demolished smelter that the Anaconda Company used to process all the ore taken out from beneath neighboring Butte). It also has miles and miles of slag heaps, built up over a hundred years of mining operations in Butte. And it has a number of stately buildings dating from the early twentieth century. One of those is the court house. In the late nineteenth century, one of Montana’s major political battles took place when Anaconda fought Helena for the role of state capitol. Anaconda, the city, lost the battle, but until 1972 and the new Montana State Constitution, Anaconda, the company, ran the state. The Deer Lodge County Court House looks like the people of the city wanted to erect a new capitol building. I find it an amazing structure, and was pleased to be able to add it to my photographic captures.

Deer Lodge County Court House

Taken 10/3/09 in Anaconda Montana

Heading east from Anaconda to Butte, we were again buffeted by the winds, but with the increased air pressure in the Ride-Rights, the truck handled itself in good fashion. I did begin worrying about what this was doing to our gas mileage. Under the best of conditions, the F250, heavy duty, long bed, four wheel drive pickup doesn’t get stellar mileage. Add a 3,000 pound box, rising over ten feet from the ground, and the food, water, clothing etc for two men and four dogs, and you’re putting a lot of resistance into the wind. Still, I was counting on nine miles per gallon.

The Silver Bow County Court House is imposing as befits the governmental seat of a community that housed one quarter of the state’s population at the time of its construction. I knew exactly where to find the building as it sits kitty-cornered from the church my father served when I was five years old.

The Silver Bow County Court House

Taken 10/3/09 in Butte, Montana

We crossed the Continental Divide at Homestake Pass east of Butte, and found ourselves moving with the big boys (that is 35-40 miles per hour) up the Cardston Grade a bit further east, but soon we were down in the Gallatin Valley at Three Forks where the Madison, the Jefferson and the Gallatin Rivers all come together to form the Missouri. From there it was just a hop, skip and jump to Belgrade (Montana, not Serbia) where we stopped for dinner at the Flying J. You see, when you travel with a trucker, you end up eating in truck stops. Nothing on the menu looked good to me—I just spent the last week high on the hog with an international group of experts on the Middle East. We ate at some of the finest restaurants in Missoula, and I’d had steak in one form or another for four of the previous five days. The steaks on the Flying J menu just did not appeal—nor did anything else. I ordered breakfast. Kevin had a flatiron steak which came with two sides. He asked for a baked potato and “thousand island.” The waitress, a blond to be sure, looked so shocked that I feared he would get a bottle of dressing but no salad. My corned beef hash and eggs also came with two sides, and I requested an English muffin and a serving of cottage cheese. When our meals came, we decided simultaneously that we wouldn’t ever bother stopping at this particular Flying J again. When Kevin asked for jelly for my English Muffin (there was none on the table), the waitress said “Chili?” Poor dear, she didn’t deserve it, but we gave her 20% anyway.

By now it was too dark to do any further photography, and Kevin was too tired to do any further driving, so he pulled into the new rest area on the west end of Bozeman, parked the pickup into the wind, and we went to bed—at eight thirty. Which is why I’m sitting here, wide awake, at 5:19 am, while the truck rocks and rolls with the wind.

And by the way, we fed the truck at the Flying J as well. We had driven 217 miles and used 28.6 gallons of gas. You can do the math yourselves, if you wish, but that’s not nine miles per gallon—closer to 7.5.

About to be carried off to Oz (I said it was windy)
Taken 10/4/09 in Bozeman Montana

New Yaak Times

Oo ah oo ah oo oo, Kitty
Tell us about the boy
From New York City
Oo ah oo ah come on, Kitty
Tell us about the boy
From New York City

George Davis & John T. Taylor

To hear the Manhattan Transfer sing Boy From New York City, click here.

Thompson River
Taken 7/26/09
Sanders County, Montana

Clicking on a photo or a link will open a new window. In my opinion, these photos look much better at full screen, so that's what will happen should you click on one. You also have the option of seeing all the edited photos from this trip on my Picasa web gallery.

In the early days of vehicular traffic, Montana's cities sold license plates printed with the city name on the plate. In the early 1930s, Montana standardized plates state-wide, using a one or two digit code to designate the county of registration. This system remains in place today, although with the advent first of vanity plates and then affinity plates, more and more cars sport the three letter, three number system used by so many other states. Montanans of my generation can still tell you what county a car comes from if the car owner just gets the no extra cost regular plate. The county numbers haven't changed since they were first introduced over seventy years ago. They represent the political clout a given county had in the state legislature back when the system was first introduced.

Lincoln County is neither the smallest county in area, nor the last county created in the state. It has never been the smallest county in population either, but in a state with fifty-six counties, Lincoln County vehicles bear the number 56. This reflects the remoteness of the northwestern most county in a very remote and sparsely populated state. And in remote Lincoln County, far from any possible madding crowd, flows the Yaak River. After spending Saturday on the Blackfoot River, on Sunday we climbed in the back seat of Mike and Norm's 1997 Lincoln Town Car and headed north and west. We were going to see the Yaak.

As I noted in my post Adventures in HDR after having spent a day on the edge of Glacier Park, we had planned to drive back and head across the Going to the Sun Highway. This would be a very long day, however, and we were worried if Norm had the stamina for the trip. Norm, however, had other ideas. He wanted to see the Yaak. Of the four of us, only Kevin had ever been to the Yaak, so in time we agreed, and Sunday's drive, while no shorter than the planned Glacier trip, presented a fascinating collage of rivers, forests, mountains, lakes, rain and sunshine.

When Mike and Norm first moved to Montana from Memphis, they bought land and a cabin just outside Thompson Falls, the county seat of Sanders County (number 35 on our license plates). Thompson Falls proved too remote when Norm was needing dialysis three times a week, which meant a two-hundred-mile round trip drive to Missoula for each session. They sold their place in Thompson, found a house just across the railroad tracks from us, and moved to Missoula. Mike, Norm, Kevin and I get together roughly three times a week for dinner, ham radio events, or sight-seeing jaunts across western Montana.

We left Missoula (county number 4) heading north on US 93 and crossed into Lake County (number 15) just south of the town of Arlee on the Flathead Indian Reservation. At Ravalli, we turned west on Montana highway 200, and followed the Flathead River toward its confluence with the Clark Fork just east of Paradise. (I could make a comment about being East of Eden, but I'll forego that pleasure.) Along the way we crossed into Sanders County, and stopped to pick up some road food at the supermarket in Thompson.

Our route north from Thompson took us on a forest service road (read dirt and gravel, not pavement) along the western bank of the Thompson River. Who is this Thompson anyway? Well, David Thompson (1770-1857) was an explorer, a fur trapper, and as one web-site puts it, "arguably the greatest geographer the world has ever known." You can find more information on Thompson than you probably ever would want by clicking here.

Thompson River Valley Farm
Taken 7/26/09
Sanders County, Montana

Now if you remember your US History lessons, prior to the signing of the Oregon Treaty in 1846, all the land north of the 42nd parallel and west of the Rocky Mountains was in dispute. The US referred to this area as Oregon Country and the British called it the Columbia Department of the Hudson's Bay Company. You may have heard of a campaign slogan from the 1840s, "Fifty-four forty or fight." This slogan referred to the southern boundary of Russian America (established in 1825), the area we now know as Alaska, which was simultaneously the northern boundary of Oregon Country/Columbia District. I'm sure you've heard the phrase "Manifest Destiny" which also refers to the fact that Americans felt it their God-given right to control all land from the Atlantic to the Pacific, including all of Oregon Country. President Polk campaigned on the issue of securing America's northwest, but in the end chose to compromise with the British, rather than fight them, and the 49th parallel was set as the international boundary. Polk found other ways to be belligerent, however, and at the same time add to the US land mass by sending in troops to fight the Mexicans, understandably upset over the loss of Texas. Unfortunately for the Mexicans, they lost this war which led to the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo which added the land south of the 42nd parallel and west of the Rockies to the U.S. In short, having already lost Texas in 1845, Mexico lost an additional 55% of its land thanks to this treaty. If you live in the states of California, Nevada, Utah, most of Arizona and New Mexico, and that part of Colorado and Wyoming west of the Rockies (and south of the 42nd parallel), you live in what was Mexico until the 1840s. The little bit of Arizona and New Mexico that wasn't ceded by the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo was then purchased from Mexico in 1853 in what is known as the Gadsden Purchase. The purchase was supposed to include considerably more land than we actually took, but for some reason, the Mexicans, having first lost Texas then everything west of the Rockies through the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo, just didn't want to give up any more land. Go figure.

But this post covers the Northwest, not the Southwest, so let's return to David Thompson, the Hudson Bay Company and Oregon Country. More specifically, let's return to Sanders and Lincoln Counties, Montana, where Thompson, in the employ of the Hudson Bay Company, left his name on just about every topographical feature to be found. As we drove north along the Thompson River, the rain began to fall. It would follow us, off and on, the rest of the day.

In time, we reached US highway 2, and turned west toward the Lincoln County seat of Libby. Libby has become known nationally, and perhaps world-wide, because of the law suits against the W.R. Grace Company who until recently mined vermiculite there. The resulting asbestos exposure has made life a living hell for many Libby residents. Asbestos be damned, we said, and stopped for breakfast at the Treasure Mountain Casino Restaurant. My $4.99 steak and eggs breakfast was one of the best breakfasts I've had. And you certainly couldn't beat the price.

Yaak Falls
Taken 7/26/09
Lincoln County, Montana

Having fed both ourselves and the Lincoln, we continued west on 2 through the town of Troy. When we first turned onto Highway 2, we passed a chain of lakes, also named for David Thompson. At Libby our route took us alongside the Kootenai River which has its headwaters in Canada, flows south into Montana, west into Idaho, north back into Canada, and finally joins the Columbia. Western Montana is a mountainous region, and the average elevation across the state is close to 3,000 feet. Missoula, for example sits at 3200 feet. At Troy, the mountains above us made it hard to believe that the lowest point in the state is where the Kootenai River crosses into Idaho (1800 feet in elevation). Less than five miles from the Idaho state line, we turned north to follow the Yaak, and immediately began climbing.

We stopped to check out a campground on the Yaak, then again at Yaak Falls where both I and my camera got thoroughly soaked. No I didn't fall in the river or over the falls, but the rain picked up again while I was studying a group of teen-aged boys who were climbing the falls then jumping off the cliffs into the river below.

Boys will be boys
Taken 7/26/09
Yaak Falls, Lincoln County Montana

Back in the car, soaked to the skin, I kept quiet as we drove through the town of Yaak--ok, the wide spot in the road known as Yaak. I would have liked to stop at the bar and asked if the newspaper was still being published. Yes, I'm afraid it's true, there used to be a paper, or maybe more of a newsletter, printed up and distributed under the name of The New Yaak Times. According to the Library of Congress, this paper was printed monthly in Bonner's Ferry Idaho, just across the state line. The road continued to twist, turn and climb, until sixty miles from the lowest point in the state, we crossed a pass at nearly 7,000 feet. From there we descended toward the Kootenai River and Lake Koocanusa--a reservoir held back by Libby Dam and named because it's the Kootenai River (KOO) and covers ground in both Canada (CAN) and the US (USA). Bet you'd never have figured that one out.

By this time it was getting late. The GPS unit on the Lincoln's dash was warning us that we needed coffee, and we were all getting tired. A quick stop in the town of Eureka where I found a rare 1958 Packard--well a 1958 Studebaker that had a special nose and Packard badges showing how the mighty fall--then south on US 93 into Flathead County (Number 7--bet ya thought I'd forgotten my county numbers), through the resort community of Whitefish, the county seat of Kalispell, and alongside Flathead Lake which brought us back into Lake County, Missoula County, and home.

Lake Koocanusa near Eureka, Montana
Taken 7/26/09
Lincoln County, Montana

I won't speak for Norm and Mike, but Kevin and I were exhausted and glad to climb into bed once we gave Rocky his shot of insulin. And as for the Yaak? I can't wait to get back up there.

Till next time.

Rollin' on the River

I guess it all blew up in Missoula
There just was no other way
After months of goin crazy, there was nothin left to say
But when the dust had finally settled
And the air had quickly cleared
Whoa, things were better off than I had feared

jimmy buffett and greg taylor, 1977

To see and hear Jimmy Buffet perform this song, click here.

The Big Blackfoot River
Taken 7/25/09
Johnsrud Park, Montana

NOTE PLEASE: Clicking on any photograph will open a full-screen version of that photo in a separate window. All links also open in a separate window. Finally, should you be so inclined, you can see these photos and more taken on the river, but unedited, on my Picasa website.

Arguably, the most famous book ever set in Missoula is Norman Maclean's 1976 A River Runs Through It. Now the river in the title is metaphorical, but the actual river on the banks of which much of the story is set is the Blackfoot River. Early in the story, Maclean writes:

Paul and I fished a good many big rivers, but when one of us referred to "the big river" the other knew it was the Big Blackfoot. It isn't the biggest river we fished, but it is the most powerful, and per pound, so are its fish. It runs straight and hard--on a map or from an airplane it is almost a straight line running due west from its headwaters at Rogers Pass on the Continental Divide to Bonner, Montana, where it empties into the South Fork of the Clark Fork of the Columbia. It runs hard all the way.

Speaking from very personal experience, I can vouch for that last statement. When I took my river canoeing class, the final "exam" was to run a seven mile stretch of the Big Blackfoot from Whitaker Bridge to Johnsrud Park. As we neared Thibodeau Rapids, our instructor made us beach our canoes, and walk downstream to reconnoiter. Pointing to two rocks on the left side of the current, he said "That's where you'll capsize." I'm proud to say that of the twelve boats in our class, eight did capsize, but mine was the only one to capsize on the rocks. The others flipped over long before they reached our own personal Scylla and Charybdis. It was at least a quarter mile before I was able to get my feet under me and clamber out of the fast-moving water. Never again will I underestimate the power of a river.

All set to float the river
Taken 7/25/09 at Johnsrud Park
Blackfoot River, Montana

Not that I should have. Like Maclean, I grew up in a parsonage. My father, like Maclean's, was a minister (Methodist, not Presbyterian) and a fly-fisherman who tied his own flies. Oh yes, Maclean's book spoke volumes to me. And the river that ran through my father's early life, if not my own, was the Ohio. I grew up with many stories about life on the Ohio, but the most vivid concerned my mother's younger brother, Virgil Stephens. In 1946, Virgil and two friends were canoeing on the Ohio and their canoe capsized. While his two friends clung to the overturned boat, Virgil swam for help and drowned. His two friends were saved. I can't tell you what a powerful story that is when you hear it over and over again at a young age.

He actually made two extra jumps just so I could catch him in the act
Taken 7/25/09 at Johnsrud Park, Blackfoot River, Montana

I've spent a good bit of time on rivers in my life. Those streams which speak most clearly to my soul are the Bitterroot, the Yellowstone, the Madison, the Missouri--all in Montana, the Sacramento and the Smith in California, the Columbia, the Ohio, and, yes, the Big Blackfoot. I've probably spent more time on the Blackfoot than any other river. I've navigated it in my canoe, run it in rafts, even sat in an inner tube and let it carry me downstream. My favorite sunbathing spot is at Red Rocks, approximately 25 miles east of Missoula, and seven miles of bad road off Montana highway 200. There's just nothing like a sunny day on the river.

"The Hub of Five Valleys" is one of the nicknames for Missoula. While number five is the home of Rattlesnake Creek, flowing south out of the Rattlesnake Wilderness Area, the other four valleys that come together at the basin which used to be the bottom of Glacial Lake Missoula are the Bitterroot, coming in from the south, the Upper Clark Fork flowing from the east, the Lower Clark Fork flowing toward the west where it eventually merges with the Columbia, and the Blackfoot which flows into the Upper Clark Fork just east of town. All these rivers have their charms and their dangers. And people being human, there's a lot of trash deposited along and in the rivers. Thanks to the efforts of one woman, Marietta Pfister, much of the Blackfoot's trash gets picked up every year.

Scuba Divers and their backup prepare to clean up the river
Taken 7/25/09, Johnsrud Park, Blackfoot River, Montana

On Saturday, July 25th, five members of Kevin's Ham Radio club worked to ensure the safety of the approximately 200 men, women and children who showed up to clean up the Blackfoot. I went along for the ride, and to record in pixels the important work being done. Of course I also recorded some of the fun on the river. 2009 marks the sixth consecutive year for the Blackfoot River Clean-Up, a community-based activity that brings together federal, state and local governmental units, as well as community organizations and the public. This year, ten sets of scuba divers cleaned the river bottom while scores of others walked the banks and waded the shore lines. What they found is nothing short of amazing, but, fortunately nothing near as bad as in the early years of the project. The story of the clean-up is being told in classrooms and community halls around the country, energizing others to take seriously their responsibility to care for the world around them.

Just a bit of the trash pulled from the river
Taken 7/25/09 on the Blackfoot River

If you'd care to read Norman Maclean's wonderful story, or see the movie version that Robert Redford made, you can get them through my Amazon.com affiliation by clicking on the boxes below.



Note that in Robert Redford's movie version, the part of the Blackfoot was played by the Yellowstone River south of Livingston, Montana (and the setting for several other Jimmy Buffett songs).



Or, maybe you just want a poster of Brad Pitt and a fish!

The 71st National Folk Festival

And Welcome to Butte, America
Taken 7/11/09 in Butte, Montana


NOTE PLEASE: Clicking on any photograph will open a full-screen version of that photo in a separate window. All links also open in a separate window. Also, should you be so inclined, you can see these photos and more taken at the Festival on my Picasa website.

We are the folk song army
Every one of us cares
We all hate poverty war and injustice
Unlike the rest of you squares.

There are innocuous folksongs, yeah,
But we regard 'em with scorn.
The folks who sing 'em have no social conscience,
Why, They don't even care if Jimmy crack corn.

--Tom Lehrer

To hear Tom Lehrer sing The Folk Song Army, click here!

If you're into folk music, then Butte, Montana was the place you wanted to be for the weekend of July 10-12. For the second year in a row, Butte was hosting the National Folk Festival, the 71st annual National Folk Festival, and close to 100,000 people showed up for the concerts, demonstrations, and just old fashioned fun. The sun was shining, the sky was blue, and the music was, well, hot. Kevin and I got up early Saturday morning and hit the road, arriving in Butte in plenty of time to park, ride the shuttle uptown, and find ourselves at the Quartz Street Stage in time for the opening act of the day, Wilho Saari, a renowned Kantele player from Naselle, Washington.

Wilho Saari plays the Finnish Kantele
Taken 7/11/09 in Butte, Montana

The Kantele is Finland's national instrument, related to the Zither, and by tradition only the family patriarch is allowed to play the instrument. Mr. Saari waited until his father died to take up the Kantele. One wonders how these traditions come to be--and how a 50-year old man is able to start fresh learning the instrument upon the death of his own father.

That said, in 1985 when the good people of Montana sent me to Finland, one of the experiences I hoped to have was to hear the Kantele played. Alas, that was not to be, but right here, practically in my own backyard, I was able to see and hear an expert performance. Mr. Saari started his 45-minute set with a couple of hymns. He explained that his father had played every night after work. The hymns were lovely, and the sound sweet and clear. Yet I overheard a man across the aisle from me exclaim with more than a touch of sarcasm in his voice, "Well, this is certainly rousing." Indeed, the music I heard would make wonderful lullabies.

Now the biggest problem with attending one day of a three-day event is that you just can't see everything you'd like. There were seven stages set up around town, and there were events in every venue almost back to back. Another of the groups I wanted to hear was Otrov, a group of six young men from the upper mid-west. They play tamburitza music--a traditional Balkan style. Otrov was the opening act in "The Original" stage--a stage set up inside the headframe of The Original mine uptown. In fact, The Original was the mine directly across the street from our home when as I child I lived in Butte.

Yes, there's a stage set up in the headframe
The Original
Taken 7/11/09 in Butte, Montana

After taking in roughly half of Mr. Saari's set, Kevin and I left Quartz Street and headed uphill to The Original. Unlike Quartz Street, there was no tent covering the audience, and no chairs unless you brought your own. Otrov's audience sat on the grass of the hillside rising above the stage which had been built inside the headframe of the mine. Now this music was rousing, and frankly, I'm not sure why people weren't dancing where they sat. Maybe the hot sun, the lack of shade, and the mile-high altitude all played a part in calming people.

Kevin and I wandered back down the hill--most of the streets in uptown Butte had been blocked off for pedestrian traffic--in search of Indian Tacos. We'd seen a booth down between the Granite Street Stage and the folk arts Marketplace, and frankly, I was ready for lunch. The line was long (I've noticed that the line for Indian Tacos is always long), and when we finally reached the front, we were told that they were out and it would take another 20 minutes before the next batch was ready. Well I love Indian Tacos, and rarely see them for sale in Missoula, so we decided to wait. That was just one of the mistakes we made while in Butte. Suffice it to say that the tacos were expensive and not nearly as good as I've come to expect.

The audience for Otrov at "The Original"
Note that this is just one of seven simultaneous performances
Taken 7/11/09 in Butte, Montana

The Marketplace next drew our attention. Divided into two sections, one area featured Native American arts and crafts while the other showcased the work of Montana craftsmen. Kevin and I were both drawn to a display of handcrafted wooden canoes built by Scott Enloe of Great Falls, Montana. I didn't get any pictures of Scott's work, but you'll see what we were lusting after by visiting Scott's website. As neither of had a spare $4,000, we were left to drool on the beautiful boat (which, truth to tell, I'd be almost afraid to put in the water).

By now we had missed most of the vocal traditions session, but were able to catch some of the North Bear drummers and singers from the Northern Cheyenne Reservation in Lame Deer, Montana. As an aside, I feel obliged to point out that the tribal college for the Northern Cheyenne is named Dull Knife, or Chief Dull Knife College, and one has to wonder why the Deer was Lame.

The Fiddle Masters followed Vocal Tradition, and much to my amazement, Kevin really wanted to hear this session. Well let's see, we had Michael Doucet of Beausoleil representing Cajun fiddle music. We had Brian Conway of Pride of New York representing the Irish fiddle music of Galway. Gary Harrison played traditional Mid-West style fiddle music, and Texas Shorty played the music of, you guessed it, Texas. The microphone passed from musician to musician and the hour passed quickly, almost as quickly as the tune Soldier's Joy, which the whole stage united to play in closing their set.

We stayed put in the Quartz Street Stage's tent, and watched in amazement as the area filled with spectators eager to watch the Massive Monkees. Who would have thought that there would be so many middle-aged white folk in Butte, Montana, eager to experience urban break dancing. I didn't get any pictures of the Seattle-based group because we were packed in so tightly that it was near impossible to move, let alone get in a good position for photos.

Following the Monkees, we were able to stay at Quartz Street for Chuck and Albert, two guys from Prince Edward Island, Canada, who played fiddle, percussion, sang, danced, joked, in French and English. Some of their antics were downright ludicrous, but such great fun that I was sorry to miss the end of their set.

The Ethel Caffie-Austin Singers on the Granite Street Stage
Taken 7/11/09 in Butte, Montana

Again, in order to move between stages, we needed to leave a little time, and Ethel Caffie-Austin and her singers were due to perform in the Granite Street Stage. Known as "West Virginia's First Lady of Gospel Music," Ms. Caffie-Austin was quick to tell the audience that the Mountain State (West Virginia) didn't have any mountains as grand as Montana's. I had really wanted to hear this performance, but at five in the afternoon, the sun was beating down on my head in the open seating area, and that, combined with the sound problems that had the music completely unbalanced, had me suggest to Kevin that it was time for us to hit the road home.

What all did we miss? A lot. We didn't hear Beausoleil, nor the Pride of New York. We missed the Mariachis and the Melody of China. We didn't hear Sierra Hull--a protegé of Allison Krause, nor did we experience any of the Steel String Guitar Masters. Actually there's way too much stuff that we missed, and I couldn't begin to tell you about all of it anyway.

The National Folk Festival got its start in St. Louis in 1934. It visits a town for three consecutive years, then moves on. As I understand it, this was the first time the Festival has been held in the West. Last year the Festival drew 70,000 people to Butte, once the largest city in Montana with fully 1/4 of the state's population back in 1910. Today the story is different. Butte has a population around 35,000, and for the city to throw a party that doubles, or even triples the number of people on the street is nothing short of miraculous. Next year will be Butte's third and last year for hosting the festival, and it's not too late to get your lodging reserved. This year there wasn't a room available in a 60 mile radius. All the events are free and open to the public, but bring your card for the food, drink and CD sales. You won't regret visiting the Mining City, Butte America in July, 2010--July 9th, 10th, and 11th to be specific.

Adventures in HDR

But I see your true colors
shining through
I see your true colors
and that's why I love you
so don't be afraid to let them show
your true colors
true colors are beautiful
like a rainbow

--Cyndi Lauper

To hear Cyndi Lauper sing True Colors, click here.

Indian Paintbrush--finally an image I like!
HDR Image taken 7/18/09
Glacier National Park, Montana

I'm not a Ham Radio operator, nor do I claim to understand the passion that so many Ham operators seem to have for their activity. I can appreciate the service they give to the community, especially in times of peril, and I can see how it can be fun to talk with anyone or everyone while you're driving down the road. I do go into on-line chat rooms, after all, and I see little difference other than Ham Radio is much older as an activity.

That said, as many of you know from reading my blogs over the past year, I'm all but married (Thanks DOMA, for nothing) to a Ham operator, and some of our closest friends are also Hams. (Is that what they're called? I'm afraid to ask.) Yesterday our friend Mike drove us up to the Waterton Glacier Hamfest for 2009. We attended the 2008 get together as well, and we couldn't help but notice that a lot more people were driving to northern Montana this year than last. Could it be that gas is no longer over $4.00 a gallon?

A Hamfest like this is a chance for people to get together, swap stories and equipment, and even take in a few activities of mutual interest. Personally, once I've gone around the ring of motor homes and seen all the old equipment I care to see, I'd just as soon leave the chatting to those who share a passion. My passion is photography, so while Kevin and Mike chatted with fellow Hams, I headed out around the campground, camera, bag and tripod in hand.

Very Showy Aster
HDR Image Taken 7/18/09
Glacier National Park, Montana

You may remember my previous posts on High Density Range photographic imagery. If not, you can read about it here and here. One of the main things I have learned is that a tripod is more than a luxury, actually more of a necessity if you want your pictures to come out at all well. I've also learned that I never seem to have the right lens fitted to the camera, so this time I had both the tripod and the camera bag with all my lenses with me.

As in previous HDR work, I started out with flowers--the wildflowers growing around the campground. These were mainly Queen Anne's Lace, Daisies, Showy Asters, and Indian Paintbrush. I love paintbrush, but have never been able to get a decent photo of the plant. My shots have always looked as if they would make better impressionist paintings than crisp, bright photographs. This trip I worked a lot on shooting paintbrush. I like the image at the top of the page. Hope you do too.

Fence
HDR Image Taken 7/18/09
Glacier National Park, Montana

But where I had questioned HDR imagery before was in landscape photography. Since my earlier attempts, which frankly made me wonder what was the big deal with HDR, I've read that some photographers use HDR in landscape work because they feel it renders the image more life-like. The colors come out closer to what the eye sees. I therefore resolved to move away from macro shots of flowers, and try again with the landscape work. I'm pretty pleased with the way things turned out. As you can see here, I not only tried landscapes, but also some middle ground shots like the fence above, and even a stolen red pickup. (In case you're wondering, I'm putting together a photo book of red pickups I've seen around the country. They are "stolen" only in that I don't tell the owner what I'm doing nor do I ask permission.)

I did partake in one of the Hamfest activities. I suppose because people who are into one kind of gadget are also into others, there was a special workshop on GPS units and geocaching. As a novice geocacher with 150+ finds to my credit, I attended the workshop. Turns out it was very basic, intended for people who had little to no experience with geocaching, and I can't say I learned anything new. I did have several people ask me about my camera and photography, though, so it wasn't a complete waste of time.

Shortly after the geocaching workshop, we heard the chop-chop-chop of a helicopter overhead. Yes, it was one of those confounded black helicopters the conspiracy theorists love to complain about. After circling the area about three times, it landed in the field where I'd been taking photos earlier in the day. Ah--it was Homeland Security come to check up on us. We were, after all, practically on an international border and there were lots of non-US flags flying (Canada, British Columbia, Alberta, Saskatchewan were the ones I saw). Lots of US flags were flying as well, as befits an international gathering. I have no idea what the Customs and Border Protection folk were doing there, but in no time they had drawn a large crowd, many of whom climbed into the chopper.

Birch Grove

HDR Image Taken 7/18/09
Glacier National Park, Montana
If you choose to look at only one image full screen,
choose this one!

By this time, we were ready for lunch, and since the burger line was so long at the gathering, Mike, Kevin and I headed back toward West Glacier. I was happy to introduce Mike to the Isaac Walton Inn at Essex, Montana--a former Great Northern Railroad Hotel on the south edge of Glacier Park. We stopped there for lunch (and more photos). I had a great buffalo French dip. Kevin and Mike were more conventional in their choices, but we were all happy with our meal. I would give the Isaac Walton Inn my highest recommendation. The food is always good, the location is beautiful, and the rooms are reasonable. Give it a try next time you're in the area.

After lunch, we headed on to West Glacier, and then into the park itself. Stopping first at Apgar Village, I got some very nice pictures of the old Gearjammer Ford motorcoaches that still carry tourists up and over Logan Pass on the Going to the Sun Highway. I also got some nice views of Lake McDonald both from Apgar Village and from the Lake McDonald Lodge.

We all had such a great time, that we decided that next weekend we'd head back to Glacier and this time drive all the way across the park on Going to the Sun. As I took no more images for HDR processing after leaving the hamfest, you won't see any of my Glacier Park pictures in this post. You can see them, however, on my Picasa on-line galleries. The HDR photos are all in the album Adventures in HDR and the images I've processed normally are in the 20090718 album.

As always, all links and photos can be viewed in a new window. I really recommend looking at the images I've shared on this post in a full screen mode--just double click on the image and it will open full screen in a new window. And while we're at it, what do you think of this landscape HDR shot?

Looking into Glacier National Park
HDR Image Taken 7/18/09

Squash--a Photoshop Odyssey

Amapola, my pretty little poppy
You're like that lovely flower so sweet and heavenly,
Since I found you, my heart is wrapped around you
And loving you, it seems to beat a rhapsody.

--English language lyrics by Albert Gamse

To hear Andrea Bocelli sing Amapola in Spanish, click here.

Why do I bother I don't know
I'll turn off my radio
Day after day
The airways are awash
With songs of ones in love
And those who are out of
There's just not enough songs about squash

To hear Darren Hanlon sing this, click here.

But at night i'd had these wonderful dreams
Some kind of sensuous treat
Not zucchini, fettuccine or Bulgar wheat
But a big warm bun and a huge hunk of meat

To hear Jimmy Buffett sing Cheeseburger in Paradise, click here.

ISO 125 50mm f /13 1/90 second

Okay, okay, enough with the songs already. Geez, we normally only get one song and here there are three. Well, yeah. But there are also five pictures that are almost identical unless you look really closely. What's going on here?

Well first off, let's talk about the songs. When I began thinking about this post, I had a set of shots of a yellow squash blossom...12 shots, to be exact. The first song that came to my mind was Amapola, which I remember hearing as "Amapola, pretty little flower...." And certainly, this squash blossom is a pretty little flower, or a pretty not-so-little flower. But when I went to look up the lyrics for Amapola, I learned that 1) Amapola refers to a poppy, not just any old yellow flower, and 2) the lyrics as written on the web actually say "poppy," not "flower." Hmm.

OK, so let's do a search for "songs about squash." That brought up the Darren Hanlon song, "There's not enough songs about squash." Well, I could certainly agree with that statement, and the song is fun, even if the squash it's talking about is the racket-ball game, not the vegetable.

Finally, what pops into my mind but Cheeseburger in Paradise. The only problem here is that the squash in question (or in the pictures) is not a zucchini, but rather a hard winter squash. So, you get three songs, none of which actually fit the bill. But they're fun songs so enjoy anyway.

That brings us to the pictures themselves. This started out to be an exercise in HDR processing. The sun was shining brightly, a bit too brightly perhaps, on one particular squash blossom, so I got my camera, fitted it with the Sigma 50 mm macro lens, put the whole thing on my tripod and knelt down to snap away setting the bracketing to 2 stops plus and minus. If you remember my previous post about HDR, the process involves taking three (or more) shots at different exposures and then letting Photoshop merge the shots together to form one. For this to work, it is crucial that there be no camera movement between the various exposures. Unfortunately, my tripod, even with the legs splayed as far apart as possible, kept my camera at too great a distance to take a macro shot at 50 mm. I'm back to holding the camera by hand and hoping for the best. My best wasn't good enough. Even with a camera capable of taking 3 shots per second, my ability to shake the camera during that second was even greater. So much for HDR with this image.

ISO 125 50 mm f/11 1/125 second

These days I shoot entirely in "raw" format. If you don't understand what that means, you can think of "raw" as being the rough equivalent of a film negative. An image shot in "raw" cannot be used directly, but has to be processed and changed into a different format, usually TIFF or JPEG. I'm not going to go into those formats here. Suffice it to say that the purpose of a "raw" image is, and here I quote Wikipedia, "to faithfully record both 100% of exactly what the sensor "saw" or "sensed" (the data), and the conditions surrounding the recording of the image (the metadata).

ISO 125 50mm f/8 1/25o second

Once you have downloaded your shots from camera to computer, you can load them into Photoshop's Camera Raw processing dialog. In my attempt to play with HDR, I chose to shoot each set of photos using a different aperture and shutter speed. Usually for daytime shots, I shoot in aperture priority mode, which means that I set the aperture and let the camera choose the shutter speed automatically. Under similar lighting conditions, every time you change the aperture, the shutter speed will adjust accordingly. The smaller the aperture, the more time will be required to let in the appropriate amount of light. If you look at these pictures, you'll see that as I opened the aperture step by step, the shutter speed increased. The top photo here was taken with the aperture set at f /13, which required 1/90th of a second to get what the camera considered the "proper" exposure. The second set of shots was taken at f /11 which required a shutter speed of 1/125 of a second. For the third, I opened the aperture even further to f /8 and finally to f /5.6, which caused the camera to use shutter speeds of 1/250th and 1/500th of a second respectively. The idea here was to find what difference there would be in the amount of detail obtained. As a rule of thumb, the larger the aperture, the shallower the depth of field. Since I was working with a macro lens, trying to get as close as possible to my subject, there isn't a great difference in the depth of field required.

ISO 125 50 mm f /5.6 1/500 second

In the end, I used HDR processing for one group of images, the second group. I then went back and took the "standard" exposure from each group, and brought them one at a time into the Camera Raw dialogue. In an effort to reduce variability, I used exactly the same settings for each image. In Photoshop CS4, Camera Raw allows you a great deal of latitude and many ways of processing your images. As I'm just learning, I stuck with the "Basic" tab which gives options for adjusting the "white balance," the "temperature," the "tint," the "exposure," "recovery," "fill light," "blacks," "brightness," "contrast," "clarity," "vibrance," and "saturation." You also have the choice of clicking on "Auto" to let Photoshop set these ranges, or "Default" which will take you back to the way your camera set the image in the first place. At some point in the future, I'll go into greater depth on each of these various adjustments. For now, I'll leave you with the task of trying to determine if there is, indeed, any visible difference in the five images. I look forward to your feedback.

Photo #2 above processed as an HDR image