Thursday--March 23, 2006
Trail Day—001
Trail Mile--5.2/5.2
Location--Astoria, Oregon
It's a long, long way from Missouri to Oregon, and getting here sure
takes awhile, four days by train and not the least bit of
hitchhiking to be exact. I arrive in Astoria just in time to put my
pack back on and head for Fort Clatsop on the Lewis and Clark River,
some five miles to the southwest. I make it in time to attend the
dedication of the park, the new replica fort, and a trail along the
river to the launch site.
The day is pretty much the same as was that day 200 years ago when
the Corps began their long journey home -- rain and wind. That's
it, however, for "pretty much the same," for at the site of the
Corps' quarters during the winter of 1805-06, not much else is the
same. As far as enjoying any peace or solitude, as far as having a
moment to quietly reflect on that historic day, I sure picked the
wrong one. People everywhere, with lots of praising -- and crowding
around. The new superintendent of the Lewis and Clark Historic
Park, Chip Jenkins, spoke. So did many others, including Fran
Mainella, director of the National Park Service, various tribal
leaders, and a rag-tag member of the modern-day Corps. It was an
okay event as far as celebrations and dedications go. Any more
though, and for this old man, it's all way too hectic and confusing.
Instead of hanging around for the departure of today’s Corps, I
return to the replica fort, which is in the process of being
reconstructed after fire destroyed the one built years ago. Here at
1:00 PM, and in relative peace and quiet, I unceremoniously begin my
own personal long journey home.
Lord, please guide my footsteps; provide a clear path -- in Your
safe-keeping and loving care.
Friday--March 24, 2006
Trail Day--002
Trail Mile--25.7/31
Location--Westport, Oregon
Another great time in Astoria. After checking into the Riverview
Motel again, I stopped once more by the Triangle Bar to see friends
Sharon, Danny, Wiz and Reid. Ahh, just like old times.
On the hike back to Astoria from Fort Clatsop yesterday I was able
to watch the modern-day Corps struggle across Youngs Bay. They
still hadn't made it around the point and into the river by the time
I was climbing the hill into town. A Coast Guard helicopter was
hovering around them the last I saw. Today I picked up a local
paper but there was no mention as to their fate. They were supposed
to row upriver to Tongue Point, the Corps' first campsite during
their return in 1806. I'll give you whatever odds you want today's
bunch didn't make it. The Triangle Bar is right on the river.
Sharon had seen a lone fellow pass in a canoe earlier, but that was
it, no modern-day Corps. I recall seeing a very sleek canoe on a
car-top rack by the Fort, so maybe there is someone heading back
toward Wood River besides the old Nomad. Sure would be nice to have
some company hiking up and over the Bitterroots. We'll see.
I was expecting pretty sloppy weather for the first few days out. I
had been watching the national radar for weeks and the
Astoria/Portland area was being consistently hammered, but after a
morning shower this morning the sky clears and the day turns very
pleasant, and before the end of the day I have to shed my fleece.
An interesting note about history: The Corps tried bartering with
the Clatsops to obtain a second much needed canoe for their return
up the Columbia, but were unable to cut a deal. The Clatsops wanted
way too much. Anyway, there was a special ceremony the other day
during which the local Indians passed off a canoe to the modern-day
Corps. The Corps then went through an elaborate ceremony of their
own to rid the vessel of any spiritual imperfections or impurities.
So that's the history, apparently, as some would have us believe
about how the Corps got their second canoe. Interesting, isn't it,
how after 200 years we can pretty much make history turn out any way
we want! You see, as to the Corps of 1806, they did get a canoe
from the locals of the time -- they stole it!
"proceeded to the Cath lah mah Village...at this village we
purchased a fiew wappato and Dog for our Sick men...The village of
these people is the dirtiest and Stinkingest place I ever Saw..."
[William Clark, March 24, 1806]
Saturday--March 25, 2006
Trail Day--003
Trail Mile--22.5/54
Location--Rainier, Oregon
It still gets dark pretty early, so I had to pull off just after six
last. Found a nice soft spot in a spruce grove. The evening turned
cold; the wind came through, but there was no rain.
I'm out today to another fine one. What a blessing, as I had
thoroughly expected endless days of cold rain. By noon my fleece
comes off again.
As I pass small ponds and the low lands along the Columbia, I hear
the familiar sound of peepers already. And Thursday, there was a
fellow out mowing grass. All good signs! Maybe the old Nomad will
luck out and make it to the western high plains without having to
fight too much bad weather!
In my first journal entry I lamented as to how that day wasn't the
greatest day to be at Fort Clatsop -- too many people. Well today,
guess what! It's spring break and everybody's heading for the
coast. I count, on average, a car every four seconds. US Highway
30 is a zoo; no other way to describe it. By the time I reach
Rainier, my throat is closing and I'm having difficulty breathing.
Exhaust fumes, I'll remember this day for the traffic -- and the
exhaust fumes.
In Rainier now, I check into the Budget Inn. Victor and Betty are
still here. And at the Evergreen Pub, Scott's still runnin' the
show. Very kind people. A warm welcome back for the old Nomad
turns the day!
Oh, neat coincidence: The barkeep at the Evergreen was down by the
docks when Norm Miller came through in his kayak late in '04. Norm,
you'll recall, is the chap who kayaked up the Missouri from Wood
River, hiked the Bitterroots, and then kayaked down the Columbia to
Fort Clatsop. Our paths crossed in the Bitterroots that year. Norm
and I have since become good friends.
On March 26th 1806 the Corps camped across from Rainier, near
present day Longview.
"soon after we halted for dinner the two Wackiacums who have been
pursuing us since yesterday morning with two dogs for sale,
arrived. they wish tobacco in exchange for their dogs which we are
not disposed to give as our stock is now reduced to a very few
carrots." [Meriwether Lewis]
Sunday--March 26, 2006
Trail Day--004
Trail Mile--26.3/80
Location--Scappoose, Oregon
Another enjoyable stay in Rainier. It is a very friendly place. I
wait till eight to check out in order to bid farewell to Victor and
Betty. Betty is a fine artist and she offers a print of one of her
paintings. She'll send it to me -- a beautiful gray wolf! It's a
tough time saying good-bye.
The day starts out cold and clear, then turns cloudy. The wind
starts kicking from the east and brings a few sprinkles intermixed
with light snow. My fleece and mittens stay on all day.
The traffic has backed off and I'm able to breathe much easier
today. It's hammer the miles to Scappoose. Get in just before dark
-- to McDonald's. I'll find a place to pitch somewhere near. Gotta
have my coffee in the mornin'!
Though I began this journey the same day, same hour (only 200 years
later), I'll be proceeding back to St. Louis at a much faster pace
than did the Corps. Before me are clearly prepared paths (roads)
and I won't need to go out hunting for my dinner -- just two of a
number of advantages.
Monday--March 27, 2006
Trail Day--005
Trail Mile--24.2/104
Location--Parkrose, Oregon
Found a very nice spot by the power substation, right next
McDonald's, last night. I'm up at seven to head right in for a
biscuit and some coffee. The local klatch has already formed up and
as I sit, they invite me over. Happy bunch, one and all. We talk
about old Indians (motorcycles), the local police (why they hassle
folks) -- and how far it is and how long it takes to walk to St.
Louis. I'm not the oldest in the group for once. Thanks Bob, Bob,
Bill, Jim, Larry and Hazel.
The day is cranking just fine. Good conversation; fair weather.
Yes, I'm blessed yet again with ideal hiking weather! By noon the
gloves and fleece come off -- again.
With such an unusually clear day, I'm offered striking views of Mt.
St. Helens, Mt. Adams, and Mt. Hood. From the high vantage along
the walkway on the beautifully restored St. Johns Bridge, and as I
cross the Willamette River, I'm afforded views I didn't even know
existed in 2004.
Hammering through Portland on the US30 By-Pass, and along this pub-crawl, I stop again at the Perch Tavern. I had been befriended here
before by the barkeep, Lori, and locals, Nick and Katy. Lori is
still here and she recognizes me the moment I enter. "Nomad, you
hiking again?" Big smile!
Looks like I've made it through Portland one more time, not the
least to be thankful for during this journey. By five I'm in
Parkrose, my final destination for the day. From Carolina Motel I
give Dawn and Paul a ring; dear friends from way back. We're able
to get together and enjoy a fine evening.
Tuesday--March 28, 2006
Trail Day--006
Trail Mile--21.6/0125
Location--Bridal Veil, Oregon
The weather is holding for me; what a blessing. A little hazy, but
the white tops of Mt. St. Helens, Mt. Adams, and Mt. Hood are all
standing bright and tall. I suppose the locals get used to seeing
these most impressive massifs, like anything else I suppose, but if
I moved here, lived here -- it'd take a very long time for me to
quit gawking at them.
I've got a fair amount of industrial outskirts to pound today, then
it's onto the grinder, I-84 for most the rest of the afternoon.
Portland actually looks a little cleaner this time around -- a
little.
Unlike most anywhere else in the country, it's legal to bike and
walk the interstates out here. Actually, I'm probably safer on
divided, limited access highway than any other kind of road. First,
the lanes are separated so I don't have to constantly keep my guard
up for the not-too-infrequent inconsiderate yahoo who has to pass
another vehicle coming up right behind me. I probably do hike too
close to the solid white line at times but it seems I almost always
get a rearview mirror blowing by within inches of my right shoulder
-- just a tad unnerving to say the least. The other great benefit
in hiking the interstate is the full emergency lane. These highways
all have full emergency lanes. So, even though the traffic is
flying low, I've a full lane separating me from harms way. Anyway,
I take to I-84 today and it works out just fine -- until the wind
decides it doesn't want me moving any further east without
considerably more effort. Along with the semi-driven tornados,
pushing the wind to boot is, well, a push.
Early afternoon the valley pinches down and I enter the Columbia
River Gorge. By late evening I'm able to move over to Old US30,
where I cruise on in to Bridal Veil. From here I hike a short
distance further to Multnomah Falls.
Got some decent shots, I think, at the entrance to Columbia River
Gorge, then Rooster Rock, Bridal Veil, Wahkeena, and Multnomah
Falls.
On March 30, 1806 The Corps camped near Vancouver, across from
present day Portland.
"I took a walk of a few miles through the prarie and an open
grove of oak timber which borders the prarie on the back part...we
had a view of mount St. heliens and Mount Hood. the 1st is the most
noble looking object of it's kind in nature...this valley would be
copetent to the maintenance of 40 or 50 thousand souls if properly
cultivated and is indeed the only desireable situation for a
settlement which I have seen on the West side of the Rocky
mountains." [Lewis, March 30, 1806]
Wednesday--March 29, 2006
Trail Day--007
Trail Mile--16.7/0142
Location--Cascade Locks, Oregon
There are a number of hiking trails within the public areas here in
the Gorge. They climb along and around the bluffs and side
ravines, generally between the many high waterfalls. Indeed, this
area I'm passing today has the highest concentration of "high"
waterfalls, more than any other place in North America. I detour
from Old US30 to trek along one of the trails for a distance.
This is a very short hiking day, comparatively, only around
seventeen miles, but I tire from climbing around, plus carrying a
heavier pack (it rained last night and I slept through -- yes, I
hadn't rigged my fly -- everything I have is soaked!).
Hiking the Old US30 Highway, built back in the 20s was a memorable
part of my Odyssey '04 trek, and I find it no less enjoyable today.
If you take a moment, you can read my comments about this old road
at my September 7th Journal entry for that year.
Well, it's day seven. I've been out here a week now, nearly 150
miles. My back's a little sore, the body a tad tired, but looks
like the old legs are going to come back under me one more time. I
think this is going to prove a most memorable journey -- thank you
dear Lord.
The Corps didn't reach the Cascades until April 12th 1806. Much
time was spent exploring the lower tributaries of the Columbia,
notably the Multnomah (Willamettre) and the Quicksand (Sandy).
During that time they encamped above the mouth of the Washougal.
They were also concerned about provisions for their return; so
hunting parties were sent out. Natives descending the river
"...complained much of the scarcity of food among them. they
informed us that the nations above them were in the same
situation..." [Lewis, April 1st 1806] "This morning we came to a
resolution to remain at our present encampment or some where in this
neighbourhood untill we had obtained as much dried meat as would be
necessary for our voyage as far as the Chopunnish [Nez Perces]."
[Lewis, April 2nd 1806]
Lots more pictures today along the Gorge. Pilot Rock, Horsetail
Falls, a hiking trail, a short walk on the Union Pacific Railroad,
the Old Historic Columbia River Gorge Highway, and finally, the
Bridge of the Gods in Cascade Locks.
Thursday--March 30, 2006
Trail Day 008
Trail Mile--19.8/0162
Location--Hood River, Oregon
Cascade Locks is a five star trail town. Everything a tired hiker
could possibly need or want is within less than five minutes walking
distance. The people here are friendly, a change over the last 200
years. They like, and cater to, long distance backpackers (the
Pacific Crest National Scenic Trail drops off the mountain into
Cascade Locks before crossing the Bridge of the Gods on its way from
Mexico to Canada).
In '04 I stayed at the Bridge of the Gods Motel, right downtown,
within the shadow of the bridge. Stayed there again this time
around too. Great hosts, friendly folks. Hiker trash rates. All
whiz-bang new. Thanks Barbara and Roger, for your hospitality.
Had a long, interesting chat with Kristy, waitress at the local
diner. A slow evening, so we talked Lewis and Clark, and Native
American history. Kristy was born and raised right here by the
Locks. Her father, grandfather -- all lived out their lives here.
Her family came from Canada many years ago. Probably helped widen
the ruts in the old Oregon Trail, which passed the Cascades. Kristy
talked about the many Native Americans, dear friends she went to
school with (a far away glint here), and how their heritage -- and
hers seems now a mix.
Good to be in last night; hard rain. But to my good fortune the
good weather holds. I'm out to a cool, cloudy morning, and by noon
it fairs up and turns most pleasant. Trekking the grinder today,
I-84, all the way to Hood River. Much heavy truck traffic. The
constant racket, rush, and confusion wear me down. However, there's
raw, expansive beauty here in the Gorge. So, as I keep one eye on
the eighteen-wheelers, I try, with the other, to keep that beauty in
focus.
A few more good pictures, I hope. I'm in by three.
The Corps spent April 9th through the 12th 1806 below the rapids
(Cascades). The snowmelt/spring runoff was in full tilt causing the
Corps much difficulty in "hawking" their perogues/canoes and
portaging their gear. The Indians were a constant annoyance, a
problem that greatly angered Lewis.
"we passed several beautiful cascades which fell from a great
hight over the stupendous rocks which cloles [closes?] the river on
both sides nearly...the most remarkable of these casscades falls
about 300 feet perpendicularly over a solid rock [Multnomah, and the
high falls area discussed in my journal entry yesterday]..." [Lewis,
April 9th 1806]
"...this portage is two thousand eight hundred yards along a
narrow rough and slipery road...at present the whole distance is
extreemly difficult of ascent...the water appears to be upwards of
20 feet higher than when we decended the river...many of the natives
crouded about the bank of the river where the men were engaged in
taking up the canoes; one of them had the insolence to cast stones
down the bank at two of the men...three of this same tribe of
villains the Wah-clel-lars, stole my dog this evening...sent three
men in pursuit of the thieves with orders if they made the least
resistance or difficulty in surrendering the dog to fire on them..."
[Lewis, April 11th 1806]
Friday--March 31, 2006
Trail Day--009
Trail Mile--22.7/0185
Location--The Dalles, Oregon
Don't know why I stopped by the Hood River Best Western last
evening, but I did. Best Westerns are fine top-o-the-line motels,
and the Hood River facility ranks right up there with the best of
them. Anyway, at reception I told Beth and Dan my story about
hiking the L&CNHT. They both listened with sincere interest, then
Beth asked what I could afford. When I told her, she didn't frown or
say a word -- just went right to her computer and arranged a room
for me. One of the very finest rooms I've ever stayed in while
trekking, bar none. Thanks Beth and Dan, for your kindness to this
old man; I had a great stay!
Another fine day in the making weather-wise. Back to the I-84
grinder. I'll be on this bruiser, off and on, for a number of days
yet, until I'm out of the Columbia River Gorge. Old old US30, Old
US30, and now I-84, all were paved down over the ruts of the old
Oregon Trail. At the Memaloose Rest Area near Mosier, there's a
fine Oregon Trail Interpretive Pavilion. I stop and get a few
pictures.
From the interstate today, there are many fine views into and across
the Columbia River Gorge. The current is really moving swiftly here
as the river drops to the sea. I've been climbing steadily since
leaving Fort Clatsop. There, and by the mouth of the Columbia
River, at the Pacific Ocean, the elevation was zero. Over the past
nine days, and as I've been steadily climbing the Gorge, tomorrow,
near Biggs Junction, the Columbia will be standing at 157 feet.
The last part of the hike today I'm back over on old US30. Thank
you, Lord! Near The Dalles now and after climbing a couple of
fences, then dashing across four lanes of I-84, I'm at the Columbia
Gorge Discovery Center and Museum. The admission fee is a little
steep for me, but the kind lady at reception allows me to drift the
hall and get some fine pictures.
By early afternoon I'm in The (new) Dalles. It takes another hour
and change to reach The (old) Dalles. I check into the little
mom-n-pop Oregon Motor Motel, right next the post office, a little
before four -- just like in '04. It's been a fine hiking day!
Saturday--April 1, 2006
Trail Day—010
Trail Mile--25.0/0210
Location--Rufus, Oregon
Bad electric storm last evening. Buckets of rain accompanied by a
full percussion/light show. Never before heard the likes of such
thunder, as it echoed/reverberated back and forth across the walls
of the Gorge. Charmed again; sure glad I was in!
This morning I'm out to a cold and misty time of it. But again, by
late morning the clutter burns away -- and gives way to another
beautiful day. Looking over my journal entries for the days through
here in '04, I daily lamented the annoying and troublesome wind. It
seemed to blow constantly, right up the Gorge, so hard at times that
I literally had to lean into it to make any headway at all. Well
now, the wind's still here -- It hasn't changed direction, but I
have! So comes help, finally, to bounce the old Nomad along.
Numerous songbirds and a wide variety of waterfowl are ever abundant
now. Ducks and geese in great numbers. On April 17th 1806 and
encamped at Dallesport, Ordway wrote: "a beautiful warm
morning...the Small birds of different kinds are Singing around us."
Ha, I got stopped by the Oregon State Police on I-84 this
morning. Was hiking with the traffic, which I almost never do.
Walking the "I-ways" out here is okay, but only if you're going
against the traffic. Didn't know that. The officer was most kind,
and very inquisitive about my trek. She asked if I tend to run into
problems with troublemakers along the road. She also asked if I had
a hiding place for my money and credit card. I just smiled, told
her about the little prayer {A Path by the Side of the Road) that I
recite each and every morning -- that that took care of it! She
smiled back, acted almost apologetic for hassling me; told me to be
careful -- and it was okay to keep on hiking the with-traffic side.
First chance however, I hopped the center barrier anyway, to hike
against the traffic, then I wave to her when she comes back the
other way an hour later.
I'm getting a fair distance ahead of the Corps now (time-wise, save
being 200 years late). From April 15th 1806 and through the 18th of
that year the Corps remained at Dallesport, set to the task of
trading for and procuring horses for the journey across the western
high plains and back over the Bitterroots. As they continued
upriver, and through the Long Narrows, they also continued bartering
for and purchasing horses -- with miserable success. The whole
ordeal, from the tone of the captain's journal entries, must have
been totally frustrating. On April 20th 1806, from just above the
Long Narrows (where I recently passed), Lewis wrote: "[The
Teninos] are poor, dirty, proud, haughty, inhospitable, parsimonious
and faithless in every rispect, nothing but our numbers I beleive
prevents their attempting to murder us at the moment. This morning
I was informed that the natives had pilfered six tommahawks and a
knife from the party in the course of the last night...one horse
which I had purchased and paid for yesterday and which could not be
found when I ordered the horses into close confinement yesterday I
was now informed had been gambled away by the rascal who had sold it
to me and had been taken away by a man of another nation." That
day Clark wrote: "I could not precure a Single horse of those
people, dureing this day at any price...I used every artifice decent
& even false Statements to enduce those pore devils to Sell me
horses."
The following day, April 21st 1806, near the Deschutes River
(passed by the Nomad today), after days of effort by all, the Corps
was still unable to fully shift travel from water to land. At that
point Lewis became pretty much unhinged. His journal entry tells it
all: "Notwithstanding all the precautions I had taken with
rispect to the horses one of them had broken his cord of 5 strands
of Elkskin and had gone off spanseled. I sent several men in surch
of the horse with orders to return at 10 A.M. with or without the
horse being determined to remain no longer with these villains.
they stole another tomahawk from us this morning I surched many of
them but could not find it. I ordered all the spare poles, paddles
and the ballance of our canoe put on the fire as the morning was
cold and also that not a particle should be left for the benefit of
the indians. I detected a fellow in stealing an iron socket of a
canoe pole and gave him several severe blows and mad the men kick
him out of camp. I now informed the indians that I would shoot the
first of them that attempted to steal an article from us. that we
were not affraid to fight them, that I had in my power at that
moment to kill them all and set fire to their houses..."
Gass was apparently so surprised by Lewis' actions that he
wrote: "While we were making preparations to start, an Indian
stole some iron articles from among the men's hands; which so
irritated Captain Lewis, that he struck him; which was the first act
of the kind, that had happened during the expedition."
Sunday--April 2, 2006
Trail Day—011
Trail Mile--28.0/0238
Location--Arlington, Oregon
If you've been following my itinerary from day-to-day, you will have
noticed the last two locations, for yesterday and today aren't
there. That's because I've decided to stay on the Oregon side of
the Gorge. I'll not be crossing the Columbia this journey.
There'll be plenty of time to enjoy the miles in Washington after I
pass Port Kelly.
I'm out this morning to another cold, drizzly day, but again, by
around eleven the day fairs up and turns warm and clear. Off come
my fleece jacket, mittens and headband.
The wind wants to come along and cause me trouble. By noon it's
blowing every which direction, trying to zero in on me. It gives up
by one and the Columbia turns completely flat. Of all the days I've
hiked beside this river I've never seen it glass over like it has
today. If the Corps ever experienced a day like this, I know they
would have enjoyed it. By three-thirty, the wind returns. It's got
me figured out this time and it comes straight at me from the east,
pushing hard. The last three miles of most any day are the tough
ones, today especially so.
We're back on daylight savings time again. Yippee! Wish we would
stay on it all year. I really like the late evening light. I
recall a number of years ago; there was a push to keep daylight
savings time year-round. One of the excuses then, at least in
Missouri, was the farmers would have to do their morning milking in
the dark. Taking a lantern into the barn was a fire hazard. So the
rationale was that the cows could give milk better in the daylight,
which left the rest of us in the dark come evening.
As I climb the Gorge, the climate change is striking. Down by
Portland, and beyond, it's rain forest. Here, there are no trees,
just grass -- and rocks. Before I leave the Gorge, it will become
even more arid. Near the Dalles, on April 17th 1806, Lewis wrote:
"the plain is covered with rich virdue of grass and herbs from
four to nine inches high and exibits a beautiful seen particularly
pleasing after having been so long imprisoned in mountains and those
almost impenetrable thick forrests of the seacoast."
Monday--April 3, 2006
Trail Day—012
Trail Mile--27.0/0265
Location--Boardman, Oregon
I'm out to another gloomy morning, cold with mist. The sun tries
burning through early morning, but not today. The wind is back
first thing. It's got my number now; hits me straight out of the
east -- blow your hat off kind of wind. I lean into it all day,
just like I did on the westbound trek.
The day remains cold, and by three the rain, mixed with sleet comes
along with the wind for good measure. It's a hard twenty-seven; I
just lean into it and go.
East of John Day Dam, and in the vicinity of Rock Creek, the Corps
finally shifted their travel entirely to land. That first night,
April 24th 1806, they camped near Blalock Oregon, passed by me
yesterday.
"the natives had tantalized us with an exchange of horses for our
canoes in the first instance, but when they found that we had made
our arrangements to travel by land they would give us nothing for
them I determined to cut them in peices sooner than leave them on
those terms, Drewyer struck one of the canoes and split of a small
peice with his tommahawk, they discovered us determined on this
subject and offered us several strands of beads for each which were
accepted. we proceeded up the river between the hills and it's
Northern shore...most of the party complain of the soarness of their
feer and legs this evening; it is no doubt caused by walking over
the rough stones and deep sands..." [Lewis, April 24, 1806]
Tuesday--April 4, 2006
Trail Day—013
Trail Mile--30.0/0295
Location--Hat Rock SP, Oregon
This is going to be a fine hiking day, cool and cloudy, just a
little wind coming at me. No gloves, no headband, only an open
jacket this morning.
Either the state police or local sheriff came to check me out first
thing almost every morning. It's the sheriff's turn today. No ID
required, just want to know what's up, why I'm out here on the
interstate -- if I'm okay. All have been kind and have shown
interest in my journey.
This is a day I've been looking forward to; not a big deal, but to
me, I guess it is -- I'm off the I-ways for this hike. Three more
miles this morning and I've got I-84 behind me. Been on it, on and
off (but mostly on), since Portland. There'll be plenty more I-ways
to cross over or under, or hike alongside before this trek is over,
but this is the last one I'll be on. Don't get me wrong, the
interstate is not a bad place to be, safe enough, just so much
commercial traffic plus long straight stretches disappearing to the
horizon. Tends to wear on a fellow. Yup, glad to have I-84 in my
rearview!
The Gorge is opening up now, the plateau much lower, so the I-way
climbs up and out of it from time to time today. I look behind me
often, but it's just too cloudy, too hazy to see the seventy or so
miles back to Mount Hood. Next snowcaps I'll see will be the
Rockies.
Near Irrigon, and on US730 now the plateau is covered with
roundy-roundy irrigation systems. The climate here is arid, very
dry, only 8-9 inches of rainfall per year. But the soil is loamy
and good for a variety of field crops, even vineyards. I recall
wondering, while passing Irrigon in '04, where that unusual name
came from. I remember chuckling and whispering to myself, "Don't
know, but without irrigation it'd sure be gone!"
In Umatilla I'm back on my planned route again. Arrive here early;
so after a short stop to get some Easter cards off, I head back out
and hoof it on to Hat Rock State Park, some 5-6 miles up the road.
Unusual rock formation, shaped like a huge Quaker's hat, or the one
the little fellow wears for St. Patty's Day.
"By the 27th, the party reached the country of Chief Yellept and the
Wallawallas, relatives of the Nez Perce. The chief rode up with six
men and was delighted to see the white men, as they were to see
him. Yellept was chief of a village of some fifteen lodges, with
perhaps 150 men, and many horses. It was currently set up about
twelve miles below the junction of the Columbia and the Snake, on
the north bank. [Stephen Ambrose, Undaunted Courage]
Wednesday--April 5, 2005
Trail Day—014
Trail Mile--22.0/0317
Location--Near Touchet, Washington
It was nearly dark when I arrived at Hat Rock SP last evening,
so the nearby Good Sam Campground Store was already closed. I hiked
on over by the park water tank and pitched for the night. Other
than the freight trains running across the river, all was quiet.
This morning I beat it back to the store, which has a grill. Here
Sally, the storeowner greets me. Oh yes, she's in early making
biscuits, and coffee's brewed and ready -- and she invites me in.
Not much going on this morning, except it's darking over and the
rain is setting in. "Not much activity around here when it's
raining," Sally remarks, not complaining. She sets to fixing me a
fine breakfast, complete with a freshly baked biscuit. I try to
drain her coffee. Plenty of time to chat. Sally tells me of her
adventures, from ranching a 50-section spread in Arizona to touring
Europe. Doesn't take long to realize, deep down, she's just a
wanderlust, like me. Breakfast is Sally's treat -- and she sends me
out with grub for the evening. Thanks’ Sally!
By the time I hit the road, it's raining steady. The wind tries,
but decides to back off and let the rain do the job on me today.
And a fine job it does, indeed. No letup till dark.
I content myself with hammering on up the Gorge. The rains, the
clouds, the fog, all combines to create an eerie beauty to the
place. At two, I put Oregon behind me. Ten more states to go. By
four, I reach US12, and leave the Columbia Gorge behind me. I'll
follow the Touchet River, then the Walla Walla River, to Walla
Walla, generally the return route followed by the Corps, and later
by the Oregon Trail.
Along about here, in late April 1806, things greatly improved for
the Corps, at least as to relations with the natives. They were
greeted again by Chief Yellept who, along with his villagers, had
invited the Yakima to join them for an evening of festivities.
"...a little before sunset the Chymnahpos [Yakima] arrived; they
were about 100 men and a few women; they joined the Wallahwollahs
who were about the same number and formed a half circle around our
camp where they waited very patiently to see our party dance. the
fiddle was played and the men amused themselves with dancing about
an hour. we then requested the Indians to dance which they very
cheerfully complied with...about 550 men women and children sung and
danced at the same time." [Lewis, April 28th 1806]
Thursday--April 6, 2006
Trail Day—015
Trail Mile--20.0/0337
Location--Walla Walla, Washington
The wind blows here. Perhaps you've picked up on that if you're
following along. On the plateau above the Columbia River Gorge,
there's nothing to stop the wind, save perhaps five or six hundred
huge wind-driven turbines. But they don't stop it either, they just
turn with it. All night last, from where I'd pitched in a dry gulch
below the highway, I could hear the moan of the night wind as it
passed the turbine props, kinda like the wind in the tall pine, but
not really -- more low-pitched and mournful.
The day dawns clear and cold. I'm having a time getting the old
jitney cranked and haulin'. The damp cold is partly the cause.
Mainly my feet are so much mush from the soaking yesterday. The
feet must be broken in for both dry and wet. The dry I've got; the
wet I'm workin' on.
No complaints though. Been very fortunate this start-up. I've
suffered the usual shin splints, sore back, aching knees and joints,
but not nearly as bad as the beginning of other treks. I've been
out here two weeks now, hammering 20-30 mile days. My legs are back
under me one more time. It's a blessing, pure and simple -- it's a
blessing. Thank you, Lord!
Not much in the little berg of Touchet (rhymes with juicy -- locals
say it ain't French!). There's a Chevron with a Subway. I go for
the breakfast bun and doubles on coffee. The klatch has taken up
the far corner. David, Manuel, and Gary. They take me in. Happy
conversation about the old school days, that stuff. Good fun.
Out of the Chevron, the gloves and headband come off. Gentle breeze
to my back. I can see the western extent of the Rockies and many
snowcaps to my east. Be there soon. I'm now taking (generally) the
eighty-mile shortcut followed by Lewis and Clark, through Waitsburg
(where I'll be tomorrow), Dayton and Pomeroy. When the Corps
crossed the Columbia River on April 29th 1806, aided by Yellept,
they had 23 horses and a Nez Perce guide to help them onward to the
Snake River, west of present day Clarkston.
"...the indians informed us that there was a good road which
passed from the columbia opposite to this village to the entrance of
the Kooskooske on the S. side of Lewis's river...we knew that a road
in that direction if the country would permit would shorten our rout
at least 80 miles..." [Lewis, April 27th 1806]
Friday--April 7, 2006
Trail Day—016
Trail Mile--21.2/0358
Location--Waitsburg, Washington
Walla Walla is a fair-sized town; hiking through takes awhile. I'm
headed for Waitsburg today, continuing on US12, up and over a
portion of the western high plains. The Corps did not pass this
way. Rather, they continued following the Touchet River, west of
Walla Walla, as it curved up and around to present-day Waitsburg.
From these plains I'll descend, as did the Corps, down to the Snake
River at Clarkston/Lewiston. But generally I've been, and will
continue, climbing. Where I turned from the Columbia River Gorge at
Wallula Junction, the Columbia stood at 348 feet. By the time I
reach the Snake River, day after tomorrow, the river there is at 725
feet. Yet continuing along US12, up the valleys of the Clearwater
and Lochsa, I'll climb steadily up and into the high-ranging
Bitterroots.
Around Waitsburg there's more annual rainfall than for areas just
west. In these rolling high plains, wheat is king, and during the
summer it's wheat, 360, to the horizon.
"I see very little difference between the apparent face of the
country here and that of the plains of the Missouri only that these
are not enlivened by the vast herds of buffaloe Elk &c which
ornament the other." [Lewis, May 1st 1806]
Upon leaving their lands, and speaking of the Wallawallas on May
2nd 1806, Lewis noted "...that they are the most hospitable,
honest, and sincere people that we have met with in our voyage."
Saturday--April 8, 2006
Trail Day—017
Trail Mile--9.8/0368
Location--Dayton, Washington
My first mail drop was in Walla Walla. There I received cards
from dear family and friends. It's always a morale booster --
hearing from folks that are following along. My next mail drop
(scheduled) will be in Great Falls around the end of this month. My
address there will be: M. J. Eberhart, c/o General Delivery, Great
Falls, Montana 59401. It'd be a joy to hear from y'all! Please
mark your mail "Hold for L&C NHT Hiker.”
In Waitsburg last, and as I turned by the White Stallion Restaurant
and Lounge, a car pulled beside and parked. Out came this lady --
straight to me. "There's a purpose in what you're doing, isn't
there?" she remarked with a beaming smile. "My granddaughter and
me, we saw you on our way to Walla Walla, then again on our return
trip home. We knew you didn't want a ride. You're walking for a
purpose, aren't you?" she continued. And so, there by that fine
establishment (hers), I met Gaye and granddaughter, Hillary. I
smiled back, returning her kind greeting, then told her about my
return trek -- the 200th anniversary of the return of Lewis and
Clark. A broader-beaming smile then, and Hillary was beaming too!
"Did you notice the name of my place -- White Stallion? You know
what it stands for, don't you?" she asked. Gaye continued smiling
and nodding in agreement as I recalled the story of the Wallawallas
and Chief Yellept, who had befriended Lewis and Clark in the fall of
1805 -- then had come again to aid and assist the Corps on their
return. During that time of renewed friendship and celebration,
Chief Yellept offered the Corps a "very eligant white horse"
[Lewis, April 28th 1806]. And so, Gaye's inspiration for naming
her place, "White Stallion." Gaye invited me in as her guest. She
fed me a huge cod dinner, all the while sitting and entertaining me
with friendly conversation. Also befriending me was waitress, Tammy
Jo. Thanks, Gaye, Hillary, Tammy Jo. Your kindness and
hospitality, your generosity, they'll remain in my memory.
With an hour remaining till dusk, I hoofed it on up to Lewis and
Clark State Park, there to find a grassy spot back under the trees.
Ahh, this adventure is truly turning to one of fulfillment and
reward.
The rain began around five this morning, driven by a cold wind out
of the southwest. I break camp in it, and then hasten the remaining
distance to Dayton. This has been a short day. In Dayton, Shailesh
offers the old Nomad a hiker trash deal at his fine Blue Mountain
Motel.
I'm in!
"it rained, hailed, snowed & blowed with Great Violence the
greater portion of the day. it was fortunate for us that this storm
was from the S.W. and of course on our backs." [Clark, May 3rd 1806]
Sunday--April 9, 2006
Trail Day—018
Trail Mile--26.9/0394
Location--Pomeroy, Washington
An amazing "coincidence" last evening. I had walked downtown to see
the local sights and to meet a few of the local folks. Being late,
the only place open was the bar and grill. One seat was left at the
bar, between an old gent and a younger chap. I took it. Struck up
a conversation first thing with the old gent. In awhile, the
younger fellow joined in. He's working the wind turbine project.
Came to find he was from Dahlonega, Georgia, the son-in-law of a
dear friend there, Juddy -- who's since passed away. Bill, it was a
pleasure meeting you. When you get back home, my regards please, to
Juddy's mother, Georgia Mae, his widow, Donna, his daughter (your
wife), Johanna, and all the other kids.
What a blessing, the short day yesterday, with plenty of time to
rest. It was much needed.
I'm out at eight to a glorious cool, clear morning. Folks have been
telling me about the Corps' camp of May 2nd 1806, located just
outside of town. I check my maps and find I can take a detour and
pass by there. So it's off to the May 2nd camp I go.
I find it to be a pretty amazing place. The camp is set entirely
with iron silhouettes of all the members of the Corps, even the
Indian guides, and all the horses. I spend much time taking
pictures -- and cleaning the mess of catsup, mayo, mustard, and ice
cream off all the plaques so I can photograph them.
The hike today is mostly along gravel roads, a shortcut across a big
horseshoe loop in US12, up and onto the plateau, then down to
Marengo, a little crossroads community, then back up to the plateau,
to finally descend back down to catch US12 coming around. Beautiful
views all along, including many huge wind-driven turbines not here
when I passed in '04. Along the way I meet an old chap, name of
Pepper Nelson -- runs Stirrup T Farms in a "little" place called
Covello -- which, in the early 1900s boasted a population of 107.
There are only two people living there now, Pepper and his wife!
By six, I'm entering the streets of Pomeroy. By six, the rain is
also entering the streets of Pomeroy.
On May 3rd 1806, the Corps camped by Pataha Creek, near present-day
Pomeroy, here in Garfield County, Washington. Nearing the
confluence of the Snake and the Clearwater, the Corps was beginning
to run into the Nez Perce again.
"we met with We-ark-koomt [Nez Perce Chief]...he is the 1st Chief
of a large band of the Chopunnish nation [again, Nez
Perce]...[Lewis, May 3rd 1806]
Monday--April 10, 2006
Trail Day—019
Trail Mile--31.5/0426
Location--Lewiston, Idaho
This is going to be a long grind-it-out day. Cold rain gets me
started, and then slacks off from time-to-time as the morning
progresses. But by one, and as I'm working the climb up to Alpowa,
which crests just shy of 3,000 feet, the wind starts kicking,
driving hail along with it. On the top of Alpowa I see a very large
gray wolf. He's grubbing around for field mice, totally oblivious
to my presence. When he finally sees me, he hightails it,
literally, up and over the rise, and in a flash, he's gone.
The Corps also climbed up and over Alpowa. While on the flat,
ranging crest, and on May 4th 1806, Clark wrote: "the soil is
extremely fertile...it produces great quantities of the quawmash a
root of which the natives are extremely fond."
During the 200th '04 anniversary, the Corps' outbound journey,
there were many folks following the Lewis and Clark National
Historic Trail, in automobiles, motor homes, and on bicycles. To my
knowledge, no one else hiked the trail, although there was a lone
kayaker/hiker who made the distance, by water and then by land. His
name is Norm Miller, and you can check out his amazing adventure at
www.lewisandclark-2004.com. If you followed my journey during
that year, you'll recall it took 124 days and over 3,100 miles.
This year, it being the 200th anniversary of the Corps' return from
Fort Clatsop to St. Louis -- and there being unfinished business as
to my involvement with the anniversary, I decided to return to Fort
Clatsop and do the return trek. So on March 23rd, at one o'clock,
200 years to the day (hour) I began my personal return journey. This
odyssey is going to be charmed. I can tell already. I'm seeing so
many old friends, and making new ones.
Many times during the '04 odyssey, and again this trek, folks have
commented to the effect: "Well, the Corps of Discovery was a voyage
by water, not a journey by land." And indeed, both the captains
referred to the journey as a voyage from time-to-time. They did
indeed struggle for great distances, up and down many great rivers,
during their "voyage." However, as through here, and for months,
the Corps journeyed by horseback -- or they simply walked. And even
when they had horses, they still walked, leading their heavily laden
"pack stock" along.
If you've read the journals of the members of the Corps, more
specifically, those of Lewis and those of Clark, you will have come
to know and understand the many individual talents and interests of
these two men. Clark was the boatman, the navigator, and the
cartographer. Lewis was the naturalist, the entomologist, and the
anthropologist. While the Corps traveled by water, Clark spent most
of his time as leader of the boat crews. Lewis on the other hand,
took to the lands along, traveling for the greater part on foot. He
has been credited with the discovery of many species of plants and
animals.
The hunters that supplied meat, the nourishment and energy that kept
the Corps going, those Kentucky boys and the greatest hunter, the
half-breed, Drouillard -- the Lord only knows how many thousands of
miles they walked hunting, ranging the plains, the valleys, and
mountainsides in search for game.
Oh, but could I have lived 200 years ago. Could I have been born
and raised along the Ohio River. I would have been one of those
Kentucky boys chosen by Clark. Oh, to have been a member of that
remarkable history making/changing expedition, one of the most
incredible adventures of all recorded time. Oh, to have been there
-- to have been one of them. Could my dream, my wish be made true,
right here, right now where I stand, pack shouldered and ready,
you'd see but a puff of smoke -- and I'd be gone. And there, in the
complement of the Corps, there in their journals, those documents of
time -- you'd read my name.
Descending from Alpowa, I reach the upper Hells Gate section of the
Snake River by four. At six, I put the Snake River, and Washington,
behind me.
On May 4th 1806, the Corps encamped on the banks of the Snake River,
a short distance below present day Clarkston/Lewiston. In his
journal for that day, Lewis wrote: "we met with Te-toh, ar sky,
the youngest of the two cheifs who accompanied us last fall [to] the
great falls of the Columbia...these indians recommended our passing
the river [Snake] at this place and ascending the Kooskooske
[Clearwater] on the N.E. side...thither they promised to conduct
us..."
That day in his journal, Gass wrote: "we halted at an Indian
lodge, and could get nothing to eat, except some bread made of a
kind of root I was unaquainted with. We had, however, a dog, which
we bought from the Indians...scanty allowance for thirty odd hungry
men."
Tuesday--April 11, 2006
Trail Day—020
Trail Mile--27.6/0453
Location--Lenore, Idaho
I had somewhat dreaded this day. Up through Clearwater River
Canyon the river is squeezed hard both sides by the canyon walls,
the road jammed in between the river and the bluff. Consequently,
the road has no emergency lane, either side, and the white line
(road edge) is hard against the crash rails. In '04, I passed
through this section of the lower canyon in driving rain, the wind
and the eighteen-wheelers being the drivers. However, today turns
out totally different. I've got more room on the upriver side, the
commercial traffic is thin -- and it's a beautiful, warm and sunny
day!
The Clearwater isn't so clear this time of year. It's roiling and
boiling, brimful with snowmelt, and whatever else it can bring down
with it. The Corps crossed the Snake River below the confluence of
the Clearwater (near present-day Clarkson/Lewiston), thus putting
them on the north side of the Clearwater, where a number the Nez
Perce villages were located. On the third day's march up the
Clearwater, the Corps "passed" the river to the south side on May
7th 1806.
By late afternoon, the day darks over and the rain begins, but I'm
out of it as I've reached my destination for the day, the Nez Perce
Reservation and the Thunderbird Smoke Shop. La Verne is still here,
still working evenings. She welcomes me, and in a short while I'm
again given permission to pitch behind the fireworks shed -- just
like in '04.
"We proceeded up the river 4 miles to a lodge of six
families...Here our guide recommended the passing of the river. He
informed us that the road was better on the south side and game more
abundant...Accordingly, we unloaded our horses and prepared to pass
the river, which we effected by means of one canoe in four hours."
[Lewis, May 7th 1806]
Wednesday--April 12, 2006
Trail Day—021
Trail Mile--15.8/0469
Location--Orofino, Idaho
It'll be a steady climb today, up US12, which goes up by the
Clearwater. At Lewiston the river stood at 725 feet. When I reach
Orofino this evening, and at that place, the Clearwater stands at
982 feet.
The day starts iffy, drizzle but mild. The rain soon relents and
the day turns fair. The highway continues by the bluff one side,
the river the other, scant room for a road. I hike outside the
crash rail for a fair distance, but the going is a difficult
off-camber and the rocks loose and unsafe. I finally give it up to
take my chances once more with the eighteen-wheelers. On the
outskirts of Orofino I stop for my picture by an old dugout canoe in
front of a neat little craft shop. Then it's on to Canoe Camp,
above Canyon Creek, where in 1805 the Corps took to the water for
the remainder of their voyage to the sea.
In Orofino, and at the White Pine Motel, I'm greeted again by Dave,
who recognizes me immediately. The rain soon returns -- and stays.
Sure glad I beat it in!
"At a distance of two miles, we passed a lodge of two
fires...situated on a small branch which falls into Mosquito
[Canyon] Creek. Soon after we arrived at camp, two boys, with
Willard, set out to the river near the place we made the canoes
[Canoe Camp] for our saddles and a cannister of powder we buried
there..." [Lewis, May 9th 1806]
Thursday--April 13, 2006
Trail Day—022
Trail Mile--22.1/0491
Location--Kamiah, Idaho
Looks like the rain is here for the duration; came down hard all
night, and this morning it continues, as I don my poncho and head
into it.
I'll be hiking new territory for the first time on this trek,
staying US12 to Lolo, instead of climbing to the high plains by
Weippe. Locals have told me not to go up on the mountain trail; "If
the snow isn't hip deep, then it'll be pure mud,” they tell me. So
I'll stay the highway and connect back at a place called Powell
Ranger Station, just below Lolo Pass.
The Corps was unable to traverse the Bitterroots until the end of
June. On the highways, I'm content I'll make it through just fine
mid April. I'm cutting across with Lewis! Plans are to be in Great
Falls by the end of this month.
The canyon stays tight with the river. More no-shoulder road most
of the day but the ruggedness of the canyon makes for breathtaking
scenery. The rain stays all day, with clouds running the canyon.
This section between Orofino and Kamiah (cam-e-eye) is spectacular.
The rain, the veil it drapes by the canyon walls, and the clouds
running low with the ridges visible above; it's just magic. So the
eighteen-wheelers that shove and push me, which totally soak me, do
not dampen my joy for this day.
I'm into Kamiah by four, to the Kamiah Inn, where hiker trash is
king!
I have been frustrating all day about calling my dear friends, Gene
and Mollie Eastman. They live in Weippe. I would dearly love to
see them both again, but I'm not going by way of Weippe this trek,
and it's just too far for them to come down from the prairie, into
the canyon, then up to Kamiah. So better judgment prevails -- and I
send them an email.
At this point, I am now one month (less 200 years) ahead of the
Corps. On May 8th 1806, the Corps again met The Nez Perce Chief,
Twisted Hair. He had been the Corps' main guide down the Columbia
to Celilo Falls. He had also cared for their horses during the
winter of 1805-06. At camp near Orofino the captains told the Nez
Perce about their expedition and the new government they would be
subject to. All the while, they were collecting their horses, and
on May 13th 1806, they moved on to Kamiah. The next day they
"passed" the river to the east side where they encamped. They
remained here until June 10th, waiting for the snow to melt in the
Bitterroots. The Corps did not name this camp, however, historians
have called it Long Camp or Camp Chopunish, the name Lewis and Clark
used for the Nez Perce. Other than at the two winter forts, the
Corps remained here longer than at any other camp. At Camp
Chopunish, Lewis soon became restless. He wanted to get moving, to
return to St Louis.
"I am pleased at finding the river rise so rapidly, it no doubt
is attributeable to the melting snows of the mountains; that icy
barier which separates me from my friends and Country, from all
which makes life esteemable, patience, patience." [Lewis, May 17th
1806]
Friday--April 14, 2006
Trail Day—023
Trail Mile--29.6/0521
Location--Lowell, Idaho
I'm out at seven to a cold, mushy morning. No rain yet, but
looks are, it'll arrive soon. Ahh, but hey, by eleven the sun
breaks through, off come the gloves and jacket -- and the remainder
of the day turns perfect!
More steady climbing today, up and into the upper reaches of the
Columbia River watershed. At Kooskia, a little village I pass late
this morning, the Clearwater River stands at 1,140 feet. Just above
here, the Clearwater comes together from the middle and south
forks. US12 follows the middle fork. Further up, and by early
evening I reach Lowell. Here the Clearwater River has its
beginning, at the confluence of the Selway and Lochsa Rivers. The
Lochsa is a formidable river in its own right, and the highway will
follow it ever upward for over sixty miles, to just below Lolo Pass.
US12 is much more friendly now, as the traffic thins and the
shoulders open up. This gives me time to look around and enjoy the
scenery and the wildlife -- large mergansers, mallards, Canadians.
I hear turkey calling all along today. And I hear the turkey
hunters practicing their calls. Tomorrow is the beginning of spring
turkey season.
On the high ridges and peaks above the canyon, which are becoming
higher and more rugged around each bend, I can see much snow. The
expedition was detained almost five weeks, waiting for the snow to
melt on these high ridges above Weippe Prairie. The parallel route
I've chosen will prove a much safer way, and I'll not be detained.
I am now two months ahead of the Corps -- less 200 years.
I reach the fine Three Rivers Motel and Resort in Lowell by five.
Here the owners, Marie and Mike Smith, who’ve hosted guest for over
three decades, greet me. I give Marie my little two-minute Lewis
and Clark trek talk, and she takes me in -- special handling for the
old Nomad! It's been a long day. A good soaking for my tired old
bones, then up with the feet; that's the trick. Thanks Marie and
Mike for your kindness and hospitality!
"we have now been detained near five weeks in consequence of the
snows; a serious loss of time at this delightfull season for
traveling. I am still apprehensive that the snow and the want of
food for our horses will prove a serious imbarrassment to us as at
least four days journey of our rout in these mountains lies over
hights and along a ledge of mountains never intirely destitute of
snow. every body seems anxious to be in motion, convinced that we
have not now any time to delay if the calculation is to reach the
United States this season; this I am detirmined to accomplish if
within the compass of human power." [Lewis, June 14th 1806]
Saturday--April 15, 2006
Trail Day—024
Trail Mile--30.1/0545
Location--Wilderness Gateway Camp
When I tell you this trek is charmed, it truly is. Just when I
reached Three Rivers last evening, the rain came to stay, all night,
steady and hard. And oh my -- it's still getting with it this
morning. Okay, so the trek is only half charmed!
Just before reaching Lowell last evening there was this highway
warning sign: "Last diesel, last gas for 64 miles." Actually, that
meant last pretty much everything for the next 64 miles. The
Bitterroots here, the Lochsa (say Locksaw) Wild and Scenic River,
this vast, rugged section of the splendid Bitterroot Mountains,
remains one of the most remote wilderness areas in all the lower
48. I'll force this canyon for the better part of the next three
days as I work my way up the Lochsa, from Lowell to Lochsa Lodge,
just below Lolo Pass. From where I picked up the Lochsa, at Lowell,
to where I'll leave it day-after-tomorrow below Powell Ranger
Station, I'll climb over 2,000 feet up the Lochsa Canyon.
I head over first thing for a few provisions at the little Lowell
Store. Then it's next door for a final hot meal at the Wilderness
Cafe.
My poncho goes on -- and stays on all day. Not much traffic, but
lots of die-hard kayakers playing in the rapids of the Lochsa, an
Indian word, which means, "rough water,” an understatement for
sure. This river is almost totally whitewater, roaring and crashing
as it tumbles down. The climb is steady for the whole day. During
this climb to the Bitterroot Divide at Lolo Pass I had figured on
cold, hard weather, so the relentless, biting rain this day hasn't
been a disappointment. However, with the rain, clouds, and
snowcaps, has come the opportunity, and I do believe I've gotten
some pretty impressive photos.
The Lolo Motorway, which is a high clearance two-track road laid
down pretty much over the old Indian (Nez Perce) Trail, is just
above me on the ridge. Through here in late June of 1806, joining
the Corps were five young Nez Perce braves. Two were going to visit
their allies, the Salish. The other three were headed for the Great
Falls of the Missouri -- and as fate would have, they were to become
a Godsend to the Corps. For, on the 27th, Lewis wrote: "We were
entirely surrounded by these mountains...it would have seemed
impossible ever to have escaped; in short, without the assistance of
our guides [the three braves] I doubt much whether we...could find
our way." The sight would "...damp the sperits of any except such
hardy travellers as we have become."
With the aid of the three Nez Perce guides, the Corps traversed the
rugged Bitterroots in only six days, where, in the autumn of 1805,
the outbound traverse cost them twelve days -- and nearly their
lives.
I am now two months and a few days ahead of the Corps (less 200
years), and from this point, and indeed for the remainder of this
trek to Gateway Arch in St. Louis, I will have to hike hard to
maintain this lead. For, when the Corps started moving again, up,
into, and across these rugged Bitterroots, they had 65 horses,
enough to carry both men and baggage. Ahh, and once over the Great
Divide, the Rockies behind them, from there it was literally all
downhill, by the waters of that mighty river, up which they had
labored and struggled for so long and so very hard.
Easter Sunday--April 16, 2006
Trail Day—025
Trail Mile--30.0/0575
Location--Jerry Johnson Camp
Actually, I didn't quite make it to Wilderness Gateway Camp last,
but chose instead to pull up just short at the old historic ranger
station. The rain had really worked me over all day. I was pretty
much soaked and could sense the early stages of hypothermia, not a
good feeling. The rain hadn't let up. In fact, it had been
steadily increasing in intensity with a mix of sleet. Making camp
in this sort of weather is a real problem; at least I've always
found it to be. I can never seem to get my pack off and open, my
tent up, and me and my gear in without a thorough soaking. The old
ranger cabins have porches, the first and only sign of any kind of
shelter from the storm all day -- I pulled over!
The cold rain, sleet, then snow-mix continued all night. And this
morning it's still at it. It takes all the will I can muster just
to shoulder my pack and head back out into it again. Thankfully, my
thoughts turn to the brighter side -- that this day, and perhaps
tomorrow, these next two days might well be the very worst I'll have
to deal with the remainder of this journey. That thought gives me
the will and determination to hit it and go.
Once out and moving, I find the old jitney very responsive, as I get
right up to normal operating temperature. It's hit the cruise
button time -- I motor, looking up only long enough to dodge the
eighteen-wheeler tornados. Yes, they're running on Easter Day!
The steady climb continues as the constant roar of the grand Lochsa
fades to my subconscious. The canyon pinches tight all the day, its
gray-cold walls standing hard against the river -- and the highway.
The sharp, blind curves are countless. So too, the many harried
motorists, in that instant, as they fly around to meet me hugging
the rock.
By late evening I've hammered another thirty, having stopped only
long enough for water, some needed relief, or a quick photo.
As I reach Jerry Johnson Camp, which is gated and closed for the
winter (it's still winter up here) the day darks dramatically. The
rain, which has been continuous, turns first to rain/sleet, then to
rain/sleet/wet snow, then to pure snow.
Lucky for me, the Lochsa Rangers have seen fit to leave the toilet
unlocked. Oh yes indeedy, any port in a storm! I'm in, and happy
to be out of it yet again. The sleet and rain continue all night,
but I'm warm and dry on the toilet floor -- stretched out in my
Feathered Friends bag, on my comfy Therm-a-Rest pad. What a
blessing. Thank you kind and thoughtful Lochsa Rangers. And thank
you, dear Lord!
"on an elevated point we halted by the request of the Indians a
few minutes and smoked the pipe. on this eminence the natives have
raised a conic mound of stones of 6 or eight feet high and on it's
summit erected a pine pole of 15 feet long [The Smoking
Place]...from this place we had an extensive view of these
stupendous mountains principally covered with snow like that on
which we stood..." [Lewis, June 27th 1806]
Monday--April 17, 2006
Trail Day—026
Trail Mile--11.3/0586
Location--Lochsa Lodge, Idaho
I've a very short day today, the hike on up to Lochsa Lodge, which
is a grand establishment in the finest tradition. So I'm out with a
bounce in my step, into the rain and snow. No matter. The cold and
dampness will not dampen my spirit.
After an hour, the sun breaks through, the roadway steams, and then
dries. Off come the poncho and the gloves for the first time in
days. What a change!
In the second hour, and as I pass the spot where the Corps climbed
from the Lochsa back up to the ridge, and where I turned from the
highway to climb the same ridge in '04, the day darks over, it turns
immediately cold again -- and the snow returns.
In a few more miles, a yellow Idaho Highway Department truck goes
by. In minutes it passes again, the other way. Then again in just
minutes it passes the third time, then stops and turns, and returns
-- to pull off just ahead of me. I'm thinking: "Oh man, now what
have I done!" As I approach the truck, comes a fellow to greet me,
with a beaming smile, and a brand new blaze orange vest. "We have
some crazy drivers around here; thought you could use this." he says
-- and so, I meet Ron Moss, Maintenance Supervisor at Powell. While
he's slipping the vest over my pack I get the latest on the
weather. Hey, it's going to fair up some, and I should have much
better conditions once I'm over the pass tomorrow. Thanks, Ron, for
your thoughtfulness!
With less than a mile to the lodge, and as the road climbs yet
higher, leaving the Lochsa, the snow returns once again, so hard and
with such huge flakes it becomes difficult to see the road ahead.
Fortunately, I'm at the turnoff to Lochsa Lodge, and in moments I'm
standing, dripping wet, by the lodge desk. Gail, the hostess, and
Ron, the lodge owner are there to greet me.
Pack off and aside, I'm seated, to have a piping hot cup of coffee
placed in my hands!
Folks, it's sure good to be back to Lochsa Lodge!
"We continued our route along the dividing ridge over knobs and
deep hollows...At 12 o'clock we arrived at an untimbered hillside of
a mountain with a southern aspect just above the fishery [and just
above Lochsa Lodge]...we decided to remain at this place all night,
having come 13 miles only." [Clark, June 28th 1806]
Tuesday--April 18, 2006
Trail Day—027
Trail Mile--28.2/0615
Location--Beyond Lolo Hot Springs, Montana
What a grand time at Lochsa Lodge. The place is pure class. So
too, the folks there. Lochsa is a family business, owned and
operated since 1984 by Don and Andrea Denton. In the tavern, I met
Mike, Tom and Karen who work at the lodge. Also Ron and Lorraine,
whose stalled van had left them stranded. We spent a grand
afternoon together -- much fun for the socially starved Nomad!
A fine cook there also, great food. Dang, I forget his name. But I
do know that he's the great grandson of the famous actor, John
Wayne. Hmm, wonder if he's a Morrison! Wasn't John Wayne's given
name Marion Morrison?
I am very thankful the Dentons took me in last. The snow continued
off and on all night, and there are flurries, and it's cold this
morning. Ahh, but I was comfortable and warm. Thanks all dear
friends (one more time) at Lochsa Lodge!
Ron and Lorraine walk with me back out to US12 and I'm on my way to
Lolo Pass a little after nine. The steady climb gets the old jitney
humming right off. In just a short distance I reach the
cathedral-like stand of western red cedar known as DeVoto Grove,
named for author, historian and conservationist, Bernard DeVoto. Over
half a century ago he often camped in the grove while editing the
journals of Lewis and Clark. His ashes are scattered here among
these sky-bound sentinels. DeVoto's definitive work, his research
and writing about the Corps of Discovery, especially as to the
journals of Lewis and Clark, that work has been the hallmark on the
subject for years.
I linger here. It is quiet, peaceful, a spiritual place, like in a
cathedral. Western red cedar takes 300-400 years to mature to the
likes of those. If undisturbed, they can thrive for thousands of
years.
It has been trying to fair up this morning and at times I can
actually see passing patches of blue, but the dark skies rule and
the snow returns often as I continue ascending.
By two, I've reached the pass. The sky finally clears and the day
becomes blinding-bright, as the sun bounces and reflects from the
enormous drifts and mounds of snow. I linger again, at the
beautiful interpretive center. It's still closed, but the snowplows
have been around the drive. I take many pictures. The scenes are
remarkable.
As I turn to descend into Montana, I lose an hour; it's a time
change from Pacific to Mountain. Continuing down, I reflect on the
past few days spent here in these rugged Bitterroots. I recall the
mixed feelings experienced while passing by the Clearwater Bridge at
Greer -- where I crossed after descending from Weippe Prairie in
'04. I had so wanted to go that way again, as did the Corps in
1806. But I am content now, pleased that I've had the opportunity
to see and experience the very best of these mountains, the rugged
beauty that abounds in the Bitterroots.
I have previously passed and have seen most of the historic places
along the Nez Perce Trail, those written about in the books, like
Snowbank Camp, Indian Post Office, The Smoking Place, Indian Grave.
Now, having ascended the canyons of the Clearwater and the Lochsa, I
know why the old Indian trail took to the high place!
I have also experienced the unexcelled beauty and grandeur, the
vibrancy and mighty power, the rushing waters of those rivers that
crash and tumble in pure whiteness, bound by the canyon walls.
There are many things one can experience only while walking. Up
through the canyons of the Clearwater and Lochsa, I was constantly
amazed at the sheer number of tributaries, the small trickles and
rivulets, the larger brooks, creeks and streams, which entered the
main canyon from the side hills. Of course, one can see them while
passing swiftly by. However, one cannot experience, let alone
explain, the utter bewilderment as to the seemingly never lessened
magnitude/volume of the main waters -- above each confluence. For
miles, indeed, for days, I marveled as to this phenomenon. I
actually began believing their true sources to be unseen, to be
infinite, their origins some other place, from another time, far
above, distant, beyond the canyon walls.
So, though a sense of sadness yet lingers, I depart Idaho with a
deep feeling of appreciation and accomplishment. Appreciation for
the path the Lord chose for me, straight through the bosom of
Nature's best. Accomplishment? It's the satisfaction of knowing
that I've followed in the shadows and in the footsteps of the Corps,
best I could. Too, it is the satisfaction of knowing that I truly
understand, perhaps better than anyone alive today, the hardship and
sacrifice of those courageous, undaunted Americans -- of 200 years
ago.
So long Idaho, good-bye to your remarkable lands, good-bye to your
kind and generous people.
By late evening I arrive Lolo Hot Springs. I had planned on
stopping off here for the evening. But even now, during the
off-season, it's way too touristy for me -- eighty bucks for a
cabin? I don't think so. The Corps managed to stay free, don't you
know!
"when we descended from this ridge we bid adieu to the
snow...after dining we continued our march seven miles further to
the warm springs [Lolo Hot Springs]...both the men and indians
amused themselves with the use of a bath this evening. I observed
that the indians after remaining in the hot bath as long as they
could bear it ran and plunged themselves into the creek [100 yds. or
so to Lolo Creek] the water of which is now as cold as ice can make
it..." [Lewis, June 29th 1806]
Wednesday--April 19, 2006
Trail Day—028
Trail Mile--27.6/0643
Location--Missoula, Montana
What a night. I managed to keep warm, kinda. With the clear
skies this side of the Bitterroot Divide, last night the temperature
plummeted to the mid 20s. I can tolerate the cold, the pain and
discomfort it brings. But, and I know I've said this many times
before, the cold quickly turn my fingers to so many sticks. It's
downright frustrating. Actually, it's scary not being able to tie
my shoes, zip my zippers, pack my pack. Somehow though, I always
manage. Thank you, Lord, for the patience you've given me! I'm up
and out, grudgingly -- wearing every stitch of clothing I've got.
I pass countless thousands of perfectly shaped evergreen today, any
one of which could proudly stand as our nation's historic and
traditional White House Christmas Tree. Their stature, their
perfect symmetry, their pure beauty, especially those with
snow-festooned boughs, they're truly stunning.
Just above Lolo, and as I look up (in the cold, I pretty much stay
hunched over), I see a horse coming at me straight up the
centerline. There's a parade of cars creeping along behind him.
Closer now, and as I gaze quizzically (and although the animal is
trotting just like a horse), I realize it's not a horse. Horses
don't have antlers! Perhaps that's because this horse is a moose, a
very large moose. "I can't believe this!" I whisper to myself.
"Nobody's going to believe this -- gotta get a picture." I continue
uttering under my breath. As I reach for my camera, and as the
moose spots me -- and is coming toward me, finally do I realize it
might be smart to skip the picture taking and head for the fence,
which I promptly muster the gumption to do! As I clear the ditch,
the moose snorts my way, and then turns again to the highway
centerline -- and I heave a sigh of relief. As the first motorist
passes, downing his passenger window, he shouts: "How's that for a
moose sighting!" Ahh yes, a moose sighting, indeed. Last I see, the
parade continues around the bend, led ever on by the trotter!
Just shy of Lolo, I reach Travelers' Rest State Park. As I head
over, I'm wondering how I missed this place before. At the
temporary park building, I meet Darby, Dale and Loren -- to find out
this park location didn't exist in 2004.
The actual site of Travelers' Rest wasn't discovered until just
recently. For many years the camp was thought to be some distance
from here, near where Lolo Creek enters the Bitterroot River.
However, when a coat button was found nearby, it got folks looking
for clues near the present park site. Found nearby were more than
just clues. Archeologists found conclusive physical evidence! They
found a mercury-tainted latrine (medicine given members of the Corps
by the captains contained mercury). They also found a musket ball,
a blue trade bead, and in the remains of a fire ring, a puddle of
melted lead (determined through isotope study to have come from a
mine in Kentucky, where lead for the expedition had been procured).
These and other discoveries confirm that the Corps' campsite
locations truly rest -- within Travelers' Rest State Park.
Darby takes time to give me a personal tour. On the way she shows
me the site of the cook's campfire, where they bedded down, and the
location of the latrine. Darby, Dale, Loren, I thoroughly enjoyed
the time spent with you. Your enthusiasm is certainly contagious!
It's still early afternoon when I turn the corner toward Lolo, so I
decide to hoof it on down to Missoula.
"Descended the mountain to Travellers rest leaving those
tremendious mountanes behind us -- in passing of which we have
experiensed Cold and hunger of which I shall ever remember." [Clark,
June 30th 1806]
"The true legacy of the people who trod this land before us is
that their story is America's story -- bold, determined,
courageous. At Travelers' Rest, that legacy continues by engaging
our imaginations, our intellects, and our hearts." [Travelers' Rest
Brochure]
Thursday--April 20, 2006
Trail Day—029
Trail Mile--26.4/0669
Location--West of Potomac, Montana
Descending from Lolo Pass, the Corps (and the old Nomad)
followed Lolo Creek to Travelers' Rest, next to the Bitterroot River
at present-day Lolo. There the Corps rested for three days,
detailing and finalizing plans made during the long winter at Fort
Clatsop. Their decision: To split the Corps at Travelers' Rest.
Lewis was to take a shortcut o'er "The Road to the Buffalo," from
present-day Missoula, across to the Great Falls of the Missouri
(Great Falls). And Clark was to return to Three Forks, generally
over their outbound route, and from there cross to and descend the
Yellowstone River. They were to meet again at the mouth of the
Yellowstone sometime in August.
On July 3rd 1806, Lewis and his party of nine men departed for the
Great Falls of the Missouri.
It is this path taken by Lewis and his party that I am now
following.
From Lolo, I proceeded along and down the Bitterroot River to its
confluence with Clark Fork River at Missoula. There I bid farewell
to good old US12, which I'd been trekking for many-a-day. In
Missoula, I crossed the Clark Fork, as did Lewis, to pick up the
Blackfoot River -- and its canyon. I am ascending there today,
along SR200, a fine wide-shouldered highway that generally parallels
Lewis' route. I'll be following SR200 off and on across most of
Montana.
A couple of diversions (from the din of traffic) today. First, I
see my first eagle this journey, gliding fixed-wing on the thermals
above the canyon. I've seen many ospreys the past number of days,
but this is the first bald eagle. And the other? Well, seems this
mutt wanted a chunk of the old Nomad. He started growling as
soon as he saw me, skidded around his fence, jumped the ditch, and
shot straight at me, snarling and bearing his teeth. I turned and
deftly (been practicing) let him have it up side the head with my
left hiking stick. This immediately helped him make the right
decision -- to go back home.
Lewis and his men had a devil of a time with the skeeters along the
river here. For me, dicing it up with the dog today was a better
and much quicker deal!
"All arrangements being now compleated for carrying into effect
the several scheemes we had planed for execution on our return, we
saddled our horses and set out I took leave of my worthy friend and
companion Capt. Clark and the party that accompanyed him. I could
not avoid feeling much concern on this occasion although I hoped
this seperation was only momentary..." [Lewis, July 3rd 1806]
Friday--April 21, 2006
Trail Day—030
Trail Mile--026.3/0695
Location--Ovando, Montana
Within six miles of my destination for the evening last, I stopped
for a short time at the Potomac General Store, there to be
befriended by Jess, who gave me bottled water, enough for the night
and the morrow.
Another cold night. More sticks for fingers as I fumble to break
camp this morning. Patience, patience, with the coming of spring,
this cold weather will surely pass.
At the Clark Fork River, the Indian guides turned from the Corps,
for fear of being confronted by their enemy, the Blackfeet. Without
the guides, and finally on a well-marked road as the guides had
assured, Lewis made amazingly good time across this shortcut, often
covering 25-30 miles per day. They made it to the Great Falls of the
Missouri in just nine days, saving over 400 miles and many weeks,
compared to journeying their outbound route of 1805. With a little
luck (and a tailwind) I hope to also make the crossing in just nine
days.
By eleven this morning, I'm able to pack away my jacket and gloves
as the day turns perfect, warm with the least breeze (tailwind) from
the northwest -- perfect!
By four I arrive at the little village of Ovando. First (and last)
stop is the Blackfoot Commercial Company and Inn, established in
1897, and currently run by Howard Fly. He's a Lewis (without Clark)
Expedition buff. We enjoy much good conversation. He presents me
with a very fine, full-color pin depicting Lewis, his Newfoundland
dog, Seaman, and in commemoration, the date: July 6, 1806, the day
Lewis passed near present-day Ovando.
The inn is an old, old frontier-style wood-frame building, but with
completely renovated rooms up. Howard puts me in #1, right in the
front.
The Corps having just separated, those emotions fresh --
additionally, Lewis and his men were then faced with bidding
farewell to their Indian guides, friends of long standing. Excerpts
from journal entries that day reveal the thoughts and feelings of
the Corps, and of the Indian braves:
"it is but justice to say, that the whole nation [Nez Perce] to
which they belong, are the most friendly, honest and ingenuous
people that we have seen in the course of our voyage and travels." [Gass,
July 4th 1806]
"these affectionate people our guides betrayed every emmotion of
unfeigned regret at separating from us." [Lewis, July 4th 1806]
Saturday--April 22, 2006
Trail Day—031
Trail Mile--26.2/0721
Location--Lincoln, Montana
The wind came, then it turned cold the evening last. But I
remained warm and comfortable in my cozy room above the old inn.
This morning, shortly after Howard opens the store, the local klatch
arrives. Coffee's on. Yes! Oh, and this is when I learn that a
huge muffin comes with the room. And there are cookies from a
klatch member. Yes, yes! Thanks, Howard, for taking me in, for
your kindness, and for your hospitality. Ovando's a neat little
town -- reminds me of the little village where I was raised in the
Ozark Highlands of Missouri.
Got a twenty-six to knock out today if I want to reach Lincoln, my
planned destination. So, I'm out and trekking SR200 a little after
eight. The morning presents cool and cloudy, no wind; perfect for
hammering the miles. I tuck and go. At three per, the hike today
will take nearly nine hours. This should put me at the door to
Lincoln around five. That'll work -- just gotta keep the hammer
down and the sticks clicking. Hey, I'm a workin' man. This is my
job, what the heck!
The meadows, fields, and woods about Ovando are marked by "knobs,"
as described by Lewis. He actually called the area "Prairie of the
Knobs," for the rumpled landscape that's shaped by countless oddly
formed hillocks, moraines left by glacial activity some 10,000 years
ago. The landscape's knobby appearance was formed as sediment
deposited, dropped during the last glacial ice melt. Ha, perhaps
the "global warming" evidenced during that period was caused by an
over population of Indians -- who built way too many fires!
All along, for the better part of the morning, and off to the north,
stands there a horizon-framed, uninterrupted wall of massifs, rugged
snowcaps, the largest continuous wilderness area in all the lower
'48. It begins just south of, and abuts, Glacier National Park. It
consists of the Bob Marshall ("The Bob"), the Scapegoat, and the Big
Bear Wilderness areas. This vast mountainous region, passed only by
primitive roads, and the Continental Divide National Scenic Trail
(CDT), is home to the grizzly bear, mountain goats, wolverines, elk,
moose, deer, and wolves.
Last year, and beginning on June 23rd, I had the great-good fortune
to come back to Montana, here to hike the CDT, through Waterton/Glacier,
and the entire wilderness complex.
As I stand here now, gazing in silence and awe at the pure white
escarpment, which rises to the Heavens before me, comes to mind the
old familiar expression, "been there, done that." Ahh, but those
words are so inappropriate, so very trite. For, at the same
instant, am I am brought to tears with the realization -- that of
God's Grace -- priceless gifts to this old man.
By late afternoon, and as forecast, a storm front presses through,
bringing cold wind and a scattering of rain. I arrive Lincoln at
five, just as planned (along with the storm), here to be greeted and
welcomed by Sandy, owner/manager of the Blue Sky Motel. After
listening attentively to my two-minute pitch about hiking the Lewis
(less Clark) National Historic Trail, she takes pity -- and takes me
in. Oh yes, it's a hiker trash deal for the old Nomad!
"these plains I called the prarie of the knobs from a number of
knobs being irregularly scattered through it...Cottonwood and pine
grow intermixed in the river bottoms mosquitoes extreemely
troublesome. we expect to meet with the Minnetares [here, the
Blackfeet] and are therefore much on our guard both day and
night...passed several old indian encampments...passed a creek [Arrastra
Creek, passed today] on the N. side 12 yds. wide shallow and clear."
[Lewis, July 6th 1806]
Sunday--April 23, 2006
Trail Day—032
Trail Mile--30.5/0752
Location--By Dearborn River, Montana
I had a memorable time in Lincoln. I recall coming down from the
divide and re-supplying here during my CDT trek last year. And I
remember Lincoln for its hospitality and kind folks. Sandy
recommended Lambkin's of Lincoln for a nourishing home-style supper,
so that's where I headed. Great food, kind staff. Thanks Rosie and
Sally -- and Bobbie, you're a fine cook. Thank you too, Sandy, for
your kindness to this old man!
At the Quick Stop I check with truckers coming down from the pass
this morning. Their rigs are caked and coated with ice, but all
tell me the pass is being kept open.
The forecast is for an iffy day, wind and snow, especially at the
higher elevations. Tomorrow doesn't look the least bit better, so I
pick up a few supplies and decide to go for it. The morning begins
sun and no clouds but quickly switches to clouds and no sun -- along
with southeast wind and intermittent sleet.
During the morning the wind intensifies to 20-30 mph, gusting to who
knows. It keeps coming straight at me, driving cold, cold sleet.
By the time I manage Rogers Pass, it's two. I had planned to spend
the night somewhere near the pass, but there's nothing up here but
ice and wind-driven sleet. Motorists are crawling and sliding
through. The roadway is pure ice for the last mile up and the first
mile down. I push on and into it. I had hoped for improved
conditions once through the pass, but the wind and sleet hit me even
harder as I descend. By five I'm out of the worst of it, down and
onto the high plains prairie. There are no trees here, no
protection anywhere for miles.
Late evening, the highway drops to the valley of the Dearborn
River. There's shelter here, cottonwood and scrub, but the land is
posted, both sides. I look on up the road, at the long hill ahead
that climbs back to the prairie. I know there'll be no place to
camp up there for miles. I've made a rule never to venture onto
posted land, but I'm totally beat. It'll be getting dark soon. The
sleet continues and it's turning very cold. What to do? Easy, I
decide to break my rule.
Just as I'm through the gate and hooking it back, down the highway
come two pickups towing stock trailers. Both cowboys spot me. Both
keep rolling. On the posted land now, and by the river, I'm looking
for a sheltered spot where I won't be seen. Just at dusk I settle
for a small ravine choked with alder-like brush. It's deep enough
and far enough away from the rancher's two-track to conceal my
little tent. I pitch and roll in.
I'm no sooner settled than I hear this old pickup pull to the gate.
"Oh, great!" I'm thinking. One of the cowboys that spotted me has
sure enough called the owner, and he's come to flush me out. I
settle back in my tent and wait. In a moment I hear the old truck
pass on the two-track above my camp, to continue on up the river.
In less than five minutes he returns, passing very slowly. Back at
the gate he turns off his engine. "Oh my," I'm thinking, "if he
walks the fifty yards or so to the edge of this little ravine, he'll
spot me for sure." Time seems to stand still. I try to hold my
breath, to listen. In another moment, the truck cranks, the old
fellow passes the gate, closes it behind him -- and is gone.
Whew! What a frightening time. I'll be up and out of this place
early; that's for sure!
Lewis and his men turned from the Blackfoot River and followed Alice
Creek up to near the Great Divide, a little north of Rogers Pass,
then crossed at a place misnamed Lewis and Clark Pass.
"passing the dividing ridge betwen the waters of the Columbia and
Missouri rivers at 1/4 of a mile. from the gap which is low and an
easy ascent on the W. side..." [Lewis, July 7th 1806]
Monday--April 24, 2006
Trail Day—033
Trail Mile--34.7/0787
Location--Near Sun River, Montana
After dark the wind finally died down. By midnight, the sky had
cleared and it was turning increasingly cold. Earlier, I'd had no
problem preparing for the night. I just kept all my clothes on from
the day, every stitch I had with me.
There's frost everywhere this morning, including inside my tent and
on my fly. There was a hard freeze for sure last night. It takes
me forever to break camp. I have to constantly stop and bury my
hands under my armpits or in my groin. I'm finally out and climbing
back to the prairie by seven-thirty. I haven't seen the rancher
again. Thank you, Lord!
The sun is out, but the clouds are trying their best to return.
Looking back at the wall of mountains, their snow-covered slopes
glistening pure white in the morning sun, I stop for a moment of
thanks. The Bitterroot Mountains, and the main backbone of the
Rocky Mountains, they're in my rearview now. Hiking them was a
challenging and memorable time, but I'm happy and thankful to be
through safely.
The day remains cold, due to the 20-30 mph wind coming straight at
me from the northeast. Here in the prairie, and at the top of each
rise it is possible to see a distance of over an hour's hike ahead.
The views up here on the high plains prairie are totally
unobstructed, 360, save the scattered buttes, so what one sees any
given time is just more unobstructed high plains prairie.
By mid afternoon the highway drops to follow the valley of the
Medicine (Sun) River, to Great Falls. Lewis and his party descended
from the mountains and passed this way July 7th-9th 1806.
"The descent was easy, through hills and hollows. The men could
talk only of buffalo, but none were encountered...The next day, the
party crossed the Dearborn River and closed on the Medicine River,
where they camped." [Ambrose, Undaunted Courage]
Tuesday--April 25, 2006
Trail Day—034
Trail Mile--21.6/0809
Location--Great Falls, Montana
My camp last was behind a row of round hay bales along the highway.
With dusk approaching and little traffic, I managed to cross the
rancher's fence and conceal my tent without being seen -- and there
were no "No Trespassing" signs! Another frosty night, but I manage
quite well in my tent, on my pad, and in my Feathered Friends bag --
with all my clothes on.
Today is going to be considerably more pleasant. The wind has
diminished and moved around to the south, and the skies are clear.
The day soon warms and I'm able to remove my poncho, my jacket, my
headband, and my gloves for the first time in days. I think by the
time I'm passed Great Falls, summer will be on its way.
Descending to the Great Falls of the Missouri, and near White Bear
Islands, Lewis' party saw thousands and thousands of buffalo.
Joseph Fields had killed a large one on the 9th near Simms where I
passed last. It was the first they'd dined on buffalo since the
previous July.
By three, I'm in Great Falls, to meet and cross the Missouri for the
first time this trek. I pause to look, but see no buffalo around
here today. At this juncture, and in '04 I had yet nearly 1,200
miles to go to reach Fort Clatsop, Cape Disappointment, and the
Pacific Ocean. Lewis' (and my) shortcut across from Missoula to
Great Falls has shortened this journey considerably.
"...when I arrived in sight of the whitebear Islands the missouri
bottoms on both sides of the river were crouded with buffaloe I
sincerely belief that there were not less than 10 thousand buffaloe
within a circle of 2 miles arround that place." [Lewis, July 11,
1806]
Wednesday--April 26, 2006
Trail Day—035
Trail Mile--21.4/0830
Location--Belt, Montana
Great Falls is a fine city, as large cities go. My mail drop
worked. Maps for the next segment were right here waiting. Great
trek support; thanks Dwinda!
Items/things I need from time-to-time but don't want to carry every
day, those things I send ahead to myself, General Delivery, in what
is known in hiking circles as a "bounce box." Oh yes, my bounce
box, sent ahead from Walla Walla, was also waiting right here for me
at Great Falls. And cards from friends -- thanks!
Mail drop days are always slow days, getting back out and trekking.
Today's no exception. I finally shoulder my pack and head out of
town at noon. Been keeping my eye open for a Wendy's all the way
from downtown, but no luck. Got the craving for a frosty. Lots of
casinos though. I probably pass 40-50 before I get out of town.
From downtown Great Falls to Belt is a little over fifteen miles, so
I've a short day. Forecast is for fair weather with 20 mph west
winds. It's dead on. There's heavy traffic, but a full emergency
lane keeps me from harm. The route I'm following around to the south
of the Missouri generally follows to the portage route used by the
Corps in 1805 and again in 1806. Getting past the falls was a long,
grueling ordeal, and moving all their gear took many trips.
At Great Falls, Lewis further split his crew. To explore the
Marias, he took six horses, Drouillard and the Field brothers. The
others stayed to again portage gear to Lower Portage Camp. They
were to meet again at the mouth of the Marias.
I'm in Belt by early evening to pull up at the Black Diamond Bar and
Supper Club. Lots of interest by locals in my trek. Charlie
prepares a fine steak for me. I passed this little village by in
'04, as it's a mile down, way down, from the highway. Glad I came
down this journey. Pitched by Little Belt Creek for the night.
"When Capt. Lewis left us, he gave orders that we should wait at
the mouth of Maria's river to the 1st of Sept., at which time,
should he not arrive, we were to proceed on and join Capt. Clark at
the mouth of the Yellow-stone river, and then to return home: but
informed us, that should his life and health be preserved, he would
meet us at the mouth of Maria's river on the 5th of August." [Gass,
July 16th 1806]
Thursday--April 27, 2006
Trail Day—036
Trail Mile--13.8/0844
Location--Raynesford, Montana
It's another perfect day for hiking. Cool and clear, with a 20 mph
breeze at my back. I'm in Raynesford a little after twelve, so I
decide to click a few miles off the 26 scheduled tomorrow to
Stanford. Reach the little village of Geyser by early evening,
where I head over to the Cabin Creek Bar for a sandwich and a couple
of cold ones.
This is Charlie Russell country. All along yesterday were to be
seen the backdrop of mountains and buttes used as backdrops in
Charlie's works. Most prominent is Square Butte, which looms on the
horizon for miles, and will be visible for the better part of two
days.
By late evening and on a crown of the prairie, I hang a left onto a
gravel two-track, which leads over and down into a coulee. I find a
spot in a little wash to pitch for the night. It's been another
great hiking day.
On July 17th 1806, Lewis reached the Teton River. On that day he
wrote: "at 5 P.M. we arrived at rose [Teton] river where I
proposed remaining all night as I could not reach maria's river this
evening...the Minnetares of Fort de prarie and the blackfoot indians
rove through this quarter of the country and as they are a vicious
lawless and reather an abandoned set of wretches I wish to avoid an
interview with them if possible. I have no doubt but they would
steel our horses if they have it in their power and finding us weak
should they happen to be numerous wil most probably attempt to rob
us of our arms and baggage; at all events I am determined to take
every possible precaution to avoid them if possible."
Friday--April 28, 2006
Trail Day—037
Trail Mile--26.3/0870
Location--Stanford, Montana
The sun warms my little tent to awaken me a little after seven.
It's such a joy breaking camp without having to withstand the cold.
I'm out to another cool, clear day, with a gentle breeze to my
back. Gotta cherish and remember these great hiking days!
The prairie is rolling now. Popping every rise, and from that
vantage, it is possible to see the highway stretching before me for
miles. Cars pass and reach that pinpoint on the horizon in only
minutes. Two hours later, I'm still grinding toward that point.
Mid-morning comes -- and comes this old fellow up the shoulder on
his Quad-Trak. He stops by me, smiles, and then asks where I'm
headed. Here I meet Tom Evans, rancher/owner, Staple Bar Ranch. I
tell him about my hike. He talks about his ranch, hunting, climbing
mountains, and the hard times, from time-to-time, with his cattle.
Folks out here all seem content and happy. No difference for Tom
Evans. Told me he could have got his Masters Degree -- could have gone to
Washington. Whew, no wonder he's happy here in Montana! Great
meeting you, Tom. Thanks for the encouraging words. Ahh yes --
"Where never is heard a discouraging word, and the skies are not
cloudy all day."
I'm in Stanford a little past noon to check into the little Sundown
Motel run by Ray and Marty Blank -- same as before.
After setting out from Great Falls, and the following day, Lewis
reached the Marias River. "I keep a strict lookout every night, I
take my tour of watch with the men." [Lewis, July 18th 1806]
Saturday--April 29, 2006
Trail Day—038
Trail Mile--22.8/0893
Location--Hobson, Montana
Stanford is one of the friendliest little places it was my pleasure
to visit in 2004, and it certainly has maintained that fine
reputation this time around too. Kind folks all about, and the
grocery, post office, library, bar and grill are right by. Ahh, and
the good folks at the Sundown Motel. God-fearin' people, generous
and kind.
I'm in the Judith Basin now, named by William Clark in honor of his
sweetheart, Julia Hancock. This section of the high plains prairie
is amply watered, providing great grazing range and incredibly vast
areas for grain and grass crops.
It's another perfect hiking day. By noon I'm able to change to my
short sleeve shirt for the first time this trek. The winds at my
back, the road shoulders are wide, I'm feeling great, and the
traffic's tolerable. What a life!
Got a 23 to knock out to reach Hobson. I manage it by four. The
Black Bull Company Saloon and Steak House, which was closed the last
time through, is open for business today. Lots of pickups out
front, but I'm the only one at the bar. The local cowboys have a
card game going in the side room. I have a cold one and work my
email and journals. Prime rib is the fare in the dining room
tonight. I'll be there!
When the card game breaks up, Jim Mikkelsen stops on his way out.
We talk a spell. Saw him in the bank in Stanford yesterday. Been
in the area fifty years now. Came here with nothing. He raises
cattle on his own spread down by Utica, where Charlie Russell
started his love affair with the high plains of Montana. Don't know
how big his spread is -- out here you don't ask folks how much land
they got. Learned that the last time through. It's nobody's
business!
The dining room here at Black Bull doesn't open till five, so I
saunter on over to the Elk Ridge Saloon, just across the street. A
group of locals are elbowing the bar. I pull up and strike a
conversation with Pat and Mack. They're celebrating their
anniversary. Soon came their friends that run the Office Bar in
Moore, with a lovely bouquet of flowers to help the couple
celebrate.
Steve, friendly owner/bartender/CC&BW. He and all show much
interest in my journey, and there are soon two free drink tokens in
front of me. I decide to save them for souvenirs. Steve inquires
where I'll be staying tonight. When I tell I'll probably be
pitching out by the railroad tracks, he invites me to spend the
night in his camper out back behind the bar. Oh yes, my momma
didn't raise no dummy!
Prime rib, a couple tall cold ones, good friends -- and a warm, dry
place to rest my tired, weary bones. Yup, been a fine day!
During his exploration of the Marias, Lewis had avoided contact with
the Blackfeet, but on July 26th 1806 near present day Cut Bank
Montana, the unwanted meeting occurred.
"I had scarcely ascended the hills before I discovered to my left
at the distance of a mile an assembleage of about 30 horses, I
halted and used my spye glass by the help of which I discovered
several indians on the top of an eminence...this was a very
unpleasant sight, however I resolved to make the best of our
situation and to approach them in a friendly manner. [Lewis]
Sunday--April 30, 2006
Trail Day—039
Trail Mile--23.4/0917
Location--Lewistown, Montana
A fine stay in Hobson last. Thanks, Steve, for your kindness
and generosity. I slept soundly in your little travel trailer.
I'm out this morning to a very mild day, so am able to start without
my fleece or gloves for a change. Heading from town, on my way back
out to the highway, I take a shortcut along the railroad tracks for
the first mile.
Just as I reach the road, pulls over this SUV. Bright smile from
Debbie and Jim -- again. They had stopped to befriend me, and bring
me a fine steak dinner near Great Falls during my outbound journey
in '04. "We thought it was you; are you hiking the trail again?"
Debbie asks with a beaming smile. I recognize her right away. What
an amazing coincidence. They're heading back from Lewistown to
Great Falls, and our paths cross again!
It's six miles to Eddie's Corner. By the time I arrive, the day has
turned very cold and a stiff north wind is driving cold rain mixed
with sleet. I pull off to get out of it -- and to treat myself to
breakfast. Eddie's Corner is a unique and very interesting place,
certainly not your ordinary crossroads gas stop. Indeed, Eddie's
Corner is a classic, a truly shining example of American ingenuity,
fortitude, and dedication -- it's the epitome of "The American
Dream."
I remember stopping here during my outbound trek; busy place, run by
kind folks, the Bauman family. Near the entrance I take a minute to
read the history of Eddie's Corner. Here's a brief quote from an
article published a few years ago in the Great Falls Tribune: "For
half a century travelers have looked upon Eddie's Corner as
something of an oasis. About seventeen miles west of
Lewistown...Eddie's Corner, since 1951 has catered to empty tanks,
groggy drivers, and grumbling stomachs. But what is the real key to
the success of Eddie's Corner? 'People's bladder,' says Joe Bauman,
laughing..."
The hostess, greeting folks here today, is Dianne, sister-in-law to
Joe Bauman. Joe is the youngest son of the elder Baumans, who
originally opened Eddie's Corner. He now oversees the daily
operation, carrying on the great tradition that is Eddie's Corner.
"We've never been closed, not a single day; been open 24/7, straight
through, for fifty-three years...I've been here twenty-three and my
daughter is now bartending for Joe." says Dianne, proudly.
While I'm enjoying my breakfast, Dianne comes over. "You the fellow
that's walking?" she asks. I smile and nod. "Well, your breakfast
is paid for; folks stopped in awhile ago and took care of it." she
says. Oh my, I can't believe this. Debbie and Jim have done it
again. Such kindness; it's just overwhelming -- I don't know what
to say.
I've been in contact with Jim and Selma Willems, dear friends from
the '04 outbound trek. They live in Lewistown. I stayed with them
during that journey through, and they've invited me back again this
trip. Been sorta expecting to see them sometime today, and sure
enough, ten miles from Lewistown, here they come with a cup of hot
cocoa! Selma gives me directions that will take me from the highway
to their home in Lewistown Heights. I'm in by four-thirty.
The night of July 26th 1806, Lewis and his men camped with the
Blackfoot braves. In the morning, and at first light, the Indians
made off with all four of the Corp's long guns. In the process of
retrieving their weapons "...R Fields as he seized his gun stabed
the indian to the heart with his knife the fellow ran about 15
steps and fell dead..."Lewis also shot one of the Indians as
they were driving off the Corp's horses. "I called to them as I
had done several times before that I would shoot them if they did
not give me my horse and raised my gun, one of them jumped behind a
rock and spoke to the other who turned arround and stoped at the
distance of 30 steps from me and I shot him through the belly, he
fell to his knees and on his wright elbow from which position he
partly raised himself up and fired at me...being bearheaded I felt
the wind of his bullet very distinctly." Returning to camp, Lewis
ordered his men to gather and pack their horses. Along with four of
the better Indian horses, their "...design was to hasten to the
entrance of Maria's river as quick as possible in the hope of
meeting with the canoes and party at that place..."
Monday--May 1, 2006
Trail Day—040
Trail Mile--31.6/0948
Location--Grass Range, Montana
What a grand time, again, with the Willems. They took me in and
cared for me like I was one of their own. "This place is your
place," said Jim. He showed me his key and clown collections, and
they both brought out pictures of their children and grandchildren.
Selma gently pointed out that, yes, they did have six children, but
their order, as I had written in my journal entry for July 25th 2004
was incorrect. It should have read: girl, boy, girl, boy, girl,
boy. Their youngest son has since returned from duty in Iraq, but
must go back over again soon. The American flag still flies 24/7
above the Willems’ rooftop, and will until their boy comes home for
good.
More sad good-byes this morning. Jim leaves for work at
seven-thirty. I finally get out and moving a little after eight.
Thanks, Selma. Thanks, Jim. Oh my, I've just got to return to
Lewistown, one more time -- sometime. Until then, so long, dear
friends.
It's a solid, steady eleven hours of plodding to get to Grass Range
today. Lots of climbing, the last up and down through the Judith
Range. Late morning I turn one last time to get a final look at the
snowcaps of the Snowy and Little Belt Mountains. The mountains are
now behind me for good. Soon, it's onto the arid high plains of
eastern Montana. I'm finally half way across this state. Montana is
taking awhile.
I reach Grass Range around seven-thirty. At Little Montana
Truckstop, Sunny and Maxine once again permit me to pitch out back.
It's been a long, hard day. Just as I get my tent up and I'm in,
the wind comes, bringing cold rain. I hear its pitter-patter for a
very short time.
Taking only brief stops to rest and graze their horses, Lewis and
his men cover over 100 miles. "...we traveled untill 2 OCk in
the morning...we now turned out our horses and laid ourselves down
to rest in the plain very much fatiegued as may be readily
conceived. my indian horse carried me very well in short much
better than my own would have done and leaves me with but little
reason to complain of the robery." [Lewis, July 27th 1806]
Tuesday--May 2, 2006
Trail Day—041
Trail Mile--24.2/0972
Location--Winnett, Montana
The rain stops by first light, but the cold, brisk wind continues.
And as a result, it's done a fine job in drying out my tent. I hate
toting a soggy tent all day. So this little favor sets me to
breaking camp in a most joyful mood.
To tend to my stick-like fingers, a common malady this trek it
seems, I hasten into the Little Montana Café to wrap them around a
steaming hot cup of coffee. I linger for breakfast, then to chat
with members of the local klatch. The kind waitress packs some
cookies for me to take along, and Sunny gives me a copy of the
beautiful full-color collector's edition "Along the Trail with Lewis
and Clark, The Return Journey." Thanks Sunny, Max, and all at
Little Montana Store, for your kindness!
By the time I get out and moving, the wind is pitching an absolute
fit. At the klatch table I had overheard one rancher/farmer comment
to another that "It was too wet to plow, and too windy to load
rocks!" I don't know how stiff the wind has to be to move rocks,
but at 40 per, it's sure doing a job on me. I must bend to one knee
at times, or turn and brace with both trekking poles. My first
hiking experience with fierce wind occurred while trekking the
backbone of the Presidentials, along the Appalachian Trail years
ago. But what I have to contend with here this morning is much,
much worse.
About three miles out, this van passes slowly, and then pulls off by
a rancher's gate. As I get a little closer I see it's a Torgerson
delivery truck. And yup, here to greet me with a hot cocoa and a
cold Pepsi is Jim. He says he had to deliver some parts to Grass
Range, but I'm wondering if his supervisor, Arlen, who I've met,
didn't let him make the run to Grass Range as an excuse. Anyway,
thanks for coming out to see me, just like before! Dang, Jim, I'm
really going to miss you and Selma.
As the morning passes, the wind relents not the least. It presses me
from behind, and quarters me with gusts up to 50 per from both
sides. I'm unable to take a normal stride the whole day, which is
causing much fatigue, especially to my ankles. The cold wind keeps
me in my fleece jacket and gloves, plus my poncho, for the
duration. This incessant wind, driven from Canada, being fed by
moisture from the Pacific Northwest, is producing waves of
wind-driven rain and shotgun pellet sleet.
I hasten to reach Winnett before the post office closes. I arrive
at 4:20. Yup, the post office closed at 4:15! Up the street a ways
is the neat little Northern Motel. I check in just as the cold
wind/rain/sleet roars through one more time. The forecast for
tomorrow is more of the same.
As I lie here composing this entry, and at 11:00 o'clock, the wind
is still howling outside. I'll worry about that tomorrow. I've had
it for today.
When the Corps needed luck, luck it was! It is nothing short of
amazing that Lewis and his men reached the Missouri River at the
very instant Ordway and his party was coming down from the falls.
They transferred their gear from the horses, turned them loose,
jumped in the canoes -- and they were gone! "we had proceeded
about 12 miles on an East course when we found ourselves near the
missouri; we heard a report which we took to be that of a gun but
were not certain; still continuing...about 8 miles further...we
heard the report of several rifles very distinctly on the river to
our right, we quickly repaired to that joyful sound and on arriving
at the bank of the river had the unspeakable satisfaction to see our
canoes coming down. we hurried down from the bluff on which we were
and joined them striped our horses and gave them a final discharge
imbarking without loss of time with our baggage." [Lewis, July 28th
1806]
Wednesday--May 3, 2006
Trail Day—042
Trail Mile--23.2/0995
Location--Hill Ranch Oasis, Mosby, Montana
The wind kept howling most of the night, and it's all set to
accompany me this morning. I head back to the Kozy Korner Cafe for
breakfast, then a pass by the post office and I'm leaning east on
SR200 by nine. I'm moving further down and into the arid plains
today. Both Box Elder Creek and Mussellshell River are running with
the same brown stuff the Missouri is made of. These are the first
of many murky streams to come. The wind whips me around until four,
and then finally backs off as I'm descending to the valley of the
Mussellshell. I'm hoping this weather system might finally be
blowing itself out. The gusts today weren't as intense as those of
yesterday, and there's been no rain or sleet.
Phil and Delores Hill run a B&B at their lovely ranch home over by
Mosby, the other side of the Mussellshell. I had the good fortune
of staying there in '04. Last week I emailed them to see if I might
possibly stay again. Their reply came immediately -- with an
invite! So today, just before the turnoff to their ranch, Phil
comes down to haul me the mile or so up the hill to his place.
On August 1st 1806 Lewis and his men passed the mouth of
Mussellshell River. The Field brothers had killed two bighorn sheep
on the 29th and on the 1st Lewis "...was determined to halt at
this place at least for the evening and indeavour to dry my skins of
the bighorn which have every appearance of spoiling..."
Thursday--May 4, 2006
Trail Day—043
Trail Mile--20.7/1016
Location--Sand Springs, Montana
Another grand evening at Hill Ranch Oasis. I'm finally able to
spend some time with Phil and Delores Hill, as they'd been away
during my previous stay. Delores prepared a tank-stokin' supper --
and breakfast. Other guests last were Steve, Jan, and their son,
Jake. They winter in Washington state, then work 'round the clock
in Alaska during the summer -- so they can get out and enjoy quality
time together the rest of the year. They're here at HRO prairie dog
hunting. Seems they've got this work/play thing pretty much figured
out! The Hills have three exchange students, Ana, Sora Lee, and
Leona, and they've got to be down by the highway to catch the school
bus at seven-thirty. So I load up and take the ride along. Thanks,
Phil and Delores, for opening your beautiful home to me again. And
thanks, especially, for your kindness!
I'm out and moving toward Sand Springs right at seven-thirty, to a
much nicer day. The wind is a manageable 10 per, and the
temperature is already in the high thirties. Each day I'm thinking
winter is gone. I must keep thinking that -- till it's true.
Been keeping something from you. You'll find out sooner or later
anyway, so I might as well tell you. I'm carrying a Walkman this
trek, been listening to it off and on for the past few weeks. This
morning, the station in Brownlee, Saskatchewan gives the morning
temperatures at Moose Jaw and Elbow as minus three and minus one.
Sure gets my attention until I realize I'm listening to a Canadian
station, and the temperatures there are reported in Celsius!
This bus stop here at the Hills is the end of the line. It's also
pretty much the end of the line for everything else. The only thing
keeping much of the rolling high plains here from being open range
is the highway fence. Looking beyond, there's little more than miles
and more miles -- the antelope and an occasional cow. The Missouri
River is about as far away as it will be for the remainder of this
trek. With the large reservoirs, Peck and Sac, and due to the
far-reaching inlets, this is as close as I can get. It's either
SR200 here, or US2 up by the Canadian border. There's no other way
to go, save out and onto the treacherous waters of the lakes
themselves. I'll just keep trekking along; content in the knowledge
I'll be back near the river soon.
Once back on the river, and finally going with the current, Lewis
and his party made very good time. He was anxious to rendezvous
with Clark, then to return to St. Louis. "in future the party
should cook as much meat in the evening after encamping as would be
sufficient to serve them the next day; by this means we forward our
journey at least 12 or 15 miles Pr. day." [Lewis, August 3rd 1806]
Friday--May 5, 2006
Trail Day—044
Trail Mile--32.2/1048
Location--Jordan, Montana
The little oasis of Sand Springs stands out in my memory so
vividly. There's a neat little general store there (and that's it)
run by the sweetest little old lady, Daisy Dutton. And through an
interior door in that store, locals can check their mail and chat
with the kind postmistress, Karmie Lockie.
I was most anxious to arrive Sand Springs yesterday. All along for
the past number of days, and as I would enquire as to Daisy's well
being -- and the little store, I was consistently informed that
Daisy and the store were doing just fine.What a joy to arrive to
find the store open -- and Daisy right there behind the counter,
just as I remember. But aww, I had missed Karmie, as she's only at
the Sand Springs Post Office until one. And as is quite customary
with my PO timing, I was twenty minutes late. She'd already left
for Jordan.
I dropped my pack, had some lunch, and got caught up on the latest
with Daisy. Ahh yes, and lots of news. Daisy has five children,
thirteen grandchildren, and five great grandchildren! It was a joy
seeing you again, Daisy. Thanks for remembering the old Nomad
-- and thanks for your continued friendship and kindness!
I decided to hike on for twelve more miles, or until sunset, so the
hike today into Jordan wouldn't take as long. I managed that twelve
just before sunset, as the sheriff passed by -- just before I jumped
the fence to pitch for the night (not posted!). Thank you, Lord.
There are condensed ice crystals covering my entire tent this
morning, inside and out. The Billings radio station said it got
down to 27 in Jordan last night. I believe it. More stick-fingers
this morning. Ha, wonder what folks would think seeing me standing
out here on the prairie, hunched over with my hands deep down in my
pockets -- just standing here!
It's jacket, mittens, headband and poncho one more morning. But
it's supposed to reach the mid to high sixties by this afternoon,
and I think it'll make it -- there's not a cloud in the sky; the
wind is gentle out of the southwest, and the sun is delightfully
warm!
As I'm moving merrily along, and at eight-thirty, this car slows,
and then pulls to the shoulder before me. Oh, I know who this is,
it's Karmie! Daisy had called her last evening and told her to keep
an eye out for me this morning -- and here she is! We have a joyful
chat right by the side of road before she heads on to Sand Springs.
Another hour passes, and another vehicle pulls off. It's Brad, the
postal deliveryman from Jordan. He's returning from Sand Springs,
and once again, as before, Daisy and Karmie have sent me an ice-cold
bottle of Gatorade -- thanks friends; great timing, just what I
needed!
I make very good time, arriving Jordan by one-thirty. I head right
to the school to see Jackie, who befriended me, checked on me, and
kept me in water as I passed from Jordan in '04. But alas, she is
away today.
Lunch is at the dandy old Fellman Store, where I'm also able to work
a room at the Fellman Motel. The whole operation's a family affair,
since great grandpa Jake, grandpa Phil, Dale and Jeannie (pop and
mom) -- of daughter, Laurie. Jeannie brings my coke while Laurie
gets my room set.
In the evening, and at the town bar and grill, I have the pleasure
of seeing Karmie again. And I get to meet her husband, Keith, and
their daughter, Wendy. Karmie buys my steak dinner! Thanks again,
Karmie!
What an amazing day. But I must rest, as tomorrow will bring twelve
solid hours of hiking to reach Flowing Well, a little rest area
(with water), the only thing across the 68 mile no-man's-land
between Jordan and Circle.
On August 4th 1806, Lewis and his men passed five of their 1805
camps to halt for the evening near present-day Valley County (deep
beneath Fort Peck Reservoir). They were really moving along. That
night, Ordway and Willard went out ahead to hunt, only to meet with
near disaster. On the river "about 11 oClock at night we found
ourselves in a thick place of Sawyer as the current drawed us in and
we had no chance to git out of them...the Stern run under a limb of
a tree and caught willard...and drew him out as the current was
verry rapid. he held by the limb...I run down and took out the
canoe and took him in as he Swam through Safe." [Ordway, August 4th
1806]
Saturday/Sunday--May 6/7, 2006
Trail Day--045/046
Trail Mile--068/1115
Location--Circle, Montana
These are two very long days with one very short entry. (Hiking
is hard and writing is hard -- hiking and writing is really hard).
Dale has the Fellman Store/Cafe open early, and I'm there by
six-thirty for a plate of biscuits, gravy, and eggs. My tank topped
off, I'm out to face the day -- a beauty.
Early on, while preparing my return route, I had dreaded these next
two days, to the extent of considering going north, almost to
Canada, to miss this lonely section. I'm glad now that I decided to
come this way again. For, there won't be the August heat of 105-115
degrees to deal with, driven straight from the west by an incessant
blast furnace wind -- nor will I have the searing sun drilling a
hole in my chest like in '04.
I've a gentle breeze to my back; my jacket's on to block the slight
morning chill, and the sun is bright and warm. Yes, this
"crossing," the 68-mile no-man's-land between Jordan and Circle,
will be entirely different this time around.
Fifteen miles out, and by the Big Dry River (aptly named), Karmie's
mother and Aunt, Jane and Betty, stop to deliver an ice cold jug of
Gatorade! I had worried about having enough water to carry me the
36 miles to Flowing Well Rest Area today, but now that's no longer a
problem. Thanks Betty, thanks Jane! And thank you once again,
Karmie, for your thoughtful kindness and generosity!
The day soon warms. Off comes the jacket, but the cool breeze keeps
me refreshed the entire day. Lots of ups and downs, though the
highway is arrow straight as it passes along the smaller spurs of
the upper ridge that drain generally north to the Missouri (Fort
Peck Reservoir).
I arrive Flowing Well just at sunset. The water is on -- and it's
even more quenching than remembered. Evening dining is by the picnic
area, then to pitch inside the neighbor's fence (oh yes, a friend of
Karmie's!)
My feet were dead last, I nearly so! Thirty-six miles is a fair
distance to walk, twelve hammer-hard hours. My head no sooner hit
my makeshift pillow than I was gone. This morning (Sunday) has the
makings for another splendid hiking day. I break camp with my
fingers still working. Yippee!
It's head down and hammer time again, eleven straight hours if I
want to make the 32 to Circle before sunset. Road shoulders are
non-existent on this highway, but there is little traffic. By the
end of the day, though, I've stumbled up and down from the
straight-off gravel washouts enough times to set my left foot to
angry complaining.
Concerned locals have stopped often to enquire as to my well being,
thence to drive away shaking their heads when I tell them I don't
need a ride. Doubt if they've ever seen anyone walking out here.
It is a long way across, even to drive. About every two hours,
seems there's a major ridge to top, from that vantage to see the
highway dwindling to a pinpoint in the hazy-blue -- another two
hours distant. Oh yes, it's one helluva long ways.
I'm looking hard for Circle, and it comes none too soon. The kind
barmaid at Corner Bar downtown gives a call to make sure Perry and
Paula have a room for me again at their fine Traveler's Inn. Neat
trail town -- Kay's Cafe with great food is right next door. My room
has a tub for soaking tired, weary bones.
Lewis and his party were making incredible time down the Missouri.
On the 7th of August 1806, they traveled from a point just northeast
of present-day Circle, to pass the mouth of the Yellowstone River, a
distance of 83 miles. At my speed, down here on SR200, I won't be
near that point for three more days -- and I'm haulin'!
"at 8 A.M. we passed the entrance of Marthy's river...at 4 P.M.
we arrived at the entrance of the Yellowstone river. I landed at the
point and found that Capt. Clark had been encamped at this place and
from appearances had left it about 7 or 8 days."
Monday--May 8, 2006
Trail Day—047
Trail Mile--28.6/1143
Location--Richey, Montana
The rain came late last night, just as forecast. I could hear
it on the roof; happy to have been out of it. The morning dawns
clear and cool but the wind has already begun. I'm up by seven to
head back over to Kay's for breakfast. I go for flapjacks and ham
-- and lots of coffee. By the third refill, I've gotten to know
Dawn the waitress. She fills me in on what's up ahead in the towns
I'll be passing through. Back at the motel, I spend some time with
Perry, the motel keep. We talk everything from Indian artifacts to
old movie houses, like the one in Richey where I'm headed today.
A mile out this morning I'm hiking new territory, cutting across to
Sidney. I'll not pick up the Missouri for a while yet, until I pass
the next reservoir, Sacagawea. I'm some sixty miles from the
Missouri now, the furthest I'll stray from here on to St. Louis.
The highway continues straight, but much corrugated, lots of ups and
downs the entire day. There is little traffic, which is a blessing
with the blind hill crowns. But for the bully wind, the day is near
perfect for hiking. By six I've hammered out the 28 to Richie. What
an amazing three days, 96 miles hiked over 32 hours. I'm pretty
much beat. My feet sure need a rest.
The little berg of Richie is off the beaten way. I head down and in
to Sportsmans Bar, where I meet Gary, owner, bartender and CC&BW.
Time for a little conversation with locals while Gary prepares an
absolutely mouth-watering 16 oz. steak for me (this is beef
country). Sitting next is Doug, whose sister, Dawn, waited on me at
Kay's this morning. What a coincidence. These little towns are so
neat. Doesn't take long to get to know most everybody.
Gary lets me use his phone, then in awhile asks where I'll be
staying tonight, as there's no motel in Richie. When I comment
about seeing a place by the church where I might pitch, he offers me
a room in his little vacant bungalow right next the bar. Big smile
on Nomad's face (supposed to get cold rain tonight).
My tummy's full; I'm warm, dry, healthy and happy. Ah yes, life is
good!
With Lewis' amazing 83-mile day, I'm still hustling a second day to
pull up, and am nowhere near, as they had paddled clear into
present-day North Dakota. I'm still in Montana and will be until
day after tomorrow! At the confluence of the Yellowstone and the
Missouri, Lewis wasted no time. He read Clark's note, wrote another
and posted it (literally) for the men behind, then "...instantly
reimbarked and decended the river in the hope of reaching Capt. C's
camp before night." [Lewis, August 7th 1806]
Tuesday--May 9, 2006
Trail Day—048
Trail Mile--25.0/1168
Location--Lambert, Montana
I'm up and over to Farmer's Kitchen by seven for a tank-stokin'
breakfast. All the locals are here. Doug joins me and we talk oil
wells. Doug's a roughneck, same job I did in Colorado just out of
high school 50 years ago. He throws the chain; I threw the chain!
One of the many incredibly dangerous jobs on an oil rig. Both of us
still have all our fingers, a sure sign of true pros! Get a finger
hung in the chain just once while the driller (and his screaming
diesel engine) are trying to rip it out of your hands, and you're
short that finger. It's all lightning fast, a repetitive task
that's done for hours. Ahh, what memories.
Another windy day, 30-35 per out of the north-northwest. It lets up
not the least all day.
I'm entering oil well country now, with double bottom bulk tankers
flying both ways. There's still no shoulder, so I spend much time
down over the side as I dodge the 30+ wheelers.
By four I hang a right for Lambert, a mile down a dirt road from the
main highway. Neat little berg; not much of a downtown, 'cept for
the CQ Bar. I head for the CQ Bar! Collin (jolly old St. Nick) is
at the bar. I sit next and we talk about his career as Santa
Claus. Soon comes Rob. When I enquire of Candy and Terry,
barkeeps, as to a room to rent for the night, Rob overhears and
invited me to stay at his place. "Wife's away for a couple of days;
I can use some company," says Rob. That arrangement made, I'm set
to buy dinner for the two of us -- when comes Dakota Gal (from
Sportsman's in Richey). She insists on buying my dinner! Candy
prepares a steak for me while Terry cranks up the coffee. Second
cup, and more conversation, come to find that Terry is a Sharbono
(modern spelling), and related to THE Toussaint Charbonneau of the
Corps of Discovery. He brings out a three-ring binder with page
after page of information about the Charbonneau family. Proud of
his heritage; isn't this amazing!
Rob and wife, Libby, have a delightful old place, her family
homestead, a few miles out from Lambert, where Rob and I (and the
cats and dog) spend a most enjoyable evening -- talking organic
farming, motorcycles, and how to heat a drafty old Montana house
with the likes of cottonwood in the dead of winter.
"about 7 miles below the point [confluence] on the S.W. shore I
saw some meat that had been lately fleased and hung on a pole; I
directed Sergt. Ordway to go on shore examine the place; on his
return he reported that he saw the tracks of two men which appeared
so resent that he beleived they had been there today..." [Lewis,
August 7th 1806]
Wednesday--May 10, 2006
Trail Day—049
Trail Mile--21.0/1189
Location--Sidney, Montana
Great night at Rob and Libby's home on the rolling high plains of
eastern Montana. The wind and me, we're both up at six. Rob gives
me the tour of their place. Lots of history here. Old out
buildings that have been restored and converted to other, more
modern uses -- like the chicken coop, it's now a very impressive
sauna. Over the years the main barn had apparently been convinced by
the relentless prairie winds to go along. It took a BIG tractor,
one of those eight-wheel jobs to hook and haul it back up straight.
It's all braced now, standing tall and sporting a shiny new roof.
"Libby's dad never sold or traded anything, just parked it," says
Rob. By the back fence there are old combines, sheep tending
wagons, other not-so-new farm and ranching equipment/implements
standing at the ready. I'm told some of the machinery isn't here in
the lineup, and for good reason. "The old tractor's still out there
in the field where it quit for the last time," smiles Rob. Lots of
projects completed with many yet to be done. "We're going to do a
complete remodel on the house and I'm in the process of moving my
shop to the old grain bin," Rob comments as we head back to the
house.
In town now, I get the tour of the Lambert Museum. Every town worth
its salt out here on the prairie has a museum, and Lambert has a
dandy. Rob is in the process of cataloging everything, from an
original hand-made pair of skis from Norway that Libby's grandfather
made (the first telemarkers?), to bottles and bottles of safflower
seeds, those from which first such crops were raised in America.
Rob takes my picture by the stone entrance to the CQ before I head
back out on the highway. I take his in front of the museum.
I just love these little towns -- like Lambert, Montana. Neat
places, kind and gentle people. Thanks, Rob, Libby, Terry, Candy.
Oh, and you too, Santa! I've had a memorable stay!
The hike today takes me to a point abreast of the Yellowstone's
confluence with the Missouri. I'll end it in Sidney, some distance
south. From Great Falls, the Missouri drops over 1,400 feet by the
time the Yellowstone comes in. Guess I've dropped that much too,
but it seems today is just another day of straight-shot hiking this
endless, undulating prairie. A cold, driving rain adds to the
excitement! Just before Sidney, comes Dakota Gal to greet me.
She's just completed a day of substitute teaching in Sidney. Rob
had suggested that when I reach Sidney, that I contact his friends,
Bud and Ann. They're familiar with the North Unit, Theodore
Roosevelt National Park, where I'll be hiking day after tomorrow.
They're home and have the evening free. Dakota Gal drives me
downtown where we meet Bud and Ann to enjoy some right-fine dining
at the Cattle-AC Bar and Grill.
Thanks friends, it's been a grand time!
On the 8th of August 1806, passed the Yellowstone by then, Lewis
still hadn't caught up with Clark. One senses the dismay in his
penned journal entry for that date: "not finding Capt. Clark I
knew not what calculation to make with rispect to his halting and
therefore determined to proceed as tho' he was not before me and
leave the rest to the chapter of accedents."
Thursday--May 11, 2006
Trail Day—050
Trail Mile--30.5/1220
Location--East of Sather Lake, North Dakota
The town of Sidney was not along the route I needed to follow, being
north some two miles. So after making a left turn last evening
(away from the Yellowstone and the North Dakota border), the first
motel along was the Sunrise, so that was it. Right stop -- right
decision! Gloria, the manager, greeted me as I proceeded to give
her my little two-minute Lewis and Clark pitch. Turned out she's a
Lewis and Clark buff too. The room was mine, compliments of Gloria
and the kind Sunrise folks. Thanks, Gloria, I had a very relaxing
and comfortable stay!
After a stop at the mom-n-pop up the highway, my tank topped off,
I'm back down to my turnoff, to head on east. In just a short
distance I cross the grand Yellowstown River, then shortly, the
Montana/North Dakota border. Four states behind me now, six to go
(I'll not cross into Iowa this time out).
The strong, cold, wind-driven front from Canada has finally passed
through, leaving a high pressure zone complete with that "BIG sky,"
tufted with billowy clouds, and here along this morning, gentle,
warm breezes. Hiking now and tapping out the day, I'm frustrating
the mixed emotions that have suddenly come over me. I'm glad to
have Montana finally behind me -- but deep down, seems I'm not.
Over the past three years, and after hiking 2,000 miles of Montana,
I've come to know and to love the place, with its cold and bitter
(or hot and scorching) weather, with its remote and endless
vastness, with its unforgiving desolation -- and with its
unforgettable beauty! In '04 I hiked nearly 800 miles across, east
to west. Last year, on the Continental Divide, high above it all, I
hiked another 600 miles north to south. Then this year, on this
200th anniversary return trek, I've logged another 600 miles west to
east. Yes, I'll truly miss Montana -- perhaps I'll never return.
I'll miss it, I'll miss it.
There's a pitcher pump at Sather Lake Campground. And there are
picnic tables and lots of neatly mowed level spots to pitch all
around. But there's lots of daylight remaining, there are more
miles left in these old legs -- and I just gotta go, so I water up
and hit it. Six more miles and the paved road takes an abrupt
ninety north. I go straight on the gravel.
Dancing the blue-haze horizon, I begin to make out the edge of the
red-gray dirt and rock juttings that are the high pinnacles of the
North Dakota Badlands. On a high mesa, and as the sun sets fire to
the western sky, I pitch right on the edge. It's a sight to behold,
360. You'll see what I'm talking about when this next series of
pictures gets posted -- but they'll not do it justice.
I see now why many artists and photographers, those of the old west,
chose monochromes as their medium for expression. They were trying
to shock us into the least appreciation for what these wide-open
spaces truly reveal.
I'm past the Yellowstone now. North of here, in August 1806, Lewis
was past the Yellowstone, chasing Clark. And two of Lewis' crew were
chasing him. On August 8th and 9th 1806, Lewis camped southwest of
present day Williston near the upper reaches of Lake Sacakawea.
"Colter and Collins have not yet overtaken us. I fear some
missfortune has happened them for their previous fidelity and
orderly deportment induces me to believe that they would not thus
intentionally delay." [Lewis, August 8th 1806]
Friday--May 12, 2006
Trail Day—051
Trail Mile--30.1/1250
Location--Across and south of Little Missouri River Bridge
The sun striking my tent gets me out and hiking into the crispy cold
a little before seven. According to my maps, I should continue
hiking this gravel road another eight miles or so due east, then
take a ninety south. But the traffic, little that there is, mostly
eighteen-wheel crude oil tankers, are zigging and zagging the
adjacent quarter, half, and full section roads. I can see their
dust for the better part of ten miles. Looking my maps again, I see
the route they're following, which apparently is a better way to
where I'm headed -- so I go their way.
A little after eleven I reach my turn, a two-track, which leads past
a ranchers place, over a cattle guard into a pasture, then up, over
and around to the locked rear gate to the North Unit, Theodore
Roosevelt National Park. I climb over the gate, and at noon I'm
gazing down into the Little Missouri River Canyon from Oxbow
Overlook. More pictures (which will capture little of what's to be
seen).
The North Achenbach Trail begins/ends here. I follow it as it
plunges over the canyon wall, down and into the most bizarre
gravity-defying formations near the canyon floor. The trail is well
marked and in good condition. I'm making fair time, even after
cautiously moving in for a few bison photo ops -- then to dodge more
of the mastodon-like hulks along. At the end of the trail, where it
climbs back up the canyon wall, I decide to continue on, a bushwhack
along the river down to Juniper Campground. Not long, I find the
reason why there's no trail here. It's because the river meanders
over from the far canyon wall to force directly against the bluff on
this side. Between the river and the sheer bluff, there's little
more than a sharply sloped, narrow slide of shale, rock, dirt -- and
quicksand. I pick my way through and across, hand over hand. The
soft, bottomless drifts that appear solid, directly by the rushing
water, I avoid by sounding with my right trekking pole. Where my
stick goes out of sight -- I don't go!
By four I'm back on the main park road headed for the North Unit
entrance. I arrive just before closing time, there to share great
conversation with Ranger Vance, and Valerie Naylor, Superintendent,
Theodore Roosevelt National Park. Valerie's office is in Medora,
near the South Unit, TRNP, but she's up here for the day. Her
responsibilities include not only the North and South Units of the
Park, but also the Elkhorn Ranch Site, Roosevelt's North Dakota
home. When I tell Valerie of this 200th anniversary L&C return
odyssey, she thanks me sincerely for "...including the Park in your
remarkable journey."
After draining their pop machine (ran out of water early, which I'd
lugged from the pump at Sather), I spend the better part of half an
hour ridding myself of a dozen ticks picked up along the (buffalo)
trail.With a couple hours of daylight remaining, I hike on, across
the Little Missouri River Bridge, up and out of the Little Missouri
River Canyon.
"The Bad Lands grade all the way...to those that are so
fantastically broken in form and so bizarre in color as to seem
hardly properly to belong to this earth." [Theodore Roosevelt]
"from this place to the little Missouri there is an abundance of
game I shall therefore when I leave this place travel at my leasure
and avail myself of every opportunity to collect and dry meat untill
I provide a sufficient quantity for our voyage not knowing what
provision Capt C. has made in this rispect. [Lewis, August 8th 1806]
Saturday--May 13, 2006
Trail Day—052
Trail Mile--27.6/1278
Location--Past Grassy Butte, North Dakota
Climbing from the Little Missouri Canyon, and at an overlook the
evening last, on a bronze plaque there entitled "Bad Lands
Panorama," I stopped to read: "The colorful and fantastic shapes
along these canyon walls are part of an ever-changing landscape.
The horizontal layers of multi-colored sandstone, clay, and shale
are complimented by scattered beds of lignite coal and patches of
pastel pink scoria. Scoria, or clinker, is created when the soft
lignite burns, baking the surrounding clay to this bright color.
Other layers contain concentrations of petrified logs and stumps of
redwood, cypress and cedar. The rock layers are easily eroded, thus
the scene is constantly changing. Aided by wind and rain, deep
canyons are carved into intricate landforms. There are dome-like
hills, and contrasting sharp ridges with grooved and buttressed
terraces.
I have found all of this so intriguing. I recall passing the North
Unit visitor's center during '04, there to look down the road
leading to Oxbow Overlook with a yearning to go, to see. That year,
I had climbed up Little Killdeer Mountain out of Killdeer, from
there to descend into the Little Missouri River Canyon some eight
miles below the bridge crossed yesterday evening. The remarkable
formations, their striking color seen along the canyon then, as I
hiked out Long X Road -- and the Little Missouri River itself -- I'd
never seen such colorful or bizarre landforms carved by any river in
my life. Yup, I was hooked on that place, for sure. I had to see
more; I had to return. Indeed, I knew then that someday I would
return, to hike the North Unit along the Little Missouri, Theodore
Roosevelt National Park. That promise, that loop left undone --
it's now been closed! Ahh, and I must tell you this: The
awe-inspiring ruggedness and beauty, which I beheld yesterday met
all my expectations -- in spades. Thank you, Valerie, and thank you
all, caretakers of that special place, Theodore Roosevelt National
Park.
The straight-line hike, up and down and along these high plains
continues today. It’s pretty much head down and hammer. To break
the monotony, I take a short detour through the little village of
Grassy Butte. The road used to go through, but the new highway --
and time, have both pretty much bypassed the place by. I pull into
the little general store, Biecegel Station, run by Don and his wife,
Vicky. Don's behind the counter today. I unload, go for his
coffee, and then have a seat at the klatch table. We chat about
lots, like his other life in the oilfields, and how he has to go now
for most of his store stock, for which he pays retail -- thence to
try and make a nickel off it here. I tell him about my boyhood
chum, Donnie, how he tried keeping the grocery store going in the
little berg where we were raised. Not a happy ending. I wish him
luck, and sincerely mean it. That brings a chuckle and a smile.
Don seems happy and content. And so it seems -- it's all
worthwhile.
Across the street stands (leans) the Long X Bar. Jay is keeping it
going, currently. Fine food. I go for the double bacon
cheeseburger with fries, plus a couple tall frosties. The whole
meal cost less than a quick trip through MacDonald's.
My sights are set now on Killdeer. Hammering a few extra miles
today will put me in there late morning. Just at sundown, I find a
"grassy butte," where the sun can wake me early. This day is done.
"jus opposite to the birnt hills [of which I've just spoken]
there happened to be a herd of Elk on a thick willow bar and finding
that my observation was lost for the present I determined to land
and kill some of them accordingly we put too and I went out with
Cruzatte only [and got shot in the butt for the effort!]" [Lewis,
August 11th 1806]
Sunday--May 14, 2006
Trail Day—053
Trail Mile--9.7/1288
Location--Killdeer, North Dakota
The sun brings me around by seven. These last three nights out
under the stars, they've gotten plenty cold. Temperatures during the
day have been most pleasant, in the high sixties, low seventies, but
as soon as the sun dipped, so went the mercury. There's been frost
around my camp all three mornings. The sun begins heating things up
first thing this morning, so I'm out without my jacket or gloves. I
prefer toughing it for an hour or two rather than having to stop,
drop my pack, and change. Right decision, as I hike only a short
time before the sun has the day in the most pleasant mood.
Much traffic right off the bat. Most all that pass are pickup
dualies pulling fifth-wheel horse trailers. Some are quite fancy,
with room for horses -- plus humans. In awhile I begin wondering,
"Where's the rodeo?" Doesn't take long to find out. I can hear the
speakers blasting from Killdeer a full three miles away. The
"Welcome" sign to Killdeer reads "#1 in Cowboy Country." Oh yes,
it's rodeo time in Killdeer! I pull off by the arena, get a few
action shots, and then head on into town. I dearly need a bath, as
do my clothes. I've got the Bad Lands all over me. The neat
Mountainview Motel is open, and to my surprise, they've a room for
me. Linda checks me in while I empty her pop machine (getting good
at that). Time to hit the tub. Ahh, oh so glad to be here!
I remember Buckskin Bar and Grill. After ridding myself of the Bad
Lands, I'm right there for the very best prime rib this trek. Eric
still runs the place. Thanks man!
In the evening I give Allan and Gail Lynch a call. They live just
the other side of Dunn Center, eight or so miles on down the road.
They own the land where the Knife River Flint Quarries are located.
They took time to show me the quarries in '04. Then that evening,
Larry (a friend supporting me at the time) and I were treated to
dinner, plus a most remarkable program about the quarries. Much
history, with exciting and interesting stories. Anyway, I'm able to
reach them -- right away to be invited to stay tomorrow night. Is
this trek charmed or what! Who says you can't go back? Really
looking forward to seeing both these dear friends once more.
On August 12th 1806, Lewis met and talked with the first white men
seen since 1804. In his journal entry for that day he wrote: "at
8 A.M. the bowsman informed me that there was a canoe and a camp he
believed of whitemen on the N.E. shore...found it to be the camp of
two hunters from Illinois..."
While talking with the two men, "...Colter and Collins who
seperated from us on the 3rd ist. rejoined us they were well no
accedent having happened."
Lewis was suffering from the gunshot wound inflicted by Cruzatte,
but apparently was not in severe pain. That day he also wrote:
"my wounds felt very stiff and soar this morning but gave me no
considerable pain. there was much less inflamation than I had
reason to apprehend there would be. I had last evening applyed a
poltice..."
More good fortune that day, as "...at 1 P.M. I overtook Capt.
Clark and party and had the pleasure of finding them all well."
And finally, for that day, and for the remainder of the voyage, the
following was Lewis' last known entry, concluding his writings for
the expedition: "as wrighting in my present situation is
extreemly painful to me I shall desist untill I recover and leave to
my friend Capt. C. the continuation of our journal." [Lewis, August
12th 1806]
That day, Clark penned: "at meridian Capt Lewis hove in Sight
with the party which went by way of the Missouri as well as that
which accompanied him from Travellers rest on Clarks river; I was
alarmed on the landing of the Canoes to be informed that Capt. Lewis
was wounded by an accident. I found him lying in the Perogue, he
informed me that his wound was slight and would be well in 20 or 30
days this information relieved me very much. I examined the wound
and found it a very bad flesh wound the ball had passed through the
fleshey part of his left thy below the hip bone and cut the cheek of
the right buttock for 3 inches in length and the debth of the
ball...I washed Capt. L. wound which has become Sore and Somewhat
painfull to him." [Clark, August 12th 1806]
Monday--May 15, 2006
Trail Day—054
Trail Mile--10.5/1299
Location--Dunn Center, North Dakota, Allan and Gail Lynch Home
This might prove to be a hectic day. Don't care for schedules, but
I'll be on one this morning. I need to hit the post office for my
bounce box, but the place doesn't open until 9:30. That gives me
just over an hour to sort things and get the box back to the post
office. They close for lunch at 11:30. And today is the last day to
sign up for the Medicare Prescription Drug Plan. I need to go
online and decide what to do about that.
As I move through the morning, turns out all the worry is just that,
worry. I take the things I need from my bounce box, and it's back
in the mail, bouncing to Chamberlain, South Dakota. I send some
things home, and get my camera memory card off to Linda, my
Webmaster. All's accomplished with time to spare. The kind lady at
city hall helps me, and I'm signed up for the prescription meds
program without a hitch -- and I'm back sitting in the Buckskin Bar
for lunch before noon!
Eric, Buckskin owner, greets me. We have a good chat about my
return trek, and the acclaim his fine Buckskin Bar has garnered
recently. The lunch special is prime rib sandwich, and danged if it
ain't every bit as good as last night -- compliments of Eric and the
Buckskin. Come to find, Eric's related to Meriwether Lewis. Lewis'
sister married a Richards. Eric is a 5th generation descendent of
that family. That makes Lewis Eric's great, great, great, great,
great uncle! Enjoyed seeing and talking with you again, Eric.
Thanks for your kindness and hospitality -- thanks for lunch!
I'm not back trekking the highway until 1:30, but no problem. This
will be a short day, less than eleven miles to Allan and Gail's
place, and I don't need to be there before five.
Early afternoon, pulls this car to the shoulder across. I recognize
the face. "Is that you?" exclaims Debi. "Yes, it's me," I reply.
Debi had befriended me during my outbound trek. She can't believe
I'm coming through again. We have a great time getting caught up on
Sakakawea South Shore news. Her daughter, Jonna, manages the motel
in Halliday. "You're staying at the Halliday Motel tomorrow night;
there's a room there that's yours." Big smile from Debi!
By four, and as I'm entering Dunn Center, comes Gail to greet me.
It's a joy seeing her again. She offers a ride, but I'll hoof it on
the hour or so to their place now.
I'm in before five, to be greeted by Allan. Cold one in hand, a
glad and happy exchange, and it's all business from there, as Gail
sets to setting a full table, while Allan flips the burgers.
Relaxing after dinner, I'm trying to figure how best to express my
keen interest in seeing the snake effigy spiritual site, found and
protected by Allan. Since the discovery a few years ago, he's taken
only a handful of native holy people to the site. Quite remarkably,
and before I can say a word about it, Allan comments that he wants
me to see the effigy, and that we need to get going if we expect to
have time to see all that's there before dark!
My head's spinning as the reality of what's just happened settles.
Gotta get my shoes and jacket. Might I take my camera? Allan's
brought the truch around. Gail nudges me to get going. This is
miraculous; it happened so fast!
We take many roads, visiting every compass point. On the way, Allan
remarks: "Only thing I ask is: don't ever reveal the location." No
problem. I have not the least idea where we are -- don't really
want to know either!
Near the site now, Allan says: "See that faint bump over there on
the hill; it's a rock cairn. It marks the general area. The tribes
that came, perhaps over the centuries, looked for that sign." From
the road now, Allan follows a faint grassy two-track, around a
slight knoll, toward the cairn. We soon park and walk. First up,
of the remarkable man-made rock formations, is the cairn itself. It
stands no more than three feet high, constructed of four or so
(takes two to move 'em) sized rocks, topped with smaller basketball,
then softball size stones. Allan makes an offering of crushed sage
before we move on.
Next, he leads me to a gently sloping area where the teepee villages
stood. Many perfectly round teepee rings are present and easily
recognizable.
Slightly further on now, down a small spur of the hill, he stops to
point out a medicine ring, also known as a prayer ring or prayer
circle. We tarry as he makes another offering of crushed sage.
Leaving the prayer circle now, and crossing to another gently
sloping knoll, we arrive at the sacred snake effigy. It is a
remarkable sight to behold. "Here's the end of the tail," says
Allan. I can see the entire serpent now, from its tail to its
head. The likeness is true in every regard; no imagination needed.
By the serpent's head rests a chair-sized boulder with a sculpted
seat, a place to sit comfortably to pray or meditate. To the fore of
the snake, past the prayer seat, there's a long line of perfectly
placed rocks. "If you follow that line it will take you straight
the confluence of the Little Missouri and the Missouri rivers," says
Allan.
As we linger in the waning light, and as I consider the purpose and
significance of this special place -- to my thinking, this shrine
can be easily explained. Simply, the serpentine nature of the
river, it's symbolized by the snake, the ultimate serpent. The
waters of the river -- the source and sustainer of life.
"Capt. Lewis fainted as Capt. Clark was dressing his wound, but
Soon came too again." [Ordway, August 14th 1806]
Tuesday--May 16, 2006
Trail Day—055
Trail Mile--11.3/1310
Location--Halliday, North Dakota
After one of the best night's sleep in awhile, I'm up a little
before seven to spend a few minutes with Allan before he hits the
door.
Allan is caretaker of 23 oil wells. In the process he drives 160
miles a day, seven days a week. The last well checked yesterday had
quit pumping, so he's had to line up parts and a repair crew for
this morning. Every day a wells stands idle costs the company over
$3,000.00 in lost revenue. So, he's gotta keep 'em pumping.
I linger the morning with Gail. She prepares breakfast for me, then
lunch. In between, I get the tour of the Knife River flint quarries
again. The pockmarked field is quite an amazing place. It's hard
to imagine how, with primitive tools, and by hand, tons upon tons of
flint was removed and lugged away. When the subject turns to Knife
River flint, it's interesting to see the contagious enthusiasm in
the faces of both Allan and Gail. Seems they never tire of showing
the quarries, or taking time to tell the fascinating story -- 11,500
years of history.
Dang, it's tough saying good-bye, especially to dear friends, ones
you know you may never see again. It's tough.
I manage to shoulder my pack and head out the drive early
afternoon. Gail had offered to drive me the mile or so back up to
the highway, but I declined her kind offer as I wanted their place a
part of my hike route, to their door and back.
It's a beautiful day, warm with the least breeze. There's no road
shoulder to speak of, but the traffic is light and I make good time
into Halliday. By the motel, Debi and her daughter, Jonna, are
there to greet me. In the evening I'm invited to dine with Debi and
her family. It's been a very good day!
The time it's taken me to arrive here, near the mouth of the Knife
River, is a full three months less than that taken by the Corps.
However, from this point forward, with the current of the mighty
Missouri carrying them, the Corps traveled much faster, at times
covering over twice to three times the distance I'm able to cover in
a single day. By the time I reach central Missouri, the gap will
shrink to less than two months. Once the Corps passed the villages
near Mandan, they were headed for the barn!
"when we were opposit the Minetares Grand Village we saw a number
of the Nativs viewing...these people were extreamly pleased to See
us." [Clark, August 14th 1806]
Wednesday--May 17, 2006
Trail Day—056
Trail Mile--15.4/1326
Location--Golden Valley, John and Renee Lindemann home
I was out as soon as my head hit the pillow last. The long-mile
days have caught up with me; the rest these past two days has been
much needed -- a blessing. Thanks, Debi and Jonna, for your
kindness, I certainly enjoyed my stay in Halliday.
In '04 I didn't take time to check out downtown Halliday. This
morning I head there, first to chat with Postmistress, Marion, then
next door to the little mom-n-pop cafe for a tank-stokin' breakfast.
I'm out and back on SR200 at ten. Another glorious day in North
Dakota. I'm hiking in the Spring Creek/Knife River Valley, south of
Lake Sakakawea, a lush, fertile valley with kind and gentle people
By three, I'm in Golden Valley, a neat little German community a
mile or so off the highway. First stop, again, the post office. I
recognize Darlene immediately. She smiles, "You were here before."
Oh yes, I was here before. Actually, Darlene saved me a heap of
grief in '04. I'd walked off and left my debit card at the post
office in Hazen where she worked at the time. On her way home to
Golden Valley that evening, she caught up with me and returned my
card, before I even knew it was gone!
I inquire of Darlene as to getting permission to pitch in the city
park. With another big smile, Darlene tells me I'm in. She's a
member of the Woman's Club that takes care of the park! Thanks,
Darlene.
Here in Golden Valley there's one of the most incredible private
collections of motorcycles (and cars and trucks) to be found
anywhere. The whole operation is a labor of love created and cared
for by John Lindemann and his father, Bill. I had the pleasure of
meeting Bill back then and spending a fair amount of time with him
as we toured their place. You'll find some neat pictures in the
Odyssey '04 album. This time through, I want to meet John, who was
out of town before.
I make a stop at the Saddle Sore Saloon to inquire as to their
whereabouts. Sheila, the bartender, says they're both around, and no
more than tells me to try the shop than Bill goes by. "He's heading
for the shop," says Sheila. "Leave your pack and get on down
there." I'm out the door in a flash.
At the shop I find both Bill and John. Another big smile when Bill
recognizes me. He introduces me to John, and then they both drop
what they're doing to take me through the museum again.
Since I was here in '04, Bill has completed the restoration of a 26
Model-T Roadster, and John has added an absolutely stunning 36
Harley to his collection. John now has at least one of each model
year Harley clear back to the early thirties. I take a bunch of
pictures. You'll find them in the '06 Album in about three weeks.
Heading back to the shop, John asks where I'll be staying tonight.
When I tell him that Darlene said it'd be okay to pitch in the park,
he suggests I stay at his place instead. Well, that's a no brainer!
We make dinner arrangements, then I head back to the Saddle Sore to
fetch my pack and to thank Sheila. Here I meet Mike and Scott.
After my two-minute speal, Mike buys me a cold one. Scott leaves,
to return in minutes with a Knife River flint arrow point he'd just
found in his field -- and with a grand smile, he hands it to me! In
a short while, come the Lindemanns, Bill and Eleanor, and John and
Renee. Bill insists on treating me to dinner. We enjoy a great
evening together.
Wow, what a day!
Just as I've been greeted and befriended by area inhabitants today,
Lewis and Clark "...were visited by all the inhabitants of this
village who appeared equally as well pleased to See us as those
above." [Clark, August 14th 1806]
Thursday--May 18, 2006
Trail Day—057
Trail Mile--21.7/1347
Location--Hazen, North Dakota, Wayne and Myra Axtman home
John and Renee have an absolutely beautiful home; and they sure
made me feel welcome. This morning, Renee prepares a full spread
breakfast, bacon, eggs, pancakes, and the works. John then drives
us back downtown where I'm introduced to many of his (and Bill's)
dear friends at the morning coffee klatch. For once, I'm not the
elder!
Darleen had sent over some sweet rolls, just for me, which makes me
the envy of the entire bunch. More sad good-byes now. Thanks so
much, Golden Valley, all dear friends there. I will long remember
your most sincere kindness and hospitality. Oh yes, thank you!
It's a mile or so out to the highway, and I'm back heading east a
little before nine. Another perfect hiking day along the Sakakawea
South Shore. Near Beulah, John comes whizzing by on of his old
Harleys. In awhile, returning from an errand in Hazen, he stops to
again bid me farewell. A few more pictures (of his '46), then one
good kick, the old Harley comes to life, and he's off.
My left foot has been griping lately. There's no paved shoulder
along this section of SR200 and I must keep stepping off constantly
into steeply rutted gravel right next the white line, so my left
foot has been taking the hit. Sure glad to reach Hazen.
During my outbound, I was befriended by Myra Axtman. At the time
she was the Hazen Chamber Exec. This hike, she and husband, Wayne,
have invited me into their lovely home, for dinner and to spend the
night.
On the bike path entering Hazen now, comes this city maintenance
truck. Bright smile right at me, and I meet Cissie. "I'll see you
at Myra's tonight," she says. "Me and husband, Mike, have been
invited to dinner with you. Been following your adventures since we
saw you near Portland during the '04 hike."
Myra now works at Union Bank in Hazen. She's asked me to stop there
on my way in. Glad for that, as the sky opens just as I arrive. Cissie's
right here, too. After a glad welcome from Myra, I meet Marion's
son, Wayne (Marion's the Postmistress at Halliday). Around here,
seems everybody's either related or knows everybody else!
I'm now invited to Cissies's house for a cold one, to have laundry
done, to take a shower -- and to just relax until Myra and Wayne get
home from work. This works! Thanks, Cissie and Mike.
In the evening, and at Myra and Wayne's now, I'm treated to a
wonderfully prepared meal on their spacious deck (rain's quit),
along with Cissie, Mike, and Judy, another sweet lady, who along
with her husband and son befriended me in '04. Blake, her son,
still in high school at the time was interning at the local weekly
and wrote a very flattering article about the old Nomad.
My, oh my, has this been a remarkable day -- what a memorable
evening!
"Colter one of our men expressed a desire to join Some trappers
[the two white men they'd met, Dickson and Hancock] who offered to
become Shearers with and furnish traps &c. the offer a very
advantagious one, to him, his Service Could be dispenced with from
this down and we were disposed to be of Service to any one of our
party who had performed their duty as well as Colter had done, we
agreed to allow him the prvilage..." [Clark, August 15th 1806]
Friday--May 19, 2006
Trail Day—058
Trail Mile--29.4/1376
Location--Hensler, North Dakota
I had asked Myra not to trouble with breakfast; no luck -- but lucky
me! She prepares the works, just like Renee had done for me in
Golden Valley. We have a fine visit. Myra calls the bank to tell
them she'll be a little late (as I load my plate again).
Aw, another day for sad farewells. Sure would like to return
someday, to see all my dear friends in Hazen.
Myra prepared a lunch and dinner for me, which I've squirreled away
in my pack. So my stop at the local jiffy on the way out is to get
a couple bottles of pop for the day. That's it. A klatch here, Ken
and Mel. Have a good chat with both before I'm out for the day.
Purchased a tube of sunblock and have slathered it on. Looks to be
the makings for a hot one today, first time to start with my short
sleeves. Pearly white arms -- they'd sunburn for sure.
No road shoulder again, and my left foot starts pitching a fit first
thing. Near Stanton I pull off -- and take my shoes off to rest my
barking doggies. A little adhesive tape on the tip of the third and
fourth toes, portside, and I'm back out haulin' again.
I made the side trip to Stanton in '04. Just north of Stanton, on
the Missouri River is located the Knife River Indian Village. It's
a National Historic Site, having been the home of Sacagawea, the
Indian girl who accompanied the Corps to the Pacific and back. This
entire area is rich in history, especially as has to do with the
expedition. The Corps spent much time here during the winter of
1804-1805. In 1806, however, determined to reach St. Louis before
winter, they were set with the urgent purpose of moving down the
river. As luck would have it, just past the turn to Stanton comes a
fully paved emergency lane. Okay left foot, let's go; you're out of
trouble now!
I'd hoped to make it to Fort Clark this evening. I arrive by five,
with loads of daylight remaining, so I hoof it on toward Washburn.
The earlier I arrive there tomorrow the better. I want to spend
time again at the Lewis and Clark Interpretive Center, and
hopefully, at the Fort Mandan Historic Site.
As dusk approaches, and as I chug down more water, do I realize that
I'm almost out of water. Luck would have it (twice today!) I meet
Arnie. He's pulling out of his drive, one of only a few passed all
day. He waits for me to come beside, and then asks if I need a ride
or anything. I decline the ride but ask if he'd permit my use of
his outside faucet to fetch some much-needed water -- for the
upcoming evening and night. "You don't want to drink that water,"
replies Arnie. In a flash, he whips his car in reverse and begins
backing up. "Come on up to the house, I'll get you some water from
our fridge," says Arnie as he looks over his shoulder, dust flying.
Watered up now, and another mile or so behind me, I'm at Hensler, a
little village next the Missouri by the tracks. Arnie said I could
pitch in the park. "There's a pavilion there. Get under it where
you'll stay dry," he told me. I thought that comment strange at the
time. But I no sooner arrive the park than the wind comes up
driving sheets of rain from the west. I'm in; I'm dry. Ha, thanks
Arnie!
"as our Swivel Could no longer be Serveceable to us as it could
not be fireed on board the largest Perogue, we Concluded to make a
present of it to the Great Chief of the Memetaras...I then a good
deel of Ceremony made a present of the Swivel to the [One Eye]
Chief..." [Clark, August 16th 1806]
Saturday--May 20, 2006
Trail Day—059
Trail Mile--03.3/1379
Location--Washburn, North Dakota
The rain finally gave it up last, but the mutt next to the park
didn't. First time I've fallen asleep by Walkman radio!
The front that chugged through has brought the cold wind back, out
of the northeast. Oh yes, I'm hiking northeast this morning, but
only for an hour or so. Sure glad I hammered the miles yesterday
evening when it was calm and mild. Jacket, long sleeves, and
mittens are back on this morning -- one more time.
Today I'm near the Missouri again, and will trek nearby pretty much
the remainder of this odyssey. At Washburn the Missouri stands at
just below 1,700 feet. From here on down to St. Louis it will drop
another 1,300 feet, so the current is really moving, and the Corps
moved swiftly with it
I'm anxious to see downtown Washburn; bypassed in '04. I'm in by
eleven, in time for breakfast at the Lewis and Clark Cafe. Lots of
Lewis and Clark here. Lots of picture taking. I'm not disappointed.
By noon I've reached the Lewis and Clark Interpretive Center. Now,
and while taking pictures of the remarkable steel likenesses of
Captains Lewis and Clark, and Chief Sheheke, near the entrance came
Dan and Karen from Illinois. They're touring the Lewis and Clark
National Historic Trail, and while waiting patiently for me to get
out of the way -- for their turn at pictures -- we strike up a most
interesting conversation. Interesting? Oh yes, for it is now that I
meet yet another descendant of a Corps member! This time the
ancestor is William Bratton. And the relative? Great, great, great
grandson Dan!
Kevin, Center Interpretive Coordinator, who greeted and befriended
me in '04 is away today. But David, President of the Lewis and
Clark Fort Mandan Foundation, which operates the Center, is in. And
in a moment comes David to greet and welcome me. More kindness
extended to the old Nomad, as he nods to his receptionist to
prepare a complimentary pass for me. David then offers to drive me
up to Fort Mandan, some two miles distant, as did Kevin two years
ago. Standing nearby, and overhearing our conversation, Ted and Barb
from Hawaii also offer to take me up!
Much has been added since my last trip through and I thoroughly
enjoy my visit. I take the ride with Ted and Barb. At the Fort,
we've pretty much got the place to ourselves. Steel statuary of
Seaman, Lewis' Newfoundland dog, has been added at the Fort
site. The river panorama and the sculpt-work are both quite
remarkable. Ted takes my picture as I proudly stand with Seaman.
Back at the Center, and greeted yet again by David, I mention (with
a fair degree of guilt) that I had told Kevin long ago I would join
the Foundation -- I never did. I wanted to close that loop. So,
we've taken care of that today! This old (200-years-too-late Corps
member) Nomad is now the newest member of the Fort Mandan
Foundation.
Lots more pictures before I bid farewell to Ted and Barb, and Dan
and Karen -- and David and all dear friends at the Center, and the
Fort. Thanks all, for your genuine kindness!
I've made it a goal to hike each and every day this trek. And so
far, in 59 days, I've not missed one. Today, though, has been the
shortest by far, just a little over three miles -- and a tad over
one hour (two actually, as I've put another time zone behind me. I'm
now on Central Time). 1379 miles over 59 days averages out to nearly
24 miles per day. I'm pleased with that. And I pray, that through
God's Holy Grace, I might maintain my health and stamina for the
remainder of this odyssey, of which I am now over half way, and that
I might finish this remarkable return trek in like stead.
In crossing the Missouri, I depart the Sakakawea South Shore. And in
so doing, I leave many dear, kind friends behind, friends I may
never see again. On August 17th 1806, and near here, the Corps (all
members) suffered the same sad good-byes.....
"Settled with Touisant Charbono for his Services as an
enterpreter the pric of a horse and Lodge purchased of him for
public Service in all amounting to 500$ 33 1/3 cents...at 2 oClock
we left our encampment after takeing leave of Colter who...set out
up the river...we also took our leave of T. Charbono, his Snake
Indian wife and their Son Child who had accompanied us on our rout
to the pacific Ocean...I offered to take his little Son a butifull
promising Child who is 19 months old to which they both himself &
wife wer willing provided the Child had been weened. they observed
that in one year the boy would be sufficiently old to leave his
mother & he would then take him to me if I would be so freindly as
to raise the Child for him in Such a manner as I thought proper."
[Clark, near present-day Hensler, August 17th 1806]
Sunday--May 21, 2006
Trail Day—60
Trail Mile--30.3/1409
Location--Double Ditch Indian Village Historic Site, north of
Bismarck, North Dakota
The rain the weatherman's been calling for finally comes this
morning, and it seems content on staying. I go for breakfast, then
while away time in my room, waiting for the rain to quit. Sarah, the
innkeeper, tells me it's supposed to clear out late morning. Sure
enough, by eleven, the rain finally stops -- same time the wind
starts howling.
Out and moving southeast now, I'm having a tough time of it. The
rain's decided to return, and the wind is driving very cold from --
you guessed it, the southeast! Seems I just can't win with the wind
out here. Fleece jacket, mittens and poncho on, I lean into it.
During my daily morning prayer, and each day, I always ask the Lord
to grant me patience. This morning, I pray for a double dose!
The landscape here in the high plains is slowly changing as it drops
ever-so-gently to the east. As the distance away, from the sheer
wall that's formed by the Rockies, increases, so too the annual
rainfall. No longer is there need for forty acres per cow. Here are
lush fields of grain -- and even trees, lots of trees! So, I'll not
complain of this rain. The farmers need the rain. With added
patience a blessing, I'll trek through this day, and I will be
thankful for it.
On SR1804, and where the Missouri bends to come next the road,
there's a little primitive park, camping permitted. I passed this
place on July 3rd 2004. A group of Bismarck Class of '01 grads had
invited me to stay the night, to camp with them, and to help
celebrate the 4th. They put on a special fireworks show just for me.
It was a hoot! I'd sure like to see them all again, so last evening
I tried reaching Aaron Franklund, one of the young fellows who'd
befriended me. But alas, no luck. Perhaps when I reach Bismarck, I
can try again.
The wind keeps pushing; I push back, finally reaching the beautiful
high ground overlooking the Missouri at Double Ditch. I descend the
bluff and find a flat spot on a little shelf just above the rushing
waters and pitch for the night.
There are no bad days on the trail; some are just a bit better than
others.
Double Ditch was one of seven Mandan villages that thrived but were
then abandoned, even before the Corps passed in 1804-1806.
"I set my self down with the big white man Chiefe and made a
number of enquiries into the tredition of his nation as well as the
time of their inhabiting the number of Villages the remains of which
we see on different parts of the river, as also the cause of their
evacuation...he Said that in the Village Opposit to our Camp and at
that time his nation inhabited 7 villages..." [Clark, August 18th
1806]
Monday--May 22, 2006
Trail Day—061
Trail Mile--11.3/1420
Location--Bismarck, North Dakota
I'm waking at a proper hour now, since slipping to Central Time.
The wind, which kept kicking well into the evening last gets up with
me. But I'll not find it a problem this day as I've a short hike on
to Bismarck and I'll be in the shelter of trees along and below the
river bluff. It's great being back near the river again. It's taken
a long time to get here, but now I'll be close to it most every day,
and though trekking in their very long shadow, I'll be where I'm
able to sense the presence of the Corps once more. Double Ditch is
quiet and serene this morning, no archaeologists, no digging this
time through. The circular depressions in the sod tell the story,
the remains of hundreds of earthen lodges that once stood
here. There's evidence, also, of two ditches, trenches fortified by
high picket stockades, which contoured the village high ground, from
the river bluff, around and encircling the village, then back to the
bluff. This village, combined with other nearby encampments, and
before the great smallpox epidemics of the late 1700s, comprised a
metropolis for that era, being home to over 10,000 Mandans.
The hike today is short and sweet, and before eleven I'm at Pioneer
Park, location of Meriwether's Restaurant, and down the way, a
full-size replica of the Corps' keelboat. The restaurant opens at
eleven, and I'm right here for coffee and a fine lunch, compliments
of Brenda and Kristi, two kind locals who befriend me and who
express much interest in my journey.
From the park, it's a short hike to the state capitol and the North
Dakota Heritage Center. Near the Center stands the most impressive
bronze statue of Sacagawea and son, Pomp. I passed here in '04, but
no matter, I had to return to this spot one more time. The light of
the day isn't right, but I take the picture anyway. In the Center,
there are so many things to see. I try to limit my time to the late
1700s, early 1800s.
Late afternoon now, I'm in south Bismarck where I check into the
Expressway Inn. I go for the local phone book first thing. Along
SR1804 yesterday I stopped by Painted Woods Ranch to speak with the
farmer/rancher, to enquire as to the Franklund family. I recalled
Aaron telling me his folks farmed/ranched considerable land
nearby. Bob gave me Aaron's father's name, which I now find in the
Bismarck phone book. Hey, I've got Aaron's mom on the phone! "He's
out at the farm," she says, "but I'll have him call you as soon as
he's home."
Well, how about this? In awhile comes Aaron and Renee, two of the
kids from '04! We have a grand time talking the past -- and their
future. Great to know that the whole bunch is fine: Aaron, the other
Aaron, Matt, the other Matt, Liz, Ashley, Darrin, Jeremy, and Josh
-- all Class of '01, Century High, Bismarck.
"Capt. Lewis'es wounds are heeling very fast, I am much in hope
of his being able to walk in 8 or 10 days." [Clark, August 19th
1806]
Tuesday--May 23, 2006
Trail Day—062
Trail Mile--30.2/1450
Location--Livona, North Dakota
Bismarck, though the capital of North Dakota, is no big city by
any measure. However, out here on the northwestern high plains, it's
a fair-sized town, clean and neat, with folks that greet you with a
glad smile and a happy disposition. Yup, I thoroughly enjoyed my
stay in Bismarck
Heading south now on SR1804, first mile marker says 78, so I've got
78 miles to go to reach the South Dakota state line -- plus 9 more,
which will make 87 to the little village of Pollock. From here to
Pollock there are no gas stations, no convenience stores,
nothing. So I'm going to try and hammer it in three days, that's how
much food I'm carrying. Water? Will have to take my chances on
water.
A few years back there used to be a marina, a restaurant or two, one
with a gas station, but they're all closed down now due to years of
low water in Lake Oahe. This whole upper area's been left high and
dry. No fish, no fisherman. No fisherman, no conveniences. A few
large ranches and farms, that's it. Not much reason for anyone else
to be out here -- or to be passing through for that matter.
By nine o'clock the breeze starts coming up from the southeast. Oh
yes, I'm hiking southeast. By nine-thirty it's at fifteen, by ten,
at twenty, on its way to twenty-five. Noon now and I'm having to
lean hard into it -- the "breeze," that is. Out here, until the
prairie grass is bent flat, folks don't use the word "wind." Been
listening to the weatherman for weeks, and he's yet to mention
wind! I finally give up, take my hat off and stuff it in my pocket,
after chasing after it for the third time.
Thank goodness I'm now working my way around the last large Missouri
River impoundment, Lake Oahe. It's a huge reservoir, stretching from
just below Bismarck all the way down to Pierre, South Dakota. To
pass the far-reaching lake fingers and coves, the highway zigs and
zags, first south, then east, then south some more, following the
mile-square sections. Definitely not the kind of place you'd take
your scout troop for a weekend hike.
By three, the wind is pushing at me at thirty-five, gusting to
forty. I halt at times just to hold my ground. By early evening I
reach Glencoe Church/Cemetery. Flowers are kept by many of the
graves -- so there's a water faucet right inside the gate. I bottle
up and Camel up. Ah, lucky me; I'll have enough water now to make it
through most of tomorrow.
Late evening now, comes a severe weather alert broadcast by the
Bismarck/Mandan radio station. Severe thunderstorms accompanied by
hail are forecast for the evening. Looking northeast, I see what's
coming, an ominous black wall of clouds. I've got to find a place to
get out of this one. Near mile marker forty-eight, and as the storm
moves in, hard winds begin driving darts of rain and hail. Past a
curve I pull off by a large machinery barn. The front access door is
padlocked. None of the large sliders will budge, all bolted from the
inside. Around the lee of the building and toward the back I find
another access door. I clutch the doorknob, hesitate for a little
prayer -- and give it a twist. The door opens. Actually it flies
open, from the pressure built up, and almost knocks me down. But I'm
in and out of it. Thank you, Lord. The whole place shudders as the
wind howls and the rain and hail pelt the metal roof and
sidewalls. I find a spot behind one of the huge tractors, lay out my
bedroll, say another prayer, and call it a day.
In August 1806, Clark noted that significant changes had occurred to
the river since first passing in 1804. Ha, he sure wouldn't
recognize any of this section today; it's all submerged under Oahe.
"I observe a great alteration in the Corrent course and
appearance of this pt. of the Missouri. in places where there was
Sand bars in the fall of 1804 at this time the Main Current passes,
and where the current then passed is now a Sand bar...the entrance
of Some of the Rivers & Creeks Changed." [Clark, August 20th 1806]
Wednesday--May 24, 2006
Trail Day—063
Trail Mile--32.7/1485
Location--Northwest of Pollock, North Dakota
The wind and rain continued hard into the night, but even through
the snare-drum racket I managed to sleep. I was exhausted from
fighting against the relentless wind. My patience, energy, and the
day all ended at the same time.
I'm out and hiking into a very unsettled day. The sky is completely
overcast, the ceiling uncomfortably low, the whole mess moving at an
alarming speed. I've started with my jacket and poncho. Good thing
as the rain, which had passed in waves all night, soon returns. The
wind that's driving the clouds from the northwest comes to drive me,
in accordance with the Weatherman, who's called for a very "breezy"
day. Oh yes, thirty-five per, gusting to over forty. The wind will
be my companion once again.
In awhile the cloud ceiling lifts some, revealing what is now the
big sky of North Dakota. I can see no less than three severe
thunderstorms, one to the south, the others to the southeast, each
with its gray, arching curtain of rain dragging the prairie.
I'm in pheasant country again. Yesterday I was startled many times
as the birds flushed before me, cackling and making the most
unsettling racket. Today I've already kicked up over a dozen.
A short way into the day stops one of the local ranchers. Duran and
his family have apparently worked the land here for many years. As
we talk, he laments as to how their land was taken for the
reservoir. Where once there was a beautiful meandering Missouri,
remain only mud flats today. He's intrigued by my account, hiking
the Lewis and Clark National Historic Trail. He's been a student of
local history, and especially of the Corps. "The Cannonball River
comes in right up there. The Corps shot two elk at that place," says
Duran. I give him my card and ask if he'll sign my guestbook. I
continue on -- as the rain continues.
The wind steadily increases in intensity to near forty, gusting at
time to near fifty. With the rain, which comes and goes, my feet
have become soaked. I have asked for more patience -- to endure what
is shaping to be another hammer-it-out day. Not complaining, just a
reality check on energy and stamina. Monotony comes in different
forms.
The gas pumps and restaurant are closed at Beaver Creek Bay, have
been since September of last year. There's still a Beaver Creek, but
no bay. I head over the short distance anyway, as there's a porch
roof on the front, under which to escape this latest wave of rain --
and I hope and pray they've left the water on. I'm in luck. The
front hose bib is off but the side one works. I fill my three
twenties and camel up. A bite of lunch, and then kill some time
before heading back out in the wind-driven rain.
Late evening pulls this car to the shoulder, my side. The gentleman
gets out and waves to me with a grand smile. I meet Ron Gerhardt
from Bismarck. The usual questions followed by the usual
answers. I'm surprised though when he asks where I'll be staying
tomorrow night. When I tell him I'll find an old building or a row
of trees somewhere ahead, Ron suggests I consider staying at his
vacation place in Pollock. "I'll not be there, but the door will be
unlocked for you," says Ron. When I comment that he knows nothing
about me, come to find out he does! "You know Jim Damico?" he
asks. I can't believe it! Jim stayed at Ron's during his L&CNHT bike
journey in '04. I missed meeting Ron and his little village of
Pollock, as I'd hiked the other side of the river that year. He
reaches in his cooler and hands me a Coke, then two huge peanut
bars. "That's all I've got with me right now." he says, disappointed
voice but a happy smile.
So it is, the old Nomad is continually befriended, but seems
he's never prepared for the outpouring of kindness and generosity
showered down. Befuddled and dumbfounded, I manage a "Thank
you." It'll sure be a blessing to get in, take a shower, and have a
hot meal. Amazing, thanks, Ron!
After more than eleven hours of hard pounding, I've manage the
distance from MM48 to MM14. This will leave a very manageable 23
into Pollock for tomorrow, and Ron's place.
I find that spot I was hoping for in a row of trees, out of the
wind. The rain has finally stopped and the wind is calming
down. Looks like the makings for a very pleasant night. Two cheese
sandwiches, and the nut bars Ron gave me, and I'm down for the
count.
Though I'm moving at a respectable rate, compared to the progress
made along this section by the Corps, I'm not keeping pace. South of
my present location is where the Corps encountered problems with the
Sioux. "...that the Seioux were the Cause...that they were a bad
peoples. that they had killed Several of the Ricaras Since I Saw
them." [Clark, August 21, 1806]
Thursday--May 25, 2006
Trail Day—064
Trail Mile--22.3/1507
Location--Pollock, South Dakota
Though quite remote, this area by the Missouri/Oahe is certainly
picturesque. There are numerous photo opportunities all along this
morning as the sun rises above the mesas and buttes. And the
pheasants, they seem to be everywhere.
Storm fronts are coming through at intervals of about every two to
three days, so today is an in-between. The breeze is actually a
breeze for a change, gently nudging me along. So, it's a very nice
hiking day. More thunderstorms are forecast for tomorrow afternoon
with a stiff "breeze" from the southeast again -- but that's
tomorrow. I'll worry about it then.
Ron makes a special trip out to greet me around nine with some
breakfast rolls and a Coke. He and wife, Joyce, enjoy bicycle
touring and are in the process of completing a perimeter cruise
around North Dakota. Memorial weekend upcoming, they'll be out and
pedaling again. Around noon, and on his way back to Bismarck, Ron
stops the final time to bring another Coke, and to wish me well.
Pollock is a neat little village. Interesting, too. The town had to
be totally relocated in the sixties when the Oahe dam was built. The
old city site is now in the bottom of the lake. I get in by
two-thirty, to hit the mom-n-pop cafe for lunch.
Ron and Joyce have a lovely second home here in Pollock, and I have
it all to myself. Oh so good to get a shower and clean clothes. In
the evening, I hit the cafe again for a fine supper. While I was
out, Ron's neighbor, Alvena, stopped by the house to leave a plate
of confections and goodies for me. More kindness; what a fine
welcome back to South Dakota!
"my worthy friend Capt Lewis is recovering fast, he walked a
little to day for the first time. I have discontinued the tent in
the hole the ball came out." [Clark, August 22, 1806]
Friday--May 26, 2006
Trail Day—065
Trail Mile--26.4/1533
Location--Northeast of Mobridge, South Dakota
I enjoyed a restful stay at Ron and Joyce's home in Pollock. Sure
glad I decided to come down the SR1804 side of the river this trek!
The "breeze" is already whippin' it up as I head over to the little
mom-n-pop for breakfast, and it's blasting through from the
southeast; not good news for me this day, another day to just make
the best of it. One day at a time is the only way to go. It'd be
impossible to successfully pull off a journey of this magnitude any
other way. Pray for the best; take it as it comes, be thankful and
of good spirit, no matter; sounds simplistic but that's the
secret. No other way will work, at least not for me, not for very
long anyway.
At the post office, I have an enjoyable chat with postmistress,
Paula, also with Vina at the Welcome/Interpretive Center. I don't
get moving down the "trail" until ten.
From Pollock, SR1804 climbs back up and onto the wide-open
prairie. Two hours out and nearly six miles later (of what is going
to be a hot, head down 'n hammer day) I can still turn and look back
down on the little village of Pollock. I'm sure not running out of
prairie, for there's one huge chunk of it up here, rolling to the
hazy blue -- 360.
I'm being eased into the heat of summer, having been exposed to
short afternoon doses the past few days. But now, apparently, I must
be prepared for what's to come, the daily frying pan. By noon the
heat waves are dancing, creating mirages over the tarmac. The
stifling heat, driven by a 30 mph southeast "breeze" has created the
most unusual haze. Haze is supposed to limit one's view, but this
haze just looks soupy and thick, because it's still possible to see
great distances through it.
For this day, I've grossly underestimated my water
needs/consumption. By two, I'm already drawing down on my second of
three 20 oz. bottles. Over a gentle rise, I see two men working a
huge hookup of farm equipment, machinery the purpose for which I
have no idea. Drawing closer, one of the farmers comes to the road
to greet me and to ask the usual questions. I learn that the machine
is an air drill for planting no-till crops. They're sewing (drilling
in) sunflower seed. We talk about the dry land, the low level of the
reservoir, and my near-empty water bottles -- which are promptly
filled, the process of which drains the farmer's thermos. "Don't
worry," he says, "I live right over the hill; you've a long way to
go to reach Mobridge."
Still later in the day, and down one full water bottle again, in the
far lane stops a pickup. I turn to see this rancher lady holding out
a bottle of water. Oh yes, I go right over. "Checkin' on our cows,"
she says. "We need rain real bad. Grass is drying up and our ponds
are almost empty." But no matter; she finds a grand smile for me as
I chug the entire bottle of water just handed me. "Thirsty, weren't
you? I know how it goes out here." Another big smile from the kind
lady as I hand back the empty bottle.
The sun continues scorching the road -- and me, until the fringes of
a thunderhead block it. I stop to get some spectacular pictures, as
the dense, undulating curtains of rain drape and drag the
prairie. I've talked about this remarkable sight many times; now
I've got pictures of it. But alas, as for my two friends today --
the storm is across the lake to the south, perhaps as far as fifteen
miles away; no help for this rain-starved area.
By late evening I'm managed only twenty-six miles. In a normal day,
especially after hiking for ten hours or more, I will easily have
covered 30 miles. But not today. With the heat (the Mobridge radio
station says it's 98 right now) and the unrelenting wind (oops,
"breeze") that's been shoving straight at me at 30 per, gusting to
over 40, I've done well to manage 26 miles.
The Corps is far outdistancing me now, day-to-day, as to our
respective travels down river, as they were riding the swift
currents of the mighty Missouri. Consequently, there'll be days now
with no quotes from Clark's journal, as he seldom made multiple
entries for any given day.
Saturday--May 27, 2006
Trail Day—066
Trail Mile--11.2/1544
Location--Mobridge, South Dakota
For my camp last, I found a secluded, wooded draw that cut the
prairie rim, just a short distance off the highway. Thunder was
cracking and lightning flashing to the southwest, the same storm I'd
spoken about yesterday. I positioned my tent to the lee for
protection from the 30 per breeze and rain, the latter of which
never arrived. The breeze kept chugging through though, all night,
rattling my tent and causing me restless sleep.
The morning dawns bright -- and breezy. No problem. To reach
Mobridge, I'd stuck with it and put all but eleven miles behind me
yesterday. So, this morning (and before the breeze can start
freight-trainin' me), I'll be in Mobridge!
Descending the prairie, and from this vantage now, as locals had
told me in Pollock, the views out and across the Missouri/Oahe
Reservoir are truly breathtaking. I pause often, to just turn and
turn -- and to look. By ten-thirty, I've descended to the
intersection of SR1804 and my old friend, US12. I've been saving a
buy-one-get-one Dew cap, which I promptly redeem at the corner
jiffy. They’ve a little klatch area -- and the kind attendant lets
me go for a cup of ice. Oh my goodness but doesn't being thirsty
sometimes have its rewards! Two Pepsi's and another cup of ice
later, my thirst is finally quenched. I just sit, lean back and
relax, totally content -- Buuurp!
The cottonwood trees are in full bloom now, and as I head down the
street toward the little East Side Motel and Cabins, the remarkable
phenomenon for which the cottonwood tree is named is occurring. The
air is filled with snow. And on the ground along, and by the fences
and hedges are there such amazing drifts! The wind-(breeze) blown
cottonwood seed-wings look in every respect and entirely like
snowflakes drifting, a proverbial storm floating by. Save the fact
it's ninety-some degrees out, one would certainly be easily enough
fooled.
At East Side, Linda recognizes me from my stay during the
outbound. I'm greeted with what can only be described as that
"Prairie Welcome" smile. Ahh, and I've been the fortunate
beneficiary of that contagious smile, everywhere along. Linda's got
a room for me, with a tub, for a special hiker-trash rate. She even
takes time to get her magnifier and tweezers out, to remove the tip
of a Locust thorn I crossed paths with in camp last.
Wow, is the Corps ever headin' for the barn. On August 26th 1806,
they were in present-day Lyman County, below Pierre. I won't be
anywhere near there for at least another five days.
Sunday--May 28, 2006
Trail Day—067
Trail Mile--28.2/1572
Location--Akaska, South Dakota
I had a fine stay in Mobridge, due entirely to Linda's kindness
at East Side Motel and Cabins. She allowed me to check in early and
stay late. Since I hike every day, it's a blessing when I arrive in
town late morning, to be able to check in, take a shower and get my
feet up.
The breeze (20-25 per) is at my back for a change. Yippee! Well into
the hike today SR1804 peters out as the road turns to gravel for the
remainder of the way into Akaska. More pheasant all along. I flush
thirty or more. They're not the least concerned with passing
vehicles, but my being a'foot, that really spooks 'em.
Akaska is a delightful little village. I'm able to look down on the
little berg from a hill a mile or so out. They've a neat park,
campground, a short main drag -- and Linda's Supper Club. I arrive
just at happy hour. The place is packed; one stool left at the
bar. As I drop my pack, comes this grand smile from Linda. All her
patrons watch with puzzled expression as I slip behind the bar for a
big "welcome back" hug!
The kitchen is closed, but not for the old Nomad. Oh yes,
salad, a delicious 10 oz. steak, plus fries and toast. Fun chatting
with locals, Darrell and Jim. Jim had seen me coming in on 1804,
buys me a cold one.
I pitch in the park behind Linda's, just like in '04. Early
morning, the rain comes in hard -- just like in '04.
Monday--May 29, 2006
Trail Day—068
Trail Mile--31.0/1603
Location--North of Onida, South Dakota
Breakfast is on and the klatch is in -- at the bait shop! Eggs, a
huge mound of hash browns, ham steak, toast, and a half pot of
coffee later and I'm fueled. Jim, who runs the campground and post
office, stops to chat. We'd met in '04. He again extends best wishes
for a safe journey.
It's three miles straight east to the main highway, which runs
almost due south for miles. As I make the turn, it's easy to see how
this day will play out. Oh, it’s pleasant enough alright, cool with
a mild cross breeze. However, being able to see the roadway ahead to
a pinpoint on the horizon does little to boost the morale. I say my
morning prayer, including a request once again for patience, as the
oil tankers and cattle trucks fly by. The pavement is concrete, with
expansion joints and rain grooves cut in. It's possible to hear the
eighteen-wheelers a full two minutes, one as they come, one as they
go, the racket their tires making on the pavement surface,
nerve-racking. "Crank your Walkman up and keep plodding old man,
you'll be over that far away hill, where the highway dances the
hazy-blue, soon enough."
I'm heading for the barn now too, just as did the Corps. The
Missouri bears generally southeast from here, and that's exactly the
direction to St. Louis. The road goes that way one ratchet notch at
a time, a distance south, a ways east, and then back south again,
stair stepping along.
More pheasant today, many more. I kick up hundreds, not
exaggerating. There are hunting lodges out here, seemingly in the
middle of nowhere -- but certainly in the middle of the finest bird
hunting anywhere.
A straight line thirty plus today. I'm tired, not only physically
but also mentally. By an old abandoned farmstead, with abandoned
tractors, trailers, bailers and tillers, I pitch by a grove of
locust, as the cackling, fluttering pheasants carry on all around.
Tuesday--May 30, 2006
Trail Day—069
Trail Mile--32.1/1635
Location--North of Pierre, South Dakota
A short distance (straight ahead, then left) to Agar. The Bunkhouse
Bar is open for breakfast. I go for a Pepsi to wash down my stack
and eggs, compliments of Marty, the bar owner. "Lots of bicyclists
through here every year, but you're the first one walking it,
breakfast's on me," she says. Then comes that beaming smile from
Marty and mom, Sola. This kind of generosity and hospitality -- easy
to reject, always hard to accept. I thank her the best I can.
The post office is right down the street. I send some things home,
get a little cash back. This is road kill day. Begins with a couple
snakes, two porkys and a coon, followed by three jackrabbits and a
fox. Then comes a doe, and sadly, her little fawn, which had stuck
right there by mother's side, by the side of the road, till it
starved to death. I reach for my camera, until better judgment
prevailed.
By lunchtime I'm in Onida, and into the mom-n-pop for their special,
and more Pepsi.
As I hammer the concrete, toward another thirty-plus day of dealing
with the noise and confusion, my thoughts wander to consider the
thousands upon thousands of folks that shoulder backpacks every
year, to take short and extended hikes through the forests and along
mountain trails all across this glorious land. And I think too, of
how it takes a special breed to lift a pack and take to the open
road. For every thousand or so of the ordinary backpackers, there
may be one insane enough, driven enough (the Lord only knows by
what), to take to the highways and byways. I'm one of the former for
sure. But more and more I'm becoming one of the latter. I thoroughly
enjoy the quiet and solitude found in the forests and mountains, but
danged if I don't love the open road.
And why? Ahh...
It's the people, the places,
The pain and the trials.
It's the joy and the blessings
That come with the miles.
It's a calling gone out
To a fortunate few,
To wander the fringes
Of God's hazy blue.
As the sun is near setting, now to be blocked by a wall of black
extending clear across the northern horizon, I quickly conclude that
it'd be good to find shelter and get out of this impending storm.
Ahh yes, over the next hill comes a corral with outbuildings, and a
pickup camper on stilts. I stop to watch intently for a few
minutes. Okay, nobody's about, so over I go, just as the first
quarter-size splats of rain arrive. Hey, hey, the camper door is
unlocked, so in I go. Nobody's been here for a very long time,
except the field mice. They've had a field day. I move the dinette
cushions to the upper cab-over bunk area, spread out my tent fly for
a cloth, and unroll my sleeping bag. What a snug, dry place to be as
the electric show begins and the wind-driven rain comes. Thank you
again, Lord!
Wednesday--May 31, 2006
Trail Day—070
Trail Mile--15.1/1650
Location--Pierre, South Dakota
Been whittling on the miles for this day -- for the past three
days, so there'd be time to see the sights in Pierre. I get out and
moving a little late due to the hanger-on rain, but still manage to
enter the city a little past noon. I could see the capitol from
across the river in '04, but I never crossed over to see it, a
decision I'd come to regret. I'll close that loop today. But first,
I've got to find a cobbler to try and get my worn out shoes
repaired. No way after over 1,600 miles I'll make it much further
with them; the heels are completely gone.
I get direction from the kind folks at a little family-run auto
repair. In fact, the kind lady calls the shop and I get to plead my
case. I give the poor fellow my two-minute pitch. He tells me there
isn't much he can do with cross-trainers like I'm wearing. He really
doesn't want to fuss with me. But after I tell him how the wore down
shoes are wrecking my feet, he relents, even offers to come and pick
me up!
In minutes this little Maxima pulls to the curb. Behind that broad,
familiar smile is Steve. I open the passenger door, and hanging onto
it turn and hold my foot up for him to see. "Come on, get in; we'll
do something to straighten them out." I'm in and we're off to his
little shop behind his mother's. On the way, he tells me how he's
kept the business going after his father passed away, but that he
has to work another full-time job in the log home business to make
it.
Neat little shop. Lots of shoes and boots, other leather and canvas
items on the floor and lining the shelves, all in one stage or
another of repair. I take my shoes off, apologize for their smelly
condition, and hand them to him. The machinery starts whirring and
the rubber (what little's left of it) hits the grinder. "Smells like
car tires, doesn't it? Same kind of rubber," says Steve. In less
than forty minutes my old clods are sporting brand new heels. Steve
smiles again and hands them back to me. "Dad taught me pretty good,
didn't he!" he exclaims. The return ride downtown, and Steve has me
back on the street. Thanks Steve. Oh yes, this is so much better;
I'm walking straight again!
In '04 a kind chap had stopped to greet me just below Oahe Dam. We
talked for the longest time. Caleb runs an outdoor adventure
business; canoeing, kayaking, guiding, skin/scuba diving,
backpacking, and custom game processing. I promised to look him up
if ever back this way. A few blocks down and I'm at Caleb's place,
Dakota Adventures/Steamboat. He's in. Yup, that "high plains" grin
as he sees and recognizes me. Another loop closed today!
The South Dakota Capitol building and complex is quite impressive.
The large, dark dome can be seen for miles, towering above the city,
and the day is perfect for pictures. I take a bunch.
Early evening, I check into one of the mom-n-pop motels downtown.
Wow, what a fine day! The Corps is four days ahead of me; no way I
can match their progress from here on downriver.
"we discovered the first Signs of the wild turkey...My friend Capt
Lewis hurt himself very much by takeing a longer walk on the Sand
bar...than he had Strength to undergo, which Caused him to remain
very unwell all night." [Clark, below present-day Pierre, Grand
Detour (Big Bend), August 27th 1806]
Thursday--June 1, 2006
Trail Day—071
Trail Mile--24.8/1675
Location--Pit Stop, past De Grey, South Dakota
Take my sweet time this morning, working my journal entries, sending
a few emails. First stop out (at 10:30!) is Country Kitchen for
breakfast. On the way, Steve, the kind fellow who repaired my shoes
yesterday, is passing. He stops. More upbeat conversation as he
again wishes me safe passage on to St. Louis.
Out of Pierre, and near the river/reservoir, there's a wide bike
path leading east beside the road. I take it as the morning traffic
is quite heavy. I'm relying on reaching a little watering hole for
supper, some twenty-five miles out, called the Pit Stop. So for
snacks today, I'm carrying a piece of my breakfast toast, two little
serving tubs of peanut butter and jelly plus a package of M&Ms.
Great hiking day. Bright, billowing clouds tuft the sky, with only a
slight breeze from the south. Here below Oahe, in its tail waters,
the river resembles a river once more, but for only a short distance
until it begins forming the headwaters of Lake Francis Case. The
river won't truly "run" until I reach Sioux City.
Used to think that eighteen-wheelers rolled a lot of rubber. But
today I see the granddaddy of them all, two double bottom side-dump
gravel haulers. Each trailer has triple duels front and back. That's
forty-eight wheels hittin' the road. Add the ten for the semi
tractor and it totals fifty-eight! Oh yes, these fellows are rumblin'
when they pass, especially when fully loaded. But as with almost
every big rig driver, they're most courteous, giving me all the road
they can when they go blowing by.
Doesn't take long, as usual, for the reservoir and the road to part
company. The river turns, meandering away, and the road climbs back
up on the wide-open prairie. Here I stay the remainder of the day.
By a little after seven the miles for today are racked. Up a long
pull from a deep cut in the prairie floor, and rolling the prairie
once more, I can see the little oasis that is Pit Stop. A short
gravel drive leads me there, where upon entering, I'm greeted by
Patty.
I'm hot, tired, dry, and hungry. This has got to be it for today.
Hope I'll be able to pitch nearby.
Friday--June 2, 2006
Trail Day—072
Trail Mile--36.1/1711
Location--Fort Thompson, South Dakota
Great evening last, at Pit Stop, a delightful little oasis on the
high, open prairie. Had a great burger and fries, lots of iced down
Pepsi, and a couple tall ones.
After chatting with hostess/waitress/cook, Patty, and locals Kenny,
Danny, Fred, and Steve, Patty offered me a perfect spot to pitch
behind the store, flat, nicely mowed, and sheltered should the wind
come up. Had my camp set and was in at dusk. Thanks, Patty, and all
friends at Pit Stop.
Another fine hiking day in the making as I head on down the long,
open road. I can easily see where I'll be two hours from now. Soon
I'm on the Crow Creek Indian Reservation, and as has always been the
case while hiking Indian lands, folks begin stopping to offer me a
ride, or to check that I'm okay. From here to anywhere yonder, it's
one heck of a long ways out here, and the folks who stop all end up
in the most remarkable puzzlement when I kindly decline their offer
to get in and ride.
The day has really heated up, and by the time I reach Mac's Corner,
a gas/convenience stop some twenty-three miles out, I'm out of water
and suffering a powerful thirst. Putting the quick-chug on a couple
cold Pepsi Cola solves that problem.
While relaxing and listening to the farmer's pleading for rain, I'm
also calculating the time it'll take to hike it on down to Fort
Thompson today. It's four-thirty and with only twelve more miles to
go, I can easily be at the casino/restaurant/motel complex before
dark.
By hiking on today though, I be creating a real problem with my mail
drop in Chamberlain. No way can I be in there before noon tomorrow,
and I don't want a lay over till Monday. Solution: I hit the pay
phone and call the post office in Chamberlain, then send an email to
Bobbie, owner, Lake Shore Motel in Chamberlain. Hey, it'll
work! Bobbie has offered and she'll be allowed to pick up my bounce
box and other mail tomorrow morning. Wow, have I ever cranked out
the miles today. Same old hot, tired, dry, and hungry. Lucky me, the
Lode Star Casino Restaurant still have the grill hot at 9:00, and
soon comes a fine steak and baked potato! Renita and Wally agree I
qualify for a very special rate at their five-star motel. Oh yes,
I'm in for the night.
Saturday--June 3, 2006
Trail Day—073
Trail Mile--22.3/1733
Location--Chamberlain, South Dakota
The day begins nicely as I manage to get out and hiking by 7:30. But
the "breeze" is becoming a nuisance already by nine.
Many fine vantages down onto Lake Francis Case. This reservoir like
all the others along the chain is low, perhaps as much as
twenty-five feet. The old snags, from trees left standing when the
land was flooded, can be seen along both shorelines. Fishing must be
good though as there's been a steady stream of fishermen, boats in
tow, flying by the past two days.
As the day heats up, and as the road again leaves the river to climb
to the high, open prairie, the "breeze" really starts kickin',
straight out of the south. Oh yes, I'm hiking south. I'd figured
arriving Chamberlain by 2:30, but it's closer to 4:00 by the time
I'm in town at the quick stop chugging my first Pepsi.
It's been an average hiking day, but I'm totally pooped out -- and
oh-so-glad to reach Lake Shore Motel. Bobbi has my drop box and
other mail for me. She checks me in. I head to my room and collapse.
This day's a wrap.
Sunday--June 4, 2006
Trail Day—074
Trail Mile--27.2/1760
Location--Bijou Hills, South Dakota
Lights out, finally, at one this morning. Spent much time sorting
my bounce box and packages from home, counting out my meds,
glucosamine/chondroitin, coated aspirin, regular aspirin, and
multi-vitamins. New maps in pack for this next section. Old maps to
send home. Camera memory card switch, full one out, blank one
in. I'll not need my fleece jacket or mittens any longer, so they go
in the "send home" package. These mail drops work well at intervals
of about every 14-20 days. This particular one, the fourth for this
journey, is the next to last one this go-around.
First stop this morning, back to the motel office to see
Bobbi. She's graciously agreed to take my bounce box and other
packages to the post office tomorrow, thus saving me hanging around
another whole day. Thanks, Bobbi, for your kindness and help. I've
had a great stay here in Chamberlain.
I've managed to hold onto many of the personal/business cards given
me during the '04 outbound. One's from an old beekeeper named
Albert. Albert lives down by Bijou Hills, north of Platte, where
I'll be passing today. As luck would have it, I was able to reach
Albert yesterday evening. So, sometime today he'll come out and try
tracking me down. We'll share some good times if he does. Oh, and
hopefully, he'll have time to take me up to a remote, picturesque
spot visited in '04, a place he owns on the Missouri called Twin
Buttes. The buttes are situated in such a way as to create a deeply
sheltered cove/valley, open only to the river. He drove me up
through his pastures and fields and along the ridge to this special
place. That day and that place have remained vivid in my memory.
I've made the climb up and out of Chamberlain, back onto the rolling
high plains, from here to cross over I-90, then to zig and zag my
way along. I'm headed now for the Bijou Hills, which stand on the
far-distant, hazy horizon.
These past few days I've been thinking about my dear friends,
Honey and Bear, kind folks who run "The Cabin," a hiker
hostel by the Appalachian Trail in Maine. During two of my past
three treks, and way out here away from their home, they came to
search and find me. While on my outbound Lewis and Clark trek, they
tracked me down early June a little south of here. A few weeks ago I
sent them a postcard with the taunting little message, "Can you come
out and play?" And so, these past few days I've had this persistent
thought that they're on their way. It's so occupied my mind that
I've begun looking back over my shoulder toward each approaching
vehicle. Oh my, and yes you've guessed it! A little after two today,
and as I'm clickety-clacking merrily along, pulls along this
camper-totin' red pickup. I stop, turn, and then gape in total
disbelief as Bear greets me with, "We've come out to
play!" Unbelievable; they've managed to find me again, out here in
the middle of nowhere. Good thing there's no traffic, for here we
stand, Honey, Bear, and the old Nomad, hugging,
in the middle of the road. After many minutes of joyful chatter,
plans are made for them to find a nearby campground while I trek a
few more miles.
By seven, and nearing 265 St. comes out the dirt road an old
familiar pickup. It's Albert! Ah yes, the old sweat-stained slouch
hat and a squint-of-a-smile -- dang, Albert, it's good to see you
again! What an incredible day this is turning to be.
Well, the sun doesn't set out here until after nine now, and we talk
as to how there'd be time to make the run up to Twin Buttes. Plans
are made for Albert to come at eight to the Union Cemetery a short
distance up the road. By then, Honey and Bear will
have come back for me -- and we'll all go up to Twin Buttes
together. And so, it all works so very well. We are able to share a
magic time at Twin Buttes, from that grand, high vantage above the
plains, to watch in silence as the sun sets across the mighty
Missouri.
"from this eminance I had a view of a greater number of buffalow
than I had ever Seen before at one time. I must have Seen near
20,000 of those animals feeding on the plain..." [Clark, below White
River near Bijou Hills, August 29th 1806]
Monday--June 5, 2006
Trail Day—075
Trail Mile--26.4/1786
Location--Platte, South Dakota
Honey and Bear found a great campground yesterday
called Snake Creek, on the Lake, right down from Bijou Hills. By the
time we bid farewell to Albert, and got back down from Twin Buttes,
and to the campground, it was past dusk. I'm on a Pepsi binge again,
so had no difficulty chugging the two twenties picked up at the camp
store. No problem with all the caffeine either. For as soon as my
bedroll was out, I was out.
We rise to a blustery morning but there's no rain. Coffee's on at
the camper, plus breakfast. I'm being well cared for. By
eight-thirty, we're back to Union Cemetery. Plans are for me to hike
it on in to Platte while Honey and Bear look for a
campground a little further along. By noon, they're back to check on
me, to feed me, get me hydrated and back on the road.
Nothing exciting about pounding long mile straight stretches
interrupted only by ninety degree turns. The last one for the day
leads me the ten miles on a beeline to Platte. Hot, hot, and much
traffic. Honey and Bear are waiting for me when I
arrive at Shorty's, a bar/restaurant right downtown. For supper, I'm
treated to a steak dinner, followed by a specially prepared cake
iced down with "Lewis and Clark, Happy Hiking."
The decision is to spend another night at Snake Creek, and we're
back there before dark. Then to share a memorable time under the
stars before calling it a day.
Tuesday--June 6, 2006
Trail Day—076
Trail Mile--16.5/1803
Location--Geddes, South Dakota
Snake Creek Campground is a quiet, peaceful place. I slept very
well.
Coffee's on at the camper, so I head over. Along with the coffee, we
finish off the rest of the celebration cake.
Back at Platte now, that dreaded, unavoidable time has come --
saying good-bye. I try to control my emotions, but I always
loose. More pictures, a group (Honey and) Bear hug,
and it's time to return to the road. In less than a moment, it
seems, their camper is little more than a dot on the straightaway
horizon. I put my head down and hammer as the funk begins. But this
day I decide to fight it. With effort, I manage to raise my head,
smile, and say my morning prayer.
I've a short hike today to Geddes and the Sportsman's Inn. I'd
stayed there in '04, and it was a memorable time. Dan had just
completed the restoration on one of the old two-story downtown
buildings. The makeover included a grocery, restaurant, two bars and
spacious guest rooms upstairs. Chuck and Pat now manage the whole
operation. I had talked to Chuck the other day and made reservations
for one of the rooms tonight.
Making the turn from the highway toward downtown, Ron happens to be
passing and stops to chat. He wishes me well for the remainder of
this odyssey, and promises to stop by the Sportsman's for a cold one
with me this evening.
At the bar now, Chuck checks me in, then prepares a great steak
dinner, complete with homemade soup. Dan stops by along with many
locals. A memorable time. Sure glad I made the effort -- it's been a
great day!
On the return, through present-day southern South Dakota, the Corps
again encountered the Sioux. "I told those Indians [Teton Sioux]
that they had been deef to our councils and ill treated us as we
assended this river two years past, that they had abused all the
whites who had visited them since. I believed them to be bad people
& Should not Suffer them to cross to the Side on which the party
lay, and directed them to return with their band to their Camp, that
if any of them come near our camp we Should kill them certainly..."
[Clark, August 30th 1806]
Wednesday--June 7, 2006
Trail Day—077
Trail Mile--19.9/1823
Location--Pickstown, South Dakota
Another fine stay in Geddes. Neat little prairie town, kind people.
Restaurant’s open for breakfast at 6:30 and I'm right there. I sure
miss my coffee the morning's I'm in the woods. So, when there's an
opportunity, piping hot coffee in the morning is a special treat --
and the bacon and eggs and potatoes and toast aren't a bad deal
either!
Another relatively short hike today, on down to Pickstown near the
Nebraska border. Less open prairie now. More wheat, corn, and
soybeans. Good soil, and rain in more abundance, which comes at
noon. Since I'm nearing Lake Andes, I hurry it on to the quick
stop. While the storm passes, there's time for lunch and a few email
replies. Towns are appearing more regularly now -- first time to
actually pass through one for lunch in awhile.
Two more hours and I'm closing on Pickstown, and another
storm is rapidly closing on me. I hurry on to Ft. Randall Inn, where
Julie takes certain pity on this old man by providing shelter from
the storm.
Thursday--June 8, 2006
Trail Day—078
Trail Mile--27.7/1851
Location--Lynch, Nebraska
Sure lucked out with the rain yesterday. Dodged it okay, but it came
to stay in the evening last, and it's still at it this morning.
I'm up and moving by seven, over to Fort Randall Cafe. The place is
wall-to-wall fishermen, all wondering what the day will bring
weather-wise, what with the drizzle and a dark, looming wall to the
west. The hike across Fort Randall Dam is close to three miles, but
there's no lightning and it's calm. I head out without my raingear;
dumb. Before I'm halfway across the rain comes hard, and I must stop
and poncho up.
A fellow in Geddes told me about a shortcut for the first half of
the hike today. It starts from a gravel road just below the far end
of the dam. From my vantage now, near there, I see no gravel
road. What I do see below are the ruins of a church next the old
Fort Randall site, so I drop down the embankment and go for some
pictures.
Hiking out the old fort entrance, I finally locate the road I want
to take. It should lead me up the ridge, along a power line cut, and
into Gross. Two miles into it, I'm having my doubts about where this
road is taking me. Soon comes a pickup with trailer in tow. I flag
the fellow down. Robert is a local rancher -- and a Lewis and Clark
buff. He assures me that I'm headed the right direction, then tells
me about a historic site called the Pinnacle by the Corps, Old Baldy
by the locals, located on the river on land he owns down by
Lynch. This prominent feature is spoken about in Lewis' journal.
The hike up and around back onto the prairie is most enjoyable. The
pheasant have thinned out now, to be replaced by turkey and quail.
At ten-thirty, and without the least fanfare, I cross from South
Dakota into Nebraska. How I know I'm at the line -- the two states
don't line up right. The road from South Dakota runs slap into a
corn field, the one from Nebraska, hay meadows. The misalignment is
hooked together with a ninety from North Dakota, along the line for
a couple hundred yards, then another ninety to bump up with the road
from Nebraska. Six states down now, four to go.
By noon I've made good time and am nearing the little village of
Gross, population, three! By the turn to town comes another
pickup. "You lost?" asks the driver. I smile and assure him I'm
not. Fellow's name is Bill. He tells me about the Nebraska Inn in
Gross. Oh yes, I head there!
By the time I reach the place, Bill and his hired hand have finished
their lunch, but he lingers and we chat awhile. The lunch special is
a hot roast beef sandwich with mashed potatoes, gravy, and corn. And
for dessert, cherry cheesecake. Ranchers are coming and going, but
Mary, the hostess, waitress, and cook, has a heaping plate in front
of me in no time. What a meal. And at the counter now I can't
pay. "Bill bought your lunch," says Mary. "Said not to tell you till
he left."
Oh my, what a day this is turning to be. The rain has
passed. There's a breeze out of the east, but it isn't a problem. By
five, the gravel road and the miles for today are behind me. Down
the hill and around a bend or two and I'm in Lynch. The bank's
open. Actually it's closed, but the door's open. Kind fellow inside
answers my questions about the town, and then sends me down the
street. "Go to the gas station and see LeRoy. He might have a room
for you," he says. So down to the gas station I go. Sure enough,
after sizing me up, LeRoy tells me I can stay in the old hospital,
now the Catholic Church hall/annex. It's an old building, but well
cared for. I'm given a neat little room off the hall, across from
the kitchen and just down from the shower.
Talking Lewis and Clark now, LeRoy expresses disappointment that I
didn't hike it over to Old Baldy. "You really should see it," he
says. "Come on, I'll run you back out there." And so it is I get to
see this remarkable land feature after all. Thanks, LeRoy, for
taking time, for your kindness!
Back in downtown Lynch, LeRoy gives me the guided tour of the
village, and then drops me off at the Sundowner, where I enjoy a
fine supper.
Friday--June 9, 2006
Trail Day—079
Trail Mile--30.3/1881
Location--Past Niobrara, Nebraska, Santee Indian Reservation
A little before dark last, Marita stops by to interview me for the
local weekly. Mary had called from Gross to tell her about my return
journey. At the gas station yesterday afternoon, I was surprised to
find LeRoy knew I was coming. Though not telling me how he'd found
out, he did prepare me for the interview.
The old hospital was a quiet, peaceful place. I enjoyed a very
restful night. Thanks, LeRoy, and all kind folks in Lynch.
This morning I'm up and over to the store/cafe/bait shop for
breakfast. Tank topped off, I'm out and moving east to a beautiful
morning. In a couple hours comes the little village of Monowi. And
for sure it's little -- population, two! The old bar there, Elsie's,
is open. I stop for a pop, to sit with Elsie for the longest time as
we enjoy a leisure chat. Come to find Elsie is a widow now. That cut
the population of Monowi in half, to just one. Elsie quite proudly
explains how she serves now as mayor, police chief, city manager,
cemetery secretary, and librarian. Yes, the town of Monowi has a
library, a gift from her husband. Oh, and at the bar, she's the
barmaid, cook, waitress -- and bouncer! Sure had a fun time talking
with you, Elsie. Thanks for opening the library.
After a few pictures, mostly of abandoned buildings, I'm out and
hiking ever east. The highway returns to the river again for some
panoramic views. Along here, SR12 is designated "Shannon
Trail." Shannon was the youngest member of the Corps, only nineteen,
I believe. It was along this section of the river, and while
hunting, he got lost and was reported missing for days. The account
of his survival and subsequent return to the party is quite
interesting. Historic markers and kiosks have been placed at
intervals along where I've been hiking the past two days.
The highway also follows historic Ponca Creek, which finally empties
into the Missouri. Up and over the next ridge which crowds the
Missouri, I descend to the Niobrara River, and the town of
Niobrara. I'd hoped to find a place to stay here this evening, but
no luck. So I keep on trekking, to enter the Santee Indian
Reservation. In five miles or so I pull up at the casino for supper,
before hiking on a short distance to pitch in a sheltered draw
beneath the trees.
"about two miles below the Quicurre [Niobrara], 9 Indians ran
down the bank and beckoned to us to land, they appeared to be a war
party, and I took them to be Tetons...as one Canoe was yet behind we
landed in an open Commanding Situation out of Sight of the indians...about
15 minits after we had landed Several guns were fired by the indians,
which we expected was at the three men behind...when I proceeded to
the point about 250 yards I discovered the Canoe about 1 mile above
and the indians where we had left them. I then walked on the Sand
beech and the indians came down to meet me. I gave them my hand and
enquired of them what they were Shooting at, they informed me that
they were Shooting off their guns ar an old Keg which we had thrown
out of one of the Canoes...those Indians informed me they were
Yanktons." TClark, September 1st 1806]
Saturday--June 10, 2006
Trail Day—080
Trail Mile--22.6/1904
Location--Crofton, Nebraska
There were some spectacular thunderheads visible to the east
last evening, and the forecast was for a drastic cooling down from
the sweltering temperatures I'd endured during the afternoon -- and
for rain. The cooling down and the rain came along together shortly
after I set camp. The rain continued throughout the night.
I linger in my tent until nearly eight this morning, waiting for the
rain to stop. I finally break camp and head out into a drizzle,
which gives it up around nine. The temperature drop during the night
was dramatic, and this morning I'm again hiking along with my hands
in my pockets.
The white line is the shoulder; thankfully, there's little
traffic. However, the "breeze" is back out of the east-southeast
again at 15-25 per, gusting to 30, so it's lean into it time
again. In a couple hours, and as I'm popping along paying no mind,
stops Karen Redowl. She's the kind waitress who befriended me in the
casino restaurant last night. She's returning from Yankton and stops
to give me a Snickers and an orange. Happy lady, happy family --
thanks Karen!
By four, I'm in Crofton. I'd hoped to find a room here tonight, but
alas, and again, no luck. Instead, I hit the local bars for a couple
tall ones before heading to the city park men's room, where it's
warm and there's light to work my journal entries. No one's been
around, and I find the place so comfortable that I lock the door and
retire for the night.
"I am happy to find that my worthy friend Capt L's is so well as
to walk about with ease to himself &c." [Clark, September 3rd 1806]
Sunday--June 11, 2006
Trail Day—081
Trail Mile--35.4/1939
Location--Newcastle, Nebraska
Ha, good night's sleep in the toilet -- warm, comfortable, quiet!
The early klatch is waiting this Sunday morning for Wilmer to open
the Wiebelhaus. We're in and coffee's ready by a little after
seven. When I ask Wilmer about fixing me some breakfast, he shrugs,
tells me his wife's the cook and that she won't be in until around
eight. Then he frowns a little and says, "I'll try, no promise on
the eggs, though." Hey Wilmer, the breakfast was great, thanks!
Down the main drag now, heading for the highway, passes this fellow;
he flips a quick u'ey, comes back, pulls by and stops. "You're a
long distance hiker, got a purpose don't you," he asks. As I begin
my little two-minute pitch, I reach through the passenger window,
shake hands, and hand Kevin (local newspaper editor) one of my
cards. He's interested right away, wants a picture, and has some
questions. Kevin gets his shot with me standing below one of the
many Pvt. Shannon flags, which adorn most all the utility poles
throughout town. Turning toward the highway now, I urge him to check
my website, then email me if he still has unanswered questions.
It's another iffy morning, very cool with fast, low-rolling
clouds. A moderate mist keeps passing in waves. As the dampness
descends, I resist stopping to don my poncho. This time I win, as
the sludge moves on and the day turns mild.
For the longest time I've been looking forward to reaching Wynot
again. That's where I had such a grand time before, with the Colgate
family. But alas, as I enquire of the barmaid at the Sandbox Saloon,
she tells me they no longer live in Wynot.
I'd planned on spending the night in town, but after lunch -- and
the sad disappointment -- and it not yet three, I decide to head
back to the highway and beat down a bunch of the miles to Ponca,
where I hope to find a room, take a bath, and get my feet up
tomorrow.
This highway along is dangerous. There's no shoulder; it drops
straight off from the white line to ruts ending below in the
ditch. So I walk the white line, not a really smart idea, what with
the blind hills and curves -- and the traffic. No Walkman radio
today. I say my daily prayer again and keep hammering on, through
Obert and Maskell, clear to Newcastle. Eleven-plus hours, and
thirty-five miles later now I pull into Lyle's place on the main
drag in Newcastle. Lots of laughter and frivolity. Yup, just what
the old Nomad needs to cheer him up. At the bar, all stools are
filled left, all right, one empty in the middle. I move in, and am
no more seated than the locals all around smile and greet me. Can't
buy my own here; thanks, fellas!
Tom's been trying to close since before I showed up. Been here an
hour now myself. More folks stop by; Tom's having no luck.
He finally clears us out, and we're down the street to the Copper
Stop, a fine dining establishment. Great buffet. I'm full, content,
and happy. This day has turned out just fine after all.
Saw a spot by the ball diamond earlier. It's dark as I pitch a
little past the bleachers.
Monday--June 12, 2006
Trail Day—082
Trail Mile--11.2/1950
Location--Ponca, Nebraska
Lots of morning doves around the ball field. Their persistent cooing
wakes me at six. A few more winks, then I break camp and head toward
Ponca; hope to get in around eleven.
Another cool, clear day. I'm wearing my long-sleeved Patagonia
Capilene and still must hike hunched over for the first hour, hands
in my pockets. More no-road-shoulder, white line (white knuckle)
hiking; not fun -- say my morning prayer first thing.
I'm glad to be back again to Traveler's Rest. Fine motel. It isn't
new, but it has been and is being kept up -- very clean and
neat. Oh, and what's really neat: The post office in Ponca is right
across the street, plus all the other hiker needs are nearby, within
a block or two. Oh yes, Ponca is a trail town lover's delight.
It's a blessing to find the towns closer together now, like
today. And there are farms along at frequent intervals, both sides
of the road. Creeks -- and trees.
Been looking with much anticipation the past couple of days, for my
old friend, Erv. Hopefully, he'll come riding up on his
motorcycle. He lives (summertime) in Iowa, so his place isn't all
that far. He'd commented earlier that he might try tracking me
down. There aren't that many motorcycles on the road out here. So as
each one approaches now, I look with much expectation -- c'mon Erv,
you can do it!
Tuesday--June 13, 2006
Trail Day 083
Trail Mile--31.1/1981
Location--Winnebago Indian Reservation, North of Winnebago,
Nebraska
Ever since Lynch, my first full day in Nebraska, I've been trekking
SR12. That was five days and over 125 miles ago. For nearly that
distance, there's been no road shoulder, just sloping ruts from the
white line down to the ditch. Folks have run off the road
constantly, creating a drop-off of up to half a foot in some places.
There I've been each day, white-knuckle walking the white line, or
the ruts. And so here this morning, heading back to the highway from
Ponca, am I surprised and relieved to find a fully paved emergency
lane. This sets me back a full path from harm's way. Oh thank you,
Lord!
The forecast for today is hot, so I start right out in my sleeveless
shirt, slathered with sun block.
If you've been following my picture album this trek, you've enjoyed
some pretty fine shots of breadbasket America. There's been
something of interest most every day. However, the past two days
have been skimpy. But the lack of photos doesn't correspond to a
lack of scenery. To the contrary, I've just been preoccupied with
the hiking conditions -- and in a bit of a funk as a result. I'll
get back on track today, promise.
Earphones on. Music time. Not as much concentration needed for the
traffic. Hey, getting some Omaha stations now. Get a minute, take
your Rand(y)-dandy McNally Atlas out. Open it a few pages to the
interstate grid page for the whole United States. Place your left
index finger on Astoria/Portland and your right on Omaha. Covered
some territory, eh! A month or so should do it for this trek, the
entire round trip with the Corps, Wood River to the Pacific then
back again to the wharf below Gateway Arch, St. Louis. Sure hope
you're enjoying this adventure as much as the old Nomad. A
time-worn, cliché, but oh so true -- it's been "The Journey of a
Lifetime."
Ah, first picture of the day, a shot of a beautiful Nebraska
farmstead. Oh, and here's another; a good-sized dugout canoe,
standing on end. Well, anyway, it's there in that huge cottonwood,
just waiting for someone to chop it out.
Folks along have warned me about being on the reservation at or
after dusk. Apparently, since my passage through in '04 there's been
an alarming increase in drug related crime. So, as dusk approaches
and I pass the "Entering Winnebago Indian Reservation" sign, I wait
for a break in the traffic to jump the tracks, across to a secluded
grove of cottonwood where I stealth for the night.
"...at meridian we came too at Floyds Bluff below the Enterance
of Floyds river and assended the hill, with Capt Lewis and Several
men..." [Clark, September 4th 1806]
Wednesday--June 14, 2006
Trail Day—084
Trail Mile--36.5/2018
Location--North of Tekamah, Nebraska
I'm out early to a absolute blustery day. The wind (heard a
weatherman actually use the word "wind" the other day) is ripping
already. I'm trekking southeast; the wind, of course, is from the
southeast -- 25 per, gusting to 40.
Corn is king now. There's been a gradual change from wheat to corn,
from arid lands to watered lands. And with the trend now, away from
petroleum-based fuels to bio, more and more acreage hereabout will
be planted in corn. For the Indians, the Mandans, Hidatsas and
Aricaras, corn served as their primary "fuel" source for
centuries. Cache pits unearthed at Double Ditch and other village
sites have been found packed with corn, maze as we know it, like the
dainty, colorful ears we now use to create our traditional fall
decorative scenes.
Compared to my last trek, which was aborted due to illness, this
journey has been remarkably injury and pain free. What a true
blessing; thank you, Lord; keep me going just a bit longer!
Well, I was squeaky clean when I departed Ponca, but it's haul 'em
to market time out here, and the hog and cattle trucks are running
full tilt. All the truckers give me as much room as they can, as
they always do, but even then, the aroma (and mist) that's left as
they pass has settled upon me. Ooowhee, am I turning ripe!
I reach Winnebago by eight this morning, to stop for breakfast, and
to chat with two Indians working on renovating the Heritage
building, site of their casino. As I answer questions and as they
talk about their much wished-for "one of these days" down the
Missouri canoe journey, the older one asks if I ever hear "the
music." I mention that I heard some Indian children singing the
other day. "Oh no," he says, "That's not what I mean. You never see
who is singing, nor, (as much as you might search) can you ever find
who is singing." "Ahh," I exclaim, "I have often heard the music to
which you refer. It's a faint, far away melodic-yet-melancholy sound
that drifts the air, across the peaks and the meadows -- as if from
another place, another time. We call that the Pipes of Pan." We both
smile, and then shake hands, and I depart.
South of Winnebago, the emergency lane goes away and the hog and
cattle haulers double up. Heads up, old man!
Erv has come out to find me today, and he catches me just north of
Decatur. I'd watched intently the past few days, as each motorcycle
approached. And today, here he is! As Erv looks for a motel, I
continue hiking -- to within 3 miles of Tekamah, where he comes to
fetch me. We share a great evening.
Thursday--June 15, 2006
Trail Day—085
Trail Mile--20.4/2038
Location--Blair, Nebraska
We're out early, and in a hurry this morning. Erv drops me off right
back at the spot where he'd whisked me away the evening last. He's
trying, and looks as if he'll succeed in outrunning the oncoming
electric storm, a solid wall of black to the northwest. I hurry to
don my poncho, but still end up with a good soaking. In an hour, I'm
back in Tekamah, and to Dick's Western Store, where Floyd glues
another pair of heels on my poor run down shoes. Two thousand miles
on these poor puppies now; don't know how much longer they're going
to last. Hopefully, we'll both make it another 500 miles.
The storm has passed, driven by the wind, which is now howling from
the east, southeast at 35, gusting to near 50. Often now, I must
stop, crouch, and brace with my poles to keep from being literally
carried away. I make a point to emphasize the "bless me with
patience" part of my morning prayer yet again this day.
A number of times the past month or so, as I give my little two
minute narrative in answer to questions folks have asked as to my
purpose out here, have I been told about the "big fat guy" that's
walking from San Fran or L.A., to New York City. Apparently, he's
sought out and picked up all kinds of publicity. I hadn't heard any
of it myself, until today, when I hear on the news that his whole
trek was pretty much a hoax. Turns out he took rides a whole lot
more than he ever walked. "Aww, Jeez," I'm thinking as I hear this
"Just what I need. Now, everyone will begin questioning my veracity,
as to hiking every day, and covering in excess of thirty miles many
of these days." Oh well, folks can think what they may. I can't
change that. All I can do is look folks in the eye when I'm asked,
and tell them the truth -- "Yes, I've walked it, every foot of it,
from Fort Clatsop, to St. Louis. Truth has a way of winning out; I
certainly know and believe that.
Yesterday, in Herman at DJ's Redbird Bar, Donna Jean remembered me
from '04. And this evening, so too does Sandy at Main street bar and
grill in Blair remember me. After a mouth-watering rack of smoked
ribs at Sandy's I'm out and heading ever south. There are trees
everywhere now, and I've no problem finding a perfect spot sheltered
from the wind where I pitch for the night.
"we met a tradeing boat of Mr. Ag. Choteaux of St. Louis bound to
the River Jacque to trade with the Yanktons...we purchased a gallon
of whiskey of this man and gave to each man of the party a dram
which is the first Spiritous licquor which had been tasted by any of
them Since the 4 of July 1805." [Clark, September 6th 1806]
Friday--June 16, 2006
Trail Day—086
Trail Mile--25.9/2064
Location--Omaha, Nebraska
I'm up and out a little after seven. And oh yes, the wind's also up
and out a little after seven -- trying to persuade me to turn and go
the other way. Lord, I know these circumstances will soon
change. But oh my, what would otherwise prove a very pleasant and
easy hiking day; well -- more patience, please; more patience.
The heat's been turned way up and a mirage is dancing the tarmac
ahead as I enter north Omaha. I make frequent stops to ice my tummy
down, at the last jiffy to call Charlie and Linda, dear friends
living here in Omaha. Charlie, you may recall, is the model railroad
buff who's building a scale model of the old MoPac Bagnell Branch
Railroad in his basement. If you get a minute, click on "MoPac '05"
in the content bar and give a look. Quite remarkable
Charlie's home. In fact, he's taken half a day off from work
anticipating my arrival. I'm near the heart of downtown Omaha now,
where Charlie comes to fetch me. Twenty minutes and we're back to
his lovely suburban home, where I'm greeted by his wife, Linda, and
son, Colin.
Though crusted with dirt, grime, and stock truck trailings, I'm
restless to see the old railroad. Charlie had sent pictures, many of
which now adorn the MoPac album. So, filled with anticipation, I've
just got to see the layout right away. My-oh-my, their entire
basement houses a work of art, so amazingly realistic, so true to
scale.
Finally, after scrubbing the first layer off, and after dinner,
Charlie stokes the old coal box, tops off the boiler tanks and we
chug away, down the tracks on the most nostalgic journey back in
time. What fun, and you bet -- deep down, we're all just kids at
heart!
After a pleasant evening, relaxing in conversation with these dear
friends, I retire to my room, here to work my journals, for all of
twenty minutes -- ZZZZZ...
Saturday--June 17, 2006
Trail Day—087
Trail Mile--18.3/2082
Location--Plattsmouth, Nebraska
This morning I wake to the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. Charlie
likes his morning coffee -- I'm right there to keep him
company! Then he and Linda team up to prepare a tank-stoking
breakfast. And so now, that time arrives again, more sad
good-byes. Thanks Charlie, Linda, and son, Colin, for a memorable
stay in Omaha! Charlie and Colin have me back downtown, and by one
I'm again on my way.
Omaha's skyline is quite impressive, so from a good vantage, I take
a few pictures, one including the Union Pacific Railroad
headquarters building where Charlie works.
The annual World Series of College Baseball is underway now at
Rosenblatt Stadium in south Omaha, right by where I'm hiking -- more
correctly, by where I'm trying to hike. It’s slow going threading my
way along the streets filled with throngs of fans.
A bit further south is Offutt Air Force Base. I pause a moment there
too, for a few pictures of the avenue of flags gracing the main
entrance. Hey, no hassle this trek!
The Platt River was one of the major landmarks passed by the Corps
in 1804. Lewis made a five-hundred-word entry in his journal
describing the Platte. Locals hereabout have their own description.
They call it "the river that runs a mile wide and an inch
deep." Folks, along with their kids and dogs, are out frolicking in
the middle, in ankle-deep water, hundreds of feet from either bank.
As I cross the Platte bridge, and just south, a car is parked by the
shoulder. The family is crouched by the fence gazing intently into
the trees next to one of the many oxbow lakes. Their youngest
daughter takes her turn with the binoculars. I stop to see what's
got their attention. That's when I see this huge nest -- with an
eagle content at her task of sitting!
A little after eight, and near dusk, I arrive downtown Plattsmouth,
to duck into the little mom-n-pop restaurant (called Mom's!), just
as the thunder buster that's driving quarter-sized splats of rain
also arrives. Great timing. The sheets of wind-driven rain pass in
waves as I sit comfortably, and dry, enjoying a heaping plate of hot
roast beef. As the storm continues, I extend my dinner hour by
ordering a grand slice of rhubarb pie! It's dark by the time my
supper's downed, and the storm passes. But I have no problem
pitching on the dry pavilion floor, in the little park high on the
hill overlooking the village. There I lay out my bedroll and call it
a day
"all being anxious to get to the River Platt to day they ply'd
their orers very well, and we arived at our old encampment at White
Catfish Camp." [Clark, September 8th 1806]
Sunday--June 18, 2006
Trail Day—088
Trail Mile--26.0/2108
Location--Nebraska City, Nebraska
The sun shines into the pavilion -- early and hot, causing me to
roll, then rise. Mom's is open on Sunday, at seven, believe it or
not, and I'm right there for coffee, followed the full high-octane
combo of biscuits, ham, eggs, and hash browns.
Today's a hammer-it-out day, on the highway straightaway, all the
way to Nebraska City. Lucky me, the gentle breeze has moved to my
back, and there's an oasis (quick stop) a ways down, and another
(orchard stand) equally well placed. I ice my tummy at both to fight
the heat and unusually high humidity.
Traffic's running heavy, but a full emergency lane provides
protection from the onslaught. To dull the incessant drone, I crank
the choir music on my Walkman, and then listen to the Father's Day
sermon.
Monday--June 19, 2006
Trail Day—089
Trail Mile--26.6/2135
Location--Brownville, Nebraska
I'm up and going early this morning; lots to get done -- plus miles
to go before I rest. My bounce box, maps/meds, and camera memory
care, all are waiting for me at the Nebraska City post office. Box
and packages under arm, I head for Johnny's Cafe less than a block
away. I take a booth, and the kind waitress lets me spread
everything out on the table. It takes an hour to sort all my stuff,
and then get the boxes back to the post office.
When I passed through here on my outbound journey two years ago, the
Missouri River Basin Lewis and Clark Interpretive Trail & Visitor
Center was still under construction and not yet open. Recently, and
as far back as Omaha, folks have been telling me about the
place. So, this morning, and before I begin my twenty-seven mile
trek to Brownville, I head toward the bluff overlooking the wide
Missouri -- and the Lewis and Clark Center. Folks are right. The
Center is nothing short of amazing. In partnership with the National
Park Service, the MRB L&C Center Foundation, a non-profit Nebraska
corporation, operates the Center. The 12,000 sq. ft. facility is
located on 80 scenic acres of high ground overlooking the
Missouri. Here are housed many Corps-related exhibits, both
interpretive and interactive -- even for kids! Of the over 300
natural discoveries made by the Corps, 178 were never-before seen
plants, and 122 were unknown animals. All are here in one form or
another for me to see and to marvel. And outside stands the most
authentic, full-size replica of the 55 ft. keelboat that I've
seen. What a joy experiencing all of this, coupled with the pleasure
of meeting and talking with Cheryl Hunt, Office Manager for the
foundation.
The hike today, finally, is a full day spent beside the river, along
the old Steamboat Trace Railtrail. What a pleasant jolt away from
the daily highway grind -- hiking the secluded trail that hugs the
bluff for over 25 miles, from Nebraska City to Brownville. A cool,
quiet, calm day, indeed a welcome change.
It's dusk as I enter Brownville. After pizza and a cold one at TJ's
I head down to the City Park and pitch.
"our party appears extreamly anxious to get on, and every day
appears produce new anxieties in them to get to their Country and
friends. My worthy friend Cap Lewis has entirely recovered his
wounds are heeled up and he Can walk and even run nearly as well as
ever he Could." [Clark, September 9th 1806]
Tuesday--June 20, 2006
Trail Day—090
Trail Mile--27.3/2162
Location--Falls City, Nebraska
A single day without the rock-hard highway, without the racket,
fumes and confusion, a day without the relentless wind, just one day
without this continual grind and I'm completely spoiled. I've grown
tired and weary. The long, hammer 'em out days this trek, with scant
few exceptions, have been grueling, days of trial by wind, days
constantly stacked against me.
Yes, I've grown tired and weary, ready for some other kind of
trail. Tomorrow, thankfully, I'll put Nebraska behind me. After
thirteen days and 340 miles, Nebraska will be in my
rear-view. Should I ever return here, it will not be with trekking
poles.
As I shoulder my pack, the day shoulders the wind. 30-45 per, out of
the south. I'm hiking south. Today, just today, Lord. With your help
I can do one -- more -- day.
Wednesday--June 21, 2006
Trail Day—091
Trail Mile--30.7/2193
Location--South of Iowa Point, Kansas
I'm anxious to get going this morning. No breakfast, not even coffee
-- just out and go. I'll stop for lunch and a Pepsi in Rulo. Why so
anxious? Well, today my road leads to Kansas. Also, it's 56 miles to
Atchison, and I want to be there tomorrow evening. So today I'll
shoot for a thirty-plus, to end the day somewhere around Iowa Point,
a dot on the map and the road.
Late morning I've done the ten to Rulo. Here's a little
store/cafe/bar, called Rulo's Only Stop, so I'm in luck for lunch,
my Pepsi fix, and supper to go. By two, I'm standing on the 40th
meridian, by a marker on the bluff high above the Missouri
floodplain. This spot, established in the early 1800s, fixes the
point from which Kansas, Nebraska, Oklahoma, and much of Colorado
were surveyed. Here is also the line between Nebraska and Kansas. Whee,
Nebraska's behind me -- and hopefully, too, the wretched wind!
Today I also cross the last of the Indian reservation, the Sac, Fox,
and Iowa. Not that I'm happy or relieved; rather, just another goal
met. For, as was the case during the outbound L&C journey, I have
been treated with utmost kindness while trekking their lands, each
the various Indian tribes.
The day begins cool and cloudy, but by mid-afternoon the tarmac
starts cooking. And why not, it's officially the first day of
summer! Fortunately (or unfortunately), with this heat also come the
predictable afternoon/evening thunderstorms. Right now the sky is
clear, but the air is heavy, and the day has turned uncommonly calm
-- both sure signs of the impending onslaught.
Reaching the thirty-mile point, I begin looking for a place to pitch
for the night. I'd really prefer a sheltered spot, and as luck would
have it, just at dusk, and with the far-off, audible rumble of
thunder, comes this old barn, up the meadow and back a ways. I head
there. Ahh, this is perfect. A sound roof; and the kind farmer has
scattered bales of straw all about the dirt floor. I set my tent up
right in the middle.
Everything arranged for the night, and as I bite into the last piece
of fried chicken, the supper packed at Rulo's Only Stop, the storm
arrives. The light and sound show is "Circle Theatre." I'm out long
before intermission.
Thursday--June 22, 2006
Trail Day—092
Trail Mile--24.7/2218
Location--Atchison, Kansas
The storm passed during the night, leaving a cool but cloudy
morning. I'm on the road to Atchison by seven. Miles of no shoulder
again, but the traffic is both light and most considerate. So, and
where usually a problem, the blind hill top-outs aren't as scary. In
places today, the road has been widened and improved -- or moved. At
an intersection, neither marked nor on my map, and as I stand in a
quandary, stops this bright yellow state highway truck. A smile from
the driver, and proper directions, I'm quickly on my way again.
I hadn't really planned on going into Troy, even though it's listed
as an overnight. Last minute though, and looking down the muddy
two-mile shortcut, I decide to continue on to Troy. Time for
breakfast, and another Pepsi fix.
It's early afternoon before I'm hiking again -- in the rain. But no
griping, for the day is cool and most pleasant (say no wind).
The road today roller coasters the hills near the river, the
countryside about lush with fields of head-tall corn. Recent rains
have greened everything, especially the corn stalks. This is corn
research territory. Sure seems they've picked the right place for
experimenting. I've never seen so many different varieties of corn,
all remarkably green and healthy.
A perfect hiking day -- cool, no wind, a little rain, poncho on and
off but twice. By four, the sky goes blue, the road steam comes up
-- but I'm in Atchison.
For the past number of days, and on September 12th, the Corps (only
thirteen days out of St. Louis) met other river travelers almost
daily.
"Met Mr. McClellin at St. Michl. Prarie [near St. Joseph] we
found Mr. Jo. Gravelin [a former U.S. Army scout] the Ricaras
enterpreter whome we had Sent down with a Ricaras Chief in the
Spring of 1805 and old Mr. Durion the Sieux enterpreter...he was
instructed to teach the Ricaras agriculture and make every enquirey
after Capt Lewis and my self and the party."
Friday--June 23, 2006
Trail Day—093
Trail Mile--27.8/2246
Location--East of Platte City, Missouri
I'm out at seven to what will turn out to be "get lost"
day. Right from the get-go I head down the wrong highway, 'til I
notice the sun isn't in the right place. It's supposed to be east of
me, but this morning it's seems to be coming up from the north. This
mistake only cost two blocks. Next, after crossing the bridge into
Missouri I need to hang a right and follow the river down River
Road. Seems simple enough, but I walk right past the turn to wander
along another quarter mile before realizing that error. Then,
finally, on River Road I turn east way too soon on a road going
entirely the wrong direction. Another half-mile round trip brings me
back.
These mistakes, however, do not dampen my good spirit nor deter my
positive outlook for the day, not in the least. I'm happy and
thankful getting another state behind me, this one, Kansas. That's
eight down now: Oregon, Washington, Idaho, Montana, North and South
Dakota, Nebraska, and Kansas. Two to go: Missouri and Illinois.
Also today, I am much excited about seeing the "captain" of my
support team for the first time in over three months. Yes, Joyce is
coming out to be with me and to provide direct support for the next
five days. I know we'll have a great time together.
So, even with all the backtracking, I manage to keep my cool -- and
hoof out over 27 miles in nine hours and change, to reach Platte
City a little after four.
All in all, it's been a joyful day for sure. On the river here, the
Corps enjoyed a grand day too!
"we met three large boats bound to the Yanktons and Mahars the
property of Mr. Lacroy, Mr. Aiten & Mr. Coutau all from St. Louis
those young men received us with great friendship and pressed on us
Some whisky for our men, Bisquet, Pork and Onions, & part of their
Stores...our party received a dram and Sung Songs untill 11 oClock
at night in the greatest harmoney." [Clark, September 14th 1806]
Saturday--June 24, 2006
Trail Day—094
Trail Mile--30.4/2276
Location--Excelsior Springs, Missouri
The Corps of Discovery, as they broke camp near here on September
15th 1806, were only eight days travel from St. Louis. As I consider
the minor setbacks of getting lost yesterday, those short delays
pale in comparison to the challenges and hardships suffered by the
Corps during their return journey. I mostly skipped the snows of the
Bitterroots and the Continental Divide, saving much time and
difficulty. And I didn't have to shoot buffalo for supper or make my
shoes. The Corps had to dodge the grizzlies and hostile Indians. All
I've had to dodge are the eighteen-wheelers. Certainly, I've had to
deal with little in comparison, for the highways and byways are
bringing me swiftly home.
This is the third time I've had to negotiate Kansas City. During my
transcontinental trek of '02 (which you can read about here at
nimblewillnomad.com), I trudged straight through, generally
following the route of the Santa Fe Trail. During the 200th
anniversary, the Lewis and Clark NHT outbound journey, I cut through
north of the metro area. Both of those routes, I thought, were less
than ideal -- until following the route taken today, that is. I
figured that by staying even further north, by crossing the river at
Atchison, then hiking east, I might enjoy a less hectic time of it
-- wrong! For, this trek today, by way of SR92, is proving to be the
single-most nerve-wracking day of this entire hike. The perfect
nightmare mix: narrow road, crushing traffic flying, a hundred blind
hill top-outs, and no shoulder. A combination making for dangerous,
no-fun hiking, and it continues the entire day. For sure, it's
beautiful countryside hereabouts, rural estates, gentlemen farms,
fences, horses, and rolling hills with green wooded slopes and lush
meadows. But I'll not recall much if any of it.
By three-thirty, I've managed Kearney, just as the wind comes up
hard, driving curtains of rain. I don my poncho, lower my head and
hammer -- as the onslaught continues and the traffic hoses me
down. I decide to stay with it and put this killer highway behind me
today. The road to Excelsior Springs is long and grueling, the
traffic unrelenting. I reach the outskirts of the city, and the end
of SR92, by six. I can certainly recall better days on the trail.
"passed the enterance of the Kanzas river which was very low,
about a mile below we landed and Capt Lewis and my Self assended a
hill which appeared to have a Commanding Situation for a fort, the
Shore is bold and rocky imediately at the foot of the hill, from the
top of the hill you have a perfect Command of the river, this hill
[metro/downtown Kansas City] fronts the Kanzas and has a view of the
Missouri a Short distance above the river." [Clark, September 15th
1806]
Sunday--June 25, 2006
Trail Day 095
Trail Mile--26.3/2303
Location--Lexington, Missouri
This is going to be a beautiful hiking day, cool, the least breeze
to my back. It's amazing how conditions can change so from one day
to the next. Yesterday, rain, crushing traffic, no-shoulder highway.
Today, wide open highway, tolerable traffic, and a fully paved
emergency lane.
I'm past Kansas City now, in the beautiful, rural Missouri
countryside, lush with fruit trees commented about by Clark. After
passing the Kansas River on September 15th 1806, the Corps
"landed one time only to let the men geather Pappaws or the Custard
apple which this Country abounds, and the men are very fond of." They
set camp for the night near Little Blue River.
Monday--June 26, 2006
Trail Day 096
Trail Mile--20.2/2323
Location--Waverly, Missouri
A new bridge has been built across the Missouri near Lexington, but
the road approach from the north side is not yet completed, so
access to the bridge follows seldom-used county roads, winding
around to the new location. It takes an extra hour of hiking in
order to reach the new bridge. Once across, my support team captain
was there and waiting, a blessing. I was tired and weary and would
have been stuck in the woods for the night -- very happy to be
lifted away to town.
Today is shaping to be another fine hiking day, cool, little
traffic, and not so many miles. The highway winds the countryside,
up, around, and through little villages along. By early afternoon
I'm in Waverly.
This will be the third time I've hiked the state of Missouri. Since
I've already hiked both sides of the Missouri through here, where
I'm hiking today is familiar ground. South of the river exist the
remnants of the old Santa Fe Trail. During the mid 1800s it carried
settlers and early commercial traffic west from Franklin. I'll pass
there on the Katy Trail in a few more days.
"at 11 A.M. we met a Captain McClellin late a Capt. of Artilry of
the U States Army assending in a large boat. this gentleman an
acquaintance of my friend Capt. Lewis was Somewhat astonished to See
us return and appeared rejoiced to meet us. we found him a man of
information and from whome we received a partial account of the
political State of our Country, we were makeing enquires and
exchangeing answers &c. until near mid night. this Gentleman
informed us that we had been long Since given out by the people of
the U S Generaly and almost forgotton, the President of the U.
States had yet hopes of us..." [Clark, September 17th 1806]
Tuesday--June 27, 2006
Trail Day—097
Trail Mile--19.2/2342
Location--Marshall, Missouri
Another grand hiking day, cool and clear. I'm out and heading ever
east-southeast by a little after eight. There's much commercial
traffic here on US24, but a fully paved shoulder sets me back from
harm's way.
Corn and soybean fields grace the highway both sides this entire
day, with plentiful rain to green and grow the crops. The corn is
tassling out and stands "as high as an elephant's eye." There's a
new ethanol plant near Grand Pass, and all the stations along have
signs advertising E-85 fuel (85% ethanol).
By two I make the turn into Marshall and this short hiking day is
complete. Two or three more days and I'll arrive North Jefferson
where I'll interrupt this journey until September. That way my
finish date will correspond with the 200th anniversary of the Corps'
return to St. Louis -- September 23rd 1806.
Wednesday--June 28, 2006
Trail Day—098
Trail Mile--29.7/2372
Location--North of Boonesboro, Missouri
I just absolutely love towns like Marshall. Little mom-n-pop cafes,
and old, but well-maintained motels, like Gene's Clean Motel (a
vintage WWII Willys Jeep parked out front), owned and managed of
course by -- Charlie!
I've got to do a little zig-zagging today in order to cross the
Missouri River at Glasgow. From Marshall the highway runs due north
for over six miles to the village of Slater before turning east
again. I'm in Slater by lunchtime -- to have lunch at the local gas
station/cafe.
The day is really heating up, the blazing sun cooking as I cross the
flood-plane bottom, and from here, the old box-frame bridge to
Glasgow. Sure happy for the modern conveniences of sun block and
sunglasses
South of Glasgow and on SR87 now, I'm entering Daniel Boone
country. Daniel sure left his mark hereabouts. Most near every
geographical feature honors this famous frontiersman; landmarks such
as Boonesboro, Boone's Lick, Booneville, Boone County. Daniel was
alive and well when the Corps passed by here in 1804 and again in
1806. But nowhere, in any accounting, journals or otherwise, is
there any mention of Lewis and Clark ever meeting Daniel
Boone. Indeed, the Corps stayed the river, making record miles (in
excess of 70 miles certain days) on their return through these
parts.
Today it's heads-up hiking as the countryside rolls, the road
rolling with it, sharp turns and blind top-outs, one after the
other, but locals seem used to surprises at every turn and top, and
give me space as I hug the narrow, banked-off shoulder. The sun is
setting and travelers have turned their headlights on as I top
another hill, here to find a delightfully manicured spot among the
locust trees. I no more get pitched, to roll in, than the wind comes
up, driving torrential, sideways rain. I must hold down my trekking
sticks/tent poles to keep the little Nomad tent from being lifted
and carried away. To my great relief, the storm passes just as
quickly as it arrived, to leave the night calm, clear, and cool.
"our party entirely out of provisions subsisting on poppaws, we
divide the buiskit which amounted to nearly one buiskit per man,
this in addition to the poppaws is to last us down to the
Settlement's which is 150 miles the party appear perfectly
contented and tell us that they can live very well on the pappaws.
we made 52 miles to day only. one of our party J. Potts complains
very much of one of his eyes which is burnt by the Sun. Shannon
also complains of his face & eyes &c." [Clark, September 18th 1806]
Thursday--June 29, 2006
Trail Day—099
Trail Mile--36.9/2409
Location--Katy Trail, McBaine, Missouri
As I break camp at seven, to head on south toward the Katy Trail, I
cogitate as to how these last days on to Jefferson City might play
out. As I figure, it's 15 miles to the bridge at Boonville, there,
Old Franklin, the beginning of the historic Santa Fe Trail, and the
crossing of the Katy Trail. From Old Franklin to Jeff it's another
50 miles. It'd be an easy three day hike for sure. But the Katy is
straight, level, easy going. So covering the remaining 65+- to Jeff
in two days is certainly a possibility. Decision time, decision
time..."Aww Jeez (old man), why not just see how it goes today!"
Well hey, the 15 to Old Franklin, (and a short stop at Snoddy's
Store on US40) is behind me by noon, and I'm hiking east on the
shaded and quiet old rail-trail well before one. So, by now I'm set
to thinking: "Looks like it's hit 'er and go time; let's try for two
days to Jeff!"
From here, and on to St. Charles, this will be the most pleasant
segment of the whole journey -- shaded, secluded hiking along the
river and beside tall, cool bluffs.
I'm through the railroad tunnel and into Rocheport by five. Here
there's a bike rental/cafe, trailside. So, I break for supper, to
promptly drain their pop fountain in the process. Seems I'm
constantly dehydrated now. However, the condition poses the least
problem, has little effect or consequence. I just keep tanking up
and am good to go again, another blessing for sure. Thank you, Lord,
for all you've done (and continue to do) in keeping me in Your
Grace, strong, healthy, enduring -- ninety-nine straight days on the
road, over 2,400 miles. Yes, thank you Lord; thank you!
The cool of the evening sets in as I trek along beside the mighty
river, all the way to McBaine, a little village right by the
trail. Here, a stone's throw to the south, I find Lucky Lucy's Bar
and Grill. It's dusk as I turn for there, to be greeted by Lucy and
many locals hanging out. All welcome me with much good cheer. When
they find that I'm hiking, not biking, and what my adventure is
about, we share a delightful evening of conversation. I'm permitted
to use Lucy's phone -- then to pitch for the night in her quaint
little beer garden off the side door. What an amazing day; oh yes,
I'll be in Jeff tomorrow evening!
Friday--June 30, 2006
Trail Day—100
Trail Mile--26.5/2436
Location--Katy Trail, North Jefferson, Missouri
The long distance covered yesterday, the hours on the trail (over 36
miles, 15 hours in all), that the day passed surprisingly fast, that
it turned most enjoyable, are no doubt due to the strange
intertwining of Father Time and old age, much as that perplexing and
unexplainable relationship continues to baffle man -- and to play
out in this old codger's life.
Lucky Lucy has her unusually quaint little place open by seven. I'm
right there for breakfast, along with the local, longstanding
klatch. Lucy told me all about her place last night, what makes it
so unusual (and for that matter, quaint). It's the way the building
and the fixtures are put together. The entire structure, including
the inside walls -- and the bar itself -- are constructed of
concrete block. Yes, that's right, the bar is a thick stack of
mortar and concrete block! "All we have to do now" said Lucy, "when
the place floods clear to the second floor, is replace the ceiling
and clean up the mess. We can get everything out of here and to high
ground with only a few hours notice. And the bar stays put now." A
wide, smug smile from Lucy. Oh yes, she's Lucky Lucy alright; but
sure looks to me like she's more than made her own luck! Neat place
Lucy. I've had fun; it's been a memorable stay in your little (at
times UNDER the wide Missouri) village of McBaine.
This is not the final day for this journey, but it's the last in a
long and uninterrupted string of days hiked this time out. I've less
than 27 on to North Jefferson now, not a long day, so I should
arrive around five-ish; sure looking forward to that moment. The
Nomad Support Crew, its team captain, Joyce, will be there to
fetch me away for a welcome break, a much-needed time of rest. I had
also hoped to be greeted by my Webmaster, Linda, this evening. She
had planned to come to North Jefferson too. She's worked so hard,
and served so diligently, in keeping current our '06 Odyssey page,
at www.nimblewillnomad.com; what a blessing. It's sure been a
fulltime job for her, what with all the journal entries to post, and
the picture album pages to construct. But alas, due to urgent
matters she'll be unable to make it, to share in the joy of this
day. So, I want to say now, "Thanks, Linda, thanks for your
generosity and kindness, for all your time and help; and thanks,
especially, for your friendship." My prayers are with you, with your
husband, Fred -- your precious health -- I pray that you both be
completely and fully restored to health, and that you be made whole
again.
I'm not away from Lucky Lucy's till nearly eight-thirty, and if I'm
going to do the miles to North Jefferson by five, then I've got to
move along. Hiking the Katy is pretty much a straight shot today. By
eleven I'm in Easley and Cooper's Landing. The river snakes back and
forth across the wide floodplain, from bluff to bluff, and here at
Easley it's hard against the east side. I stop for a Pepsi. While
resting a moment, I meet Jeff, another old codger, my age. He's from
New Zealand, bicycling the U.S. We share stories -- and talk
"wanderlust."
I'm really behind now, and must set to hauling. The bluff wall has
opened, more bottomland, and the river has crossed back to the other
side. Little shade makes for hot, hot; I chug the water. A little
before five I hear the roar of traffic from busy US63. Shortly comes
Joyce "up" the Katy to intercept me. It's a grand moment. Another
remarkable accomplishment (in His Grace) granted this old man. By
five-thirty we're in North Jefferson, loaded up -- and gone.
"we arived at the enterance of Osage River at dark and encamped on
the Spot we had encamped on the 1st & 2nd of June 1804 haveing came
72 miles. a very singular disorder is takeing place amongst our
party that of Sore eyes. three of the party have their eyes
inflamed and Sweled..." [Clark, September 19th 1806]
Wednesday--September 13, 2006
Trail Day--101
Trail Mile--22.0/2458
Location--Katy Trail, Steedman, Missouri
After over two months of waiting off-trail for the Corps to catch
up, I'm finally back on the Katy Trail today around noon, heading
east. My destination is the wharf below Gateway Arch in St. Louis,
near where the Corps departed over 200 years ago, and where it all
ended September 23rd 1806. And I will be there (Good Lord willin')
September 23rd 2006. There will I end this remarkable roundtrip
adventure, a journey of some 230 days, nearly 6,000 miles.
The day is calm and mild, just the least breeze, with temperatures
in the high seventies. An absolutely perfect day for hiking. I seem
to remember long stretches of open trail with no shade through this
section of the Katy, between Jefferson City and St. Louis, but the
trail is mostly a green tunnel, trees shading both sides and above.
The view from across the river here presents a close horizon
dominated by the beautiful Missouri Capitol, sitting atop a high
dolomite bluff, directly above the mighty Missouri. It is a stunning
most remarkable site to behold, and I try for a few pictures through
breaks in the foliage.
In the little village of Tebbetts I stop in to see my friends, Lloyd
and Mary Ann Smart, at Smart Brothers Farms. Lloyd is in the field
today, as the corn is ripe and time has come for harvest. Trucks
arrive continually to be weighed and to unload at the elevator. I'm
disappointed not to see Lloyd this time through, but it's my good
fortune to arrive in time to see Mary Ann, and to meet her daughter,
Theresa, Theresa's daughter, Jody, and Jody's son Jayden Allen
(that's Mary Ann's and Lloyd's great grandson). They all line up,
big smiles, as I take their picture. Catch you next time, Lloyd!
Just across the river from Tebbetts comes in the Osage River. This
is an historic spot along the Missouri, as The Corps encamped there
on three different dates, June 1st and 2nd 1804, and again September
19th 1806.
Near Mokane a bicyclist catches and passes me. I'd seen him heading
in to Jefferson City as I began my hike today. By the time I reach
Steedman, he's already set camp and is relaxing in the local
watering hole. Dark has descended as I enter, to meet Mark from
Chicago. He's bicycling the Katy, from Sedalia to St. Louis. We
enjoy dinner and the evening together.
I need my little MicroLite to set camp.
a fair morning. we Set out at light and procd. on Soon passed
the mouth of Mine River. Saw a number of Turkeys but we being
anxious to git down do not detain to hunt. gathered Some Pappaws
which our party are fond of and are a kind of fruit which abound in
these bottoms and are now ripe. in the afternoon one of the hunters
killed a deer. late in the evening we arived at the Mouth of Osage
River & Camped having made 84 miles this day. [Ordway,
September 19th 1806]
Thursday--September 14, 2006
Trail Day--102
Trail Mile--20.7/2479
Location--Katy Trail, McKittrick, Missouri
You may have noted that for my last two daily journal entries,
the quotes from the Corps, those of Clark and Ordway, are dated
September 19th 1806. The mileage for that date, as recorded, has
Clark's entry showing 72 miles, and Ordway's listing of the distance
traveled as 84 miles. In any regard, what's amazing is the fact that
the Corps was really moving downriver. That's why I've returned to
the trail here beside the river quite a bit in advance of the Corps'
passing -- because there's just no way, from here on to St. Louis,
that I'll able to cover the miles that they covered in September
1806 and still finish on the 23rd.
Along the river here, the channel mostly hugs the far floodplain
bluff. But where it meanders across to this side, there's just no
room for both SR94 and the old railgrade, so the highway leaves the
bottoms to climb and dip the hills above. By these areas, especially
along the river near Bluffton (appropriately named) the scenery is
delightful. The overhanging bluffs, contrasted by the swift flowing
waters, present the most interesting landscape -- for some great
pictures, I hope!
The little villages through which I've been passing these past
number of days remind me much of those little communities along the
old Bagnell Branch Railroad, which passed through my hometown of
Russellville. Time, and the modes of travel, those being the
railroad, and here additionally, the river, have long since been
passed by. The boom days for places like Portland, Bluffton,
McKittrick (and Russellville) occurred well over a century ago. Many
of the beautiful old homes have been kept and are well maintained,
but in some of the little bergs, and unfortunately, there are more
old buildings than there are people. But I just love these places,
the old false-front stores along Main St. (or Railroad Avenue), the
slow pace -- and especially, the kind people.
Clark had written about the Corps picking and enjoying pawpaws, and
that they were dependent on that fruit for sustenance in order
to save precious time usually given over to hunting. He also made
note as to "...a very singular disorder is takeing place amongst
our party that of the Sore eyes. three of the party have their eyes
inflamed and Sweled in Such a manner as to render them extremely
painfull, particularly when exposed to the light, the eye ball is
much inflaimed and the lip appears burnt with the Sun, the cause of
this complaint of the eye I can't [account] for..."
Today, researchers believe the cause of the illness suffered by
members of the Corps, and as described by Clark, strongly
suggests dermatitis, a problem related to their diet of pawpaws,
which are known to cause such inflammation. I haven't seen any
pawpaws yet, but I'm enjoying my fill of the ripe, bitter-sweet
fruit of the persimmon.
Here in McKittrick there's a fine supermarket trailside. I head over
for pizza and a fountain Pepsi before pitching on the remains of the
old depot foundation.
Friday--September 15, 2006
Trail Day--103
Trail Mile--22.7/2502
Location--Katy Trail, Marthasville, Missouri
Seems I never learn. It was a beautiful clear night last, so I
pitched my tent without the fly. Well, it didn't rain as you might
have suspected, but during the night the temperature dropped and
the dew came in so heavy that everything in my tent got soaked. So,
this morning, I awake to a frightful mess. My down bag is totally
collapsed and must weigh close to five pounds. My socks and shoes
are soaked. My camera is dripping wet. And my maps, well, hopefully
they'll stay together long enough for me to scatter them around to
dry later.
Along the trail this morning, the dew encased spider webs, suspended
between nearly every overhanging branch, give the impression of an
eerie path to a haunted house. Soon, though, the cool of the
morning, and the dew, give way to another delightfully warm day, and
by mid afternoon, and along the open railbed, the trail really
starts cooking.
Of the many and varied businesses that once thrived in the villages
along, about all that's left in most today, besides the grain
elevators, is the local bar and grill. There's one in Tebbetts,
Mokane, Steedman, Portland, Rhineland, and McKittrick. All will fix
you a burger and fries, along with your favorite beverage. Today,
and in the heat, I stop for a pop at the little watering hole in
Treloar.
After being off the trail nearly three months, after three
relatively long mile days back-to-back, and after the heat of the
day, I'm totally pooped by the time I reach Marthasville. And so, am
I really looking forward to seeing the old Nomad Support
Crew, and its team captain, Joyce. She put me back on the trail and
got me going again in Jeff, and is, this moment, on her way to
Marthasville, to fetch and whisk me away for the weekend.
In Marthasville now, I hasten over to Loretta's Place, to see this
dear friend and her husband, Jr. They both befriended Joyce and me
during my outbound '04 journey. They were so kind; it was a very
enjoyable time. But alas, I arrive to find the entrance covered in
dirt and deep in weeds, the front door locked, and a "For Sale" sign
nailed to the wall. Aw, dang, its times like these that returning
can make for such a sad and unhappy occurrence. In a daze, I wander
over to the post office, where the postmaster gives me the bad
news. "Loretta, she's been shut down for over a year now. She closed
the place up right after Jr. died." -- and so the postmaster tells
me. Dang, dang!
Joyce arrives a little after four. I give her the news about
Loretta's Place, then I load and we're gone.
On the evening of September 20th 1806, the Corps arrived at the
little French village of La Charrette, near present-day
Marthasville. At the time, this village was the most
westerly outpost along the American frontier.
as three of the party was unabled to row from the State of their
eyes we found it necessary to leave one of our Crafts and divide the
men into the other Canoes, we left the two Canoes lashed together
which I had made high up the River Rochejhone, those Canoes we Set a
drift and a little after day light we Set out and proceeded on very
well. The Osage river very low and discharges but a Small quantity
of water at this time for so large a river. at meridian we passed
the enterance of the Gasaconnade river below which we met a perogue
with 5 french men bound to the Osarge Gd. village. the party being
extreemly anxious to get down ply their ores very well, we Saw Some
cows on the bank which was a joyfull Sight to the party and Caused a
Shout to be raised for joy...we Came in Sight of the little french
Village called Charriton [La Charrette, near present day
Marthasville] the men raised a Shout and Sprung upon their ores
and we soon landed opposit to the Village. our party requested to
be permitted to fire off their Guns which was alowed & they
discharged 3 rounds with a harty Cheer, which was returned from five
trading boats which lay opposit the village. we landed and were
very politely received...as it was like to rain we accepted of a bed
in one of their tents. we purchased of a Citizen two gallons of
Whiskey for our party for which we were obliged to give Eight
dollars in Cash, an imposition on the part of the Citizen. every
person, both French and americans Seem to express great pleasure at
our return, and acknowledged them selves much astonished in Seeing
us return. they informed us that we were Supposed to have been lost
long Since, and were entirely given out by every person &c.
[Clark, September 20th 1806]
Monday--September 18, 2006
Trail Day—104
Trail Mile--17.3/2519
Location--Katy Trail, Matson, Missouri
Rested up and ready to head on out and finish this journey! The
Nomad Support Team Crew Chief, Joyce, has me back to Marthasville
around one-thirty, and I'm headed east for St. Louis. A short-mile
day, so I should make it to the little village of Matson before
dark.
The afternoon is very pleasant and the hike is most enjoyable as the
Katy pops in and out, from total shade by the bluffs, to full sun as
the bluff gives way from time-to-time -- to gently rolling hills.
This is vineyard/winery country. Many neat little passed-by-time
communities again today, such as Nona, Alexander, and Klondike. Near
Klondike, the bluffs rise again in all their glory, presenting some
of the tallest, most-sheer white rock faces I've seen yet, standing
the very edge of the trail, straight up, then hanging some 200 feet
above the wide Missouri.
In the bottoms, between the river and the bluffs dwell some of the
mightiest of all the grand cottonwood. Numerous of their kind and of
ample height and girth to conceal within the largest of pirogues,
hand-hewn boats, which served the Corps so very well. Along the
ridges and atop the bluffs, begins just the hint of show in the
maple and oak. Hopefully, a sign of sights to come -- fall!
Just at dusk, and near Matson now, comes Joyce with a glad wave and
a happy smile. Ahh yes, another fine day on the trail for the old
Nomad!
The Corps was really haulin' 200 years ago at this time. On the
21st of September they further closed the distance to St. Louis,
from Marthasville to St. Charles. I'll not make half that distance
today. "Sunday 21st Sept. 1806 we Set out as at the usal time and
procd. on passed Scatteing houses along the Shores. met a great
number of Indians in canoes mooving up the River. the people of the
Settlements were makeing inqueries of us & were Surprized to See us
as they Said we had been given out for dead above a year
ago. towards evening we arived at St. Charles fired three rounds and
Camped at the lower end of the Town. the people of the Town gathered
on the bank and could hardly believe that it was us for they had
heard and had believed that we were all dead and were forgotton. the
most of the paty got quarters in Town and refreshments. late in the
evening hard rain commend. and continued hard during the night.
[Ordway, September 21st 1806]
Tuesday--September 19, 2006
Trail Day—105
Trail Mile--21.9/2541
Location--Katy Trail, St. Charles, Missouri
Daniel Morgan Boone received a Spanish land grant in 1797 for a
tract of land right near the little village of Matson, where Crew
Chief, Joyce, drops me off this morning. A log home was built, and
in 1798 Daniel, his wife, Rebecca, and their son, Nathan and his
wife, spent the first winter there. The first American trail west of
the Mississippi passed nearby and was blazed by the Boones. At that
time, the Boone Settlement was the western-most settlement on the
American frontier. Near Femme Osage Creek, and on an historic marker
is inscribed: The Expedition's stop here [Femme Osage Creek] held
the potential for an historic meeting between the renowned and
soon-to-be-renowned explorers. An American settlement of 30-50
families, known as the "Boone Settlement" had sprung up along the
Femme Osage. The patriarch of this settlement was the celebrated
frontiersman Daniel Boone. He had arrived five years earlier at the
invitation of Spain, which had offered him a grant of
land...Captains Meriwether Lewis and William Clark sent the Fields
brothers, Reubin, and Joseph, ashore to purchase fresh food at the
Boone settlement. The brothers returned with corn and butter, along
with families from the settlement wanting to meet the
Expedition. The Expedition spent an hour here before crossing the
river to explore Tavern Rock and Cave.
For unknown reasons Daniel Boone was not among the settlement well
wishers. There's little doubt the captains realized Boone lived
here. Pvt. Joseph Whitehouse's journal mentions Boone, and the
captains certainly knew at least as much, but neither captain noted
the fact that Daniel Boone, one of the most famous backwoodsmen of
the era, lived nearby.
I've an enjoyable hike on in to St. Charles.
On September 21st 1806 the Corps traveled from La Charrette
(Marthasville) to St. Charles. "rose early this morning. Colected
our men. Several of them had axcepted of the invitation of the
Citizens and visited their families. at half after 7 A. M we Set
out. passed 12 canoes of Kickapoos assending on a hunting
expedition. Saw Several persons also Stock of different kind on the
bank which reviv'd the party very much. at 3 P M we met two large
boats assending. at 4 P M we arived in Sight of St. Charles, the
party rejoiced at the Sight of this hospital village plyed thear
ores with great dexterity and we Soon arived opposit the Town, this
day being Sunday we observed a number of Tentlemen and ladies
walking on the bank, we Saluted the Village by three rounds from our
blunderbuts and the Small arms of the party, and landed near the
lower part of the town. we were met by great numbers of the
inhabitants, we found them excessively polite. we received
ivitations from Several of those...the inhabitants of this village
appear much delighted at our return and seem to vie with each other
in their politeness to us all. we came only 48 miles today. the
banks of the river thinly Settled &c. [Clark, September 21st 1806]
Wednesday--September 20, 2006
Trail Day—106
Trail Mile--23.2/2564
Location--Alton, Illinois
I arrived St. Charles about four last evening, to find the
"Modern Day Corps" already set up in the park -- in preparation for
the 200th anniversary of the Corps of Discovery's return, September
21st 1806. I recalled the suspicion I harbored in '04 about the
Modern Day Corps, as to their keelboat and pirogue, and that
suspicion proved out as I strolled the park yesterday evening. At
the boathouse and on the grounds of the park rest the keelboat and
the pirogue, those vessels most likely used by the Modern Day Corps
to ascend from the mouth of the Missouri at Wood River (Creek), to
St. Charles, in May of 2004. I suspected they had engines concealed
in the holds (not for the public to know about or to see). Yesterday
I took pictures of the keelboat, resting on a trailer with its prop
shaft extending from the hull. I also got a shot of the pirogue, on
display in the park with its prop concealed inside an extended
double skeg.
You may recall, and if you've read my early journal entries for the
outbound journey in '04, you'll know how very upset I became when I
learned that a friend who had planned on departing Wood River on May
14th 2004, and at the exact hour of the Corps' departure, to paddle
upriver, was stopped simply because of the "importance" of the
Modern Day Corps -- their desire to get uncluttered, unspoiled
pictures of themselves on the river. It really made me mad, and I'm
still not over it to this day. My friend did depart later that day,
and over the next number of weeks he struggled/paddled his kayak a
great distance up the Missouri. Unfortunately, and before he could
complete his amazing journey, injuries forced him to discontinue his
upriver trek. Anyway, so much for the "authentic reenactment" by the
Modern Day Corps -- and the uncluttered pictures of their great
departure!
Later in the evening, and before pitching behind the Phillips 66
Station near I-270, I enjoyed the pub-crawl up the main drag in St.
Charles. At the City Club (owned and managed by Roy Cox for the past
54 years), I enjoyed seeing Roy and meeting and talking with
steelworkers, Luke, Dede, and Dave.
This morning I break camp around eight to head into Phillips for my
morning coffee. Out and truckin', I'm soon up to speed. My legs are
under me; I am strong and of good cheer -- thank you, Lord!
The Katy Trail has been extended from St. Charles to a little place
called Machens. South of Machens, and near Black Walnut, the
combined floodplains of the Missouri and the Mississippi narrow, and
across the ripened fields of corn, and at a distance of some 5-8
miles, it is possible to, see coming in, the shining dolomite bluffs
that rise above the eastern flank of the Mississippi.
I had planned on stopping for the day in West Alton, but the little
bar and grill has since closed, and I am hungry for other than a
cooler sandwich at West Alton Bait and Tackle, so I hike it on the
remaining three miles, across the Clark Memorial Bridge, over the
Mississippi, and into Alton, Illinois. I find the sun angle perfect,
lighting the bridge, suspension cables, and the superstructure
towers. The traffic is tolerable and I'm able to get some fine
pictures. If you'll click back to "Announcements" on our homepage,
you'll see, under the latest update for "Odyssey '06" hyperlinks to
many interesting sites -- like Clark Memorial Bridge.
I'm in the last state on this return journey now, Illinois, and my
hike here will be very short (in comparison). I'll cross back into
Missouri (St. Louis) o'er the historic US66 Chain of Rocks Bridge on
Friday.
According to the forecast, looks like I'll finish this amazing
odyssey on Saturday, just as it began -- in the rain -- what better!
Thursday--September 21, 2006
Trail Day—107
Trail Mile--11.5/2576
Location--Lewis and Clark State Memorial Park, Hartford,
Illinois, thence on to Saint Thomas, Illinois
Two-hundred years (to-the-day) wise, the Corps is rapidly
closing on me. I'm less than a day ahead of them now, but I've got
this figured out (at least I think I do) so as to reach St. Louis
the same September day, the 23rd.
I did the right thing, hiking on into Illinois last evening, as I
enjoyed a fine meal at the local Bar-B-Que. To pitch for the night,
I found a (not so quiet) concealed spot under the pines behind the
local McDonalds. Ahh, yes, and there I head first thing this morning
for my favorite: an egg and cheese biscuit, hash browns, and
coffee. I linger until ten, working my journal entries and catching
up on email.
It's another short hike today along the Levee Top Trail to Wood
River and Hartford. A few miles south of Alton is the National Great
River Museum. Approaching, I hear folks calling my name. Oh my, it's
Ron and Joyce Gerhardt from Pollock, South Dakota. Ron had
befriended my dear friend, Jim Damico on his '04 L&CNHT bike
trip. What a coincidence that we also met during my return through
South Dakota this year. And don't you know -- Ron and Joyce
befriended me then, just as they had done for Jim! And here they
are; they've planned their vacation, to enjoy a bike trip along the
Katy, and by closely following my itinerary and scheduling their
trip accordingly, they've managed to intercept me here
today. Thanks, Ron and Joyce, for your kindness, and for taking the
time to track this old man down!
A short distance up the levee is the town of Wood River. Here, with
but individual funds, and under the supervision of T. J. Lanahan,
and after long months of toil, has been built the most remarkable
and authentic replica of Camp Dubois, the fort constructed and
occupied by the Corps during the winter of 1803-04. Here it's my
distinct pleasure to meet Churchill Clark, a seventh generation,
forth grandson of William Clark. Churchill takes time, and we share
much joyful conversation about the present -- and about the days of
long, long ago. By the fort entrance, I have my picture taken with
Churchill and Jay. Both these men, along with others, have (this
year) canoed down the Yellowstone and the Missouri -- to Wood
River. What a joy meeting all of you; I had a grand time at Camp
Dubois. See y'all (and my dear friend, Norm Miller, who'll be with
you) at the wharf Saturday.
Back on the levee now, and after another short hike south, I'm at
the Lewis and Clark State Memorial Park. Here, there's a most
remarkable interpretive center, with movies, displays, paintings,
another fort -- and much more. I spend fun time, like a little kid,
looking all around again, then to have my picture taken with
President Jefferson, and with Captains Lewis and Clark.
In the evening now, I hasten on south to the eastern approach by the
old US66 Chain of Rocks Bridge. Here is the not-so-new Canal Motel,
where Jim, Joyce and I sought shelter from the storm in '04. I check
in -- supposed to rain again this night.
What a day!
Near here, just south of the confluence of the Missouri and the
Mississippi Rivers, is Columbia Bottom. And near where the two great
rivers cut in 1804-06 was located Fort Bellefountaine. "the hard
rain continued this morning untill about 11 Oclock A. M. at which
time the party collected and we Set out & procd. on towards evening
we arived at Bell fountain a Fort or cantonement on South Side which
was built since we ascended the Missouri & a handsome place..."
[Ordway, September 22, 1806]
Friday--September 22, 2006
Trail Day--108
Trail Mile--10.4/2586
Location--Clark's Grave, Bellefontaine Cemetery, St. Louis,
Missouri
I'm up, but not moving so fast. For this morning I'm toting an old,
familiar burden. We all know about burden. It comes to us, to bear
upon us in all ways, in all sorts and sizes. And thus does it saddle
us. From beyond that shadowy veil does it come -- from where it
forever dwells that dark, back side of Heaven's rainbow. As you may
suspect, what I'm having to pack today isn't my pack, which has
long-since become an integral part of me. No, what I am lugging
along this morning is the bittersweet anguish/joy of arriving at the
end of another remarkable (almost mystical) journey.
And so, if you'll indulge me, here's the crux of it: On September
22, 1806, the Corps of Discovery encamped near the mouth of the
Missouri, just upriver from where I'll cross the Mississippi again
this morning, near the Chain of Rocks. Now it is true that
Captor Time has neatly boxed us up, has separated the Corps from
me, by 200 years -- physically. However, I must tell you, and please
understand that there is no possible way that Time can isolate us
spiritually, emotionally. Ahh, and in this circumstance, Captor
Time must certainly frustrate to enslave, to keep the Corps from me,
to keep us from being one in thought, from being one in the very
knowledge (present and past) of what Time itself has wrought. Always
in parallel have our respective journeys unfolded and have they
played out. Always have they been separated by Time's gulf,
which cannot be breached? But here, near the end now, Time is
helpless to keep us from joining together, from sharing the
bittersweet, from communing our joys of heart, and too, our anguish
of mind.
Scholars have long studied the Corps; they can recite all their
names, their ancestry, their dates of birth, and of death. They can
tell us about each member of the Corps, the deeds of each, their
accomplishments. They can speak on and on in terms of time and of
space. But there is not one of them, nor is there anyone alive
today, who knows the Corps as I know the Corps. For I have ventured
long and have toiled long -- in their shadow, and in their very
presence. Our paths have crisscrossed many, many times, to create an
intertwining of minds and spirit. Of that intertwining, defiant of
Time, and so, beyond Time -- that such intertwining exists is all I
can tell you. I cannot write of it. In all the writings, in all
you've read about the Corps, you'll not see the least footnote
bearing such witness, nor likely, will you ever.
The morning is cloudy; a steady, cool breeze. Forecasters still call
for isolated, severe thunderstorms today. The weather holds though,
and conditions for crossing the old US66 Chain of Rocks Bridge
couldn't be better, considering the torrential rain endured during
my crossing in May of '04. The bridge is pretty much mine. Richard,
a retired career Marine is out for his morning walk, and he takes
time to snap my picture, the old bridge girders, Chain of
Rocks, and the St. Louis skyline for a backdrop. I cross from
Illinois, back into Missouri, exactly at noon.
Strong winds come up but the weather holds as I trek on south. I
tarry, stopping for lunch at Cristo's on the corner of Riverview and
Broadway. I'm in St. Louis now. Ethel and Mark head me out in the
right direction, on down Broadway. I'm hiking toward Bellefontaine
Cemetery now, the gravesite of Captain William Clark. I will once
again pay my respects to this great soldier, explorer, statesman,
and patriot. The rain finally comes as I pass the cemetery
gate. Hard rain forced me to don my poncho while here in '04. So,
what better weather (and setting) for such a visit today!
A tour bus has stopped in front of Clark's grave, and many are
milling about, children romping and climbing the many stones and
markers. I bide my time across the way, waiting for the quiet
solitude. In moments the bus loads, lumbers off, and I am alone on
this high point of ground above the city. The monuments about bear
testimony, extolling the life and times of this great American. I
tarry long in the rain and in the silence, pondering times long
past, as I peer through that shadowy window above spoken -- a
blessing given.
Just before five comes the old Nomad's Support Crew Chief,
Joyce, and her assistant, my sister, Salle Anne. In the evening, we
search Columbia Bottoms for my friend, Norm, to no avail. Later, we
visit Camp Dubois in Wood River, to spend some time with Churchill
and others. Dark now, we retreat to Canal Motel at old US66 and the
approach to the Chain of Rocks Bridge in Illinois. It has been a
very fine day, one of slow pace, and of reflection.
"This morning being very wet and the rain Still Continueing hard,
and our party being all Sheltered in the houses of those hospitable
people, we did not [think] proper to proceed on untill after the
rain was over...I took this oppertunity of writeing to my friends in
Kentucky &c...it seased raining and we Colected our party and Set
out and proceeded on down to the Contonemt. at Coldwater Creek about
3 miles up the Missouri on it's Southern Banks..." [Clark, September
22nd 1806]
Saturday--September 23, 2006
Trail Day--109
Trail Mile--7.7/2594
Location--Wharf/Gateway Arch, St. Louis, Missouri
Today, with the Lord's blessing, the old Nimblewill Nomad will
complete this amazing odyssey, a round-trip journey by foot,
covering nearly 6,000 miles. It is an amazing thing to ponder, a
walk from St. Louis, to the Pacific Ocean then back again, a journey
of over 230 days. To have the stamina and endurance, and indeed, to
maintain within, the drive and determination needed to accomplish
such goal so far-reaching -- only through trusting in the Lord, only
through His grace and glory has such an achievement come to pass. So
I thank the Lord for His blessings so bestowed, so lavished, upon
this old man.
At the end of Odyssey '98, a 4,400 mile journey from the Florida
Keys to the Cliffs of Forillon, Cap Gaspe, Quebec, I recall my
thoughts, that perhaps that day might be my very last along the
trail. In the book Ten Million Steps, I wrote: "I have
always had a feeling deep down--from the very first day--that the
Lord would protect me, that He would provide safe passage. In my
mind's eye I could see all the places ahead, the boundless horizons,
the countless miles. I somehow prepared for all of that. I prepared
for the going of it. But, somehow I never prepared for the finish of
it and today is the day for the finish of it." And that day at
the Cliffs of Forillon I wrote: "I follow the trail beside the
cliffs to the waters of the Atlantic where the mountains disappear
below the waves to the ocean floor. Standing here at the water's
edge and looking at the cliffs and the end of this, a mysterious,
grand and glorious scheme of things that are these ancient and near
timeless Appalachian Mountains, I realize that for these mountains
there is a end, not perhaps in time, but certainly in space. In
terms of the presence of man on this planet and that span of time,
these mountains are truly immortal...and I consider the frailty of
man and my own mortality. Soon the last chapter in my life will be
written not only in time but also in space as my remaining days flow
to their end, much as these mountains flow to their end here at the
sea." These comments were written over 17,000 trekking miles
ago. Ahh yes, thanks dear Lord, thanks for Your grace and for Your
blessings.
This final day o'er the Lewis and Clark National Historic Trail
begins back at the gate to Bellefontaine Cemetery, where Joyce has
brought sister Salle Anne, and me. Sis and I are out and hiking (in
the rain) right at eight. With the distance remaining to reach the
wharf below Gateway Arch only eight miles distant, we should arrive
at nearly the time the Corps arrived -- noon, 200 years to the day.
It's sure dreary "a wet disagreeable morning," what with
overcast skies, the rain, and the boarded up neighborhoods we're
passing through -- dreary, dreary. And my feelings and thoughts? Oh
yes, they could just as easily turn that way, but sis cheers me as
we share a grand time. And, indeed, the time passes quickly, as
Joyce drives up, keeps tabs on us, then zips on ahead. A little
before eleven we're making the turn from Broadway to Washington, and
finally, the approach to the Arch. Arriving brings a very emotional
time for me; feelings words simply cannot express. I'm sure missing
my dear friend, Sheltowee, who's been with me at the end of
my last three grand adventures. But Joyce and Salle Anne are here,
to share in my excitement and joy -- broad smiles, big hugs.
There is much activity at the wharf. Programs are planned for the
200th anniversary of the Corp's return. The fellows who've canoed
all the way from the upper Yellowstone, near Livingston, Montana,
will be arriving soon. The "Modern Day" Corps is to arrive early
afternoon. And at one, there'll be an unveiling ceremony for the
beautiful bronze statue of Lewis, Clark, and Seaman, by Eads Bridge,
near where the Corps landed in 1806.
I'm at the wharf to greet Churchill Clark and his men, as they
arrive to cheering and much revelry. With them is dear friend, Norm
Miller, whom I've not seen since our paths crossed at Cayuse
Junction in the Bitterroot Mountains in 2004. We exchange
congratulations and share a grand time.
"we rose early took the Chief to the publick store & furnished him
with Some clothes &c. took an early breckfast with Colo. Hunt and
Set out decended to the Mississippi and down that river to St. Louis
at which place we arived about 12 oClock. we Suffered the party to
fire off their pieces as a Salute to the Town. we were met by all
the village and received a harty welcom from it's inhabitants..."
[Clark, September 23rd 1806]
"a wet disagreeable morning. we Set out after breakfast and procd.
on Soon arived at the Mouth of the Missourie entered
the Mississippi River and landed at River deboise where we wintered
in 1804...about 12 oClock we arived in Site of St. Louis fired
three Rounds as we approached the Town and landed oppocit the center
of the Town, the people gathred on the Shore and Huzzared three
cheers. we unloaded the canoes and carried the baggage all up to a
Store house in Town. drew out the canoes then the party all
considerable much rejoiced that we have the Expedition Completed and
now we look for boarding in Town and wait for our Settlement and
then we entend to return to our native homes to See parents once
more as we have been So long from them.-- finis." [Ordway,
September 23rd 1806]
So now, and thus does this amazing journey with Lewis and Clark
come to its end.
God Bless you all, my dear family -- and friends... |