2007 Begins - June 3
June 3 (Sunday)
Well, late last night I found a message on my phone. No mistaking Bob?s voice, like gravel in a cement mixer. "Hey Mar, we will be down to that femur by then end of tomorrow,so you need to get up here." So my plan was to leave around noon for the 6 hour drive, afterchurch, a run, and packing up. Then, my colleague called--we had talked about me driving his rig here to leave, as he has property here--then later in the week he would fly up and fly me back. Gee. Drive MY car 6 hours up and 6 hours back alone, or drive HIS car, and take 1.5 hours to fly back...easy decision. The exchange, however, took longer than I thought and I was two hours late leaving Bozeman.
Then, I got so lost in the scenery and the views of springtime in Montana that I drove right past the Big Timber turn off. Added another 40 or so miles I didn't need to drive...but eventually I got away from the people and the population. From about 20 miles out of Roundup until the outskirts of Malta, the thin ribbon road stretched straight and true, without a bend in sight as far as the eye could see--which, out here is virtually forever. I think I saw 20 vehicles on the road in all that time--all pick-up trucks of course. I guess no one wanted to be driving on such a perfect Sunday. There are probably 2 turns in the road between Roundup and Malta, separated by 200 miles or so. We don't go lateral here, and the only relief from the long straight stretches is vertical. Crest a hill, and it is like cresting a wave on the ocean--the whole flat world falls beneath, and one can see forever because there are no obstacles--only the curvature of the earth. Except the waves are green, and sage-brush scented. At last I see the Little Rockies rising up north of Zortman: the second turn! And for the next 50 miles, I parallel them--peaks jutting against the evening sky, one cone-shaped that I have been told is an extinct volcano.
Miles and miles and miles with no radio coming in that this car can detect--then suddenly, the wild seeking for signal stops and I hear, "Welcome to 88.8, Native Voices, serving the Lakota peoples," followed by beautiful native drumming and music. It was hauntingly beautiful. Sigh. Only in Montana.
Oh, the wildlife I see on these lonely prairies! The small herds of pronghorns, buff and bright white, with short black horns that fork at the end--they are enjoying all the fresh tender grasses the recent rains have brought. And the muledeer. We don't see to many white-tails in this part of Montana, but the mulies replace them.
!http://blogs.lib.ncsu.edu/resources/schweitzer/june3.jpg!
They are bigger, usually, and as their name implies, they have great big ears. The birds are prolific! Pheasant and grouse and turkey for game birds, and countless prairie birds. In the late summer it gets so hot, and dry that it seems nothing could survive except bugs. But they are food for the birds, and once again I marvel at how different birds are in their physiology, from equally warm blooded mammals. That reflects, I guess, their histories, with both groups coming to warm-bloodedness through different means and different ancestors. And, thinking about birds makes me think about dinosaurs!
Then, finally the traffic picks up and I enter the thriving metropolis of Malta Montana. It's another 20 miles to camp, leaving the highway and driving thru prairie and cows on deeply rutted trails through the short grass and sage until I see tents. I have been watching the thunderheads build since the mountains--many hot days are followed by intense afternoon or evening showers. Quick but so welcome and cooling. It was a race between me and the rain to get the tent up. And setting up these lightweight back-packing tents is a real challenge in the wind. Hint: when trying to put those snap together tent poles in a thunderstorm, do NOT hold them straight up in the air...guess I looked a lot like a lightning rod. But, as the last stake on the rainfly went in, the rain hit, and I crawled in, nice and dry. There is nothing like listening to rain beat down on a tent, while you are safe and cozy and isolated within.
As quickly as it came the storm was over, and soon we were gathered for an absolutely delicious meal: fajitas from steak cooked on the grill, and all the trimmings. How many field camps have a bona fide opera singer for a cook? That is another story... Then, back to the tent and bed, but it was a short night. First it was the crickets, then with the very first vague light, the meadowlarks began their singing, and by the time it was daylight, I felt like I was in a Disney cartoon, there were so many birds singing LOUDLY outside my tent! I am exhausted, and feel like I slept not a wink--but no sense staying put--time for coffee, breakfast in the cooktent, and a day of hard labor. Yay.
Posted at 11:32AM Jun 20, 2007 by tppeake in General | Comments[0]