Blodgett Canyon

Ted. Just outside Missoula, the Bitterroot River empties into the Clark Fork River. Only about 80 miles long, the Bitterroot Valley has been a gathering place for indigenous tribes for centuries due to the abundance of bitterroot plants, which grow here. An important source of food back then, its humble blossom is now the state flower. Lewis & Clark travelled the length of the valley and dubbed a favorite campsite “Travelers Rest.” In 1841, a Jesuit priest arrived in the valley at the invitation of the local Salish Indians. The mission, which he named after St Mary, was the first permanent “white” settlement in Montana.

 

Nowadays, it is possible to fly south (up the valley) at 70 mph on US route 93 and in less than an hour reach Hamilton where Blodgett Creek enters the Bitterroot River.  Yesterday, Judy and I chose to walk along the creek a little ways up into the Bitterroot Mountains to explore one of the canyons carved out by glaciers millennia ago.

We felt like we were in church. We don’t know what the Salish people called Blodgett Canyon but with these majestic 2,000 foot high cliffs it had to be considered a sacred place.  As one picture is worth a thousand words, here are 10,000 words…

Missoula Part 2

 Judy.  Shortly after we arrived in Missoula, our friend John asked if we saw a great change here since last year.  Of course, it’s hard to say since Covid-19 has caused so much to be shut down. What I can say is that our experience is definitely different—not better or worse. Just different.

 

As we did with our proposed trip to Europe, we made all kinds of plans that didn’t happen. The Roots Music Festival where we had planned to volunteer was cancelled. Church is now, as it is elsewhere in the US, online, not in person. We gave up our membership to the YMCA after three months of being unable to use it, so no classes or workouts. I’m no longer comfortable wandering in and out of stores I visited last year. Although I never went swimming at Currents, the public pool, I had hoped to try it out this year, but that doesn’t seem like a good idea to me.

 

And yet.  

Sunrise from our apartment

 

Because we’re not busy doing what I thought I’d do, we’ve done so much more. We’ve hiked more than last year—usually twice a week, usually on different trails in the Rattlesnake Recreation Area, a mere fifteen-minute drive from our apartment. Despite being in the same part of the park, each trail offers different views and flora. We carry our bear spray, but have yet to spot a grizzly or a rattlesnake--or a mountain lion, for that matter. Just beautiful views, shady forests, open meadows filled with flowers, and the songs of birds and chatter of squirrels. We see few hikers, but lots of mountain bikers, so mostly we have the trail to ourselves.  

View on a Rattlesnake Trail

 

We drove to Kootenai Canyon, where we hiked last year. It was as beautiful as we remembered, but very crowded. Afterwards, we went into Stevensville, the oldest settlement in Montana, for a food truck lunch and beer at the Blacksmith Brewery next door.

We knew we couldn’t stay in Missoula after August, so decided to check out Helena, which we loved, and will go to in mid-September. Coming back we took Raymond up a jeep trail to Garnet, a restored ghost town high on a mountain. Unlike many mining towns, Garnet had families and a school. Leaving, we had more incredible mountain views.  

Garnet

 

Another day we drove up the Bitterroot Valley past Kootenai and Stevensville to the end of the valley at the Idaho border on Lost Trail Pass. Not finding a restaurant with a patio on our way back (patios would not be useful here past September!), we opted for sandwiches from the Albertson’s Deli, and a picnic at the Blodgett Creek campground. Definitely going back for a hike along the creek!  

Raymond loves gravel roads

 

Our friends Susan and John met us at the Snowbowl Ski Resort for an outdoor pizza and a chairlift ride to the top of the mountain for a remarkable view.

 

If I get to the Farmer’s Market by eight AM, there are few buyers, so I can follow the one-way paths to buy the beautiful and inexpensive flowers and vegetables from the Hmong and organic farmers without worry.

 

Another weekend we drove north to Whitefish. The town was a disappointment—very touristy—but the scenery was magnificent as we drove past Flathead Lake many times, and hiked up part of the Whitefish Trail to the lake overlook.

Whitefish Lake

We lunched at Bonsai Brewery, which had outside dining and a great burger. And Ted loved the bitter. Coming back through Kalispell, we spotted a Chick-Fil-A, the only one in Montana, and treated ourselves to peach milkshakes. Going up and coming back, we passed my favorite mountains here, the Mission Range.

 

One afternoon we were relaxing while playing cards, and kept hearing helicopters. Finally, after a half hour, I went to the balcony and saw a prairie fire burning up Mount Sentinel, very close to us. It must have spread quickly, since by the time we looked, it was about two-thirds of the way up the hill. We watched as two helicopters flew back and forth, dousing it with water till it was out.  

Mt Sentinel Fire

 

We’d been so fortunate that there had not been western fires this year, but about the same time as ours happened, we began to get smoke here from other fires around the west. We could definitely use some rain.

 

If we’re not hiking, we walk most days. Almost everyone here has a mask that they put on as we approach each other, and, if at all possible, we tend to take wide swings around each other.

 

Chocolate mousse

On my birthday we took a chance and went to a restaurant, the Pearl Café, for dinner. We were pleased to see that tables were spread out, all diners wore their masks when not eating, and the waiter wore his all evening. And dinner was absolutely delicious. 

Although we seldom see other residents of our building, we do see Margaret, whom we met last year, and who takes her walk back and forth in front of the building, waving when she sees us.

 

Drivers continue to be courteous, stopping to let us cross the street, and the cyclists—which are everywhere—are considerate of pedestrians, for the most part. All the things we loved last year, we still love here.

 

John asked if we’d be coming back next year. Honestly, if things get back to some sense of normal, we’ll be overseas. But if it’s another year of staying in the US, why not?

Why go back to Missoula?

Ted. Montana, and more specifically Missoula appeals to us for several reasons. First, there is lots of space. Montana is bigger than Georgia, Florida and South Carolina combined. Also, there are not many people.  The population is about the same as Fulton County, Georgia or the state of Rhode Island. The climate in the summer is hard to beat; sunny, warm days, cool nights and low humidity.

 

We love places where one can wake up and walk 10 minutes to pick up a fresh baguette and croissants.

 

Our neighborhood bakery, with social distancing enforced

Following a leisurely breakfast, we only need to drive about 15 minutes to a National Forest for a brisk hike that still gets us home in time for lunch on our terrace. 

 

After a nap, it’s just a 10 minute stroll to an old school ice cream stand.

Savoring a scoop of cardamom at the Big Dipper

Yes, we have the limitations of masks and social distancing. Plus our church here is closed and the Roots Music Festival has been canceled. However, most of what we discovered last year is still here to enjoy.  It’s hard for me to argue with the locals who claim that Montana is “The Last Best Place!”  

The 100 Day dress

 Judy.  Fact is, I love clothes. I don’t know if it’s because as a child my folks couldn’t afford all the cool clothes, or if I’m just a hedonist, but I do love clothes. Once I discovered second-hand shopping, there was no stopping me.  It was ridiculous.

 

Obviously this posed a problem when we started traveling. I gave away bags of clothing and have continued to purge the bins in the storage unit every time we return, but I have these favorites. And last winter in Atlanta when I was rehearsing for a play, I couldn’t find my sweaters, so a trip to the thrift store loaded me up again.

 

A mistake, I think, was trading my original suitcase for a larger one. I try to be careful, but I invariably find myself biting my nails as the gate agents weigh my bag.

 

So I was intrigued when I read about a merino dress that one could wear day after day. It apparently worked in both hot and cool weather. In fact, the manufacturer offered a deal: If you wore the dress for 100 days and documented it, they’d send you a coupon toward a second dress.

 

What the heck. We’re under quarantine, after all, so who’s going to see it? And if it worked, maybe I could bring myself to dump more of my old stuff and pack MUCH less. So I ordered the dress.

Good for roughhousing with the boys

 

I admit the first few days were rough. Sometimes I’d wear it for a couple of hours, take my photo, then put on something else. Gradually, though, it became easy to just put the dress on and go about my day. How nice not to think about what I put on in the morning. Steve Jobs only wore black turtlenecks and jeans. And he did ok. I could, too.

 

Now, with only twenty or so days left in the challenge, I really love it. I brought more clothes to Montana with me, but I just don’t wear them, except for exercise clothing. A sweater, scarf, or jacket changes the look, and on cool days, leggings keep me warm.

Keeping cool with Big Dipper ice cream

 

It remains to be seen what will happen when my 100 days are up. I could wind up going back to my old ways, or then again, I might be as cool as Ted with a suitcase full of all I need—at under fifty pounds.

Add a pair of hiking boots, and I'm good to go!

On the "Judy Trail" to Montana

Ted.  In July of 2019 (the good old days), we were enjoying a month in Missoula, Montana when Judy said, “You know, I wouldn’t mind coming back here next year.” In three years of wandering the world, she had never said that so I immediately booked the same Airbnb for August of 2020. While our travel plans to Europe this year have been shattered, there was nothing stopping us from coming back to a town that we had quickly grown to love.

 

Our original plan was to fly to Denver for a family reunion celebrating my father’s 90^th birthday and then fly on up to Montana. The reunion was cancelled but we still wanted to see my Dad. Also, we were now the proud owners of a 2004 Toyota Tundra in mint condition so why not just drive “Raymond” out West.  That would also allow us to stop in Memphis to visit Judy’s older brother Billy and his wife, Marilyn.

 

On July 29 we left Georgia and drove through Birmingham, AL, stopping for lunch in Tupelo, MS and coffee in Oxford, MS on our way to a family dinner in Memphis. The brief, socially distanced meeting was good for all of us. Yes, FaceTime can keep families and friends connected during this awful time but there’s nothing like "socially distanced" face to face meet ups.

Judy, Billy & Marilyn

The next day we crossed the mighty Mississippi River driving northwest through Arkansas, stopping only for a great lunch in Hardy. In a “small world” story, we later found out that a friend of ours (who we first met in Spain) has a brother who owns the canoe rental business right next to the restaurant. 

 

After spending the night in Nevada, Missouri, it was time to log some serious miles. We crossed nearly all of Kansas that day and dropped exhausted into our bed in Goodland.

 

The next day, we rose early and pointed Raymond west again, heading for a lunch in Denver with my Dad. It was bittersweet as we had to be very careful about distancing. But, at least we saw him and were able to wish him happy birthday in person. The man is in wonderful shape for 90 and has set his sights on hitting 100!

Dad & Ted

After lunch, we headed north and stopped for the night in Cheyenne, Wyoming. We explored the town a bit and saw the state capitol where friend Karen once worked. We then treated ourselves to a steak dinner and hit the hay.

Wyoming state capitol

Waking up in Cheyenne, we bought some food for a picnic and hit the road once more. Our friends, Ralph and Sarah had given us a good tip early on so we had purchased a couple trays for eating takeout food in the truck. Pulling onto a side road at lunch time we enjoyed our sushi with no company on the high plains but a couple of cattle and a small herd of curious pronghorn. 

High plains sushi

Soon after lunch we arrived Sheridan, Wyoming and were able to wander the town a bit before wine and cheese in our hotel.

 

Our last day on the road had one more surprise. We had crossed into Montana and were driving across the Crow Indian Reservation when we began seeing signs for the Little Bighorn. Now, I have read a bit of history and proceeded to “mansplain” to Judy that the Little Bighorn River apparently flows all the way to South Dakota for I assured her the famous Battle of the Little Bighorn was fought in South Dakota, not Montana. As we approached an exit with a sign for the National Monument, I decided to pull over to see what the fuss was about. Son of a gun, the battle had actually taken place in present day Montana. However, my hubris was greatly eclipsed by that of George Armstrong Custer who met his untimely demise at this spot. Arriving pretty early in the morning, we were able to explore the site with only minimal crowds before we headed back out. 

Marker at "Custer's Last Stand"

Where they fell

Indian monument

By 5:00 on August 3, our 2,500 mile journey was at an end and we were back “home” in Missoula.