Category: Adventures with family

Sometimes adventures take you unawares. While visiting the Pacific Northwestern coast, I met such an adventure. Thankfully, it was a short adventure but one worthy of retelling, if only for a warning.

We stopped at Rialto Beach. It was a foggy gray morning. The photos I shot looked like they were shot in black and white. The sky, ocean and beach all blended in together. Bleached pieces of driftwood, small pieces as well as full sized trees with roots intact, were drifted into piles along the shoreline, one butting against the other. Some were more weathered than others. The beach was covered with pebbles of various sizes. I was especially fascinated by the green smooth rocks scattered among the other smooth stones. 

Waves battered large rock formations that jutted out of the water. They stood as cold beacons against the foreboding sky, unmoving and strong against the gray relentless waves. The incoming tide swallowed up the sandy beach leaving little choice but to walk in the rocks that lay on the beach. It was difficult to walk through the rocks and the occasional stretches of soft sand. My calves got tight, and I started to get warm. I soon took off my extra shirt and jacket.

After walking down the shoreline for a bit, we turned and headed back in the direction we came. I had seen some people walking at the edge of the surf. I took off my shoes, rolled up by pants legs and walked right at the edge of the water. As the tide came in, the sandy part of the shore was buried. I headed to the higher rocky shoreline. About that time, a sleeper wave, or sneaker wave, rushed in. I braced myself because I knew when the wave was sucked back into the water vacuum, it would try to take me with it. The power of the surf sucked the sand and stones from under my feet pulling me with it. It was like a sea monster had whipped its tentacles around my ankles and was pulling me back into its lair. I know it was quite a sight. I was in the water, but my left hand that held my camera and my 70-200 white lens was lifted high. I even took three upside-down pictures in the process (quite by accident). My traveling companion was quick to help. “Always get the shot” is the motto. It was okay if I was sucked out to sea as long as there was a photo to document it. Some help! I learned later that these sneaker waves are common in Northern California, Oregon and Washington. They can grab someone standing on the beach and pull them under and out to sea. The NOAA says, “Don’t turn your back on the ocean.”

I was sufficiently soaked. It’s a good thing I wore layers. Back at the vehicle, I put the floor mat on the seat, and traded some of my wet clothes for something dry. I had to have a shower to wash off the salt, got on some dry clothes, and we were off again on another adventure.

It was a perfect day for a ride in the mountains. There was a charge of electricity in the air.  Adventure rode on the breeze all around us.  Yep, it promised to be a good day! Cousin Babs had matched us up with our steeds.  My sister was atop Captain. True to his name, he was demanding and always vying for the lead.  I was atop Ramona.  She was a pretty sorrel. She would edge up beside Captain and he’d reward her with a bump of his rump or a swift kick.   

Mounted up with our lunch packed on our saddles we started across the field. We passed the ranch crew already hard at work. We came to a downed wire. Babs stopped and pondered the situation.  She led the way with Captain quick on her heels. When Ramona started over the wire Captain’s back hoof lifted the wire and tickled Ramona’s underside.  She didn’t like that even a little bit and took off like a bucking bronc.  Away we went – Ramona and me. The stirrups were too long for my short legs. There was no way I could brace my feet in the stirrups, so I clamped my knees into the sides of the saddle, grabbed the reins and waved my other hand in the air like a bucking bronc rider, my trusty backpacking hat flopping up and down in the breeze.

Ramona headed straight for a barbed wire fence. I pulled on the reins and yelled “whoa” along with words Babs had taught me on the cattle drive over the mountains. I learned the meaning of seeing daylight between rider and saddle – from the rider’s perspective!  Ramona bucked her way closer to the fence. I caught a glimpse of cousin Babs out of the corner of my eye, sitting high in the saddle, arms propped over the saddle horn, hat in place, pasted smile on her face, roaring and jiggling with laughter. I wasn’t very amused but was in no position to discuss the matter. My immediate future flashed before my eyes.  I could see myself flying over the saddle, crossing the top of the fence as Ramona hit the sharp barbs. She skidded to a stop just shy of the fence. I held on, determined to stay right-side-up. For the life of me, I don’t know how I stayed top-side.

The rest of the traveling rodeo watchers rode up and applauded the bucking bronc & rider.  Well, I guess you can interpret uncontrolled laughter as applause!  I pulled my knees out of the sides of the saddle leaving an impression behind and slid out of the saddle. I stroked Ramona’s lathered neck and sides and talked softly trying to calm both of us. I kicked the sod back in place over the skid marks and remounted. 

We headed up the trail. It was a nice ride through the mountains. The horses were skittish and suspicious of every little noise and movement for the rest of the ride. We stopped for a picnic lunch and enjoyed the beautiful scenery and crisp mountain air. 

We made our way over the ridge down the trail where we would cross the Boulder River. Babs went first to test the water and find the best path for horses’ hooves on the slippery river rocks.  The rest of us followed.  We got sufficiently wet, but all stayed atop our trusty steeds and made it across the river with no more incidents.

The dog refused to cross the cold river. Babs had no choice but to cross the river again and take the dog in tow. About that time, Captain decided to complete his bath by getting dried off.  He shook and my sister shook with him.  Before we could even blink, Captain went down.  We all hollered for his rider to jump off.  She just barely got her leg free and out of the saddle before Captain rolled over on his back, rolling in the dirt.  When he got up he shook all over before being remounted. Babs wasn’t laughing quite as hard by this time because she was using her cattle drive language on the dog. 

We started out again. Half way across the pasture, we were greeted by neighs and snorts.  The horses seemed ready for a fight. We made it through and headed back toward the ranch.  By this time, the sun was just barely peeking over the horizon. We came to a little bridge and the horses jumped and bumped and rumped together all the way across. By the time we turned into the yard, we were all ready to end the day’s adventures. 

Note:  No animals were hurt during the course of this story which took place in 1975.  However, the bronc rider suffered bruises to the inside of her knees and had various other sore spots.  Yep, it had been a good day. 

My daughter and her family joined me after I had arrived at our AirBNB cabin. It wasn’t long before our host knocked on our door. As he had done at my previous visits, he offered a selection of jackets, sweaters and vests of various sizes for us to use during our stay. He knew that wasn’t my first rodeo (so to speak) and that I was acquainted with the west and the area in which we visited.

As I chatted with him, he told me about some of his former guests. A couple that had come to stay in his little cabin was from the Deep South. One cold and windy summer morning the lady, dressed in a chiffon dress and stilettos, came across the yard to his home. He was quite amused and asked, “You didn’t bring warm clothes did you?” He wasn’t surprised at her answer and promptly went into his house and gathered up sweaters and coats. I’m sure he also suggested that she go to town and get some jeans and proper shoes for her western culture experience.

Having traveled out west numerous times, I’m familiar with what to pack. My wardrobe includes jeans, a few short and long sleeved pullover shirts, long sleeved button up shirts, a jacket or two or three, socks, shoes, undies, daily necessities, and of course my camera gear and various electronic devices. I also pack something else – stilettos and chiffon. Well, it might be considered Western Stilettos & Chiffon. In my case that is my boots and a flannel shirt. That is high fashion! Sometimes I even top it off with a cowboy hat.

Maude and I picked up beautiful Aunt Lynn and headed out on our adventure. It was a gorgeous morning. Actually it was a perfect Montana morning. Our first stop was the little town of Martinsdale where we visited the Charles M. Bair Family Museum that exhibits European and Western art collections. This collection also includes Indian art of intricate beadwork stitched into clothing and shoes. Shields, papooses and other items are protected behind glass. Navajo and European rugs line the walls. Western artists are featured with paintings from eyewitness accounts while other artists embellish stories on canvas.

Next door, we stepped into the Wild West pioneer home and were ushered into the halls furnished with the splendor of a palace. Who would expect to find a hidden trove of historical treasures and elegance in the middle of Montana? Rare paintings and exquisite dishes, door knobs of pure gold worth $70 grand a piece, Indian history, gifts from King Louis XV and King George III, a gun of Daniel Boone’s and photos of renown people that depict relationships of Bair are just a few items. The history of Bair alone is fascinating. 

Just a short distance away we stepped back into the western frontier town of Martinsdale. The little town in the shadow of the Crazy Mountains was once a thriving train stop of the Milwaukee Road. Several abandoned buildings including the Stockman Bank are scattered among the homes of the local residents. There on the main street stands the rustic Crazy Mountain Inn that still offers lodging to weary travelers and those seeking adventures.  A brush boot cleaner sits by the door and colorful flowers hang against the weathered boards. The adjoining little restaurant with its relaxed atmosphere has a bar and four tables for its guests. Coffee isn’t sold by the cup but the amount of time you stay. Listed on a board is a whole slate of homemade desserts. It was obvious our waitress was not mastered in the skill of waiting on tables, but her charm and kindness to please covered up any lack of expertise. The cook, who had been standing outside, entered the restaurant with a baby on her hip and began the meal preparation. It was delicious. Soon there were several travelers sitting and enjoying a tasty lunch.

We headed west and then cut off a road that weaves in and out of the Lewis & Clark National Forest.  We dodged holes and bumps in the paved road that smoothed out for the most part whenever it turned to dirt and gravel. It led us into a narrow rocky canyon with majestic pinnacles of rock formations on each side of the road. We crossed the South Fork River and started to climb higher into the mountains. Campers were stopped at various random locations within the National Forest. The road took us to scenes of the Little Belts, Castle Mountains and grand views of the white peaked Crazies. Lush alpine meadows dotted with wildflowers waved at us in the breeze, and free range cattle grazed and claimed ownership of the mountain road.

The directions we had were a bit confusing. Just as a word from experience – when you cut off the main highway, stay on the main dirt road and don’t be fooled by signs that could easily be interpreted as the right road. If you follow such roads, you will definitely test your vehicle’s ability as a 4-wheel drive wanna-be when you find foreboding huge rocks and ruts in your path. We found a family camping in a lovely spot by the river to ask directions. I still haven’t figured out how they even got their camper down that road. Dogs tried to tear my legs off when I started to get out of the SUV. A man missing a few teeth walked over and asked where we wanted to go. The tags on our rental said Idaho. He was really confused when we said we were from Georgia. “So why are you out here?” “Because we wanted to take the Judith River Backcountry Drive.” He scratched his head, looked disgusted and directed me to go back and turn at the “main road.” After clarifying what he meant by the “main road,” we climbed back up the rutty rocky hill spitting rocks and kicking up dust while leaving the confused annoyed man muttering under his breath.

We breathed a bit easier knowing we were on the right road through the Judith River Valley. We had gone about 14 more miles and our elevation began to drop. We came over a hill and there in a hairpin turn was a truck with an empty cattle trailer that didn’t quite make the turn. The rear of the trailer was hanging precariously off the side of the mountain. The driver stopped us and asked if we would mind driving back out the way we came (since we obviously couldn’t go forward) and find a forest ranger or someone with a big truck to pull him out. We backtracked and finally got cell service. Maud called the ranger station, and they were zero help. We continued until we came to a campground where someone had a big truck. I pulled up to the camper and three little dirty-faced kids ran over to us. They acted like they had never seen people from the outside world before. One little kid jabbered away, and soon the other two joined in. I asked them to get their mom or dad, but they continued to talk. As I was chatting with them one little kid with spaghetti or something smeared all over his face bent down and said repeatedly, “What happened?” Then I noticed that he was rubbing the top of my toe. Maud started laughing, and I chuckled, “Oh, my toes are just deformed.” He climbed into the driver’s seat of the SUV banging on something with his stick but continued to ask, “What happened?” Finally his mom came out, and I told her the situation down the road. She got the dad, and he gave us a brochure with another number to call. A darker skinned boy with black eyes emerged from the woods. He began chattering as well. The little girl with the three boys was a bit younger, but she wasn’t quite as animated as the boys. Back in the car, we headed back to the real main road. After several miles, we finally got cell service, and Maud made another call. Though the ranger for the Musselshell district was limited as to what he could do, he did promise to pursue the situation.

Satisfied that we had taken a wrong path in order to be placed in the position to help the man stranded on the mountain, we went on our way. Maud continued to laugh at the top of her big voice and say, “What happened?”

Our road took us to the Sweet Grass Ranch, aka the Brannin Ranch where we shared a sumptuous meal with the dudes and the Carroccia family. We enjoyed the food, shared stories and had a memorable visit. That was a great way to end a day of another adventure with Maud & Me!

with Maud & Me

Gates of the Mountains means more to me than just a fascinating boat tour that encompasses Lewis & Clark history, Indian history, commemoration of beyond brave fire fighters of the Mann Gulch fire, and unique geology. To me it also includes family history.

It was in this area, just a few short miles away, that two of my great great aunts and uncles ran the tollgate through the mountains in Prickly Pear Valley. The road was built on the route of an ancient Indian trail. It was initially constructed in 1865 but purchased by King & Gillette the following year. The tollgate was opened to fund and maintain the road. It became a gate through the mountains.

Floating on the Missouri River through the canyon is breathtaking. I try to imagine the first time those in the Lewis & Clark expedition saw that view. We walked in the area in which they camped. The formations along the canyon walls are much the same as they were all those years ago. Caves and holes are exposed in the limestone cliffs. Some of the strata seen in the walls are horizontal. Other areas of the walls were thrust into an almost vertical position due to pressure from lava beneath. We saw Indian hieroglyphics on the canyon wall, bald eagles on trees near the top of the canyon, unique formations in the shapes of animals, an osprey nest atop an 800 foot pinnacle, and the site of the Mann Gulch Fire. Our river guide was very informative of the history of the area.

Later that afternoon, we took Sieben Road and drove through Prickly Pear Valley to Silver City, the little place where my grandmother was born. We made a couple of photo stops through the valley where it is guessed the location of the tollgate stood. The valley is absolutely gorgeous. It was described in The Montana Post,

“All new comers to the Territory, via Benton, remark upon the surpassing beauty of the Little Prickly Pear Canyon, that enchanted spot, so long one of nature’s inner temples, and but recently entered by man. To the admiration which the scenery calls forth is added the pleasurable surprise which is elicited by finding it after traveling over one hundred miles of so uninteresting a wagon tract as the Benton road. At a time when they expected it not they seem to have “passed through Switzerland”, as some of them have pointedly expressed it. Gibson’s ranch at its mouth a combination of neatness and good cheer offers a convenient stopping place for all who would enjoy the pleasure of hunting and fishing amidst the grand towers and groves of this mountain nook.”

That is the same scenery Maud & Me saw. We stopped alongside the road and took some pictures of the canyon walls and scenery all around. Thinking back to another time, we could almost hear the echoes of freight wagons rolling through the valley and see passengers in coaches waving as they passed by on their way to Helena. I felt the same sentiments as those from years ago as given in The Montana Post article. Much as they looked back then, cliffs rise from the valley floor reaching for the sky. The road runs along the river that sings a mountain song as it leaps from rock to rock. The road rises out of the valley into flat land with expansive views in all directions. I can picture the Brannin exodus from New Mexico coming to an end as wagons, herds of goats, and other stock arrive at their Montana destination where my grandmother and another great uncle would be born. It was special to be able to share that vision and this fascinating land with Maud.

Maud is a young lady between the ages of 4 and 45, depending on her mood for that particular moment in time. One moment she is driven by emotion and the beauty of the moment or sentimental memories, tears dripping off her face. The next moment she is singing a loud unmelodious song that may or may not be made-up words. Another moment she wants her picture taken making victory signs with her two fingers, head cocked to the side, one leg in the air and her tongue stuck out. Yet another moment she may let out a forever burp. My friend that began traveling with us, Sanity, slips out the back door of the car and threatens to leave the scene.

Maud has her own language – one that I do not understand, nor do I really want to understand. She may use antonyms or her own form of neologism.

Here are some of them along with Maud’s definitions:
wicked –  awesome/cool
broski – friend/pal (or some random stranger on a motorcycle)
narsty – nasty/gross (also used when she says, “I fluffed a bunny”)
rad – super dope
dope – cool/awesome (see wicked)
gucci – good
tendy – sweet, but like super sweet
send it – let’s go
‘bout to go ham – go crazy
let’s kick it – let’s go
bet ! – okay, let’s do it!

Sometimes I just have to use my imagination to interpret what comes out of her mouth. I wonder if my friend Sanity will ever return!

June 2019

It’s the Little Things

The past few days have been busy. We landed in Kalispell and hit the ground running. Within two hours our 4-wheel drive SUV had entered Glacier National Park and was dodging rocks and ruts on back roads. We have seen indescribable beauty and experienced new adventures. “Maud & Me” have been inspired by God’s grand creation but have also been renewed in spirit by the little things.

Just in the first part of our trip Maud was handed a new ticket on our first flight that put our seats next to one another; the pilot stopped and chatted with us several minutes about where we were going and what we doing; on the second flight a lady gave up her seat so a couple could sit with each other and though she didn’t know it at the time, they just happened to be newlyweds.

When we entered the park, I asked the attendant, at Maud’s suggestion, about a senior pass. I now am the proud cardholder of my very own Lifetime Senior Pass into all National Parks & National Monuments. That includes anyone who is in my vehicle. So be nice to me!

Our destination for that afternoon was Polebridge, Montana. We went into the Polebridge Mercantile and got a few pastries. Let me tell you, those are some of the best cinnamon rolls I’ve had, and they are huge! Maud was going to eat just a bite of her cinnamon roll, but she ate it all (with a little help from me). We proceeded on to Bowman Lake. When we arrived, a wedding was about to take place, so we crashed a wedding! On our way back to Polebridge to get Maud another cinnamon roll, we came across a couple pulled off the side of the road in the middle of nowhere. They had a couple of chairs set up and were getting a table so they could have their supper.

We have passed at least two Plein Air painters in different remote locations with easels and paints set up on the side of the road painting landscapes of the mountains and valleys.

We have talked with numerous travelers. We both took photos for people trying to get selfies. There was a set of grandparents taking their small grandchildren on an adventure to the park. There was the bicycling couple who have cycled all over the world. He had a stuffed pink bunny on his helmet. Later, we passed them on the road and immediately recognized the bunny hopping along in the wind. There was a group of handicapped athletes that must have been having some kind of activity in the park. There were young people from all over the states and the world that we talked with that are working in the park for the summer.

I made a quick turn off the road to try to find a spot for a photo of an old railroad trestle. We were greatly rewarded with a mountain goat sighting of a mama with her baby. The stop was known to be frequented by goats because of the minerals in the ground. As we went on, Maud wanted to see a moose, and there was one in the marsh. We saw wild horses with two new foals as we went towards St. Mary. On the way back, we saw the horses again. I told Maud to look at their feet and discovered they had shoes. We were rewarded with seeing a juvenile Big Horn Sheep. I told Maud, “Hand me my lens NOW!”

At the little store at Two Medicine, we got a couple of shirts and a soda each. Maud got a Red Jammer Huckleberry Crème Soda, and I got a Flathead Lake Gourmet Soda. They were both good!

These are all some of the things that may be the “little things” that are sometimes taken for granted or not appreciated – people helping one another, people enjoying life, beautiful scenery, teamwork, enjoying one another’s company, encouraging one another, taking time for the simple things of life. Maud & Me say, “It’s the little things that make it all worthwhile.”

June 2019

“I’m leaving on a jet plane. Don’t know when I’ll be back again.” My traveling partner this trip is granddaughter #1, Maud. We are in the air as this scheduled post hits my blog. If you know Maud, it should not surprise you that it is possible that I might question my sanity about this arrangement. Stay tuned……

As we’re flying off to Montana, my mind takes me back several years ago. The year I graduated from high school, my sister and I took a trip across the country, camping along the way. We were gone for three months. It was definitely a trip of a lifetime. Our travels took us to our uncle’s house in the dry sagebrush hills of Eastern Montana. Aunt Frances had died a few years before, and Uncle Buster had remarried a Southern lady. Aunt Viola was a jewel and a good cook. I loved to walk into their house after a long drive and experience her southern charm and table loaded with food. We had some fun adventures with Uncle Buster. One of the adventures was a trip to Glacier National Park.

He had a small camper that he hooked up to his truck. Aunt Viola buzzed around getting food and other items together. We all piled in the truck and started up the road with our little house attached. Uncle Buster drove much better with Aunt Viola along. He even stayed on the road – most of the time!

We drove through the Missouri River Breaks, past Zortman and Malta. Passing through that area rekindled Uncle Buster’s memories. I grew up hearing stories about that rugged country. The family left Oklahoma the summer of 1914, went north and homesteaded near Sun Prairie Flats just south of Malta. Several of my relatives who died in the 1918 flu epidemic are buried there. Uncle Buster had worked for ranches. My granddad told about Old Stink who lived in a tent in front of a cave in the Little Rockies near Zortman. My granddad’s description was, “He was an old man, Indian and Frenchman. Strong. Strong smelling feller.” 

We stopped to visit some cousins in Havre. That little town is the crown jewel of the area known as the Montana Hi-Line. That region encompasses what Montana is about – prairie, fields of wheat, cattle, mountains – all beneath the Big Sky. It was the original mainline of the Great Northern Railway. Part of that area is also dinosaur country. That was our route to Glacier National Park. 

In the park we took the Going to the Sun Road. It was kind of scary at times. Remember that Uncle Buster was driving – the same Uncle Buster that shaved when he drove. He was also pulling a camper that would swing and sway as it danced in the wind on those high ridges. On some of those hairpin turns we’d almost meet ourselves. We missed many of the grand vistas because the mountains were smothered in clouds. That is the land where Maud and I are heading. I’m sure we will find great adventures, see grand sights and add to our memories. Stay tuned for more from Maud & Me!

June 2019

Backpacking was always fun.  Yes, I got sore and tired, but it was worth it!  There is nothing quite like trekking up the mountain trails and watching the mountains unfold into valleys and streams.  There is no water to quench the thirst like that bubbling from a fresh mountain spring.  

One of my favorite backpacking trips was the year my friend went with us in 1974. It was her first experience in Montana and her first experience backpacking in the mountains. My aunt dropped us off on the far side of the mountain. We packed all the way over the top of the mountains into the canyon where my grandmother’s place was. Part way up the mountain, Sis had trouble breathing in the rising altitude.  She had been running in South Georgia, but it didn’t prepare her for the altitude. We had to divide the stuff in her pack between the rest of us to reduce her load. 

We headed on up the trail. The ranchers and farmers around the area always liked for us to come.  It was a sure sign of rain, though none would be in the forecast.  Well, we didn’t disappoint them!  My friend & I were in the lead. We reached the top of the mountain. The trail was right on the top of the ridge.  We could see the valleys down both sides of the mountain we straddled. We saw lakes in the valleys below and scattered beds of snow and ice. By the time the others got to the top, they could not see the valley. The clouds started rolling in. Within seconds, the valleys were filled with clouds. They were so thick, we could feel the weight of the moisture. The wind picked up and mist from the clouds was on our faces. We huddled next to some spindly shrubs and crevices in the rocks to get out of the wind pelting us with icy rain and then made our way down the trail.  

We came over the mountain above Hindu Lake.  It sure was pretty! The lake was clear and cold with bits of ice and snow at the edges of the water. Looking across the valley, we could see our trail along the creek. Just around the bend from where we stood was a glacier inching its way down the side of the mountain. I could see the trail on the other side of the snow. A few animal foot prints could be seen across the icy trail. It was a bit spooky going across. I could just picture us walking across the snow and sliding down the mountain or taking a step with snow melted underneath. Neither picture was good.

We made our way down the trail, sat by the lake and waited on the others. It would soon be time to decide where to camp for the night and get some supper started. Then the rain came. We went on past Hindu Lake and set up camp with Moose Lake in sight in the valley below us. The clouds lifted enough that we could see the lake from our bathroom (a fallen tree). If you’ve never experienced seeing those mountain lakes from the mountain top, you’ve missed a grand sight.

It was miserable setting up camp in the rain. It was even more miserable trying to cook supper over the open fire.  After a not-so-comfortable night, we had to pack up the tent in the rain. We were soaked! We were cold. We loaded up our packs and headed down the mountain. The weather got some better but not much. Everything was wet, and wet means heavy. Hiking in cold wet boots and clothes adds pounds to an already heavy backpack and can mess up your knees.

We camped at South Fork the next night. When we woke up the next morning, the mountains were white. The storm had set in!  Daddy said we needed to get out of the mountains. The snow was moving down the mountain. It was almost in reach of us. We headed out at a fast pace.

I was the first one out with my friend right behind me. We got to my grandmother’s cabin, and I got a fire started in the fire place and got the wood cookstove going. Soon our wet clothes, shoes and socks were drying by the fire. I put water on the stove to get hot for a bath, a tea kettle ready for hot tea and started cooking a meal. By the time the others got there, supper was ready to put on the table, the tea kettle was hot, and the little cabin was warming up for cold travelers.

When my aunt came to pick us up, we found out that a foot of snow had fallen where we had camped that first night. Daddy knew those mountains and the wrath of those storms. We were cold, wet and tired, but the memories only fill me with warmth.