When a handshake will do…

As I begin writing this latest installment of my blog I realize it’s confession time, mostly as a means of putting this section of the river into perspective for the reader.  As one descends down the Missouri River the character of the river and the landscape change.  At the Three Forks headwaters the river is one that reflects its mountain origins; cool, fast, and running clear.  By the time a paddler reaches Ft. Kipp the touch of humanity is becoming apparent.  Soon the river will change to a water body defined by a series of dams that serve to restrain its force.

The descriptions of the transition from river to reservoir had me anxious (confession time!).  As the river current slows to zero behind a dam the load of silt it has been carrying is deposited creating a braided morass that can be nearly impassable depending on that year’s amount of rainfall.  And when we use the word “dam” it is an understatement of the achievement needed to created enough concrete to retain billions of gallons of water; these are megaliths four miles wide and hundreds of feet tall.  All that water backs up into the landscape carved by the tributaries that once fed the free flowing river.  Arms of the reservoirs can be dozens of miles long and wide and develop their own wind and wave action that spills out into the main body creating nightmarish conditions for a canoeist.

And now you know my fear coming into this segment of the trip.  It’s why I kept repeating to myself and others that the real challenge wouldn’t start until I reached the UL Bend leading into Lake Ft. Peck.  Images of getting lost in the marsh of the UL Bend and then sitting on shore for days as the winds raged kept entering both my waking and sleeping hours.  Leaving Ft. Kipp with Jake on the Sunday of Memorial Weekend I was expecting the worst (Nick decided to take an additional day to rest before facing the gauntlet).  By now you’ve probably figured out how this story ended; paddled into Ft. Peck, made ready to approach my first nemesis in the form of the UL Bend and then…

I paddled the channel on a strong current, entered the Bend and focused on my GPS navigation display to guide me through the main channel and cruised right through without a hitch.  Praise be to the Garmin Corporation and satellite tracking (and a big shout to my son, Austin, that writes code for these devices)!  Within a short period I was beyond the UL Bend and it was time to confront demon #2, the infamous Lake Peck wind.

When you sit a canoe for a few hours you realize there are three sources of potential energy: the river current, wind, and your paddle.  During the Nebraska winter whilst preparing for this trip I realized that the lack of water current on the Missouri reservoirs would be a killer, especially if the wind became a factor.  Then a casual comment by my son (“I hope you have a sail”) got me to thinking why not use the wind as an ally?  Thus, I ended up hauling a sail kit and outriggers from the headwaters over a 400 mile distance with the intention of sailing the big lakes.

After I cleared the UL Bend I pulled over to eat lunch and install the sail and outriggers.  It was a gooey experience as the Missouri mud gets into everything and clings to all it touches.  After sweating in the near record heat I was ready to depart and give my “cheat” a try.  I shoved off from shore around 1:00 p.m. and I started to paddle.  Then I paddled, and I paddled, then I paddled some more.  Hour after hour I followed a compass line and paddled while waiting for the wind to rise enough to raise the sail.  The famous Lake Ft. Peck zephyr never materialized; abnormally calm and placid conditions with absolutely no wind, ugh!

The sun and heat must have started to cook my brain because by early evening I continued to paddle without giving any thought to where I would camp.  I looked at the map, consulted the guidebook, and decided that Fourchette would be my destination.  Of course, I didn’t calculate the distance or whether I would actually reach the campground by the end of the day.  As the sun set it became clear that I had made an error in judgement and that I’d be coming into the landing in total darkness.  I paused to chat with a boat of fisherman about the location of the boat ramp and distance and then continued on.  As the sun set the wind finally rose and I was able to hoist the rigging and sail the last mile to the campground.

After beaching the boat and crawling out stiff from a long day on the water, I walked to a campground full of revelers enjoying the Memorial holiday Sunday evening.  As my eyes were adjusting to the darkness and I was surveying where the tent camping sites might be located, a woman at the first campsite asked if she could help me.  I mistook the shelter her group occupied as that of the camp host and asked her if she was that person.  After a good laugh and lots of questions I was finally able to explain who I was and what I was doing.  At that point a magical transformation occurred, the entire group stopped what they were doing and immediately pitched in to help this vagabond that had just stumbled off the water.

Within 30 minutes all my gear and my canoe were brought up the shelter, my tent was set up, and a burger had been thrown on the grill to feed me.  It seems I had just stumbled into that amazing part of America that’s all heart and soul and helping your neighbor when in need.

I quickly learned that I was in the presence of the Sharp family from Absarokee, Montana.  Papa Sharp, as the entire family calls him, is a third generation miner that’s worked underground (“700 feet down, 28,000 feet in”) for 35 years.  His son, Billy, is a biologist that worked in fisheries before accepting a job at the mine in water management.  Billy’s wife Kyann (pronounced Cayenne) has a gift remembering names that I envy and Papa’s wife, Faith, is that strong presence that let’s you know they are family.

After eating and arrangements were squared away I sat up until after midnight chatting with the group and members of the boat, John Henry and Jace, that I saw out on the water earlier in the evening.  They accepted me even after they found out I was a college professor (“as soon as I heard that I figured I’d just clear out of the way and leave you be”), something I often find my self having to explain/defend because of its negative image.

The next morning I took my time packing up and getting out on the water.  Breakfast burritos and sandwiches were offered along with strong coffee so I enjoyed the hospitality.  By the time I hauled my boat and gear to the ramp they had said their goodbyes and had set out for a day of fishing on the lake taking my heartfelt gratitude with them (and my thoughts of how much I love this country).

The wind was strong with high waves as I shoved off and paddled out of Fourchette Bay.  I waited until I cleared the bay before raising the sail and then set my compass bearing for the next phase of my trip.  By mid morning the wind had subsided to the point that it was an assist with paddling but I definitely wasn’t sailing unaided.  The weather once again turned mild and by 5:00 p.m. as I rounded a headland the wind died entirely and I paddled on until I reached the Bone Trail Recreation area.

When I rose the next morning the wind had risen and was blowing from the northeast at about 10 miles an hour.  I broke camp, loaded the boat, and got out on the water.  What a thrilling ride!  I sat back and enjoyed navigating and not putting my paddle in the water for several hours.  As the shoreline rolled by I trimmed my fingernails and then fiddled with the best location of my marine/weather radio in the cockpit.  I quickly learned my lesson that a wind approaching from close to broad reach will “skate” a small boat sideways even as its moving forward.  Before I knew it I was on the south shore and off my plan to always use the north shoreline as protection.

It took a good two hours to cross back to my preferred shore because of the skating effect.  Late in the afternoon I rounded a bend and the wind totally died, the dead calm had returned.  I spent another hour or so looking futilely for a camping site with grass for my tent.   Ultimately, I was forced to camp on a beach that reminded me of the crumbly material encountered on the moon by the Apollo crews.  Nonetheless, it had been a good day overall as I had the comfort of an easy day learning how to read the wind and trim the sail for the best results.

The last couple of days on Lake Ft. Peck were pretty much the same, total calm with no wind.  I paddled into The Pines camping area on Wednesday and decided to call it an early day.  I needed to wash myself and my boat so I used the time effectively and then hung my hammock and took a much needed nap.  The following morning the same dead water conditions prevailed and I was forced to paddle the entire 14 miles to the Ft. Peck Dam.

So there you have it.  A through paddler complaining about the perfectly calm conditions on a lake that scared the bejeebus out of him less than a week earlier.  I still think that sailing these reservoirs is a good plan, I just have to remember to accept that good weather is a blessing and not karma’s attempt to mess with my head. 😆

After I got off the water I located Rod Gorder who often assists paddlers with shuttling around the dam.  We loaded up my gear and canoe and it was at that point that my plan to find a place to stay and rest up for a day hit a snag, I hadn’t thought to book a room anywhere in the area.  It turns out that a big fishing tournament is happening this weekend so pretty much nothing is available.  There was one room available for one night at the cabins across from the Ft. Peck marina but they were asking $264.80; nearly my entire hotel budget for the trip.

It was looking like I’d be camping at Corps campground when we drove by the historic Ft. Peck Hotel and it appeared to be open even though new management had just assumed ownership.  I decided to go in ask “the stupidest question I’ve ever come up with” just to be sure.  Of course, they aren’t open but will be ready to receive guests on the 15th of June.  After explaining my situation the new proprietor, Tina, said “tell you what, why don’t we make it a handshake agreement for a room?”  We shook on it and I was shown a room on the second floor of a hotel that has no guests.

What to make of this one?  It immediately struck me that I grew up seeing my dad make handshake deals over purchases and sales on the farm all the time.  In fact, I rarely saw him write out an agreement on paper; “I’ve given you my word and I will keep it.”  That was a flashback to over 50 years ago and riding along with him when he needed to do farm business.  It’s something our country has lost and I’m so glad to have rediscovered it in this little corner of Montana.

And there it is, the end of the first leg of my adventure.  I have four more Army Corps of Engineers lakes to go proceeded by a 300 mile run to Williston, North Dakota.  I’ve gained valuable confidence for navigating the big reservoirs and I’m ready to set out again tomorrow morning.  Of course, that also means another week to 10 days before another blog update.

Cheers!

Ten days of paddling, most of it pure bliss

Whelp, if I have cell phone coverage and can post a blog update that must mean that I’m back to the edge of civilization!  A lot has happened since my last entry at Coal Banks so I’ll split the entry into two sections so ya’ll aren’t bored to tears only reading one entry! 😅

It was a whirlwind (sometimes literally) coming down through the Missouri Breaks.  When I pulled into the Coal Banks landing I chose the campsite immediately at the top of the boat ramp because it was the shortest distance to haul gear uphill.  The (dis-)advantage of that location was its proximity to the visitors center and overhearing all the conversations occurring, primarily with the camp hosts.  Just as I was falling asleep the leader of a crew of teenage boys was informed by Casey, the BLM host, that bad weather was rolling in overnight.

I woke around 4:00 a.m. to the sound of rain on the tent and wind.  It was a real howler by the time I crawled out of the tent and clear that it was going to be a bitterly cold and wet day.  I ate breakfast and rolled the canoe down the ramp (canoe cart!) and started to load.  In between trips the youth group leader came over and asked me what I thought of the conditions.  “Not too bad, it still seems fairly calm on the water.”  He then pointed out my mistake, I was looking at the protected inlet leading into the boat ramp. We conversed some more, mainly about whether they would push off with three canoes of first timers and then I crawled into my boat and zipped up everything as tight as possible.

My time traveling through the Missouri Breaks is best described as stinging rain and wind interjected with short stops to gaze in awe at the scenery.  For most of the float I was on the edge of hypothermia so I let the fast current carry me while I enjoyed the view.  I considered calling it an early day and camping but my canoeist soul wanted to experience the free flowing Missouri River as it should be, by running its fast current.

The melt water from the late winter storm a week earlier made the river run quick through this section.  That, combined with the wet and cold conditions, produced a wave of nostalgia for the season I was on BLM backcountry crew in Glennallen, Alaska, in 1985; running the Delta and Gulkana wild and scenic rivers.  My run through the breaks would be short but it was a RUN, something that I expect will only happen once in this 1,800 mile trip.

The current shot me along and I had to fight to pull out to take the occasional photograph.  Of course, photos never do justice to the experience and there’s so little left of the original Missouri River that the experience was too short lived.  I continued onward and kept thinking about Lewis and Clark’s experience on this river where every mile and turn around the next bend was as raw and natural as that still to be seen in the Missouri Breaks.  It’s at those moments of reflection that I can’t, for the life of me, even begin to understand the hubris of the U.S. Congress to pass legislation to dam and destroy over 1,100 miles of this natural gem.

After clearing the Breaks I continued on for several hours before pulling over to eat lunch and walk circles on the shore trying to regain circulation to my cold feet.  I was in the famous White Cliffs area and could see the Hole in the Wall in the distance.  So far, it had been a day of isolation with no other human in sight, the perfect way to enjoy a fast current and a well built canoe.  I climbed back into my boat and shoved off and started back downriver.  After about a quarter mile I realized that another yellow boat was parked on the shore and had to be that of Jake Valenze, the other through paddler that I knew was in this section of the river.  I pulled over and whistled and yelled but got no reply; I was too cold and lazy to get back out of my boat to look (I had just gotten back in just a few minutes prior) so I gave up and shoved off.  I figured he was off taking photos and I wouldn’t locate him anyhow.

I pushed on for the rest of the day soaking in the landscape and enjoying the primary reason I was doing this trip, the isolation and ruggedness that is Montana.  Camp that night was made after a satisfyingly long paddle day (just like the old days in Alaska!).  I slept soundly and woke to the knowledge that I would be repeating the pack it up, shove off, float for 9-10 hours with short breaks, search for camp late in the day routine again for another 7 weeks.  Kinda fitting for a big trip through big country.

The landscape through the lower Missouri Breaks is dominated by large rock walls and a feeling that things will soon widen out and change to open prairie.  I continued the next day and again chose to search for camp too late in the day for comfort.  The next day I found my way to Judith Landing where I pulled out to eat lunch and look around.  For all that’s been written about how the Judith River was named and its incredible beauty, it was a bit of a letdown.  It was more of a hard scrabble boat ramp with an ugly campground than inspiration by a beautiful woman named Judith.

Again, as I was pushing off  from Judith I had an encounter with the yellow kayak and this time Jake was seated in it coming downstream.  I held off departure until he arrived so I could introduce myself.  We spent nearly 45 minutes discussing the trip so far, challenges, rumors that Nick Real was somewhere ahead of us, and where the next few days and weeks would take us all.  Jake indicated that he pulls over each day for tea and a nap (that’s what he was doing at Hole in the Wall when I came across his boat a day or so before) and it was now sleepy time.  With that clue, and after exchanging Garmin inReach user IDs, I shoved off and continued downstream with a shout over my shoulder that “I’ll see you when I see you.”

Jake and I hooked up again the following day when he paddled up to my camp and scared the bajeebus out of me while I focused on loading my boat while (in embarrassment) talking to myself.  A quick policing for any overlooked items and I joined him on the float downstream.  He filled me in on his life to date; 26, single with a girlfriend back in Denver, grew up in Maryland and went to college in West Virginia, degree in environmental studies, working the last few years as a subcontractor for Walmart doing parking lot storm drain inspection and cleanup.  He’d had enough of the corporate scene and it was time for a float.  The usual story that always unique to the individual person.

We floated for a few hours and as we turned a bend in the river Jake pointed out there was a canoe on the bank ahead and it had to be Nick Real.  “Or another canoeist”, I pointed out.  “He’s got a canoe cart, only through paddlers carry those” was Jake’s response.  A simple observation that pretty much told the entire story.

Nick Real currently lives in Cape Girardeau, Missouri, and is taking a four month leave of absence to float the 2,400 miles from the headwaters to home.  Nick grew up in Sioux Falls, Iowa, and went to the Merchant Marine academy to learn how to captain the big boys.  He currently works as a tugboat captain on the west coast and does as many outdoor activities as possible during his extended leaves.  Of course, as he’s telling me all this all I could think of were the PBS television shows my kids watched as toddlers featuring a talking tugboat.  And here was the captain looking every inch the image with his knit cap, flowing beard, and confident ease around other people!

For the rest of the day the three of us floated the river and chatted.  The wind had kicked up again so it was a bit of a slow go but we reached Ft. Kipp by late afternoon.  Ft. Kipp is the 400 mile mark in the float from the Missouri River headwaters at Three Forks, MT, and marks the completion of the first section of a through trip.  Ft. Kipp also marks the beginning of what Dave Miller describes in The Complete Paddler as “truly remote and wild country” and what I always have considered the real start of my Missouri River canoe trip (more on that later).

By late afternoon we had set up camp in the Ft. Kipp tent area while quietly taking in the scene of the city that had popped up around us leading into the Memorial Day weekend.  It’s always a shock to be back around people after several days of going solo.  The racing boat engines and large pickups in the campground only reaffirmed the feeling that I’m doing something quite odd, moving across the landscape based my own muscle power.  It’s definitely a different way of approaching an interaction with nature and at this juncture of the trip what had me most concerned about heading into the Dammed Section of the Missouri River…

Give me a (Missouri) Break!

The last two days have been a whirlwind!  At 9:00 a.m. yesterday (Monday, May 24th), Jim and Phyllis Meade met me in the parking lot of the Great Fall Extended Stay Hotel.  A big shout out to the hotel staff, they opened their equipment room to me to store my canoe overnight; it was a relief knowing she was safe and secure while I headed down the street for a several thousand calorie pizza and carrot cake dinner.

Jim and Phyllis are part of Missouri River Paddlers and are godsend on this part of the river. They make it a point to assist as many through paddlers with the portage around Great Falls, MT, as possible.  My trip around the city was #3 for them for this season and I’m told that three more paddlers are departing from the Three Forks river source in the next few days.  They’ll definitely be busy!

After loading my canoe onto their somewhat muddy Ford Ranger (it’s construction season in Montana!), we make a quick stop at the local Walmart where I restocked my food supplies.  I’m now back to carrying five weeks of dehydrated food and I’ve filled my water containers (8 gallons total) full for the next leg of the trip.  The food (ca. 70 pounds) and water (67 pounds) now have the boat loaded to capacity but not much can done, I’m heading into the most remote stretch of the trip where resupply isn’t possible.

The Meades took me as far as Carters Ferry and dropped me off.  It took some time to reassemble the rudder system on the canoe and to pack the now bulging bags.  It wasn’t until 12:00 p.m. that I shoved off; no worries, though, as I had a very strong tail wind pushing me along.  After last week’s big snowstorm the river has risen and the current picked up significantly.  Things were moving so fast with the wind conditions that paddling wasn’t required.  I sat back, let the rudder guide things, and soaked in the stark scenery of the Montana High Plains.  The trip from Carters Ferry to Fort Benton is 16 river miles.  I pulled into the Fort just after 2:30 p.m., a pretty rapid pace especially when I was trying to stretch the time and enjoy the ride.

Front Street in Ft. Benton was once known as “the bloodiest block in the west” during its time in the 1860s gold rush and the endpoint of navigation for river steamboats heading upstream.  Today it serves as a jumping off point for paddlers heading to the Upper Missouri River Breaks National Monument.  It’s also the commercial hub for this part of Montana and a good place to play tourist.

After setting up my tent and cutting and adding extra guy lines to keep it from blowing away in the wind, I headed into town to do a little sightseeing.  My first stop was at the BLM office to inquire about water availability (limited, carry as much as possible), required permits (none, only a daily user fee of $4), and human waste bags (purchase them down the street at the True Value).  I spent time chatting with the BLM staff member on duty and then I toured the little museum display housed within the building.  The BLM office closed at 4:30 p.m. so I made my way to downtown Ft. Benton hoping to do a little shopping before they rolled up the sidewalks at around 5:30 p.m.

A victim of the wind, I scooped this
little guy off the water with
my paddle.

I picked up a few items at the drug store and while the cashier was ringing up my order I made the usual “what do they do for fun around here” small talk.  She replied, “well, we have a movie in town” to which I replied “oh, what film is playing?”  She and the pharmacist then explained that a movie was being shot in town, not playing at the theater.  Evidently, Ed Harris is directing a film starring Robert Duvall using this part of Montana as a backdrop.  It turns out that the gentleman that held open the door for me as I entered the store was Mr. Harris himself.  Of course, I was totally clueless and didn’t recognize him! 😜

The weather this morning continued to be crisp with a light drizzle continuing from overnight.  I was slow to get out of my warm sleeping bag and pack up my gear.  I was on the river around 7:30 a.m. and welcomed the continuing strong current.  The river corridor from Ft. Benton to Ft. Kipp is included in the National Monument.  There are some grandfathered agricultural and motor boating activities and this first stretch of Monument had some pristine scenery but for at least one stretch it felt like paddling an irrigation ditch, a bit of let down from all the descriptions I’d read beforehand.  I resumed my routine of paddling until around noon, stopping for lunch, and then continuing on until about 4:00 p.m.

When I paused for a late afternoon stretch and to strategize where to camp, I realized I was already to the Vergelle Ferry.  At the pace of the river I would be at Coal Banks Landing in another 40 minutes.  My choice was to either stop there or to push on for another camping location.  The temptation of a vault toilet (no having to use a bag!) and the last chance at having WiFi sealed the deal.

The Coal Banks campsite overlooks the river and dinner was spent watching white pelican flying down the channel as deer swam across in the distance.  A pretty good day in almost every way…

It’s Memorial Day weekend and the start of the summer season.  As I was pulling into the Coal Banks boat landing a school group at least 25 strong was noisily departing (very slowly).  Two more groups of paddlers pulled in as I was setting up camp.  The famous white cliffs of the Missouri Breaks are 8 miles down from my current location.  My hope had been to camp there but I suspect it will be too crowded.  We’ll see where tomorrow’s float will take me but I suspect I’ll be pushing on to stay ahead of the holiday crowd.

This is most likely  the last time I’ll have internet or phone access until Ft. Peck a week(-ish) from now.  I’ll “see” you when I reconnect to civilization!

 

Haystacks aren’t only for horses!

The weather in central Montana remains unsettled as the late winter storm system slowly moves out of the area.  I sat in the hotel room in Prewett Creek all day Thursday (May 20) and Friday (May 21) and watched snow fall outside the window.  By Thursday evening I had all my gear dried and since there was no laundry room/service in site all I could do was repack and wait for a break in the weather.  It seemed like a perfect time to take advantage of the limited offerings in the Prewett Creek Inn store and load up on soda, donuts, and Haagen-Daz ice cream.  There are a few benefits of paddling a canoe all day and getting to indulge in junk food is top of the list!

After sheltering in place for two days I was ready to get back on the river.  The weather forecast indicated that Saturday would be overcast with highs in the mid 40s but no rain or snow.  On Saturday/Sunday evening rain was predicted and continuing through the day on Sunday.  I could work with that; I could paddle all day Saturday and get below Ulm, MT, to camp and then make my way into Great Falls by mid afternoon on Sunday.  My original plan had been to get a hotel room in Ft. Benton and do laundry before heading into the Missouri Breaks wild and scenic area.  The snow delay altered things a bit with the hotel and laundry taking place on Sunday instead of the quick pass through Great Falls I had originally intended.

Prewett Creek Inn

I rose early, ate a quick breakfast, and packed the last few items before portaging everything from the hotel back to the Prewett Creek boat landing.  It took some effort to dig out my canoe and chip out the ice.  The rudder assembly was totally frozen and I was afraid to strain the cables too much and damage them.  As I made my first pass carrying gear to the river, I noted that the depth of snow accumulation on the tables at the inn and the boat landing was at least 12 inches.  It had been a good storm.

It was just after 7:15 a.m. when I finally departed and it quickly became apparent that the current had picked up dramatically from a few days prior.  The heavy rain, combined with heavy, wet snow made for a thrilling ride.  At one point I found myself in some solid Class II rapids that I wasn’t expecting and as the boat banged up over a set of haystacks I thought “you have my total attention.”

Prewett Creek to Cascade, MT, is 13 river miles which I traversed in two hours.  The current remained strong and I paddled on, stopping for lunch at around noon, and arrived at Ulm (25 miles) at 4:00 p.m.  I rode the current for a couple more hours to give me an edge on today’s (Sunday) paddle.

USGS station near
Great Falls, MT

As predicted, it rained overnight and it sputtered on and off all day.  The trip by river from Ulm to Great Falls is 29 miles so my two day tally is 67 miles.  If it hadn’t had been for the crappy weather I would have taken my time on this last stretch of river.  As it was, I was in the mood to get moving again and feel like I’m actually on a canoe trip.  I also wanted to take advantage of the current while it lasted, I’ll have enough dead water paddling on reservoirs when I get to the Dakotas.

So…to make that canoe trip feeling come true I’m in a hotel in Great Falls doing laundry and scheming on visiting the pizza joint next door for some fresh pizza pie.  Now that’s roughing it! 😆

Too much cold weather gear? I don’t think so!

Campsite inside Gates canyon

You may have noticed that this is the third blog update posted today.  As I mentioned in a previous post, internet coverage is spotty in this part of Montana and I don’t post if I can’t connect.  Lucky for you, it turns out that I currently have lots of free time to catch up on things!

I rose early and packed quickly to exit Black Sandy; largely to avoid an unpaid camp fee (sorry Montana!).  I made the quick trip to the Houser dam and had to unpack the entire boat.  It took a little effort to locate the best egress point as previous paddlers indicated to go under the wire and exit on the left shore at the dam itself.  Of course, all the signage shouts to go across the lake to the official site for safety reasons thus quadrupling the length of the portage.

After my Toston dam fiasco I made it a point to assemble all my bags on the shore, gather up all the loose items in the cockpit into my mesh duffle, and properly do a three pass portage.  I’m carrying a month of dehydrated food in a dry bag that has no shoulder harness.  Thus, it rides in the canoe with the mesh duffle and all other bags are carried through the portage.  When I reached the end and was repacking the canoe I noticed that a bottle of sunscreen had exploded in my clear dry bag.  It took about 45 minutes to clean up the gooey mess before I was able to shove off.

The scenery that day was pure Montana magic.  Mountain ranges on both sides of the river and few humans to be seen.  Two sites were on my “must see” list for this part of the trip; the Missouri Breaks downstream from Fort Benton and the Gates of the Mountains.  For some reason, I expected not to see the Gates for a few more days of paddling so when I rounded a bend and they loomed into sight I was thrilled. 

I took my time going through the Gates and the canyon and let the current push me along.  There is a gorgeous campsite within  the canyon and I stopped for lunch and seriously considered staying the night even though it was early in the day.  Several speed and large tour boats passed by with waving humans but that pretty much sealed the deal, it was too busy of a location and I’d push on for something less congested.

The run downstream didn’t disappoint and I enjoyed the Montana scenery.  I did have to deal with some wind on the “lakes” as dammed stretches of river don’t behave like natural lakes.  The water body is basically one long tube with enough fetch to create high waves across nearly the entire length.  I pushed on until late afternoon and then decided to call it quits just when a sweet campsite appeared.  After unloading and setting up camp I decided to hike up the ridge above me to get a good look around.  I’m glad I did, the scenery was breathtaking and many ways better than the site I gave up in the Gates of the Mountain canyon earlier in the day.

An early break of camp and departure the next day (May 19th) had me heading for the Holter dam and my last self portage in Montana.  Each morning I listen to my weather radio and I had been following the National Weather Service forecasts of a late winter storm expected to hit Montana.  The last weekend’s early estimates were up to 18 inches of snow and freezing rain in the mountains (basically my location).  That was pared down a bit to a foot of snow but still a worry. I wasn’t in a location where I can take shelter without some planning.  I shouldered on hoping to make it to a protected location where I could ride out the storm.  By late afternoon the rain had started and it was clear that I was going to have to shelter in place.  I stopped at a few spots mentioned in The Complete Paddler but ownership has changed and hotels have now become private lodges.

I reached Mountain Palace just as it began to pour.  I set up my tent quickly, pulled all my gear either inside or under the vestibules and waited.  Within an hour the rain changed to freezing drizzle then to a heavy, wet snow.  I was warm and dry but it quickly became clear that my three season tent wasn’t suitable to ride this one out.  Thankfully, I had cell service for the first time since my first night on the river and I began to search for a hotel with easy access off the river.  It turned out that the Prewett Creek Inn was a few turns down the river from my location (the campsite at Prewett Creek was my original destination before the weather turned sour).  I gave them a call and after explaining my situation to the owner, Joan, I booked a room for the next day (today, May 20th).

My wet home at Mountain Palace

All through the night the snow came down in wet, sticky gobs.  I soon realized that when it sounded like the storm was letting up it was because the tent was covered and sounds muffled.  I set an alarm for every hour through the night to wake up and bang the fly from the inside to lighten the load on my tent poles.  I feared they would collapse under the weight and then I’d be in real trouble.

When morning arrived I repacked everything from inside my cramped quarters and then dug myself out.  Just as I was hauling out gear and getting ready to take down the tent, Maddie from the private fishing lodge across the street yelled asking if I wanted a cup of coffee.  My mantra for this trip is to take offers whenever they are made so I accepted the offer even though I was in fine shape and would soon be indoors in a warm hotel room.

The coffee was good and I had a brief conversation with a few of the fly fisherman making their way into the lodge from their rooms for breakfast.  I finished my drink and departed to finish packing for the short float down to Prewett Creek.

The day has been spent drying clothing and gear and making the big decision as when to push on.  Part of my calculations are when I’ll arrive at Great Falls and whether the portage I arranged will be available.  After a number of phone calls I worked things out to stay here in Prewett one more day then depart on Saturday morning.  That will get me into Great Falls ether Sunday afternoon or Monday morning and then I can decide whether to take a room (Sunday night) at the portage landing or to go onward.  It would be wise to do some shopping and resupply my food stocks and to do laundry.

The one thing I won’t complain about again on this trip is packing too much cold weather gear.  It may be no fun slogging heavy packs over portages on hot and sunny days but being over prepared was critical when it was needed.  On the upside, I learned that wet bags slide easily into place in my boat.  I won’t ask for more snow but I will be using a little water from now on to “grease” things up.

Cheers!