George and I are driving from Seeley Lake, Montana to Augusta, taking our time while we wait for word from the shop in Butte to tell us the fate of our truck that blew an axle yesterday.
We were on our way to drop Little George and a friend at camp, and then embark on our first-ever foray backpacking the Bob Marshall Wilderness in Montana, when a sickening vibration started in the front end, leading us to pull over in Butte. After phoning a mechanic friend, we were advised not to drive it another mile. So, 3 hours from home, we rented a car and determined to finish our trip. It's not often we get to backpack alone together, and we were on a mission!
Passing through Lincoln, Montana I spot a roadside cherry stand, and George takes a hard left and pulls in. We spend a great half hour talking to the family who comes from their farm in Washington every summer, who tell us about the sculpture park just down the road. Of course! We’d heard of Sculpture in the Wild but had no idea it was right here!
Off we went to explore the sculpture park, as we have plenty of time while waiting to hear about the fate of our truck.
Finally after figuring out our broken truck logistics we head towards the trailhead through the haystack buttes and rumpled hills tumbling down from the Rocky Mountain Front west of Augusta. On the way to our campsite, we discover a stunning double cascade. A great start to our backcountry trip!
Day 2: West Fork of the Sun River
We’ve been following black bear tracks all morning.
In just the first hour we see bobcat, elk, deer, bear, and fox tracks. We also encounter two snowshoe hares, one that hangs out for a bit in the burned area at the end of a downed log, gazing back at us, ears erect, nose twitching, big brown eye flecked with red. We finally lose the bear tracks when we turned south along the West Fork.
It is a good day, though a long way-10 miles! And so very HOT. We take a long lunch break at a beautiful pool along the river. Freaking cold, with the tingly silky feeling that comes after making yourself dunk in a mountain stream.
At camp, George works on building rope out of fireweed stalks, hoping to start a bow drill fire. It is too windy, so no fire, but he did test it out and was able to get a coal going.
I read and doze after another dunk in the river. Now we’re finally in bed, looking up through the tent walls at the wide sky, visible because we left the rain fly off.
Just as we’re getting sleepy and dozing off a long, low howl pierces the air, followed by a cacophony of howls. Wolves! Maybe 200-300 yards across the river George thinks. George had said earlier that wolves were here, but it came as a surprise after not seeing a single wolf track in over 10 miles, and with the obvious human impact in the river valley.
Still, it’s pretty cool. Although I *know* wolves don't bother people, I find myself comforted by the sounds of a horse camp just upstream from us; the bell of the lead mare clanging in the night, the occasional human voice.
Day 3: A Bird's Eye View of the Bob Marshall Wilderness
Today we climb Prairie Reef, almost 11 miles round trip and at least 3500 ft in elevation. I don't write much today, because I'm pooped! It is a stunningly gorgeous day, and the views of endless mountains in every direction move me to the very soul.
It's hurricane-force windy on top, where we shelter behind the fire tower, chatting with the couple working there for the summer.
It's novel to be in an area where the ridges and peaks are unfamiliar, and adds to the feeling of remoteness and awe.
Days 4 & 5: The Return Trek
It's mega windy today. Like knock dead trees over kinda windy. And...there are ALOT of burned trees waiting to topple. The wind through the skeleton forest whistles in an eerie way. After a reasonably slow morning packing up we hit the trail with me in the front, as is our habit.
As I walk I feel deeply grateful for the simple, yet profound comfort of shared habits and trail compatibility that George and I share.
I spot coyote tracks, and point them out to George, my walk morphing into a kind of dance as I avoid stepping on the tracks so George can see them too. Every once in a while we stop, discuss a track, and move on.
Again today is inferno-hot; if not for the wind we’d be burnt toast.
We enter an unburned patch of lodgepole forest. The difference between the scorched air in the burn areas and the relative deep, cool, calm of mature un-burned forest is striking. I soak in the pleasure of the forest, while also keeping an eye out for any dead trees suddenly snapped off in the gale howling high above the treetops.
The trail is blessedly level in sharp contrast to the 3500 foot climb and descent of yesterday. It’s a feast of sensations this morning; the heavy pack creaking on my back, the wind panting through the trees, the smells of the cool forest, the searing heat on my shoulders when we enter the burn, the silky feel of the breeze on my skin in the shadows, the ache in my thighs and calves from the climb yesterday.
We only have 5 miles to go today, on a gentle return to the trailhead. So we have plenty of time to hunt for a perfect campsite along a bend in the river. And we'll need all of that time to find a place sheltered from the wind barreling through the open river bottom and roaring in our ears like a jet plane.
After following a promising side trail towards the river, we find a beautiful undercut cliff illuminated by reflected light from the green water--but no campsites.
George first shows me a hopelessly lumpy and softly vegetated spot in thick understory. Thinking of the children's book "My Nest Is Best" I go searching for a better and more durable spot, and find one on a bluff above an incredible pool, only to spend a few hours there being sand blasted by wind and trying to find a spot amongst the standing and fallen burned trees to not be blown away or crushed by windfall. We sit staring at the beautiful pool, wishing the wind would die down enough for us to swim without growing hypothermic and to set up camp, but it persists in an insane fury and shows no signs of stopping.
Finally, we come to rest at a third spot, with a flat spot in the trees and a gravel bar on the lee side of the forest patch. We don’t have a deep pool, but we are out of view of the trail, and blissfully protected. Finally I can relax.
Nighthawks circle mere feet overhead as we fall asleep to the sound of the river.
On the way to the trailhead on our final morning, we follow wolf and mountain lion tracks for miles.
Thanks Bob Marshall Wilderness, you captured our hearts. We'll be back for sure.
For more backcountry adventures, check out Backpacking Pelican Valley to Lamar Valley in Yellowstone, and Backpacking in Yellowstone: Heart Lake to South Boundary.
Images © Jenny Golding
