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| Big Sky Country, sunset |
Once again the US southwest has been calling us to pack up
and go where hiking is possible without bundling up and donning snow shoes. It
seems easier and easier every year to heed that call the more we get to know
this area of our chosen continent. If anyone would have told me ten years ago
that I, lover of trees and lush green, of ferns and running water, would fall
in love with the desert landscape I would have laughed at him. But here we are for
our fifth ‘spring break’ already, eager to see and explore more.
This time we decided to drive instead of fly to Phoenix like
the last few years, and instead see what we could find on the way south through
Montana and Idaho. The weather has been gorgeous these last few days, and when
we left home two days ago it was +9, water was starting to run in the ditches,
and the snow had receded to areas shaded by trees and buildings, with only
patches left in the fields. Who in their right mind would choose to leave now?
I saw (and heard!) starlings in the big spruce trees bordering the lawn, and
pussy willows are out on the top branches of the willow tree beside the house.
Spring must be right around the corner, right? But there’s the date: middle of
February. And there’s the forecast: cooling to below the freezing mark, and
several days of snow showers, if not snow. No, it might feel like spring, days
might be two and a half hours longer than at the winter solstice – but winter
is not yet over, and it’ll be two months until it gets green. Even if we left
for two or three weeks we won’t miss any spring at home.
We didn’t get very far that first day, staying with friends
south of Edmonton overnight, planning to get as far as Shelby in northern Montana
yesterday.The drive south towards Calgary and then Lethbridge was gorgeous,
the sky a deep blue, the snow-capped Rockies a steady presence in the west. The
only challenge was the gusty wind, trying to push the car to the left side of
the road – nothing unusual in the southern prairies, but a reminder why I would
never want to live there.
Crossing the border at Coutts/Sweetgrass was quick, the
border agents friendly: we were the only travellers far and wide. Only about 45
minutes to go from there to Shelby, sun setting in the southwest, the sky as
immense as I remembered, the heart getting wide and free under that vastness. I
tuned to the radio station suggested on a sign by the freeway, and Cat Stevens’
‘Moonshadow’ greeted us – more reason to smile.
It’s not that Shelby has anything special to recommend it to
the traveller in search of beauty: railway tracks and busy Interstate 15 vie for the
upper hand regarding noise level, something that was a bit disconcerting when
we checked into the newly opened Motel 6 (Crossroads Inn) around six pm.
Casinos, an Albertson’s food store and a main street with several bars and businesses
seem to be the most distinguishing features – or not, considering how many
towns like that there are. The highway and train noises stopped pretty much
completely during the night, however, and sleep came easily after the long
drive.
The reason we stopped in Shelby was that we wanted to stop
in Dutton, a tiny town about an hour south of Shelby, to visit the widow of the
farmer for whom Johann worked for half a year in 1973. We had stopped there
last time we drove south four years ago, but weren’t sure how she was feeling
now, at age 85 and with deteriorating health. We dropped in at her daughter’s
beauty salon a couple of blocks from Bev’s senior’s residence and heard, to our
delight, that while frail Bev was still up and running, with the familiar sense
of humour. She was very happy to see us, and we spent an hour reminiscing and
catching up before we were on our way again.
Salmon, Idaho was the destination we aimed for to stay the
night, a drive of almost another 500 km from Dutton. Not wanting to stay on the
busy interstate for any longer than we had to since we didn’t have to get anywhere
in a hurry we turned off at Power and followed the narrow secondary highway 431
for a while, the mountains coming ever closer. Snow lingered only in the
ditches and on the hillsides, and it felt like spring. Once in a while a few
geese flew overhead. The flanks of the mountains were still white in the
distance. This is dry country to begin with, and irrigation pivots are waiting
for the new season to begin. ‘Farmer John’, Johann’s boss more than 40 years
ago, farmed the dryland east of Dutton, but also had some land in this area
closer to the mountains, where they irrigated using irrigation ditches. Johann
remembered making hay there, mosquitoes thicker than he had ever thought
possible, leaving his skin bumpy as an elephant’s. No mosquitoes today, only
brilliant sunshine.
We connected to Highway 200, heading for Missoula. The road
climbed steadily, and we crossed the Continental Divide at Roger’s Pass, about
1700m high. This is beautiful country, now much greener, the road winding
through valleys, rivers running alongside, running freely even through the
snow. We reached Missoula early enough to keep going towards our planned destination.
Now, we followed Hwy. 93, the Bitterroot Mountain Range running parallel to our
right. In the summer it must be very busy here, with lots of opportunity to
fish and hike. Now, traffic slowed right down once we passed Hamilton, the last
sizeable town before we reached Idaho. Once again the road climbed steadily,
switchbacking towards Lost Trail Pass, at 2137m a fair bit higher than Rogers
Pass. Now, we had returned to winter. Snow was piled high on the sides of the
road, and near the top the road surface was slushy. For the first time in days
the temperature had dropped below the freezing mark. We could see the slopes of
the ski area to our right, but since it was already nearly six pm the lifts
were standing still. On the way down the mountain we hardly encountered a
vehicle, and the houses – some beautiful log houses among them – mostly stood
empty at this time of year. Only after about 20 miles or so the windows were
lit and smoke rose from chimneys: some people do indeed live here all year.
By the time we reached Salmon it was dark. We were surprised
to find a lively town with a bustling main street; it would be nice to go back
tomorrow and see what it looks like in the daylight. For now, however, we are
glad to have found a good bed and warm room for the night at the ‘Sacajawea Inn’.
Sacajawea (or Sacagawea) was the Shoshone woman who accompanied Lewis and Clark
on much of their expedition in this area, assisting them in communicating with
the tribes they encountered along the way, an invaluable help for the
explorers. Our motel room, while not paying tribute to Sacajawea herself, has a
strong ‘western’ theme, evident in quirky details in the decoration. Here are a
few examples.
Tomorrow we will continue on our way south. There is an
interesting hike we are hoping to do, but it depends on the conditions: if it’s
too muddy we will likely abandon that particular plan.
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