RETURN TO MONTANA
We left Wallace and climbed up to Lookout Pass at 4725 feet. There at the summit sat a ski resort which supposedly one could overnight in their dirt overflow parking lot. Upon arrival it didn’t look all that appealing; too many people milling around. I noticed a sign on a telephone pole about no RVs parking overnight. We cruised on out down into Montana. Our first camp opportunity would be twenty miles on and then a few miles into the mountains to Cabin City, a Forest Service campground. I knew going in there would be no cell service. Could I survive offline for a night? Cabin City was a beautiful two loop campground in a forest of tall ponderosa pines. Hardly any campers were there. I found a nice spot close to the pay station on the second loop. I stepped out with Beans and right away was struck with how beautifully quiet it was, even more so than what Beauty Creek had been. Beans loved this place. I saw only a few varmints which were enough for her to continually want out for walks. Not being distracted by the iPhone and iPad I slowly slipped into offline mode. This is not bad. I enjoyed a quiet evening cracking open a Michael Connelly/Harry Bosch detective paperback book.
In the morning we were in no hurry to leave. That was good for Beans absolutely did not want to leave. That cat sure can sure put a guilt trip on me. Sorry sweetie, but we have to go. Our next camp possibility was Sloway, another Forest Service camp right along Interstate 90 at Superior. Again there were only a few campers in this campground. I pulled into a suitable spot after making a couple of passes. I got out and was overwhelmed by the constant roar of highway traffic nearby. This place was the total opposite from Cabin City. Good grief, do I really want to put up with this? I let Beans out. She sniffed the grass, looked around and wanted back in. Great. Make me feel even worse. As I ate lunch I thought it over. I had cell service again. I hadn’t missed a thing. I had no real options for places to stay on ahead of us to Missoula. Aw hell, it’s only for a night. We’ll stay. After lunch I walked up to pay. I passed by the camp host camp. They were gone. How do they put up with this constant cacophony of noise? Across from them was a fifth wheel trailer. Outside they had a Honda generator hooked up. I stopped and looked again. The generator sat there, unlocked. I couldn’t believe it. I dropped my envelope in the pipe then walked back to the RV. Just then a train came through on the other side of the nearby Clark Fork River. He blasted his horns several times. Oh good grief! We have that to contend with also?
I walked down to check out the river. It looked nice and clean. I would have to take a dip while here. Back at the RV I worked on getting some blog posts created. Although I had cell service, uploading photos was at glacial speed. I had to hoist the Weboost antenna in order to get things moving before the end of the year arrived. I got three posts completed which would be good until Sunday. Those three posts took nearly two hours to set up. Time to go take that dip. At the river I found the water a bit nippy. I could only manage going in half way. When the water touched the nether regions down below, that was far enough. Well that’s disappointing. Back home I was trying to decide what to do for the upcoming days. We were in full sun The RV was beginning to simmer. I checked the weather. Friday and Saturday would be over ninety-five degrees. Going on into Missoula for the hot days wasn’t appealing. Maybe we should stay put. We could move down a spot with more shade. Could I put up with this racket from the highway? I decided I would move to the shady spot in the morning and just deal with it and the occasional train tooting.
In the morning that all changed. I wasn’t going to pay for noise. We’d take our chances on the unknowns down the road. We pulled out around nine a.m. and didn’t get far as the camp host was blocking the road with his John Deere lawnmower talking to my nearest neighbor. I eased up. He moved the mower but motioned me to stop. I rolled down the window. Beans is right there. “Did you experience any pilfering last night?” he asked. Beans left. Come to find out the people with the unchained Honda generator had it stolen during the night. All I could tell him was I saw a woman cruise through the campground late in the afternoon in a maroon pickup. The same truck came through again around three thirty in the morning. Most likely she (or her accomplice) took it. I wished I had more of a description to give him, even a plate number but I can’t really be thinking about taking notes on every sketchy person I see when staying at campgrounds. I’d have a book as thick as the Old Testament by now. Okay, I exaggerate. It is not that bad living on the road, camping in national forests and BLM land but I don’t want to be out here constantly scrutinizing everyone driving by and jotting down license plate numbers.
I had one Forest Service campground in mind, Trout Creek, but it looked like too far back in the mountains to deal with plus I was pretty sure it had no cell service. Just before it though was Camp Superior View as someone had named it on freecampsites.net. I would check that out as it wasn’t too far off the road but far enough away from the noisy highway. Once we turned off the interstate thirteen miles later after leaving Sloway we soon turned onto a gravel road. It began to climb and climb and climb. The gravel road narrowed down to one lane. Okay, I’m not liking this. We had less than two miles to go to the coordinates. I assumed it would top out on a ridge (the “view”) and be in the wide open. All the time there I’d be thinking about having to come down this track possibly run into someone coming up. I like this even less now. At the first opportunity to turn around I did so and got the hell down from there. I had seen a sign before turning onto that gravel road showing Trout Creek Campground three miles. Well heck, we’re almost there, may as well have a look.
The last half of those three miles was a wide washboard gravel road−level mind you−but we had come this far, I had to see it. Sure enough, soon NO SERVICE showed on my phone. After another teeth rattling half mile we were at the campground and turned in. It comprised of a dirt road following along the stream with twelve sites (six in each direction from the turn in) and with only one occupied (looked like someone homesteading), no camp host and all for only five dollars a night. We came back to the day use area at the midway point to use the pit toilet. “I’ll be right back Beans.” When I stepped out of the RV oh my God, the silence. It was amazing. I decided to finish my breakfast there and make up my mind as what to do. I took Beans out for a walk. She was happy. Aw gee, for one day…why not? I had posts set up on the blog for the next three days and hadn’t missed anything otherwise while offline at Cabin City. I picked a spot next to the vacant camp host site. It looked like the host site hadn’t had an occupant in a year at the very least. I went for a walk along the camp road investigating each campsite. Each had a short little trail through the forest to the creek. Some spots in the stream had rock dams built by previous campers to create little wading pools. Only the sound of Trout Creek was heard in addition to the chattering of squirrels warning each other of an intruder. I realized how happy I was too being away from the noise of Sloway. I would trade having no cell service for this peace and quiet any day.
I enjoyed the day walking pine needle carpeted trails winding through the tall pines along the stream. The water was too cold even just to stand in. Late in the day though it seemed to be warmer as I could stand in the water and with a washcloth give myself a refreshing birdbath. I wound up doing so twice that first afternoon in my own private wading pool.
It was nine p.m. when some people in a noisy old diesel piece of junk pickup truck towing a trailer pulled next to us. They fought backing that heap into the site on just the other side of the brush from us. The whole campground was vacant except for the homesteader down on the end and they had to park right next door? I was upset to say the least. Why do people insist pestering me?! They ended up dumping the trailer then left most probably to save the site for the upcoming weekend. I couldn’t go back to sleep. So I got out in the dusk of light and walked on down to see the other sites to just have one in mind for a morning move. Then maybe I could sleep. The first site (number one) and the last (number five) on the lower half of the camp road looked most promising. Back at the RV I crawled back into the sleeping bag and eventually fell asleep.
I was awake at five thirty and couldn’t go back to sleep, of course. It still wasn’t light enough. By the light of my solar Luci light (the first time I ever used it since finding it in the desert last year) I made my coffee, washed up and ate a bagel. This solar light proved to be nice in providing an easy ambient light to do this and that without being harsh advertising to the entire neighborhood I was up and about at odd hours. By now there was enough dawning light to see without headlights. I drew in the slide, started the engine and pulled out for the few hundred yards drive down to site number one. I hung my pay stub on the post. Unable to do anything else I slipped back into the sleeping bag. Beans was all wound up. She wanted to see this new spot. Finally she settled down some and I kind of drifted off. At eight a.m. Beans hocked up a hairball and I gave up on any further sleep. I took the two carpets outside to the picnic table. I would clean them later when, if ever, the sun would shine upon us. I realized I would be hurting for solar at this new site. I walked the lower half of the camp line again to see if anything else would be better for solar. It didn’t appear so. The upper half of the camp road in the opposite direction was better but only by a little. It had the homesteader plus the nimrods I just left behind. I remembered we had arrived late the day before so I didn’t really know when the sun hit our original spot (number six) we had just vacated. It wasn’t until noon the batteries were charged but at least the solar panels could do their job given the chance. I would have to be patient in using the laptop to add to the journal. Being back at our first site wouldn’t have made any difference. That is just how it is when camped in a narrow canyon. Sunlight is fleeting.
I came across a woman emptying trash cans later in the day. We had a nice visit after her recovering from my scaring her half to death walking up unseen. She goes around to all the campsites in the Lolo National Forest (all those we had just visited) doing trash pick-up and pit toilet detail. I asked about the camp host vacancy. She said it had been about six years without a host here. The water had been turned off from the spring that supplies water to the campground as it is somewhat questionable. “It’s on their to-do list but you know how those government agencies are”. Thus they cannot get anyone to host at Trout Creek being with no water, no electricity, no septic, no cell service. There was a large propane tank sitting at host site. She told me about the homesteader down at number ten before I even had to ask. “We’ve been chasing him around all the season. He works at the travel center truck stop and was renting somewhere in Superior but the rent became too high so he left.” Each campground has a limited number of days you can stay; usually fourteen but Trout Creek was sixteen, so one has to leave after that period of time. In addition though, and I did not know this, there is a limit of forty-five days for the national forest as a whole. So evidently the homesteader had exceeded that forty-five day limit for Lolo National Forest and needed to go to a different one. Thus they have been trying to expel him. We got to talking about the recent generator theft at Sloway and she added the guy with the fifth wheel trailer was a retired Forest Service employee. You would think he’d know better than anyone else to lock up a generator!
We stayed at Trout Creek for three days until the heat spell ended everywhere else (Trout Creek was pleasant) and then left on Sunday. I never saw the homesteader although I could tell he had been “home” at some time during the evening. Things had been moved around. Worst though was I never saw the nimrods back at their camp. We could have stayed put. How was I to know? And knowing me, I’d fret about when they would finally show up. Trout Creek was wonderful. I would return if ever in the neighborhood again. I learned something important too…I can survive without the Internet just fine. The bull crap going on out there in the world can do so without me having to know about it.
That Sunday morning I took a final walk to check on the nimrods and the homesteader then came back to give Beans a final walk. I stood around holding her lead thinking, I really hate to leave. I had another campground lined up down the highway, Quartz Flat, a more developed Forest Service campground with cell service, highway noise and train horns. Reading reviews campers remarked about the noise from the interstate close by. Geez, another Sloway? I knew I would sit there kicking myself for signing on for that if I stayed. While ruminating on this thought the tent camper from two sites down near the homesteader came jogging up the camp road making Beans nervous. Besides bicycles, she doesn’t like joggers either. He stopped to talk. The battery in their car was dead and he wondered if I could give him a jump. I said how we were leaving today−although not this early−so “give me fifteen minutes and I’ll be down there.” They were young couple from Washington. He and his wife had thrown things in the car to come here. In doing so they hadn’t brought a lantern. He had turned on the headlights of the car so he could read. The headlights turn off automatically in thirty minutes and when they did he forgot to turn off the ignition−dead battery. We finally got it started after I reconnected his jumper cables to his battery (I don’t think he was too wise with mechanics). We returned to the day use area for breakfast. Beans wanted out again. Well why not? It’s a new spot to her although she’s investigated it before on routine walks. Still it continued to work on me about leaving as I let her wander around. Finally I forced myself and we pulled out.
One mile down the road where the gravel washboard road turned to pavement at the Lolo National Forest boundary the phone came alive. I had several messages and a long list of emails the bulk of them being notices of posts to the RVillage website I belong to−nothing important. Another two miles I pulled off the road at the closed-for-Sunday lumber mill yard. There I was able to upload a bunch of photos to create four blog posts that would be good up to Thursday. I started the engine, finding myself turning around back to Trout Creek.
Back in campsite one Beans and I both had smiles on our faces. I took down the bicycle now knowing I could get a cell signal only a mile away. I whiled away the day enjoying being at Trout Creek rather than any other place nearby. The day seemed to be heavy with forest fire smoke, more so than any other of the days we had been there. It was warmer too so no doubt pretty hot everywhere else. Unfortunately I had forgotten to check the weather when I was able. I took stock of supplies. I had to face the fact that foodstuffs were running low. Even my fresh drinking water supply was down to the last gallon. We couldn’t stay too much longer.
The next morning, a Monday, I took my usual morning walk along the campground road this time stopping at the nimrod’s trailer. There was a pay envelope stuck in the door by the Forest Service employees who had come by cleaning camp sites and rewrapping fire pits with red ribbon−NO FIRES. There was a no campfires order in all national forests. I looked in the windows. It didn’t look as if the trailer was set up for camping. I tried the door−unlocked. I looked in and the double bed up front was minus a mattress. Cleaning supplies filled the bathroom sink. I walked in. The couch had been removed across from the dining table. The TV was gone. Cupboards and cabinets were empty except for more cleaning supplies and a few other items. No dishes, no silverware. The refrigerator and freezer were clean and empty. The stove was missing its top. I found that in a cardboard box up front alongside the bare bed. The microwave was in place. The shower stall had a vacuum/mop standing inside. Back outside I noticed the two propane tanks gone. Were they missing on the first day? I thought I would have noticed. I checked my photos. I hadn’t taken a picture early in the week; only on the last day when we left−no tanks. The hitch had no lock on it. No one would park their trailer without securing the hitch with a lock. This trailer had been dumped here, abandoned, perhaps even stolen. If it were abandoned, wouldn’t you remove the license plate to avoid being tracked down? It was still in place. Montana. A small cardboard box sat inside on the empty bed platform−a package that had been sent to Sherry Spangler in Superior, Montana. Wouldn’t you remove that if this was your trailer that you were abandoning on Forest Service land?
The following day we had to leave Trout Creek. Food supplies were running low including my purified drinking water which I was on last one gallon bottle. I don’t think I was ever so sad in having to leave a place as I was with Trout Creek. Coming back for those two days helped lessen the separation woes. We stopped at the Pilot Travel Center (where the homesteader supposedly worked) in Superior to fill up on fuel. I think I could have made it to Missoula on what I had but it would easier to do so here than in the city even if paying a few cents more per gallon (I would later discover it was a few pennies less−a good call). Before leaving Superior I tracked down the address for Sherry Spangler. It turned out to be the local hospital emergency care unit. Fifteen miles down the road I pulled off the interstate to check out Quartz Flat Campground, the last opportunity to camp before Missoula. This was another Forest Service campground I had in my notes. Reviews said it was close to the highway and thus noisy. They were right. It was another Sloway. I would have been extremely unhappy there, especially after leaving the tranquility of Trout Creek. I finished my breakfast in a campsite, caught up the blog and let Beans out for a short walk.
Now on to Missoula.
It was lunchtime when we arrived. One of the first places I noticed after exiting the interstate was a Popeye’s fast food place. Yeah, thinking of the one in Louisiana this sounded great. I parked, walked up to the dining area door and…locked. A handwritten note was taped to the glass: GO TO DRIVE-UP WINDOW. Great! I stood behind the last car in line belching fumes and walked up to the speaker box after they pulled ahead. No one said ‘Hello welcome to Popeye’s what can we get you?’ I said “Hello, is there anybody in there?” Silence. I looked around. No camera, no speaker button to push. I walked on ahead to the window. “Can’t you hear or see me standing out there by the speaker?” The kid told me it was activated by weight, otherwise they know nothing inside. I learned something new. I asked about the dining door being locked. Like so many other places, they didn’t have enough help. I got my classic chicken sandwich and went back to the RV to eat.
I had the whole half of the day to kill. I certainly didn’t want to spend it in a Walmart parking lot. I searched out several thrift shops in town in hope of scoring some books, particularly Michael Connolly’s Harry Bosche detective books. The first few stores had nothing. The next store on my list I about let go then saw parking available in a small lot. I wheeled in. Ignoring the mask wearing sign as every door in the country had posted I walked in and found the book section. Surprisingly there were three hardbound Connolly books. I looked up and the sign read a dollar each on hardbound books. Usually they are a few dollars at the least. Cool! Up at the counter of the small Underground Thrift Shop (that was its name as it sat in a basement) the mask wearing lady said “Sir you need to have a mask on in here.” This was the first time I ever got reprimanded. All the other places couldn’t care any less. “Oh” I said. “Well here just take my three dollars and I’ll leave right away”, and she did. I was pleased with my good find−better than I had hoped for and I had almost written this place off. There were two more stores: the Salvation Army and the Goodwill left to check out. I was worn out from driving a small house up and down the busy congested streets of Missoula. As they these two stores were bigger I thought my chances of a find would be greater plus they were on the way to my spot for the night. I pressed on. The Salvation Army turned out to be a meeting hall and office complex for the organization. No thrift shop. The Goodwill on the other hand was huge. The parking lot chock full. I about blew it off but turned in at the last moment and found a spot to park way in the back by the loading dock. I’ll be right back Beans. Inside there were aisles full of books all separated by categories which helped. I found one more hardbound. Yippee! I gazed out across the store to the check-out. There was a long line. Groan, can I do this? I took my place in line and tried to zone out. With three registers it went fairly fast. It was my turn in a little over ten minutes. The young lady gave me an old person discount so the one book cost a little less than those three from the mask lady. I ended up with four books for the day and was quite pleased for my efforts.
Missoula had two Walmarts. We were down by the store at the south edge of town this time. It too was iffy on the overnight stays being okay or not as was the previous Walmart we stayed at two weeks earlier in the center of town. This one though was outside of the city limits and under county jurisdiction. Reviews said not to worry. We had a nice night with a bit of rain to help the firefighters and clear away some smoke.
In the morning I did my resupply spending a hundred six dollars. Usually my food shopping is twenty to thirty dollars less. I was in no great hurry to leave so caught up the journal after putting everything away. We pulled out heading south. No sooner did we get going I was hungry again. Geez, it’s almost noon already. Suddenly a Subway showed up. I made a quick left turn across traffic on in. There was a short line inside. The guy right in front of me was a big old jerk of a guy. He thought he was just as cute and he was fat and gross looking−very annoying to watch and listen to. He wasn’t offensive or an asshole, just trying to be clever and witty with the young girl at the counter. I placed my order with her. She looked really haggard, sniffling and such but nevertheless was being as pleasant as possible. When she rung me up I had to compliment her on her patience and tolerance with the jerk saying I couldn’t possibly deal with the people that she did all day long. She knew who I was referring to and gave me a strained smile. I left her a tip which she thanked me for. I ate half the sandwich there in the parking lot thinking about how she appeared. Gee, I wonder if she had a cold? My sandwich could have germs. Great, I’ll be sick in a few days. Good Lord! I hope she didn’t have COVID.
We continued on for a few miles to Chief Looking Glass Campground. This was one of those Montana Fish and Wildlife camps and I suspected it would be like all the others we had come across. Sure enough, if you were not a Montana resident you would have to pay five dollars extra. I had no intention on staying there anyway; I wanted only to check it out. I took Beans out for a walk then we left. I’m still thinking about the other half of that ‘contaminated’ sandwich. A few miles further lay Charles Waters Campground, a Forest Service campground where the state of Montana couldn’t extort me. Charles Waters was a nice twenty-six site campground. I think we got the next to last site available−site number one. That was cutting it close. Site one proved to be probably the best spot to have too as it didn’t have other sites close by nor even visible. That is usually the case with campground loops−the first and last site most always are best.
One of the nice aspects of Charles Waters was a trailhead only a half mile from camp. Most trailheads require driving to them which is not all that convenient when it means taking your home with you to a small parking lot. The next day under clearing skies from the previous nights rain I slipped on some warm hiking clothes, packed a nutrition bar and filled my water bottle half way. I wasn’t planning for much of a hike. At the trailhead nothing was posted about where the trail went, how far or what you may find at the end. Off I went.
The trail was a constant gradual climb. I could hear the rushing waters of Bass Creek. Finally the trail came close enough to see a cascade of water. For the most part though only the sound of the water could be heard. I walked along at my normal pace...somewhat. Thoughts ran through my mind: I used to do this type of thing all the time with no effort. I just don’t get to hike on a daily basis as in the past when I lived at the house. Yeah, that’s it. I saw a small garter snake slither off into the grass, a good excuse to stop. Soon a couple passed me by. Where did they come from? Rarely if ever I get passed while hiking. Granted I was admiring a snake but no doubt these two would have caught up with me anyway. That’s it. I’m keeping them in sight. I’ll let them pace me. This lasted for about a half a mile with me wheezin’ and perspiring. Geez, I just don’t have it in me anymore. Oh look, a mushroom. I stopped to get a photograph, a good excuse as any for letting them go on. Truth of the matter was they were most likely half my age. I need to not be so hard on myself. I labored on at my own pace which was a lot more sensible and tried to put my head in a better place. I’m older. I cannot be expected to do what I used to do at the same level of intensity anymore. Just be grateful to be able to do what you can do and enjoy the hike. A bit later I heard a voice behind me. Again? A nice guy with a dog giving me a heads up as they were coming up on me, otherwise I probably would have been startled having a dog pass me unknowingly, possibly inducing a heart attack. I had long been wondering what was up ahead. Was there anything rewarding to see and where I should call a halt to this madness and turn back. I asked the guy if he had hiked this before. He hadn’t. “First time. You?” Me neither. He asked where I was from and I reluctantly gave my pat answer “All over. I am full time on the road. I used to answer that question with California.” He was from Vermont here visiting his daughter who lived in Missoula. Somehow though (maybe his daughter) he knew there was supposed to be Bass Lake somewhere up the trail. Well that was nice to know. I let them go on ahead. Only thing, this time the guy was closer to my age. His legs were skinny like mine but all muscle and sinew. He had to be a frequent hiker or avid cyclist. I planned to turn back once they were out of sight (spare myself the embarrassment) but then all of a sudden there it lay, Bass Lake. Well that is nice. That made the hike even more worthwhile. The blue skies when I started out were now clouded over so I missed out on what would have been an even a lovelier scene but I’d take what nature provided. The small lake was smooth as glass. Tall pines stood all around the shore with rocky talus slopes leading high up to the peaks of the Bitterroot Mountains. I found a small spot down by the water Mr. Vermont and his dog had pointed out to me as they were coming out from the brush when I had caught up to them. I sat there enjoying the scene, eating my nutrition bar. I drank the last of my water (why didn’t I fill the bottle?) then headed back down. Going up took well over an hour gaining eight hundred and fifty feet in elevation at 3715 feet at the trailhead. Coming back home was a breeze in a half an hour. Overall though I had a grand time and vowed to do more of these hikes when they presented themselves.
Off and on again rain kept us at Charles Waters an extra day longer than planned. On the fourth day we got out of there early. I wanted some sunshine. The first town, Stevensville, had a Les Schwab. I’d stop and have the lug nuts re-torqued as suggested to me by the tire guy in Kellogg, Idaho. It’s closed? Oh yeah, it’s Sunday. I did it to myself again. I spotted a thrift store and thought I’d try my luck on more books. Nothing. Across the highway was a large empty parking lot so I stopped there for the rest of my breakfast and upload writings onto the journal. If I have no solar I don’t like to hook up the laptop for it drains the coach batteries. So I’ll compose a rough draft on the email program of the iPad, save it, and send that email to myself when I got into cell service. Then it is a matter of copying the email from Gmail onto my Microsoft Word document and it’s in there to edit later.
The next town Hamilton was larger. I was surprised to see a Kmart store there. I thought they had gone bankrupt. I pulled in to see it. The lady welcomed me as I walked in. I asked about the store. She said a private party bought the store and they were allowed to keep the name. I asked if there were any other stores in the country that she knew of. She said there were eight (later when I was able to get online I checked on Wikipedia finding there are seventeen). Inside the store was clean, bright and orderly (unlike how I remembered Kmarts) with only a few customers. It was like a stepping back in time. No blue light specials were happening while I was there.
I passed by a camping opportunity that was back in off the highway a few miles as it had only five sites and cell service was unknown. In fact it looked like cell service would be an issue for the remainder of the week. I’d have to take advantage of it when back out on the road as I did that day.
The next campground was Three Frogs, a Forest Service campground at Lake Como only four miles in and sure enough, as soon as we turned off the highway onto Lake Como Road…poof! The cell signal evaporated. The first campground was a twenty-four dollar a night loop (twelve for us) and did have a couple spots open. I didn’t understand the pricing and why this would be nine dollars more than most all of the rest of the Forest Service campgrounds. It offered nothing more although the pull-ins were huge to accommodate large class A motor homes pulling cars, trucks, boats, what-have-you. Also if you were pulling a humungous six-wheeled fifth wheel toy hauler trailer with a boat trailing behind this was the place for you. Perhaps the Forest Service realizes the big bucks travelers would pay the extra money without a thought. I might pay the extra money if the next campground up the road didn’t have a spot available. That campground was Three Frogs itself. I took the wrong cutoff and started up one of those infamous one lane gravel roads like that to Superior View. Looking down off to my left I could see a paved road with picnic tables skirting the lake. That’s where I’m supposed to be! Soon a Forest Service law enforcement truck came our way. I stopped her and asked about where I was going. She assured me that less than a mile up I’d cross over into National Forest where I could disperse camp. “You go on further, cross a bridge and there are two spots right there. Both are empty. You’ll be fine driving that.” I continued on. I didn’t have much choice anyway as there was no place to turn around. In short order I wasn’t liking it too much. There was no room to pull over should I meet someone coming down. I better turn around when I can. Well that opportunity didn’t present itself until we crossed the short rickety wood bridge she mentioned. Yep, there were two unlevel heavily shaded spots waiting for us. I turned around carefully−a three, four, five point turn and got out of there. At the bottom once again I found the correct road which led us to Three Frogs, a twenty-site campground carved into the heavily forested mountain side. Again I was confused with empty sites that had occupied signs on the posts with ending dates of 8/22, today. Why can’t people remove their tags when they leave? Checkout time was posted as two p.m. so legally it is still their spot since it was only high noon. At any rate, Beans and I found number eighteen to be open with no tag to confuse me. It sat in the sun all by itself on a curve in the camp road. “We better take this one Beans.” I got level, ate lunch, paid for the site after a hike down the mountain to the pay pipe and returned to let Beans out. She had a couple small ground squirrels spotted. I turned her loose. She snagged one right away. She carried it around by its head for awhile not knowing what really to do with it now she had caught it. It made me wonder what it was like to have a squirrel head in your mouth? Even more so, what was it like to have your head inside a cat’s mouth? She finally let it go. It darted away with her running it down once again. After the fourth time of this torment the squirrel got between the rear dual wheels as most of her catches retreat to and the game was over. No harm done to the squirrel except being traumatized for life. Just think of the story it could tell to family and friends.
The campground was quiet in spite of the large family gathering going on a few spots down. I counted at least forty people in attendance. One of the participants walked by carrying a plate of food so I asked what the occasion was. I figured a family reunion or grandpa’s birthday. He told me they were having a church picnic and “You’re welcome to come by.”
“Uh…thank you for the invite but there’s too many people for me.” The smells of those burgers cooking on the barbeque almost made me become a bit religious.
It got down to the low forties that night. I was eager for sunshine and warmth so we left early. Five miles down the highway was a Family Dollar in Darby, the first I had come across in a long time. I pulled into their parking lot. While waiting for it to open I started on my breakfast, composing blog posts and uploading them in addition email drafts to the journal. People started showing up so best I get in there before lines begin to develop. Sadly their freezer was down so no steaks. You may laugh but Family Dollar carries these little packets of two fillet mignon steaks for five dollars. That is enough for me plus the meat is good quality−Pleasant View Farms. I picked up some chips and a couple cans of weenies and beans anyway. Across the road was a regular grocery store where I bought a loaf of bread and forgot to check their meats. After cleaning the windshield from all the rain splatter of Charles Waters we took off for our next campground opportunity getting no further than the middle of cute touristy town. A bookstore! I parked. There just ahead was a thrift shop. Cool! A two for one stop. Ah, but the thrift shop didn’t open until noon. I walked across the street to an unusual book store in that besides used books there were newish looking hardback books with library tags on the spine. The name of the store was Library Book Store. I had to ask the lady who had to have been older than I. Is this a library, a book store, do you sell the books, loan them, rent them, or what? It turned out that excess books from the local library were brought here to be sold in addition to books donated by customers. No prices were on the books; payment was by donation. I never had come across this before. I found two hard bounds and three paperbacks of authors on my most wanted list. What a score. I left a dollar a book donation in the large pickle jar by the register. Back at the RV I paused to check on the thrift store again. The door was open. She had come in early to catch up on work. I picked up two more paperbacks: Lee Child/Jack Reacher books. It was a good day.
I was getting smarter now. The first camp opportunity a few miles down a dirt road was a Montana Fish and Wildlife campground. I blew right on by. I was proud of myself. Another twelve miles further brought us to Spring Gulch, a Forest Service campground right along the highway. I already lost cell service soon after leaving cute little Darby so knew none would be had anywhere. Other than that, what a lovely little ten-site campground it was. It had a well groomed city park setting with a crystal clear rushing stream next to it. Freshly mown carpet of lush green grass surrounded each site. The nearby road wasn’t an issue for traffic was sparse on the two lane mountain highway. We took site number nine in full sun. We were happy. Right away on Bean’s preliminary inspection walk she started to go after a small garter snake. I almost had her trained to leave snakes alone but it had been a long time (a couple years ago back in Minnesota) since she last came upon a snake carrying it out from the brush. There was a lot of no’s said. She left it alone. Then later in the afternoon, it almost happened.
It had warmed up. I pulled on my hiking shorts and slipped on flip-flops. Beans was sleeping which gave me freedom to walk around a little. I walked the short path through the willows down to the stream then strolled along the water’s edge. Suddenly, to my right a large Western Diamondback Rattlesnake slithered off into the brush. I never saw it until I was right even with it, well within striking distance. It fortunately decided to move off instead of making a stand. It never coiled, never rattled. I saw only the last two-thirds of the body which told me it was probably three feet long with six or seven buttons on the tail. It took me a couple hours to calm down and get over this encounter. All I could think of was what could have been. I was disappointed in myself for not seeing it sooner lying there on the rocks near the water. This was only the second time in my life I unknowingly walked within striking distance of a rattlesnake. All the rattlers I have seen (and there have been many) I always have seen them first which is just the way I like it. I went up to inform the camp host so he would know in case families with little kids would camp where we were. He was aware saying he had killed a couple small ones already this season. When I described the size he said it must be the mother. He asked if I killed it. I told him that I don’t like to kill them; I’ll relocate them if possible. “This is their home; we are just visitors.”