Playing in Polson

Fletcher Webster Brown, III, as Jay always calls him, is a Coast Guard, flying days friend of Jay’s.  They also served at Coast Guard headquarters together in the early 1980s and from then until the travelers’ visit in August, 2011 they had gotten together only one other time.  Fletcher moved to Montana in the mid-1990s and built a beautiful, two-story log home on a five-acre plot overlooking the town of Polson.  To the north is the Flathead Lake, to the east, the 9,000 foot high Mission Mountain Range and the rolling, grass covered terrain to the south and west belong to the Flathead Indian Reservation.   When the house was built, Fletcher conveniently created a circular driveway complete with an adjacent, large square parking space for his ATVs and other toys and was a perfect place for Chris and Jay to park Sonny for their week-long stay.

Yan Can Cook is the name of an Asian cooking show that used to air on PBS but the name certainly applied to the culinary skills of Fletcher’s wife, Yan.  The afternoon of the visitors’ arrival she created a lunch of three different vegetable stir-fries served over bowls of rice.  It was all so yummy that Chris and Jay waddled from the table regretting the volume they’d consumed but still craving more of the delicious flavors.  It was a heavy mid-day meal compared to the lightness of their daily fruit smoothie lunches.  The remainder of the week was filled with more tasty experiences and Chris hung out in the kitchen more than once to observe and learn.

Fletcher wasted no time in exposing his guests to the outdoor pleasures of his Montana lifestyle.  The next day everyone piled into his truck and, raft in tow, headed north toward Glacier National Park and a rocky put-in location to launch the vessel on a fork of the Flathead River. 

Yan (left) and Jay (center) stand by while Fletcher prepares the raft for launch.

The day was brilliantly cloudless, windless and warm which compensated for the frigidly cold glacial water.    A brief stop, so Fletcher could give his fly rod a workout, enabled Chris and Jay to step out of the raft and experience exactly how cold the water was.  Smooth, rounded rocks from small pebbles to the size of a man’s hand lined the shallow cove and seldom could the travelers resist seeking out especially unique and beautiful stones to add to their growing collection.  But Chris’ toes could only tolerate the icy liquid a few moments before they numbed and needed thawing from the warmth of the bright orb above.  After a few freeze/thaw cycles, an assortment of rocks was collected, judged worthy or not and retained or discarded, by the time Fletch tired of casting, and they shoved off to complete their lazy, tranquil float.

 

It just doesn’t get much better than this.

In some sections of the river the water was a luminescent aqua green and different than any color, except the waters of the Caribbean Sea, Jay or Chris had ever seen.   They learned that the water contains tiny bits of rock and minerals called “rock flour” which is created by the grinding action of glaciers and suspended in the melted water that cascades into the rivers below.  The rock particles refract the green spectrum of the sun’s light so it appears green.   The glacial action on the surrounding mountains was different than traditional snow melt on other peaks which did not produce the same colorful water.

The beautiful, green glacial water.

 

A few days later Fletcher introduced his guests to ATVing.  He had two of the machines and took everyone to the golden hills of the Reservation on the west side of the Lake where seldom used, dirt, back roads laced across the massive mounds covered in late summer’s grassy harvest. 

The rolling foothills of the Salish Mountains.

 

As a change from hiking, Jay and Chris had a good time on the noisy machines as they bumped along the deserted roads far enough behind Fletcher and Yan to not eat their dust.  They tooled into a wooded hollow, where a road ended, stopped for a quick snack and some target practice.  Unlike the PC/gun fearing Eastern States, from which Chris and Jay came, Montana is very firearm friendly and practicing ones skills in remote locations is common place.   They took turns aiming at the exposed roots of a fallen tree and cheered when a piece broke away.

Chris practicing her firearm skills.

Chris told her host about a low fuel light on her machine and Fletcher realized he should have given the gas tank more than a cursory glance when he topped his up at the gas station in Polson.  They headed back the way they came and, when the gauge dropped below a comfortable level, decided to stop and try to siphon some gas from one machine to the other.   They sacrificed the hose from Chris’ Camelbak and Fletcher’s quart-sized water bottle to complete the task and carried on with almost equal amounts of fuel in each ATV.

Fletcher and Yan.

Up and down more mounds and through chest-high purple and yellow blossoms they determined a wrong turn had been made and backtracking was in order.   Doubling back to the siphoning spot and beyond they found the turn they’d missed then putted through familiar surroundings to the truck and home to another sumptuous meal.

No visit to a Montana resident would be complete without a mountain hike.  Fletcher took everyone, including his two dogs, Zena and Gunner, on a short hike that led to another idyllic mountain lake that, to Jay’s relief, was practically mosquito free thanks to the thousands of huge dragonflies who called the  area home.  The lake fed a stream whose sparkling waters cascaded over and around moss covered rocks littering the route as the water plunged past ancient cedars and delicate woodland flowers to the valley floor.   

Jay and Chris at another beautiful mountain lake.

Precious, streamside, woodland flowers.

The Flathead Indian Reservation is home to the National Bison Range and, with an ample amount of the afternoon remaining, they decided it was worth a visit.  About four hundred bison wander the 29 square miles of rolling hills they call home. 

An antler mound near the Visitor Center.

Visitors primarily view them via the one-way, nineteen mile long Red Sleep Mountain Drive which zigzags up a central mountain and skirts the north side of the Refuge.  Although the landscape was beautiful, it wasn’t until the last couple of miles that they spied the herd.  Small groups of the magnificent beasts clustered together along the banks of the lone river that traversed the northern boundary of the Range and, to the motorists, most were too far away and appeared to be large, brown lumps contrasting against golden grasses. 

One lone bison near the river’s edge.

Chris and Jay had seen their share of the beasts at Yellowstone so, the distance and lack of expected numbers of bison didn’t bother them.  But, the day was not lost of them as they truly enjoyed the drive, viewing the other wildlife on the Range and the fantastic vistas of the valley and mountains which surrounded them. 

A view of the Range from Red Sleep Mountain Drive.

The Fletcher Brown RV Park was, at the sum of $1 per week, one of the least expensive his guests had encountered.  But they figured with low pressure, gravity fed water and the 20 amp house socket, that couldn’t power the RV’s microwave, hindering some of their daily luxuries, it was appropriately priced.  Besides, they were well fed, given free outdoor entertainment and twice treated to massive scoops of delectable ice cream at the local parlor.  All-in-all it was one of the best deals and most enjoyable visits with friends so far!

The Fletcher Brown RV Park.  He owns an Airstream trailer.

At the end of their fun-filled week Glacier National Park beckoned.  Jay paid his dollar and with hugs and fond farewells, they headed up the east side of Flathead Lake to the northernmost destination of their summer.

Moseying Through Montana

When Chris had planned their 2011 travels north she was smart enough to schedule down time after major photography stops and six days at Bozeman, Montana was just what they needed after all the driving at Yellowstone.   The RV Park where they stayed packed the transient guests into shade less, graveled sites like sardines and was sandwiched between the interstate on one side and very active train tracks on the other; complete with a nearby intersection which required passing locomotives to blow the long, short, long air horns at their approach.   Chris and Jay never knew what to expect when they arrived at a new Park and pondered adding “How close are you to train tracks?” to the list of questions they normally ask about price, cell service, and hook-up facilities when making reservations.

When checking into the Park on Friday, July 29^th, they were told about a Sunday morning Farmers’ Market held at the Bozeman Fairgrounds.  Tired of the same old breakfast fare, Chris suggested they go out for a Sunday morning breakfast and attend the Farmers Market thinking it would give them a flavor of the area.

After so many weeks of living close to the earth and hiking Chris decided it was time to get gussied up for their trip into “the city”.  Hair was styled, makeup was applied, “going out” attire was selected and donned and she felt like a person she had known before but had somehow lost track of.   With map in hand, complete with locations of eating establishments graciously noted by the Park owners, the visitors eagerly headed into town for a welcome break from computers and long days of driving. 

They found the college town of Bozeman held more promise than the RV Park.  Late eighteen hundred style vintage brick buildings lined the broad, downtown Main Street echoing its early roots and clean, roomy, sidewalks bordered prosperous shops, offices and cafés.  They hopped out of Big Red and eagerly headed toward the location of several orange dots on the map signifying restaurants serving scrumptious breakfast fare.

They walked a few blocks and didn’t find the one they sought, so they crossed the street and doubled back seeking an alternative option.  Nothing seemed appealing so, thinking they had somehow missed the establishment, they crossed the street again and slowly scanned the storefronts and signs they’d previously passed.  Still no café.  Thinking the establishment had gone out of business, perhaps unbeknownst to the Park owner, they again crossed the street in hopes of finding something that would satisfy their growling tummies. 

After reading the menu in the window of a small coffee shop and not finding what they felt would satisfy their cravings, they turned to continue down the street when a woman, sitting at the establishment’s lone outdoor table with her husband, asked if she could help them find something.  Jay explained their quest and, in an instant, discovered the orange dot on the map was on the wrong block.  The discussion of directions turned into where each party was from, then why each was there, to introductions and exchanging cards with contact information.  Their new friends, Paula Milano and Eric Nielsen, then walked them far enough to see the café’s sign and they vowed to get together before leaving at the end of the week.

The meal at Main Street Over Easy did not disappoint and in fact exceeded Jay and Chris’ expectations of breakfast fare in a small western town.  But the delay in finding it, plus the time spent eating, left only an hour to take in the Farmers’ Market. 

Compared to the Fairgrounds near Annapolis and Baltimore, Bozeman’s was quite small.  And due to the minute percentage of produce stands vs. craft vendors, it seemed to Chris that it should be called a flea market or craft fair rather than a Farmers’ Market; but they found the fresh veggies she wanted and then some.   To Chris it was an opportunity to get some unique Christmas gifts.  To Jay it was about PIE!!  They sought and they scored!

After two weeks without a cell signal hundreds of e-mails needed attention, bills needed to be paid, laundry had to be washed and in general, the travelers enjoyed not needing to drive anywhere except to re-provision their depleted supplies.   Dinner with Paula and Eric was their only commitment and they all enjoyed it thoroughly.

A view of the Madison Mountain Range from Peets Hill/Burke Park in Bozeman.

 

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In May of 2010 Chris corresponded with a former computer client, turned friend, about their plans to tour Montana that year.  (If you’ve been following the blog you know those plans were delayed until 2011.)   Chris’ friend knew a couple that lived in Deer Lodge, MT and suggested that they get together when they passed through the area on the way to Glacier National Park.  Several e-mails later an invitation to visit was extended by the Deer Lodge residents, Irene and Bill Fries (pronounced frees).   Not wanting to be an imposition on people they’d never met, and not knowing how they might get along, Chris arranged to stay only through a weekend.   On Friday, August 5^th Jay maneuvered Sonny onto a level area of their front lawn while trying not to be distracted by the view across the valley of the majestic Flint Creek mountain range and the 10,000 foot Mt. Powell.  Irene and Bill were gracious hosts and the two couples found much in common to discuss and do. 

A breathtakingly beautiful sunset over the Flint Creek Range.

Irene is an avid hiker, but long treks do not agree with Bill’s extremities which keep him home working on improvements or woodworking projects.   Elated that Chris and Jay shared her outdoor interest, the three of them planned to hike the next day.   She took them to a trail that led to the Barker Lakes – one lower, the other upper.   The trail to the lower lake took them through open fields with spectacular views of the surrounding peaks, Lodgepole Pine forests and rock strewn meadows dotted with stunted trees but brimming with wildflowers of every color amongst  the lush, tall, vibrant  green grasses which are nourished by the turbulent lake-fed stream running parallel to the path. 

A patch of wildflowers along the trail.

After several miles they crested a hill and before them lay a mountain paradise.  Gray peaks, dotted with tenacious patches of snow, soared above a deep green skirt of mature pine and fir and wrapped around the lake like a protective, 4,000 foot high horseshoe.  The hikers longed to build a cozy cabin on the shore and live out the rest of their days in quiet, stress-free solitude.      

Chris and Jay at Lower Barker Lake.

Irene had a magazine article that explained how to get to the upper lake and Chris, more than Jay, was eager to help her find it.  The writer explained that trees with patches of bark removed were the trail markers to look for.  The hikers set out on a faint trail around the rim of the lake and turned inland where they thought the directions indicated.  At this point there was no trail but they pressed through rough, dead limbs and over errant rocks and rotting logs trying to find the bare spots on trees that would mark their way.  The directions indicated crossing a 100 foot wide rock slide and that a tree with a bare patch was visible on the other side.  Chris and Irene left Jay, who was tiring of the exercise, and scaled an almost vertical slope littered with boulders the size of a body ball to reach a level area that they thought might lead them to the lake; and maybe even spy one of the bare trail markers.  Nothing was sighted but dark storm clouds above the mountain peaks heading their way. 

Irene descending the rock slide.

Feeling their efforts were in vain, and much to Jay’s relief, they all trekked down to the lake and arrived under the shelter of some dense evergreens just as the heavens opened complete with bolts of lightning and rolling claps of thunder.   It was the Christening of Chris and Jay’s ponchos that they so dutifully carted around with them on every hike and Irene covered up with a beach blanket she kept in her pack.

The sky cleared and they made it back to the car unscathed but disappointed they’d not located the upper lake.  A search on Google maps revealed that it was on the other side of the mountain to the left of the lake and one had to skirt around the base of it to get to the other side.   If three, intelligent people couldn’t locate the elusive body of water, they determined that the article’s directions were misleading and the map grossly inaccurate.

The next day Bill joined them to spend the afternoon at the Grant-Kohrs Ranch National Historic Site located in Deer Lodge.  All that remains of one of the largest Montana cattle ranches is 1,600 acres and 80 historic structures originally used by founder, Johnny Grant, and subsequent owner, Conrad Kohrs, from the 1850s well into the 20^th century.  In the Ranch’s heyday 50,000 head of cattle roamed over 10 million acres of western Montana, Wyoming, Colorado and Canada.   The visitors toured the monstrous home, learned about the role of the chuck wagon on cattle drives and even practiced throwing a lasso around a makeshift wooden horse. 

A Ranch Volunteer, who makes a stiff cup of coffee, stands next to the Chuckwagon.

Bill Fries watches Jay practice his lassoing skills.

The new friends all agreed that their time together was too short and Chris and Jay promised to spend more time when they next passed through the area.  On Monday, August 8^th they departed for a four-day layover at Missoula, a few hours to the northwest.

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Missoula was a much larger town than they had expected but Jay took advantage of the plethora of large, chain stores to purchase some items that he had coveted for some time.  When Chris is photographing he usually takes along a magazine to read and pass the time.  He’d finished so many over the last year that he was running out of the stockpile of back issues he’d accumulated and wanted to begin reading novels, but didn’t want to carry the weight.  An e-reader seemed to be the logical solution and he finally found one that suited his needs and price range in Missoula.  He also yearned for a cell signal booster since the signals, in the remote areas where they camped, often were less than three bars resulting in dropped calls and making internet usage painfully slow.  He was ecstatic to find one and couldn’t wait to get it installed.

Despite the nearby train, the large, grassy sites and profusion of flowers in manicured beds, throughout the RV Park, made Chris and Jay think that it was one of the prettiest in which they had stayed.  They learned that their neighbors, Gerry and Dee Vachon, agreed when they got together one night after dinner.   The spacious lawns between the sites were home to large shade trees and created an inviting location for several hours of casual conversation.  After dusk the temperatures chilled so they moved inside - just before the sprinklers came on.  Gerry and Dee stayed only one night and an Oriental family took the site the next day.  They were still sitting outside at the picnic table after dinner when Chris and Jay heard their surprised but playful screams when the sprinklers unexpectedly doused them.  Smiles creased the listener’s faces. 

Even though they thought the scheduled down time would enable them to complete long put-off projects, it was not the case but they were looking forward to their visit in Polson with Jay’s old Coast Guard buddy, Fletcher Brown and his new wife Yan Zi, whom he had met on a visit to China seven years before.  The drive from Missoula to Polson was another short day and they arrived at Fletcher’s Montana country home, overlooking the thirty mile-long Flathead River and the quaint town of Polson, the afternoon of Friday, August 12^th .