Pickleville
I went on my first official ‘photography specific’ excursion today, hiking six miles of cattle trails along three rivers. The Cache National forest’s terrain is dangerously similar. Keeping a mental topographical map is useful when groves of aspens and snow-melt rivers run together.
My Jeep, a 1987 with, somehow, only one-hundred thousand miles, is a Clydesdale, making easy work of slippery, muddy mountain trails. The Jeep reminds me of a Frankenstein’d Telephone switch board. We rattle up and down the hills, causing bolts to come loose. I never see the origin of their falls, so I put them in an empty hole. It also has more cut wires hanging than Portuguese Man-O-War. No complaints from me. It’s the second most fun I’ve had in a vehicle.
Even through the snow storms, my windows are unzipped (soft top) so I can breathe in as much as possible. My favorite is stopping in the middle of the road, turning off the engine, standing next to the river, knowing I’m about the only one there. I did meet a group of hunters in a side by side who laughed at my youthful excitement for a few snowflakes falling.
I was visiting with some antique ladies today. When I told them I was heading to Montana for the winter, they legitimately glanced at each other. The one on the left I’d met before. She said, “He’s from Texas”.
I promise you, bits of laughter began to lurch from her co-worker, like she was trying to sneeze without farting. She then doubled over in full roar, apologizing to me for her inappropriateness. (Side note: Inappropriateness is a very difficult word to type quickly.)
My only response was a huge smile and an explanation that my life now is about new frontiers, serious challenges and, with a wink in her direction, instantly memorable connections with strangers. That sobered her up. With a sparkle of understanding in her eyes, she folded my hand between both of hers. “You’ll overcome your challenges in Montana. This moment was instantly memorable. It has been a pleasure.”
We’ll see if I’m still excited by snow after experiencing Montana’s winter. I will be in a valley there, so the snowfall is not significant. The valleys are the ‘tropical’ zones in these parts, I’m told. I was also told by the antique lady that it’s good to travel with dogs because they taste better than horse. When I did a double take, she quickly realized her lack of quantifying information was upsetting me. In my head I was plotting to get more ‘fluffy’ dogs – mine aren’t very meaty. Apparently, Lewis & Clark preferred one over the other in survival situations.
Which brings up an observation. I was educated in one state but of course we learned about every state. Obviously, regionally, the education would go much deeper into the native state’s history. This is not an epiphany for me, but rather a bird’s eye view of educational differences. Everyone has heard of Lewis & Clark and the Oregon Trail, but locals exude a much deeper general knowledge and respect for the explorers of this region.
Just to my north, Montpelier, in 1863, was founded by sixteen families that were sent from another settlement. I like to imagine 160 years ago, hundreds of miles from anyone, starting a town from scratch in the raw wilderness. How big is that gene pool? I’m seriously kidding.
The rig is still leaking coolant, so I’m on special privilege with this park’s owner. A very understanding and accommodating host, he’s letting me stay beyond the park’s seasonal closing until the rig is fixed. He grew up exploring the mountains I am now, so we’ve connected through stories and admiration of this terrain. If you ever find yourself in Southeast Idaho, ask me for the RV park name and please, at the very least, stop by and say hi to him.
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