West 2008: Tuesday, July 22, and Wednesday, July 23, 2008

After visiting Farragut State Park, we spent the night at Coeur D’Alene, and set out the next morning in a different direction. Up to this point we had been traveling more or less in a westerly direction. But from this point on we would be traveling mostly east as we began the long return trip to Ohio. But there was still much to see.

Less than an hour out of Coeur De’Alene, we stopped at Old Mission State Park where a church is preserved. It was built by Native Americans, the Coeur D’Alene tribe, and staffed by Jesuit priests who lived on the premises. Originally called the Mission of the Sacred Heart in Cataldo, Idaho, it was designated as a Registered Historical Landmark in 1962. The original building was erected in 1848 after moving the site of the church some 35 miles from the valley of the St. Joe River which was subject to flooding.

The native Americans had heard about "medicine men" who wore black robes and carried a black book, and they wanted some of these men to come and be part of their tribes. Scouts were sent to St. Louis to request that such men come west to minister to them. In response, priest Pierre-Jean De Smet moved to the area and established the church in 1842.

The building was designed by another priest, Antonio Rivalli but built by the members of the tribe using a construction method known as wattle and daub. The wattle consists of strips of wood or small branches that are used to form a lattice. The daub, usually made of mud, sand, animal dung and other natural substances, is daubed over the lattice work to form a wall. There were no nails used in the original construction.

Other buildings were added to the complex, including a parish house in which the priests lived and other buildings used to house guests and for use as a port for boats on the Coeur D’Alene River which runs along the property.

The church building was restored in 1976 and is now maintained as an Idaho state park. The parish house now serves as a temporary visitor center while the new center is being constructed. There is a small cemetery down the hill from the church. The church building itself is said to be the oldest standing building in the state of Idaho. It represents the blending of Native American and American cultures.

After visiting the mission, we drove out of Idaho and back into Montana, staying in Billings overnight. The next day we continued southeast into Wyoming. Just before we reached the Montana-Wyoming border, we stopped at another place of significance in American history, a place that was the scene of a bloody battle between Native Americans and Americans.

Lt. Colonel George A. Custer, assigned to lead the 600 men of the Seventh Cavalry stationed at Fort Abraham Lincoln in the Dakota Territory, and more than 1100 miles from his home in Monroe, Michigan, set out on May 17, 1876 on orders from President Ulysses S. Grant to put down an Indian uprising in the valley of the Little Bighorn River in the Montana Territory. The discovery of gold in the Black Hills region helped to set the stage for the battle. The United States government had given a large area of eastern Wyoming to the Lakota tribe as a permanent reservation. The area included the Black Hills of what is now South Dakota. The discovery of gold brought unruly fortune seekers to the area in violation of the treaty made with the Indians. Efforts to quell this invasion failed.

An alliance was made between the Lakota and the Cheyenne, and the Indians began conducting raids on settlements and travelers. The government ordered them to stop or they would be identified as hostile and dealt with by military force.

The indians declined, and the Seventh Cavalry was sent to settle the problem.
Custer and his men arrived at the Little Bighorn in late June of 1876 and located the Indian camp on June 25. His opponents were the Lakota leader Sitting Bull and Chief Crazy Horse and the more than 1200 warriors they commanded. It is generally conceded that Custer underestimated the numbers and determination of the Indians and divided the cavalry into three separate battalions thus weakening his ability to defeat the Indians. He apparently did not realize that the Indian forces outnumbered his nearly three-to-one.

In two days of intense and bloody battle, the Seventh Cavalry was decimated. More than a third of the 600 men under Custer’s command were killed. The Indians lost no more than 100 warriors.

It was on the hill now called Last Stand Hill where Custer and his men died. It was Custer’s Land Stand. As it turned out, it was the Indian’s last stand as well. The government demanded harsh retaliation from the Indians and redrew the boundary lines putting the Black Hills region outside the reservation. In a few years, westward advancement by white settlers intensified and the Indians had little choice but to see their lands occupied by settlers.

Today, the battlefield is the site of a national monument that recognizes the clash of two cultures that took place here. In this peaceful spot it is difficult to image the horror of the battle that took place here. Monuments to the soldiers and to the warriors are both included in the area which lies within the Crow Indian Reservation where Indian horses today may wonder onto the roadway.

Brave men on both sides of the battle gave their lives for what they believed to be the truth. But perhaps those from both sides who worked together to build a mission in nearby Idaho were closer to the truth.

Photos: Old Mission church built by Couer d'Alene tribe and staffed by Jesuit priests in Idaho in 1848. Battle of the Little Bighorn National Monument, Montana, where Lakota and Cheyenne tribes defeated Lt. Col. George A. Custer and the Seventh Cavalry in 1876.

West 2008: Sunday, July 20, 2008

The top of the world! That’s where we felt we were in this day that was truly a highlight of our trip.

We began the day in Great Falls, Montana and ended it 237 miles later in Kalispell, Montana. And in between was perhaps the most spectacular of all of America’s national parks.

Before entering the park that was on our agenda for the day, we viewed some of its mountains from a valley filled with a meadow teaming with life. We also saw up close the damage done by a recent fire.

We entered Glacier National Park at its eastern entrance near St. Mary, Montana. After stopping at the Visitor Center there, we headed west on the famous Going-To-The-Sun Highway.

This highway is a monument to human invention. Considering it was laid out and built in the late 1920s and early 1930s, it is a wonder it could even be built. A two-lane wide ledge had to be blasted out of the sides of the mountains, graded and paved. Adequate drainage had to be planned and installed. And all of this in an area that is covered in eight feet of snow each year for nine or ten months of each year.

But a greater wonder from a far greater Creator than man are the mountains themselves. Sheer walls of rock plant their feet firmly in forests of pine trees and stick their snowy heads up into the sky. Only God could create scenes like these.

Two large glacier lakes lie along side Going-To-The-Sun highway. The first we encountered was St. Mary Lake. We found a quiet picnic area to enjoy our lunch, then walked a few feet down to the shore of the lake.

Tiny Wild Goose Island sits in the middle of St. Mary Lake, its smallness providing a sharp contrast to the huge backdrop of mountains.

One of the highlights of the day, and perhaps one I wish my honesty did not compel me to relate, occurred 6,646 feet above sea level, at Logan Pass. We were on the Continental Divide at this point as we parked in the Visitor Center parking lot.

A friend of Linda’s who had recently made her own trip to Glacier told Linda to be sure to take the trail at Logan Pass. She said it offered spectacular views and that we would probably see lots of wildlife from it.

Okay. I enjoy hiking and Linda and I have hiked in many places over the forty years we have been husband and wife. So I thought little of setting out on the trail, camera in hand.

Five days beyond the middle day of July, snow still managed an obvious presence in the scenes that lay before us as we set out, with many other visitors, on the trail that led straight out from the Visitor Center. The early part of the trail was easy, given that it ran first on a paved walkway and then on a wooden boardwalk past alpine meadows that seemed in sharp contrast to the white that lay ahead in our path.

I began to be a little apprehensive. Even though I was raised in Michigan where snow is not uncommon, I had never mastered the art of walking down a snow-covered slope. Walking up was a challenge to me, but walking down was more than a challenge. It was an accident waiting to happen.

We crossed two or three snow patches, then decided that at our ages, it was probably not prudent to proceed further on a snow-covered trail that was going higher and higher up the side of a mountain. In spite of the advice from Linda’s friend, we decided to turn around and return to the area at the Visitor Center.

But there was one fairly long patch of snow lying on the downward slope of our path between us and the Visitor Center. We set out across it, Linda in front and me following and many other walkers nearby. I stepped carefully, but the downward slope and the slippery snow beneath me caused me to tumble forwards, bringing Linda down with me into the snow. Unhurt, except for my pride, I held the camera high to protect it during the fall.

Remind me not to walk downslope in snow again.

But there were pleasant things to compensate for my slip in the snow, things like bighorn sheep walking sure-footed on the very snow that was my downfall. And extraordinary views of giant slabs of rock sporting mantles of snow.

From Logan Pass we continued west on the Going-To- The-Sun-Road toward Big Bend where the road sweeps through a gentle curve alongside a spectacular valley which falls away from the road along the rock face known as the Garden Wall. Here we drove under cascading meltwater that tumbled onto the concrete and splashed over our car.

The Going-to-The-Sun road was undergoing some needed repairs and reconstruction, so we ran into orange barrels at several thousand feet above sea level on a narrow ledge that was blasted out of solid rock nearly eighty years ago. Even in the construction areas, however, there were spectacular views of the glaciers, the mountains that sported them and the valleys that lay peacefully at their feet.

Lake McDonald, the second of the two huge glacier lakes along the highway, provided a late afternoon end to our journey. Before leaving the park, we stopped at Apgar Village on the west end, and then on to our night’s lodging in Kalispell. Tomorrow we would face another milestone on our trip, but one with more impact on our emotions than on our senses.

Photo: Glacier National Park, Montana. Bighorn sheep at Logan Pass.

West 2008: Saturday, July 19, 2008

An area so remote you can hear birds singing a mile away. You can hear the air moving, not the wind, the air. You can look in all directions and not see another human being.

This describes the Charles M. Russell National Wildlife Refuge in northeastern Montana, the place where we spent the better part of this day.

Russell was a painter who is well known for his paintings of rural life in early Montana. The refuge that bears his name stretches for more than 100 miles along the Missouri River from Fort Peck on the east to US 191 on the west.

From US 191, we entered the refuge via the gravel park road which winds for about 19 miles through the grandeur and remoteness of the western end of the refuge. Mile after mile of deeply eroded canyons displaying colorful bands rolled out beneath our feet. Sagebrush grows low and gray all around.

When the pioneers came to this type of land formation after crossing the seemingly endless prairie, they were frustrated because driving their wagon trains through this terrain without roads was nearly impossible. This gravel road we enjoyed certainly would have been appreciated by those western-bound Americans seeking a better life beyond these badlands.

Perhaps the highlight of the trip occurred when Linda walked down a recently bulldozed trail and disturbed a red-winged blackbird when she approached too close to the nest. The bird went into attack mode, but retreated when Linda got past the nest.

The trail ended at the Missouri River. The trail was wide enough to accommodate our car, so I risked the wrath of the bird once again to get our Rav 4 and drive it down to the river where we enjoyed our lunch under the shade of a large tree.

After lunch we continued on our way along the Auto Tour Drive. Linda enjoyed walking along the gravel road looking for birds and enjoying the quiet afternoon.

That evening we were in Great Falls, Montana. We traveled 319 miles that day, but the best of those miles were the 19 miles we drove through the Charles M. Russell National Wildlife Refuge.


Photo: Charles M. Russell National Wildlife Refuge, Montana.

West 2008: Friday, July 18, 2008

There are 284 scenic miles that separate Dickinson, North Dakota and Glasgow, Montana, and we drove those miles this day in one of the shorter driving days at four and a half hours.

Our first stop shortly after leaving Dickinson was at the Painted Valley exit on I-94 east of Medora, ND. Here the prairie suddenly becomes the badlands. From the parking lot of the visitor center here one looks into the twisted and colorful valleys lying in the south unit of the Theodore Roosevelt National Park.

A few miles down the Interstate, at Medora, ND, is the entrance to the south unit of the park. Here the National Parkway Road takes one on a breath-taking tour of the Badlands that inspired the nation’s twenty-sixth president to urge Congress to set aside wilderness areas as national parks to preserve them and the wildlife that thrived within them. Along the way, Linda was delighted to spot a herd of wild horses along the road.

On the Parkway Road, we first came to the site of a prairie dog town where the little creatures sound warnings when danger comes near.

We also saw wild horses and a buffalo or two as we drove along the road. But the most impressive sight was the scenery of rock and stone and scrawny plants that consume whatever moisture they can find and cling for their very lives to the buttes and canyons that run everywhere in the park.

In the afternoon, we drove the rest of the way to Glasgow, Montana. On our way we could clearly see that a storm was approaching. Fortunately when it arrived, we were in Wolf Point, a small town on the Fort Peck Indian Reservation. We took refuge in the parking lot of a fast food restaurant and holed up until the rain let up.

After settling in to our motel in Glasgow, we drove about twenty minutes to Fort Peck, Montana, a small town located in one of the windiest spots in the state. The town is located at the eastern end of the Charles M. Russell National Wildlife Refuge. It is where the prairie ends and the rugged hills begin.

When the pioneers crossed the prairie, it seemed endless to them. Miles and miles of an ocean of grass blowing in the incessant wind produced in part by the fact there are few trees to break it up. They thought they would never get out of the prairie.

But what they did not know is that just ahead of them, when they finally left the prairie, something much worse awaited them.

Photo: Buffalo relaxing at the Theodore Roosevelt National Park, North Dakota.