©Bert Gildart: Though we are within striking distance today of Bend, Oregon, location this year for the Northwest Outdoor Writer’s Association annual meeting, the beauty of slot canyons is still on my mind. They’re easily accessed from Lake Powell Recreation area and my last two posts have described some of their beauty.

Look at the picture in my last posting of Janie ascending from “Mother Earth,” and then look at the ones posted here.  This is what you see beneath the fissure in the earth.  This is Lower Antelope Canyon, and must certainly represent some of the most beautiful erosion in the world.

Add to this some skillfully rendered flute music in what is a continuous echo chamber and visual beauty is augmented with an ethereal sound that delights the auditory and visual senses.

Negotiating some of the bends and twists could be challenging but the Navajo have installed iron steps to facilitate placement of feet, creating a perfectly safe environment.

Presence of Janie in image adds depth

Because I had established professional credentials – and paid for a special photography permit which authorized publication of my images – Janie and I were permitted to wander alone.  My permit specified that I would not deface these incredible works of time, and I certainly had no problem signing the paper containing that agreement.    Apparently, in the past some have lacked integrity, and I am delighted the Navajo are going to great lengths to preserve these national treasures.

The record-breaking temperatures throughout the country persist as we travel, but we recall the slots were cool, another reason to visit these gorgeous examples of subterranean erosion.

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AIRSTREAM TRAVELS THREE YEARS AGO:

*They were Honeyed Up — Reflections From My days as a Backcountry Ranger

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©Bert Gildart: In the last couple of posts I have covered the beauty of slot canyon, specifically, those on the Navajo Indian Reservation, located at Lake Powell, near Page, Arizona.

But what is a “Slot Canyon?”

Essentially, they are narrow canyons sculpted  by the forces of erosion.  Here, these forces create art, and the medium is mostly Navajo Sandstone, generally colored yellow, orange and red, or a combination of the three.

Janie ascending from "Mother Earth," which is more traditionally referred to as Lower Antelope Canyon.

Often forces act on these walls over the millennia and in the case of Lower Antelope. Length of the canyons may be short or long, but in this image of Janie ascending, it is so extensive that it appears she is literally ascending from Mother Earth, and been doing so over an extended period of time. No wonder so many legends of origin are related to a grand exodus from the world below.

Though beautiful to explore, ventures must be chosen with care. In spring the area is subject to violent thunder storms, and about 10 years ago eleven hikers from France, Sweden,  England  and the U.S.  were drowned, caught below in flash-flood waters that rushed between the steep vertical walls. Sadly, none in the group escaped.

At the moment we’re traveling to Bend, Oregon, but my mind is still on the beauty of our adventures in and around Page, so I will be posting a few more images as we travel.

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THIS TIME FOUR YEARS AGO:

*Compassionate Water Tanks

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©Bert Gildart: Off and on over the past few days Janie and I have been visiting a number of areas formerly occupied by the Southern Sinagua Indians.  One of the most spectacular of these areas was Montezuma Well, a natural tank of water created when an unground cavern sunk.

Today, this natural limestone sinkhole near Rimrock, Arizona, sees the flow each day of over 1,400,000 US gallons all created by two underground springs. The well measures 368 feet across and is 55 feet deep.

Janie descending trail to Montezuma Well

Water from the well was used for irrigation, and trails maintained by the national park service provide bird’s eye views of the outlet in the side of a wall from which the waters pour from Montezuma Well.

CHALLENGING LIFE

The Sinagua once used the water for irrigation funneling it through a canal, just as it is done today.  Today, farmers still use portions of the water that yet  flows through the original Sinagua canal. Some Native Americans  believe they emerged into this world through the well, and remains a very sacred place to them.

L to R:  Small cliff dwelling near Montezuma Well; canal that directs water from outlet seen at middle right to agricultural fields; Montezuma Castle

Trail to the canal pass by several old cliff dwellings, and we stopped to examine several.  Another nearby visitor  said they’d just seen a scorpion scurrying across the rock floor.  Most likely, life for these people provided constant challenges.

THE NAME STUCK

One of the best preserved of all these cliff dwelling is Montezuma Castle, located about ten miles away and a ruin we wanted to see, because it had a reputation of being very well preserved.  The odd name came from the mistaken believe that the cliff dwelling was a castle Aztec refuges had built for their emperor.  Montezuma, however, never strayed this far north, but the name stuck.

Today, marks the end of a week-long stay at Dead Horse Ranch near Cottonwood, and from here we’re making a slight detour to hopefully take in the scenic wonders provided at Antelope Canyon near Page.  It is probably one of the most sought out places by professional photographers, which is probably a good reason now to avoid it.  But it is also our last chance to visit with Don and Nancy before we all go our separate ways, a couple we’ve grown very fond of.

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AIRSTREAM TRAVELS THREE YEARS AGO:

*Natchez Trace

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©Bert Gildart:  This past Sunday Don, Nancy (our Airstream travel companions) and I hiked and climbed to the top of Flatiron Mountain, high atop the Superstition Mountains.  Though the first part of the trip was easy, the last part was almost as difficult as climbing Old Rag in Shenandoah National Park, which I did several years ago.

Note trail which courses from campground below and then through center of image.

The trip begins from Lost Dutchman Campground where hikers access the Siphon Draw Trail, which begins climbing almost immediately.  The trail, however, is well maintained and we easily ascended to an area commonly referred to as The Waterfalls.  The Siphon Draw Trail ends here but a route continues on, and though easy to follow is not easy to climb.

All along the way hikers must climb around boulders and in several places, it helped if one were acquainted with the concept of three-point holds before moving further upward.  The route continues in this manner for about a mile but eventually breaks out into an opening.  Views are spectacular and rocks formations incredible.  Spires jut up and views of the sprawling town of Apache Junction become more of an abstraction rather than a distraction.

L to R:  Slick rock over which water falls subsequent to rain; ascending route to Flatiron, seen in background; descending Flatiron.

As we wandered around the top, which is like a plateau, we found the black spot which represents the disastrous plane crash from this past November.  According to the report, a father flying his own personal plane picked up his children for Thanksgiving and apparently misjudged the height of Superstition Mountain, which is about 5,000 feet elevation. The plane reportedly hit the mountain at about 4,500 feet, and we could easily see the scorch marks on the spires. Some debris remained at the base.

But this is not a report on tragedies, just simply an observation, and the hike was dramatized – and dominated by – the beauty which surrounded us.  Indian legends report that the mountains hold the spirits of their deceased, and settlers, learning about the stories, began to call the mountains the Superstitions.

L to R:  View of Flatiron just past point where “route” breaks out above boulder fields; view from Flatiron; igneous spires forming part of Flatiron’s intrigue.

Climbing and then descending Flatiron required the use of upper body muscles which I had not used for hiking or climbing in some time and, now, several days later, I’m still feeling the effects.  But that’s OK, as the majority seem to turn around when the reach The Falls, and that’s too bad as the panoramas from the top are truly astounding.

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AIRSTREAM TRAVELS TWO YEARS AGO:

*Padre Island is a Birder’s Paradise

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©Bert Gildart:  The cacti are blooming now in the hills that surround us here in Arizona’s Lost Dutchman State Park, allowing me to pursue my fascination with macro photography.  For me that means multiple strobe setups and a sturdy tripod to optimize composition.  Ideally, the tripod should be one that allows one to position the camera about a foot above the ground level.

Strobes enable one to arrest all motion and optimize depth of field.

To improve understanding of the flower’s components  requires that one increase depth of field, and so I stopped my Nikon 105mm macro lens  down to f-32.  As well I set the camera to manual and then the shutter speed to 250 of a second.  Those settings override ambient light meaning that all illumination is created by the proper  positioning of the strobes.  Such powerful light positioned up close  makes the background go black which seems to intensify the flower’s yellow color.  However, the brilliance of strobe light can create “hot” spots so I covered the domes with diffusers.

But the work pays off  for it dramatizes the color and it accentuates the spines of the cacti, which appear as tiny spears.  Touch them as you may think they are.  Hard to believe that  from an evolutionary point of view spines were actually  derived from leaves.

Because the thorns seem to leap onto a person’s clothing and lodge in their flesh, many call these yellow-flowered cacti “jumping cholla.”  Spend a day wandering around cacti and you’ll soon agree the term is appropriate.

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THIS TIME TWO YEARS AGO:

**Padre Island Pelican Patrol

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©Bert Gildart:  Yesterday, Janie and I hiked to an incredible area in the southern part of Anza Borrego Desert State Park looking for pictographs, which after several years of searching we finally found.  Don’t expect a detailed map to the area, but I will report on this  incredible Native American art form in my next posting.  Sadly, so many antiquities have been destroyed that various laws have had to be enacted to protect them.  Fines help  — and they have ranged in the thousands — and that is good, but money can’t restore defaced rock art.

While on the trip it was encouraging to see a few flowers starting to rear their lovely heads.  There has been so very little rain this winter that some are saying there will be but  few flowers this spring. And it is true, the flowers I show here were confined to areas  where the little moisture that has accumulated tends to collect, such as  in boulder fields and in protected pockets of south facing slopes.

To make these images I used various techniques, which one must employ to  dramatize their beauty and intensify their color.  For the purple penstemon, I used two strobes; for the fish hook cactus, I blocked the sun using a broad brimmed out – else the plants would have been filled with contrasty light.  And for the yellow agave flower I used back lightening, which always seems to work well for plants that are colored yellow.

Because these are some of the first flowers of spring, it does suggest that other species will soon follow.  However, the presence of only a few  also suggests  that some  looking will be required.

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AIRSTREAM TRAVELS THREE YEARS AGO:

*Spring Flowers in Death Valley

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Pacing off size

©Bert Gildart: Five-hundred years from now – after man has rebounded from a devastating decline in population associated with much tragic and social unrest — archaeologists will reemerge to wonder about those who lived in the distant past. (Come on, play along for a minute.)

They begin by excavating, and because deserts are always so productive, lo and behold, they begin in Anza Borrego. Here, they find a rock or two whose juxtaposition appears to have been created intentionally.

“Eureka!” someone exclaims! And then they begin the tedious process of uncovering the entire structure.

Months later, a form will appear, and scientists will conclude that it was the recreation of a huge snake.

In fact, with its triangular shaped head and segmented tail (all created with the artistic arrangement of rocks) it appears to be a rattlesnake.

120 Foot-Long Serpent

Measurements will determine the sinuous form of the snake stretches about 40 feet but that if uncoiled, it would measure 120-feet long.

Much time must have to have been devoted to the project, perhaps, scholars will conclude, four or five hours.  But, then, to perfect the structure, these people had to return over a period of several days, perhaps even weeks. And because so much time was involved our future scientist will have to wonder if Homo sapiens of the period deified the snake?

Searching for answers scholars will dig into books created by the ancients of the year 2012, and they will learn  that Native Americans of the mid-18^th Century (as an example)  created images of the creatures that were important to them at the time.  In this place still called Anza Borrego they created symbols of the sun and of the anthropomorphs.

They created graphic images of the genitalia of men and woman perhaps as a means of increasing fertility.  And in other areas still preserved in lands yet known (we can hope) as National Parks, they learned Native ancients created images of sheep, possibly because sheep (Zion NP)had died out. They hoped that through the creation of their images that they would generate the magic needed to bring sheep back, and so push back hunger. (Other petroglyph sites I’ve visited: Earth Mother, V-Bar-V)

In other words, they carved out pictographs and petroglyphs for all sorts of reasons, generally for reasons that seemed important at the time.

Which brings us to our snake.

Worship of Snakes

Serpents have long been worshiped, because they shed their skins and are symbolically “reborn.” In fact, classes of the Hindu and Buddhist have worshipped (and still worship) snakes – and very large ones at that.  And, so, it is probably safe to extend the feeling of awe for snakes to Homo sapiens at large. And because of recent events, so it is here at Pegleg. Just the other day someone saw a large rattler in the hills just behind us.

Through the eons, many have worshipped snakes

I honestly have no idea who created the huge serpent, but the reasons could be associated with some of the above. Perhaps it was an infertile couple desirous of procreation; a group hoping for immunity from a bite.  Or perhaps as scientist say, no one really knows why the ancients created the thousands of pictographs and petroglyphs that cover the American Southwest. “Maybe,” our scholars say, “they were simply doodling, trying to pass the time on a warm winter day.

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AIRSTREAM TRAVELS THREE YEARS AGO:

*Airstreaming Along the Blue Ridge Parkway

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©Bert Gildart: In a land where everything either sticks, stings or bites,  Bill (see previous post) and I decided we would return to the Moonlight Canyon trail and see if we could learn more about what — and how — sheep eat. Can they actually digest thorns?

Surviving in a land where everything sticks, stings or bites

Essentially because this area in Anza Borrego Desert State Park  is so rugged, it is, in fact, ideal sheep country, and that morning we’d watched as a band of about five desert bighorn sheep – all young rams – had munched on surrounding vegetation.  Food they consumed grew close to the ground and from our vantage we could not see what it was.  Everything here seemed covered with thorns, and we wondered how they managed.

A DIET OF CACTI?

The sheep had moved on so Bill and I decided to climb to the prominence on which they’d been watching the world around them. Here, we found much cholla, and every single one contained extraordinarily sharp thorns.

Sheep munch away the sharp thorns to exposure the underlying fruit of the cholla. Apparently, it is all palatable.

Mind you, these were brutally sharp thorns, and as we had climbed, several had lodged in the soft fabric of my jeans and then penetrated to jab me in a particularly painfully manner.  This was the food of our sheep, and as we examined the plants, we found no discarded thorns.  Apparently, they had consumed not only the fruit of the cacti, but also the thorns.

MICRO CLIMATES

Bill and I returned to the trail and his attention turned to the various micro-climates contained along the Moonlight Canyon trail. He asked me if I’d noted the various rock pockets where temperatures fluctuated, and it was true.  Here in this twist-y canyon where the aspect changed markedly, we found not only pockets of cold, but also pockets of relative warmth. Apparently, the warm pockets provided conditions appropriate for the season’s last brave flowering species.

Bill said he believed the flower was a fuchsia. With its long red sepals and petals and very conspicuous stamen it was a colorful plant, necessary perhaps to attract insects for late season pollination.  It was a perfect photographic specimen so I attached a 105mm macro lens, set up a tripod, and then illuminated it with two strobes manually  (250sec, f32)  set to overwhelm ambient light, so producing the black background.

Janie and I left Agua Calienta late in the day, commenting over and over that we’d had a marvelous day, filled with good friends, flowers, birds, and wildlife. How could it get any better?

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THIS TIME THREE YEARS AGO:

Channel Islands

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©Bert Gildart: Snow covered the Vallecito Mountains as we made our drive to Agua Calienta to see our friends Bill and Larry.

Vallecito Mountains, December 14th. That's snow up there folks!

Janie and I meet the two men about four years ago and discovered that we shared similar interests and an interest in acquiring skills we all admired.  Larry is a gourmet cook, Bill a photographer and an interpreter of history at a park center in San Diego.  Perhaps not too coincidentally, we all share a love of Airstream travel. What’s more Bill and I share a fascination with one of Anza Borrego’s most historic of all characters,  Marshall South.

KINDEST OF PEOPLE

I also want to say that Bill and Larry are two of the kindest men we’ve ever met. When we arrived, we saw that Larry had laid out a Christmas table onto which he later served a gourmet pork stew. Larry had also made several Christmas decorations that he wanted Janie to have.

Christmas at Bill and Larry's

Once, both men were professional care givers, but are now retired.  Larry was an occupational therapist while Bill was master-level nurse.  The two have been together now for 40 years and certainly that was one of the many things we discussed.

COMMON INTERESTS

But most of our time was spent talking about the area’s natural history.  Agua Calienta was one of the places Marshall South described, and over the years, Bill and I have made many hikes to learn more about this fascinating man who is often described as the forerunner of the hippies.

We talked about Moonlight Canyon and the hike Janie, Bill and I had just completed and all the sheep we saw, something I will describe in my next posting.  We talked about the quail we’d all seen during our desert hike.

Later the park ranger dropped by and Larry showed him a book I had written several years ago on big horn sheep.  That set the stage for an hour long discussion about the Peninsular Bighorn and it’s struggle to survive. Mark, the ranger said he would try and help us find the “really big guy,” if we came back.

Certainly we will come back.  In fact sometime next month most likely you’ll be reading a post specifically about Aqua Calienta.  In the meantime Janie and I want to take a moment to thank both Bill and Larry for the excellent food, good company, gifts, and for introducing us to this part of Anza Borrego.

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THIS TIME TWO YEARS AGO:

*Pure Photography In Many Glacier Valley

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©Bert Gildart: Last night as I was returning from my chore of loading up our four, six gallon water jugs to replenish part of the 40 gallons of water we seem to use each week, the moon began to rise.

Before I had gone far palm trees began to border the moon, reminding us that the desert can indeed provide stunning vistas, particularly in the evening and then even more dramatically, at night.

Out here in wide open spaces, one of our pleasures is, in fact, the night skies, and Janie and I contend that the deserts offer some of the best in viewing opportunities.

Our contention begs this question:

How many places are left in the United States where night skies are clear enough to study – much less – see the various constellations?  Or even the moon?  Anza Borrego now prides itself as being on a national  register of areas still processing “Dark Skies.”

As time goes by there are fewer and fewer areas in the U.S. that qualify.  A few other places include Death Valley, Joshua Tree, and various places in Montana such as the Big Hole Battlefield (teepees). There are, of course, others, but these are some of our favorites.

Night photography can celebrate these places, as shown in photos included.  One of course is the moon rise (above), the other is also a moon rise image taken two years ago on New Year’s Eve.  This image is particularly special as it shows us toasting to the New Years but also to the Blue Moon behind us.

L to R:  Death Valley, toasting the New Year and the rare Blue Moon, star trails at Big Hole Battlefield.

Night Skies are precious and it is a shame that they are dwindling throughout our country.

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THIS TIME TWO YEARS AGO:

*Transforming Photography Into Art

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©Bert Gildart: Not far where we’re camped there’s a marker stipulating that if we are here hoping to find Pegleg’s gold mine then we must add ten rocks to a designated pile.  Because we believe in legends, by now we’ve most likely added several dozen rocks to the ever growing heap.

Let those who seek Pegleg's gold add ten rock to this pile.

Folks like us who search for Pegleg’s gold are actually searching for a mine said to have been discovered by Thomas Smith. It is written that the man “salted” the desert with a peg leg as he searched for gold. In other words,  Smith  once searched this area for gold, walking on one leg that was good and one leg (a pegged leg)  that was bad.  Legend has it that he did indeed find gold but died before he heralded his discovery to the world..

Smith searched the area for gold that now bears his name around 1866. He lived near the Pegleg campground, so his gold mine really could be within a few miles of our Airstream.  Because we believe the story, we hike the hills almost daily.

Devoted to tradition, Janie adds one of the 10 mandated rocks

What that means, of course, is that Janie and I and the companions with whom we are now camped may well be on the verge of the discovery of  gold.  Every day we search improbable areas, but most  importantly, we add more stones to this every growing monument of rock.  Surely adherence to tradition will soon be paying dividends.

However, I’m not sure we’ll tell anyone what finally happens.

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AIRSTREAM TRAVELS  SIX YEARS AGO:

*Sunshine Skyway Bridge (Tampa, Florida)

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©Bert Gildart: I am a few days behind in the dates ascribed to my posts, essentially because we have based ourselves in areas that have no connections, specifically Zortman, Montana.  The settlement is located in the Little Rockies and for this posting it must be noted that we are but a 40 minute drive from one of the nation’s greatest wildlife spectacles  -  the fall rut of elk, which here includes literally hundreds of these magnificent creatures.

The stage is the Charles M. Russell Wildlife Refuge, specifically the Slippery Ann Wildlife Viewing area, which is immediately adjacent to where Adam, Sue, Janie and I took out from our seven-day float on the Missouri River one month ago.

It is here that Janie and I watched two nights ago as an estimated 300 elk materialized from stands of cottonwood trees, and then edged closer and closer until it seemed as though we had front seats at what could be  the photo opportunity of a lifetime.

PERFORMANCE WILL BLOW YOUR MIND

The performance began about 5:30 p.m. but before you could see the elk, you could hear them and their famous bugling. Bull elk create the music and do so by tilting back their heads and emitting a sound that begins on a low note then progresses up the scale.  Finally, it ends with a guttural “Ugh, ugh.”   Hearing them is one thing, but when you hear not just one bull creating the sound but dozens, it blows your mind.

The purpose of the bugling – followed by aggressive gestures in which they use their antlers to blow up the dirt, “murder” small trees, or actually engage other bulls in battle – is intended to help each bull establish a territory.

L to R:  Bull elk establish a harem and warn other males to keep out by bugling, fighting and tearing up the ground; CMR attracts thousands annually, often to watch elk; six-point or “Royal” elk.

Here, in a space each bull must mentally define, he guards his developing harem, and woe be to any interloper, particularly to “the welterweights,” or to one whose spread of antlers is inferior – that enters this space. Presumably the genetically superior bull emerges victorious and it is he that passes on his genes.

CMR IS MAGNIFICENT STAGE

We watched the display for about three hours and saw bulls whose antlers were represented by all the various descriptive nomenclature.  Biologists have created a system of classification. Bulls with six tines (most typically) are categorized as a Royal while those with seven or eight are categorized as an Imperial and Monarch, respectively. We saw them all, and most importantly from my perspective, I was able to photograph them all.  To obtain frame filling images I used lens ranging from 400 to 800mm.

Rounding up harem and warning other bulls to keep out.

Dramas such as this should be set on a stage of magnificence, and the CMR qualifies.  Encompassing about 1,100,000 acres, the Charles M. Russell National Wildlife Refuge extends 125 miles east/west.  Lewis and Clark saw it first and described the area in glowing terms. The refuge was set aside in 1936 by President Roosevelt and, today, some call it the crown jewel of the National Wildlife Refuge system.

They’ll get no arguments from us.

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THIS TIME FIVE YEARS AGO:

Nova Scotia’s Fort Louisbourg

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©Bert Gildart:  Seasons vary dramatically from year to year, and for the past few days we’ve been enjoying weather that is like that of a mid July day. On this late September day, temperatures peaked at 93 and we parked (not camped — mind you) our Airstream so that we could take advantage of the night skies — cleared with the NPS before pulling in.  Soon coyotes began to howl and the stars came out adding a feeling of euphoria to the Bear Paw Battlefield, located just south of Chinook, Montana.

Airstream overlooks actual site where Miles laid siege to the Nez Perce

How these conditions contrasted with those about 130 years ago when Chief Joseph and his band sought a temporary reprieve from U.S. troops who had chased them for over 1,500 miles. When Joseph, Looking Glass and other significant war chiefs fought here in yet another defensive battle, snow fell and temperatures dipped to well below freezing. Hundreds of women and children in the many Nez Perce families suffered and did so in ways that proved deadly.

SOLIDERS FEARED ANOTHER DEFEAT

The battle occurred in early October of 1877 and commenced when Colonel Miles rode in from the east.  The Nez Perce thought they were days ahead of the troops, but Miles had been alerted of the band’s position, and he intercepted Joseph.  Nevertheless, the warriors rose up, and turned the charge, just as they had done repeatedly over the past few months.

Fearing a defeat such as Custer experienced, Miles retreated and then regrouped, And then he positioned his deadly Hotchkiss gun and began to fire.  Almost immediately two women were killed when the cave in which they’d hoped to find safety collapsed.

Colonel Miles and General Howard continued their assault, and though the Nez Perce fought hard, attrition finally began to mount, and on the afternoon of  October 5, 1877, Joseph asked to surrender to Miles, despite the fact that he and his band were  just 50 miles from the Canadian border — and freedom.  His subsequent words are famous and have been quoted throughout history.

Chief Joseph began by describing the suffering of the children, and then concluded by surrendering his rifle and asking that the opposing soldiers hear him. It has been called one of the most beautiful speeches of surrender ever made:

Tell General Howard I know his heart. What he told me before I have in my heart.  I am tired of fighting. Our chiefs are killed. Looking Glass is dead. Toohoolhoolzote is dead. The old men are dead. It is the young men who say yes or no.  The old men are all dead. It is cold and we have no blankets. The little children are freezing to death. My people, some of them, have run away to the hills, and have no blankets, no food; no one knows where they are – perhaps freezing to death. I want to have time to look for my children and see how many I can find. Maybe I shall find them among the dead. Hear me, my chiefs, I am tired; my heart is sick and sad. From where the sun now stands, I will fight no more forever.

“FOR JOSEPH CONDITIONS ONLY GOT WORSE”

As Janie and I walked the battlefield trail we were joined by Park Historian Stephanie Martin, who told us that after the surrender conditions for Joseph “only got worse.” Though Miles had promised the Nez Perce that he would return them to their homeland in Idaho, the government countered the wishes of both General Howard and Colonel Miles. Instead, Congress shipped the band to Fort Leavenworth in cattle cars.  Here, disease and weather killed the infants and then settlers dug up the bodies and fed them to their hogs.  “It was,” said Martin, “one of the worst cases of man’s inhumanity to man.”

Joseph's rifle as seen in museum at Fort Benton.

Today, when visitors hike the one and a half mile loop, they can see the site where Chief Looking Glass was killed and where Joseph actually surrendered to Miles.  But they see a more compassionate side of humanity as well.  At various and significant spots along the route, visitors have left offerings that might include tobacco, coins… a dollar bill, the shell of a grouse, beads, or perhaps a smooth rock that Martin says is most likely from Idaho’s Salmon River country.

One of the many sites at which token of remembrance has been left.

The offerings and serenity of the season made us feel as though Joseph had actually found the freedom he had struggled so hard to achieve.  How easy it was to believe that on a warm fall day — and on a night when stars filled the night sky — that all was well. Other than the yip of coyotes, the silence that engulfed us inside our Airstream was absolute.

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THIS TIME FIVE YEARS AGO:

*Harper’s Ferry

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©Bert Gildart:  For the past seven days Janie and I have been floating Montana’s Wild & Scenic Missouri River, one of the most isolated areas remaining in the United States.  We were joined by our good friends Adam and Susan Maffei.

Canoeing Montana's Wild & Scenic Missouri River

The trip is not for everyone. During our journey of about 110 miles we saw but few other people, meaning that one must be comfortable with isolation.  Rather than people, we enjoyed the company of eagles, white pelicans, sheep and a multitude of night sounds created by deer, raccoons and by the yipping of coyotes.  There are no cell phones along the river and certainly no internet connectivity.

L TO R:  Bert, Janie, Susan and Adam

In years gone by the Missouri River was home to a number of homesteaders but, today, few call the banks of the river home.  Other river occupants in the early 1900s include outlaws and some may recall that Marlon Brando and Jack Nickelson portrayed thieves in the movie entitled “Missouri River Breaks.”  In the end Brando is ambushed, dying as his character had lived.

Such recollections make it appear as though none but the most rugged of outdoor people could enjoy such an adventure, but Adam and Sue both worked in the corporate world. We don’t hold that against them and last summer they also joined Janie and me, hiking many of the trails that will soon be described in our 4^th edition of Hiking Shenandoah. They climbed Old Rag with me, also in Shenandoah. On yet another adventure (Alaska’s Chilkoot Pass), they proved they could be depended upon, even when the chips are down.

LEWIS & CLARK SAW IT FIRST

Of course it was Lewis and Clark who first brought attention to the Missouri River and Lewis in his journals described the White Cliffs area of the river, saying that the “Hills and Cliffs present a most romantic appearance.”  We carried their journals with us and marveled at the distances they covered traveling upstream. Our adventure followed the flow of the river and there were a few days when our travels were bested by the Corps’s upstream journey.

Montana's Wild & Scenic Missouri, near Hole in the Wall

Throughout my many years in Montana I have floated the river over a dozen times, several times on extended hunting trips with my son. About 25 years ago I also provided Far Country Press with pictures and text for a book about Montana’s Missouri River.  It was a wonderful project as the area is rich in Montana history, geology, scenery and in wildlife.  Though development is encroaching the river remains relatively pristine, suggesting that there is a great need among people from all walks of life to pit their skills against nature and whatever she might decide to dish out.

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THIS TIME TWO YEARS AGO:

*Skagway Alaska & The Klondike

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©Bert Gildart: If you have seen charcoal kilns before, quite likely it was while visiting Death Valley National Park. They look like huge beehives, and they were once used in the park for converting wood to charcoal. Though the charcoal then had to be transported from high in the Panamint Mountains to Death Valley proper, the benefits of using charcoal were immense.

Janie hiking into Canyon Creek Charcoal Kilns

Charcoal produces high temperatures required for extracting borax from rock. As well it it burns hotter than wood because it is almost pure carbon. It is also much lighter and easier to transport, making it an efficient and economical method of smelting ore. Because of their mystical beauty, Death Valley features them prominently in many of the their publications.

Though kilns do exist in other parts of the country, such as Colorado and Nevada, most have not withstood the ravages of time. But in Montana, perhaps because the kilns are remote, a group of them still stand, and they remain in very good shape.  To me, they exceed the beauty of those in Death Valley.

REMOTE LOCATION

Located high in the East Pioneer Mountains near Melrose, Montana, we reached the Canyon Creek Charcoal Kilns following an old dirt road that twisted and bumped for about15 miles taking us first to the old mining town of Glendale. Operated by the Hecla Minding Company, the town existed to extract silver in the still-standing smelter, and during its heyday buzzed with activity.  In addition to the miners’ dwellings, there were several saloons featuring “hurdy gurdy” dancers.

Only a few decaying structures remain of the once bustling settlement of Glendale;  though charcoal kilns are showing wear, the Forest Service is attempting to restore luster and structure.

For operation, the smelter depended on charcoal produced by the kilns, located yet another five miles up the road. In the old days, charcoal was hauled from the kilns down the road to Glendale.

NATURAL BEAUTY

The kilns are located on Forest Service lands, and when we reached them we began our exploration simply gazing around at all the natural beauty, and the “hives” that blended but in a surrealistic sort of way.  Nearby ran a small creek known as Canyon Creek, and once it provided water needed in the process of brick building.  Other brick and kiln components included a ready source of clay and sand, and last but not least, an abundance of timber, which came in the form of lodge pole pine.

A trail lead from the parking lot and the Forest Service had posted interpretive signs, explaining that the 25 kilns were 20 feet high and measured 25 feet in diameter. They were used between 1884 and 1900, and during that period contributed to the extraction of more than $20,000,000 worth of silver, making it one of the state’s most productive.

25 well preserved old kilns remain in the East Pioneer Mountains of Montana

Historically, the kilns are reminiscent of one of the state’s most consumptive periods of time. To fire these kilns, reports suggest that loggers working for the Hecla Company cut over 18 section of timber for charcoal use alone.  But those were different times, and today, the kilns remind us of one of state’s most important early day activities; a time when rough shod miners roamed the hills and hurdy gurdy girls danced in nearby saloons.  To preserve history, the Forest Service has been attempting to stabilize the kilns and appear to be succeeding.  The kilns are equally as appealing as those in Death Valley, California, and certainly much closer, at least for those in Montana.

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THIS TIME THREE YEARS AGO:

*Lilies in Glacier National Park

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©Bert Gildart:  The horses were all beautifully matched pairs and were well trained for the job at the Grant Kohrs Historic Ranch in Deer Lodge, Montana.

“Raise your foot,” said one of the team drivers in a quiet way, reminiscent of the protagonist (Robert Redford, remember?)  in the movie, Horse Whisperer. “Step left.”

Process begins by gathering hay in buck rake

The job at hand was a multi-tasked one and the horses responded on cue.  Horses and the team driver were collecting hay already pushed into windrows, but to now be pushed again with a horse-drawn buckrake to a unique farming implement known as the beaverslide.  When the job is complete, ranchers will have created a pile of hay that looks like a huge breadloaf.

ORIGIN OF BEAVERSLIDES

Beaverslides originated in the Big Hole country, and Jay Nelson provided an initial introduction for me to the procedure, explaining the expediency of using beaverslides with horses.  Nelson had encouraged me to take in the annual demonstration held at the Grant Kohrs Ranch, where I could see well trained horses in use.

First hay is assembled in the slide at its base in a section known as beaverbasket where workers distribute the hay horses have pushed in. Cables are attached to the basket and then string out to the harnesses of another set of powerful horses.  On command, the pair moves forward and the beaverbasket begins to rise.  When it reaches the top, the hay falls off and begins to accumulate into a growing pile.

HAY WAS PERFECT

“The hay couldn’t be better,” one of the old time ranchers told Janie.  “It’s not the least bit wet, and if it were that would make the job more difficult, for it would be heavier.”

Horses (and one set of mules) working the fields with the drivers were perfectly matched Belgians and Percherons, a form of draft horse.  In the old days, ranchers who used such horses (and mules) were proud of the teams, and as Janie’s new ranch friend told her, “Families were proud of their teams in the same way people today are proud of their cars.”

Teamster Kai Christensen, beaverside showing hay being deposited into basket, ranch girls spread hay to facilitate growing “loaf of bread.”

Haying at the Grant Kohrs Ranch is conducted in part to help preserve history.  But it is still used in the southwestern part of Montana, in part because it is still an economical way to gather hay. Perhaps, too, the procedure provides a bit  of nostalgia, the longing for a more simple way of way of life that is devoid of mechanization and that still relies on the use of beautiful draft horses.

TEAMSTERS

Ironically, one of the teamsters was Kai Christensen, a man whom I had met 25 years ago on a five-day wagon trip through the lower Flathead.  Kai was one of the several teamsters Janie and I had enjoyed watching. He handled his horses well, and detailed for me the patience required to help his Belgians overcome the intimidation they felt as they approached the beaverslide.  As well, Kai and I recalled the highlights of the trip we made years ago, and seeing him turned out to be yet another bonus in traveling throughout Montana, as Janie and I have been doing.

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THIS TIME TWO YEARS AGO:

*Chena River, Alaska

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Star trails intended to create feeling of eternal life at Chief Joseph Battlefield.

©Bert Gildart: Several nights ago I sat outside the framework of a tipi located at Montana’s Big Hole Battlefield. The tipi is thought to be located at the exact site where Chief Joseph slept one night while attempting to elude an army initially lead by General Howard.

Howard was attempting to force this band of Nez Perce onto a reservation site that was not to the tribe’s liking. Now, 150 years later I was attempting to create an image that might symbolize the pathos of a band of men and women doing nothing more than attempting to maintain their freedom.

NO CRIME

I sat there for four hours with my tripod mounted camera pointed at the North Star, and as I lounged in the darkness I could hear all sorts of night sounds that suggested peace and a certain degree of security.  How that contrasted with the horror that followed in the predawn light as Howard’s soldiers fired on the sleeping camp, directing their bullets low so as to intentionally kill women and children as well as the men.

They were guilty of absolutely no crime at all, other then that they wanted freedom.

The government’s cause was Manifest Destiny and the maintenance of the comfort of settlers who had bullied their way into the traditional country of the Nez Perce. These settlers had discovered gold and wanted no conflict from the Indians herding their horses or tending their crops, and though the Nez Perce regrouped that horrible morning and sent Howard and his soldiers retreating, the ultimate story for the Nez Perce, which ended some 2,000 miles later, was a tragic one.

Because Joseph was a good man (probably a brilliant man), respected by all, I had to question the power of a Divine Being looking after all of his children.  Is the ultimate test of right determined by the might of a people and the power of their leaders at a given moment in time?

ARE THERE LESSONS?

What lessons do we take with us from this chapter in American history, and how do we apply them to contemporary times?

In Chief Joseph’s Own Story, he asks in his narration about the conditions that prompted his tribe to rebel.

Who was first to blame? They (referring to individuals in his tribe) had been insulted a thousand times; their fathers and brothers had been killed; their mothers and wives had been disgraced; they had been driven to madness by the whiskey sold to them by the white men… they were homeless and desperate.

Does Joseph and his band wander in new more peaceful land? We will never know.

Ultimately Joseph capitulated to General Miles in Montana’s Bear Paw Mountains. Miles. Miles was sympathetic to the Nez Perce and assured Joseph that he would send his tribe back to the land where his father’s bones rested. However, the U.S. government did not honor the Miles’s promise of 1877.

In his narration Joseph said he would never have surrendered if “I had not believed Miles.” Instead, Joseph and his band were shipped to Fort Keogh and then to a swampland located about four miles from Fort Leavenworth, Kansas.  None of these new areas resembled their homeland in the Lapwai Country or present day Idaho and 21 died from various diseases.

Joseph died September 24, 1904 and physicians of the time said the most probable cause was “a broken heart”; and as I sat beneath the various constellations of the night and the millions of stars creating the mystery of the Milky Way, my hopes went out to this good man.

Though I’m inclined to believe that compassion is a product of the here and now, I nevertheless hoped that Joseph and his band ultimately found the freedom they so sought somewhere in the cosmos that appeared so dramatic from the skeletal lodges located now at the Big Hole Battlefield.

I am not sure what lessons we take from the Big Hole, and suspect I never will.

NOTE: Venturing onto the Battlefield at night is illegal unless one has a special permit.  The area is also a burial ground and sensitivity and respect for various local restrictions is paramount.

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THIS TIME THREE YEARS AGO:

*Lilies In Glacier National Park

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©Bert Gildart: In a flowering field of camas, prairie smoke and bistort, tipi poles stand today like skeletons all reminiscent now of a great tragedy – of a particularly ugly time in America’s history.

Camas now grows in a meadow where Nez Perce Indians once camped, attempting to maintain their freedom; symbolized by tipi poles.

The skeletons remind the sympathetic that on an August morning in 1887, before the sun had even risen, approximately 170 soldiers, led by Colonel John Gibbon, fired into a sleeping camp of approximately 800 Nez Perce Indians. About two thirds of the group were women and children and the only crime they had committed was that they did not want to be forced onto a reservation in Idaho.

BROKEN TREATY

They believed that the treaty of 1863 with the American government, guaranteeing the tribe that the land known as the Wallowa would forever be theirs. Settlers, however, discovered gold in the Walla Walla Valley and the Nez Perce were ordered onto the Lapwai Reservation.

Camas closeup, tipi poles, prairie smoke — all stand in a field where a band of Nez Perce Indians fled from soliders. The Nez Perce hoped to retain freedom and not be forced onto a reservation.  They had been guaranteed the right to remain in their homeland by a treaty of 1863 — but settlers discovered gold.

Many went, but five bands of Non-Treaty Nez Perce refused, and when hostilities broke out in Idaho near the reservation, the five bands were forced to flee.  Leaders such as Chief Joseph and Chief Looking Glass hoped that once they reached Montana they would be safe. They thought they might find a home with the Crow People and so they embarked on a great journey.  And now they were in western Montana, believing themselves to be relatively safe.  Here, along the meandering North Fork of the Big Hole River, all sandwiched between the Beaverhead, Pintlar and Pioneer mountains, they cut lodge poles and erected their tipis (also correct tepee). They hunted and dug the bulbs of camas and bistort, favorite foods they knew from previous hunting excursions to be abundant along the North Fork. Though they posted sentries, the Nez Perce believed the pursuing Army troops were far behind.

MISDIRECTED FORCE

Today, as we walk along the peacefully meandering river, the site of misdirected forces, we read the words of Yellow Wolf from a Park Service brochure.  Yellow Wolf said he returned after the onslaught and began his search for survivors, looking in a maternity lodge that had been occupied by a pregnant woman.  The tipi was silent and inside Yellow Wolf found the woman lying dead in her blankets. In her arms she held her newborn baby, its head smashed by a gun breech or by the heel of a boot.

Immediately after the initial attack the Nez Perce desperately sought cover, running into willow thickets, even submerging themselves in the river, but Chief White Bird’s voice carried over the screams of horror, rifle fire and even canon fire. “Why are we retreating,” he shouted.

Cannon pointed at village which at the time of attack was a peaceful sleeping village

And so began an incredible turn about.  Before long, soldiers fell and soon the tide began to turn on what was to have been a slaughter; and as we walked the fields, our hopes and cheers went out for the Nez Perce. Brave warriors had turned the tide, but unfortunately the tribe had to flee once again, for they knew reinforcements might soon join Colonel Gibbon.

The plight of the Nez Perce is one of the greatest stories of the human spirit for freedom, and later this summer, Janie and I will again meet the tribe. In fact, we plan to meet them twice as our travels will take us through the state, for we are fortunate to have yet another book to work on. As we gather material for our Montana book, we’ll also be covering many other aspects of this state which I began calling home back in the ‘60s.  But the plight of the Nez Perce has always been a subject of great interest, and as we walked the fields of camas, bistort, prairie smoke and all the other features of enduring beauty, its story of pathos continues to stand in stark contrast with the grandeur of this great state.

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THIS TIME TWO YEARS AGO:

*Airstream Helps Many Age Gracefully

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©Bert Gildart: Considering all the years I have spent in and around Glacier, I’m sure there have been other days I’ve enjoyed  in this magnificent northwestern Montana national park just as much as the one I enjoyed yesterday,  but I honestly can’t remember when.

Angel Wing reflects in Swiftcurrent Lake

Yesterday I teamed up with Jim Andler, an old friend, and we departed Bigfork about 5 am, then made the two and a half hour drive to Babb, Montana. From there we drove along the Many Glacier Road to a barricade,  meaning we had seven miles to cycle into the Many Glacier Hotel.  Though the road has been plowed motorist are excluded while further spring maintenance continues. When weather is like it was yesterday that makes it one of the very best times to visit the park, particularly for the cyclist.

DAY OF PERFECTION

The day was perfectly clear and there was absolutely no wind.  We began cycling about 7:30 and as the day warmed we could feel the coolness from the four- and five-foot-high snow banks that still lingered.  The air was so pure that we could smell sap from trees that had been recently sawed and then removed by spring clean up crews. As we rode, we saw three moose and lots of elk and sheep tracks.  Skies were dark blue and helped dramatize the snow-capped mountains.

CLICK TO SEE LARGER IMAGE.  L TO R: Grinnell Point reflecting in Swift Current Lake; Many Glacier Hotel.

Because  we stopped often to take pictures, it took Jim and me about two hours to reach the hotel. For much of the way, Sherburne Lake flanked our left and it was still iced over. Soon we passed Grinnell Falls and then we arrived at Swift Current Lake, and though it was mostly frozen portions had opened near the shore. Because there was absolutely no wind, the reflections were near perfect and my bank account was happy that I was shooting digital rather than film.

RECORD SNOWS

The historic hotel flanks the  Grinnell shore and much snow still remained piled along its sides. Newspaper tells us that current snow depth is 59 inches or –  put in other words — Many Glacier is 500 percent above the 30 year average. That means melt waters could well flood the first floor of this historic hotel. As is, about one third of the hotel will be closed this summer for restoration. Flood waters may necessitate yet  further closure.

Yesterday temperatures around Glacier approached the 70° and if the unusually warm weather continues,  flooding in and around the park could be intense. The next few weeks will be crucial.

CLICK TO SEE LARGER IMAGE.  L TO R: Moose along road into Many Glacier Hotel; Jim Andler cycling beneath mountains still shrouded with winter  and spring snows; Grinnell Falls.

But yesterday, disaster was something that was difficult to envision. Jim and I ate lunch in the shadow of mountains with names such as Apikuni, Grinnell, and Angle Wing.  As we sat, periodically we could hear booming sounds, and we watched as the melting snow released it heavy loads and then cascaded along the slopes of Grinnell Point.  We departed about 2 pm and an hour later were back at the truck, assisted a bit by mountain breezes – making the day about as perfect as it can ever be.

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THIS TIME TWO YEARS AGO:

*Arrow Leaf Balsam Root — Another of the Flathead’s Spring Spectacles

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©Bert Gildart: Washington DC is a long way from the home Janie and I have made together now in Montana  for almost 20 years, (our anniversary is May 4th) but not so far from a life full of many histories. We’re both army brats, and once our fathers were stationed in DC, and it is here while in high school that we first met.  We’re now here to attend a memorial service for my godmother, but while in DC  it is only natural that Janie and I might tour old haunts, both those of our parents and those of our own.

Some say the streets of Walter Reed once ran with soap; Janie’s old home at Walter Reed, now posted with keep out signs.

Janie’s father served as a doctor at Walter Reed and with little trouble we found her old home, just off Alaska Avenue.  Rumor has it that many functions of this historic old army post may be relegated to the Bethesda Naval Hospital, and from the looks of her beautiful old home, which is now empty and plastered with “Do Not Trespass” signs, perhaps the rumors are true.

STREETS THAT SPARKLED

The home is not far from my godmother’s, and Janie and I retraced our steps from years ago, when we would walk to her home perhaps a mile away.  At the time I attended Bullis Prep School, also an easy walk in those days from Janie’s home. Today, the old prep school has moved out of town – and I doubt I could ever sneak back up the fire escape and into the dorm room after curfew, something I did often in those days – and with ease. I doubt, too, that Janie (or maybe, Ha,  it was her friends??) could ever get away with dumping boxes of tide into the old fountain just outside the medical center.

CLICK TO SEE LARGER IMAGES. L TO R: Roosevelt’s New Deal helped eliminate the long welfare lines, symbolic of the Depression years; Lincoln, modified into a “sepia toned” print; haunted faces as created by artist at Korean Memorial.

But as well as a walk down memory lane, we also toured many of DC’s “Capitol Parks,” most notably the Lincoln Memorial, the FDR Memorial, the Korean Memorial and the Vietnam Memorial.  In more reflective moments, all those memorials provide meaningful lessons, many of which are very personal.

CAPITOL PARKS

But no significant revelations in this posting, and like many other posts, this one was really intended to be a photo blog, and that (mostly) is what it will now become. To add a bit of drama to the FDR and Korean War Memorial I set the camera to manual, used flash but then underexposed the daylight setting by several stops.  For drama I also converted the monochromatic statue of Lincoln to a sepia toned image. (Click the two above links for night images.)

Plane over Lincoln Memorial about to land at Dulles Airport was symbolic for Janie and me.

Perhaps the most dramatic image is the one with the plane flying overhead, and it seemed to symbolize all that has happened both good and bad since I left DC so long ago.  Life is certainly easier back in Montana, but it is always grand for army brats to explore rootless backgrounds for added perspective on both themselves and on where we’ve come as a nation. They remind, too, that at times we have all fit into this historic American tapestry, despite “patches”  that may not seem particularly significant. But that is simply not true, as the poets sometimes remind us.

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THIS TIME LAST YEAR

*Retrospective on Glacier’s first fatal maulings

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