Finding the Sun Hole

Southwest Montana has had, in 100-year average terms, a very normal spring. That means it rains or snows everyday, creeks and rivers are overflowing their banks, meadows are like shallow swamps, and the hills look like the Emerald Isle. Beautiful, if a bit soggy.

Howard Smith and I found a break in the weather yesterday for a hike and troutfishing. He dreams of training his horse for packing in an elk camp, and he's got a few years on me and not a lot of years left to realize that dream. I wanted to show him a place that is both relatively easy to pack into and almost devoid of hunters. The latter is strange, since there are popular hunting spots on each side. Ah, but you can drive close to those places. While hiking and skiing, I've several times jumped good bulls out of this honey hole. Here's Howard taking a rest on our hike up the steep valley:

Wet feet and all, it was good to get out and see what's blooming this week. As we started out in several inches of fresh snow, the glacier lillies (Erythronium grandiflorum) was living up to its name:

The wet meadows were dotted with white globeflowers (Trollius laxus):

The dry ridges were lit up with creeping Oregon-grape (Mahonia repens):

And Nutthall's rockcress (Arabis nuttalli):

And wild strawberry (Fragaria virginiana):

Oh yes, the wolves had also been out and about that morning, perhaps looking for an easy moose or elk calf. Big doggie. The tracks are six inches long from rear pad to toe nail:

Interestingly enough, wildlife biologists tell us that antelope populations increase with wolves in the 'hood. Wolves eliminate coyote predators, an important antelope predator. Coyotes systematically hunt antelope fawns, and antelope does have evolved to birth two fawns, one of which is usually sacrificed to the coyotes. This mama (the larger animal on the left-center)might keep her two fawns (they are at her heels--you might have to click on and enlarge this photo to see them):


After hiking, we hit some local beaver ponds for a mess of brook trout. I popped a beer for the ride home, settled into Howard's little Toyota with Roly-The-Dog snuggled up for the ride home, and appreciated one more great day under Montana's big (wet) sky.

Granite Quarry near Butte, Montana

A few years ago, Dave Carter learned about the old granite quarry near Welch's Spur along the abandoned Northern Pacific railroad east of Butte. He's hiked in several times, and recently I was able to join him. We parked along I-90 on the east side of Homestake Pass, hiked north up to the rail bed, connecting with it near mile marker 56 (I think that designates 56 miles from Belgrade?) and continuing east:

Past an abandoned mine:

You know your getting close when the granite outcrops along the grade get slabby:

The loading spur comes in (it connected to a narrow gage track from the mine; its tracks have been torn up):

Lots of wildflowers along the way, including larkspur (Delphinium sp):

Kinnikinnick (Arctostaphylos uva-ursi):

Mountain bluebells (Mertensia ciliata):

Townsends daisies (Townsendia nuttalli spp):

This elegant, tiny wildflower on a tall stem:

And this cushion plant that I should remember but don't (I don't have a field guide handy at the moment):

As you turn north up the little valley to the quarry, there is a prominent landmark to the east:

And then you're there. Here's a big semi-dressed block left at a finishing/shipping area:

A foundation:

A standing building, with interesting hybrid stone/log construction:

And some sort of millrace or flume:

Though it looks as if there might have been a millpond and waterwheel to provide power, according to what little historical information I could locate, the quarry "used compressed air as the power...[supplied] by means of steam power..." About a dozen men worked at the site, tending the compressor and steam engine, dressing the stone, and handling it. The granite from the mine is a fairly nondescript, black and white, "does not polish well," and was "used extensively in the large buildings of Butte." Perhaps I'll see if I can identify some building around town with granite foundations, and make the connection.

PS: Welch's Spur on the railway was the site of a murder and attempted train robbery at 2:15 a.m., 7 May 1907. Two masked men killed the engineer and wounded the fireman when they refused to stop the train. A suspect was arrested near Woodville, just north of Butte. It was the third time this train had been held up in four years.

Additional information, see:

Jesse Perry Rowe, "Some Economic Geology of Montana" (University of Montana, Bulletin No. 50, Geological Series No. 3, 10 March 1908).

"Montana Train Held Up." The New York Times, 8 May 1907.

Howling at the Moon: A Night Out in the Big Hole

[Note: photos follow this essay, unlike my usual style of interspersing them with the text.]

The clamor of voices in my head was getting a little loud, so I followed Thoreau's advice, "In wildness is the preservation of the world." Or of my sanity, at least. To Thoreau's dictum, Leopold added, "Perhaps this is the hidden meaning in the howl of the wolf..." Or of the coyote, at least.

And so I went a camping on the Big Hole River side of the pass over the Continental Divide formed by Mill Creek (a Clark Fork River tributary) and Deep Creek. It is a special place, with the steep West Slope contrasting with the gentle East Slope. It was a traditional route for Native Peoples between the summer hunting grounds of the Big Hole and the pleasant wintering grounds (and warm springs) of the Deer Lodge Valley.

Walking this ground, you feel the footsteps of people long ago. Tipi rings, hunting trails, a jasper mine, tremendous views to both sides of the valley. Before I know it I sense it: I am standing in the center of a tipi ring. At my feet, a large milky quartz pebble that fits perfectly the palm of my hand. A hammerstone. And on the frost heaved ground, flakes of red jasper.

Walking this ground, you feel the eternal beauty of things long dead and forever coming to life. Petrified wood from a forest long ago, spring blossoming of wild flowers, elk on their calving grounds, meadows lush and wet and greening, cycles ancient and repeated since the Pleistocene.

The sun set into the mountains, the moon rose through a bank of clouds, the coyotes howled. They woke me up. RTD is even deafer than I am, these days. She slept soundly until I crawled past her to step out of the tent, take a piss, and join the song dogs for the chorus. A bull elk joined in with a long, lilting whistle (yes, they do whistle in the spring, maybe in response to all those new calves?). We even stirred a sandhill crane, though from its cries I think it was telling us to shut the hell up and let it sleep.

A chill dawn, hands wrapped around a hot cup of coffee, a long hike up the valley, catch a mess of trout for lunch, I'm ready to go home. Well, not ready. But it's time to go home. Time.

Thankfully this holy ground has become public land, and not fallen into the hands of developers and McMansionites like the piece just down the valley. Here, a failed ranch built up by pioneering homesteaders, our white forefathers who seemed to know only how to take from the land and not how to live sustainably with it. Like the new trophy homes down the valley that will rot away with time and the high price of fossil fuels, this old homestead was a mere flash in time's pan.

What am I saying, "this old homestead?" It was established barely a hundred years ago and is now long gone. Four generations from rags to riches to rust. And in the brief time they were here, they were hard as hell on the land.

The Native Peoples walked this ground for ten thousand years. Four hundred generations, maybe longer. They didn't leave things so bad. What will our children, ten thousand years hence, say about us?

What a view from camp! Pintler peaks from Saddle Mountain (East/West Goat) on the left to Mt Haggin on the right:

Elk on calving grounds:


Curious antelope come over to check out our camp:


Big mosquitoes, first of the spring:


Sunset into the Pintler peaks:


Petrified wood (this specimen is chalky, unlike the usual glassy specimens found here--must be like the transformation of chalk to chert/flint):

Mountain buttercup (Ranunculus nivalis):

Pretty shooting star aka "Roosterheads" (Dodecathon pulchellum, though this could be the related desert species), purple:

And white:

Spring beauty (Claytonia spp.):

Wyoming kittentails (Besseya wyomingensis):

Biscuitroot (Lomatium cous), and important food of Native Peoples:

Milky quartz hammerstone, from a tipi ring with a views to both sides of the broad valley:

Red jasper flakes from tool making/sharpening:

A mess of brook trout for lunch:

RTD cooling her belly while I fish:

Remnant of a not-so-old homestead:

Sunset behind the Anaconda smelter stack on the way home:

West Goat Peak: Peak Bagging in the Pintler Wilderness

West Goat Peak is my very favorite regular summer trek. At about 10,800 feet, it's the tallest peak in the Pintler Wilderness and plainly visible due west of Butte. All year long, even on my worst days, I can look over to West Goat from my home in Walkerville or from the Montana Tech campus, recall sweet moments, and affirm all that makes life worth living.

This year, I was fortunate to make the hike with my Tech colleague Don Stierle. A chem prof, he also assists his Renaissance wife Andrea is pursuits such as finding cures for cancer from fungi that grow on yew trees or from microbes in Butte's infamous Berkeley Pit. With Don came Chooka The Dog, a 4-month old Golden Retriever:

Though the weather has been seasonal of late with 80 deg F days and 40 deg F nights at 6,000 feet elevation in Butte, we still opted for an early morning start. It's not a long (c. 8 miles) nor especially steep (c. 2500 foot elevation gain) hike, but it is nice to travel in the cool of the day. While stashing a few beers in the creek near the Fishtrap Creek trailhead for the ride home, I discovered this Pine Marten set constructed by some fur trapper:
Mornings are also active critter time, and we busted some elk from where the trail crosses a big wet meadow, and the dogs nosed into several spruce grouse (aka fool hens, for their habit of sitting in a tree just a few feet away). The grouse were feeding on grouse whortleberry and grasshoppers--both are numerous this year:We also came across a lot of "doodlebug" or antlion pits, including this exceptional colony:
If I were an ant living in this area, I'd want to be named Daniel. Even in the wilderness, there are some historical tracks of a working landscape, such as this irrigation ditch that moves water many miles from the headwater diversion:Our first day in, we rested through the heat of the afternoon and then hiked above treeline to Lost Lakes where Don spotted a group of 6 or 7 goats working their way along the ridge to the left of the lower lake, and we took in the fantastic view:
The area's height and location help in capturing a lot of snow. Even in the driest and hottest of summers, the big snow cornice along Saddle Ridge lasts all summer long, as does the glacier along the upper lake. Yes, it is a true glacier, and the only one in the Pintler, according to Don Nyquist, a National Weather Service observer, meteorologist, and Anaconda resident. Don says a key characteristic that makes this a glacier is the formation of firn--"the metamorphic layer of dense, granular snow between the accumulation area (new snow) and glacial land ice." Here's a photo of the upper lake and its glacier (West Goat Peak is on the far right of the snow cornice just below the ridge):The approach to West Goat Peak is very pleasant with very little scree (as Pintler peak bagging goes). Here's Don picking his way along the ridge, with the fantastic vertical goat cliffs on his right:
Chooka and RTD did a lot of goat- & pika-sniffing on the way up, and once on the summit they were content to rest. Here's the pup, with Warren Peak in the background (easily bagged from Edith Lake):The morning haze from our numerous local forest fires thickened throughout the day. With clear air, the distant views from W Goat are tremendous, but even the "close" view of the alpine meadow leading down to Lost Lakes is pretty sweet:Just as we finished supper that evening, a big thunderstorm swept through. This is why I prefer to camp down in the timber, and not on the barren ground around Lost Lakes. As RTD and I lay in the tent watching through the vestibule door as lightning flashed and crashed, I took a moment to appreciate the difference between Pink Mountain Heath (Phyllodoce empetriformis):
And Merten's Mountain Heather (Cassiope mertensiana):
These lovely evergreen species carpet much of the Pintler high country, along with other familiar species such as Alpine Gentians (Gentiana calycosa), the leaves of which make a tasty and mildly psychotropic tonic:
Though the flowers have faded, I also like the Elk Thistle (Cirsium foliosum):

Don and Andrea (or "DnA") are naturlists, too. For years, I have simply taken Sky Pilot (Polemonium viscosum) as another pretty alpine flower. Don demonstrated why it has the nickname "Skunkweed," and explained how he and Andrea once tried to extract the essential oil that gives it this odor:

From home today, I took a morning walk to Big Butte before spending a few hours laying rock on the new retaining wall in the backyard. The smoke was not too bad, and I could just make out East Goat Peak, Saddle Mountain, and West Goat Peak through the fire haze. Already, the good memory of West Goat Peak is getting me through another year.

Note: You will hear some folks refer to the "Anaconda-Pintler." This is sure way to mark yourself as one from "away." For locals, it's simply "The Pintler." Even this name mystifies me, as the area's namesake -- the rancher/homesteader Charles Pintler -- lived in the area just one winter, and moved because he and his family found the climate too harsh.