Odyssey 2006: Journey of Discovery, the Return
Lewis and Clark National Historic Trail

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Journals for Odyssey 2006

Thursday--March 23, 2006
Trail Day—001
Trail Mile--5.2/5.2
Location--Astoria, Oregon

It's a long, long way from Missouri to Oregon, and getting here sure takes awhile, four days by train and not the least bit of hitchhiking to be exact.  I arrive in Astoria just in time to put my pack back on and head for Fort Clatsop on the Lewis and Clark River, some five miles to the southwest.  I make it in time to attend the dedication of the park, the new replica fort, and a trail along the river to the launch site.

The day is pretty much the same as was that day 200 years ago when the Corps began their long journey home -- rain and wind.  That's it, however, for "pretty much the same," for at the site of the Corps' quarters during the winter of 1805-06, not much else is the same.  As far as enjoying any peace or solitude, as far as having a moment to quietly reflect on that historic day, I sure picked the wrong one.  People everywhere, with lots of praising -- and crowding around.  The new superintendent of the Lewis and Clark Historic Park, Chip Jenkins, spoke.  So did many others, including Fran Mainella, director of the National Park Service, various tribal leaders, and a rag-tag member of the modern-day Corps.  It was an okay event as far as celebrations and dedications go.  Any more though, and for this old man, it's all way too hectic and confusing.

Instead of hanging around for the departure of today’s Corps, I return to the replica fort, which is in the process of being reconstructed after fire destroyed the one built years ago.  Here at 1:00 PM, and in relative peace and quiet, I unceremoniously begin my own personal long journey home.

Lord, please guide my footsteps; provide a clear path -- in Your safe-keeping and loving care.


Friday--March 24, 2006
Trail Day--002
Trail Mile--25.7/31
Location--Westport, Oregon

Another great time in Astoria. After checking into the Riverview Motel again, I stopped once more by the Triangle Bar to see friends Sharon, Danny, Wiz and Reid.  Ahh, just like old times.

On the hike back to Astoria from Fort Clatsop yesterday I was able to watch the modern-day Corps struggle across Youngs Bay.  They still hadn't made it around the point and into the river by the time I was climbing the hill into town.  A Coast Guard helicopter was hovering around them the last I saw.  Today I picked up a local paper but there was no mention as to their fate.  They were supposed to row upriver to Tongue Point, the Corps' first campsite during their return in 1806.  I'll give you whatever odds you want today's bunch didn't make it.  The Triangle Bar is right on the river.  Sharon had seen a lone fellow pass in a canoe earlier, but that was it, no modern-day Corps.  I recall seeing a very sleek canoe on a car-top rack by the Fort, so maybe there is someone heading back toward Wood River besides the old Nomad.  Sure would be nice to have some company hiking up and over the Bitterroots.  We'll see.

I was expecting pretty sloppy weather for the first few days out.  I had been watching the national radar for weeks and the Astoria/Portland area was being consistently hammered, but after a morning shower this morning the sky clears and the day turns very pleasant, and before the end of the day I have to shed my fleece.

An interesting note about history: The Corps tried bartering with the Clatsops to obtain a second much needed canoe for their return up the Columbia, but were unable to cut a deal.  The Clatsops wanted way too much.  Anyway, there was a special ceremony the other day during which the local Indians passed off a canoe to the modern-day Corps.  The Corps then went through an elaborate ceremony of their own to rid the vessel of any spiritual imperfections or impurities.  So that's the history, apparently, as some would have us believe about how the Corps got their second canoe.  Interesting, isn't it, how after 200 years we can pretty much make history turn out any way we want!  You see, as to the Corps of 1806, they did get a canoe from the locals of the time -- they stole it!

"proceeded to the Cath lah mah Village...at this village we purchased a fiew wappato and Dog for our Sick men...The village of these people is the dirtiest and Stinkingest place I ever Saw..." [William Clark, March 24, 1806]


Saturday--March 25, 2006
Trail Day--003
Trail Mile--22.5/54
Location--Rainier, Oregon

It still gets dark pretty early, so I had to pull off just after six last.  Found a nice soft spot in a spruce grove.  The evening turned cold; the wind came through, but there was no rain.

I'm out today to another fine one.  What a blessing, as I had thoroughly expected endless days of cold rain.  By noon my fleece comes off again.

As I pass small ponds and the low lands along the Columbia, I hear the familiar sound of peepers already.  And Thursday, there was a fellow out mowing grass.  All good signs!  Maybe the old Nomad will luck out and make it to the western high plains without having to fight too much bad weather!

In my first journal entry I lamented as to how that day wasn't the greatest day to be at Fort Clatsop -- too many people.  Well today, guess what!  It's spring break and everybody's heading for the coast.  I count, on average, a car every four seconds.   US Highway 30 is a zoo; no other way to describe it.  By the time I reach Rainier, my throat is closing and I'm having difficulty breathing.  Exhaust fumes, I'll remember this day for the traffic -- and the exhaust fumes.

In Rainier now, I check into the Budget Inn.  Victor and Betty are still here.  And at the Evergreen Pub, Scott's still runnin' the show.  Very kind people.  A warm welcome back for the old Nomad turns the day!

Oh, neat coincidence: The barkeep at the Evergreen was down by the docks when Norm Miller came through in his kayak late in '04.  Norm, you'll recall, is the chap who kayaked up the Missouri from Wood River, hiked the Bitterroots, and then kayaked down the Columbia to Fort Clatsop.  Our paths crossed in the Bitterroots that year.  Norm and I have since become good friends.

On March 26th 1806 the Corps camped across from Rainier, near present day Longview.

"soon after we halted for dinner the two Wackiacums who have been pursuing us since yesterday morning with two dogs for sale, arrived.  they wish tobacco in exchange for their dogs which we are not disposed to give as our stock is now reduced to a very few carrots." [Meriwether Lewis]


Sunday--March 26, 2006
Trail Day--004
Trail Mile--26.3/80
Location--Scappoose, Oregon

Another enjoyable stay in Rainier.  It is a very friendly place.  I wait till eight to check out in order to bid farewell to Victor and Betty.  Betty is a fine artist and she offers a print of one of her paintings.  She'll send it to me -- a beautiful gray wolf!  It's a tough time saying good-bye.

The day starts out cold and clear, then turns cloudy.  The wind starts kicking from the east and brings a few sprinkles intermixed with light snow.  My fleece and mittens stay on all day.

The traffic has backed off and I'm able to breathe much easier today.  It's hammer the miles to Scappoose.  Get in just before dark -- to McDonald's.  I'll find a place to pitch somewhere near.  Gotta have my coffee in the mornin'!

Though I began this journey the same day, same hour (only 200 years later), I'll be proceeding back to St. Louis at a much faster pace than did the Corps.  Before me are clearly prepared paths (roads) and I won't need to go out hunting for my dinner -- just two of a number of advantages.


Monday--March 27, 2006
Trail Day--005
Trail Mile--24.2/104
Location--Parkrose, Oregon

Found a very nice spot by the power substation, right next McDonald's, last night.  I'm up at seven to head right in for a biscuit and some coffee.  The local klatch has already formed up and as I sit, they invite me over.  Happy bunch, one and all.  We talk about old Indians (motorcycles), the local police (why they hassle folks) -- and how far it is and how long it takes to walk to St. Louis.  I'm not the oldest in the group for once.  Thanks Bob, Bob, Bill, Jim, Larry and Hazel.

The day is cranking just fine.  Good conversation; fair weather.  Yes, I'm blessed yet again with ideal hiking weather!  By noon the gloves and fleece come off -- again.

With such an unusually clear day, I'm offered striking views of Mt. St. Helens, Mt. Adams, and Mt. Hood.  From the high vantage along the walkway on the beautifully restored St. Johns Bridge, and as I cross the Willamette River, I'm afforded views I didn't even know existed in 2004.

Hammering through Portland on the US30 By-Pass, and along this pub-crawl, I stop again at the Perch Tavern.  I had been befriended here before by the barkeep, Lori, and locals, Nick and Katy.  Lori is still here and she recognizes me the moment I enter.  "Nomad, you hiking again?"  Big smile!

Looks like I've made it through Portland one more time, not the least to be thankful for during this journey.  By five I'm in Parkrose, my final destination for the day.  From Carolina Motel I give Dawn and Paul a ring; dear friends from way back.  We're able to get together and enjoy a fine evening.


Tuesday--March 28, 2006
Trail Day--006
Trail Mile--21.6/0125
Location--Bridal Veil, Oregon

The weather is holding for me; what a blessing.  A little hazy, but the white tops of Mt. St. Helens, Mt. Adams, and Mt. Hood are all standing bright and tall.  I suppose the locals get used to seeing these most impressive massifs, like anything else I suppose, but if I moved here, lived here -- it'd take a very long time for me to quit gawking at them.

I've got a fair amount of industrial outskirts to pound today, then it's onto the grinder, I-84 for most the rest of the afternoon.  Portland actually looks a little cleaner this time around -- a little.

Unlike most anywhere else in the country, it's legal to bike and walk the interstates out here.  Actually, I'm probably safer on divided, limited access highway than any other kind of road.  First, the lanes are separated so I don't have to constantly keep my guard up for the not-too-infrequent inconsiderate yahoo who has to pass another vehicle coming up right behind me.  I probably do hike too close to the solid white line at times but it seems I almost always get a rearview mirror blowing by within inches of my right shoulder -- just a tad unnerving to say the least.  The other great benefit in hiking the interstate is the full emergency lane.  These highways all have full emergency lanes.  So, even though the traffic is flying low, I've a full lane separating me from harms way.  Anyway, I take to I-84 today and it works out just fine -- until the wind decides it doesn't want me moving any further east without considerably more effort.  Along with the semi-driven tornados, pushing the wind to boot is, well, a push.

Early afternoon the valley pinches down and I enter the Columbia River Gorge.  By late evening I'm able to move over to Old US30, where I cruise on in to Bridal Veil.  From here I hike a short distance further to Multnomah Falls.

Got some decent shots, I think, at the entrance to Columbia River Gorge, then Rooster Rock, Bridal Veil, Wahkeena, and Multnomah Falls.

On March 30, 1806 The Corps camped near Vancouver, across from present day Portland.

"I took a walk of a few miles through the prarie and an open grove of oak timber which borders the prarie on the back part...we had a view of mount St. heliens and Mount Hood.  the 1st is the most noble looking object of it's kind in nature...this valley would be copetent to the maintenance of 40 or 50 thousand souls if properly cultivated and is indeed the only desireable situation for a settlement which I have seen on the West side of the Rocky mountains." [Lewis, March 30, 1806]


Wednesday--March 29, 2006
Trail Day--007
Trail Mile--16.7/0142
Location--Cascade Locks, Oregon

There are a number of hiking trails within the public areas here in the Gorge.  They climb along and around the bluffs and side ravines, generally between the many high waterfalls.  Indeed, this area I'm passing today has the highest concentration of "high" waterfalls, more than any other place in North America.  I detour from Old US30 to trek along one of the trails for a distance.

This is a very short hiking day, comparatively, only around seventeen miles, but I tire from climbing around, plus carrying a heavier pack (it rained last night and I slept through -- yes, I hadn't rigged my fly -- everything I have is soaked!).

Hiking the Old US30 Highway, built back in the 20s was a memorable part of my Odyssey '04 trek, and I find it no less enjoyable today.  If you take a moment, you can read my comments about this old road at my September 7th Journal entry for that year.

Well, it's day seven.  I've been out here a week now, nearly 150 miles.  My back's a little sore, the body a tad tired, but looks like the old legs are going to come back under me one more time.  I think this is going to prove a most memorable journey -- thank you dear Lord.

The Corps didn't reach the Cascades until April 12th 1806.  Much time was spent exploring the lower tributaries of the Columbia, notably the Multnomah (Willamettre) and the Quicksand (Sandy).  During that time they encamped above the mouth of the Washougal.  They were also concerned about provisions for their return; so hunting parties were sent out.  Natives descending the river "...complained much of the scarcity of food among them.  they informed us that the nations above them were in the same situation..." [Lewis, April 1st 1806]  "This morning we came to a resolution to remain at our present encampment or some where in this neighbourhood untill we had obtained as much dried meat as would be necessary for our voyage as far as the Chopunnish [Nez Perces]." [Lewis, April 2nd 1806]

Lots more pictures today along the Gorge.  Pilot Rock, Horsetail Falls, a hiking trail, a short walk on the Union Pacific Railroad, the Old Historic Columbia River Gorge Highway, and finally, the Bridge of the Gods in Cascade Locks.


Thursday--March 30, 2006
Trail Day 008
Trail Mile--19.8/0162
Location--Hood River, Oregon

Cascade Locks is a five star trail town.  Everything a tired hiker could possibly need or want is within less than five minutes walking distance.  The people here are friendly, a change over the last 200 years.  They like, and cater to, long distance backpackers (the Pacific Crest National Scenic Trail drops off the mountain into Cascade Locks before crossing the Bridge of the Gods on its way from Mexico to Canada).

In '04 I stayed at the Bridge of the Gods Motel, right downtown, within the shadow of the bridge.  Stayed there again this time around too.  Great hosts, friendly folks.  Hiker trash rates.  All whiz-bang new.  Thanks Barbara and Roger, for your hospitality.

Had a long, interesting chat with Kristy, waitress at the local diner.  A slow evening, so we talked Lewis and Clark, and Native American history.  Kristy was born and raised right here by the Locks.  Her father, grandfather -- all lived out their lives here.  Her family came from Canada many years ago.  Probably helped widen the ruts in the old Oregon Trail, which passed the Cascades.  Kristy talked about the many Native Americans, dear friends she went to school with (a far away glint here), and how their heritage -- and hers seems now a mix.

Good to be in last night; hard rain.  But to my good fortune the good weather holds.  I'm out to a cool, cloudy morning, and by noon it fairs up and turns most pleasant.  Trekking the grinder today, I-84, all the way to Hood River.  Much heavy truck traffic.  The constant racket, rush, and confusion wear me down.  However, there's raw, expansive beauty here in the Gorge.  So, as I keep one eye on the eighteen-wheelers, I try, with the other, to keep that beauty in focus.

A few more good pictures, I hope.  I'm in by three.

The Corps spent April 9th through the 12th 1806 below the rapids (Cascades).  The snowmelt/spring runoff was in full tilt causing the Corps much difficulty in "hawking" their perogues/canoes and portaging their gear.  The Indians were a constant annoyance, a problem that greatly angered Lewis.

"we passed several beautiful cascades which fell from a great hight over the stupendous rocks which cloles [closes?] the river on both sides nearly...the most remarkable of these casscades falls about 300 feet perpendicularly over a solid rock [Multnomah, and the high falls area discussed in my journal entry yesterday]..." [Lewis, April 9th 1806]

"...this portage is two thousand eight hundred yards along a narrow rough and slipery road...at present the whole distance is extreemly difficult of ascent...the water appears to be upwards of 20 feet higher than when we decended the river...many of the natives crouded about the bank of the river where the men were engaged in taking up the canoes; one of them had the insolence to cast stones down the bank at two of the men...three of this same tribe of villains the Wah-clel-lars, stole my dog this evening...sent three men in pursuit of the thieves with orders if they made the least resistance or difficulty in surrendering the dog to fire on them..." [Lewis, April 11th 1806]


Friday--March 31, 2006
Trail Day--009
Trail Mile--22.7/0185
Location--The Dalles, Oregon

Don't know why I stopped by the Hood River Best Western last evening, but I did.  Best Westerns are fine top-o-the-line motels, and the Hood River facility ranks right up there with the best of them.  Anyway, at reception I told Beth and Dan my story about hiking the L&CNHT.  They both listened with sincere interest, then Beth asked what I could afford. When I told her, she didn't frown or say a word -- just went right to her computer and arranged a room for me.  One of the very finest rooms I've ever stayed in while trekking, bar none.  Thanks Beth and Dan, for your kindness to this old man; I had a great stay!

Another fine day in the making weather-wise.  Back to the I-84 grinder.  I'll be on this bruiser, off and on, for a number of days yet, until I'm out of the Columbia River Gorge.  Old old US30, Old US30, and now I-84, all were paved down over the ruts of the old Oregon Trail.  At the Memaloose Rest Area near Mosier, there's a fine Oregon Trail Interpretive Pavilion.  I stop and get a few pictures.

From the interstate today, there are many fine views into and across the Columbia River Gorge.  The current is really moving swiftly here as the river drops to the sea.  I've been climbing steadily since leaving Fort Clatsop.  There, and by the mouth of the Columbia River, at the Pacific Ocean, the elevation was zero.  Over the past nine days, and as I've been steadily climbing the Gorge, tomorrow, near Biggs Junction, the Columbia will be standing at 157 feet.

The last part of the hike today I'm back over on old US30.  Thank you, Lord!  Near The Dalles now and after climbing a couple of fences, then dashing across four lanes of I-84, I'm at the Columbia Gorge Discovery Center and Museum.  The admission fee is a little steep for me, but the kind lady at reception allows me to drift the hall and get some fine pictures.

By early afternoon I'm in The (new) Dalles.  It takes another hour and change to reach The (old) Dalles.  I check into the little mom-n-pop Oregon Motor Motel, right next the post office, a little before four -- just like in '04.  It's been a fine hiking day!


Saturday--April 1, 2006
Trail Day—010
Trail Mile--25.0/0210
Location--Rufus, Oregon

Bad electric storm last evening.  Buckets of rain accompanied by a full percussion/light show. Never before heard the likes of such thunder, as it echoed/reverberated back and forth across the walls of the Gorge.  Charmed again; sure glad I was in!

This morning I'm out to a cold and misty time of it.  But again, by late morning the clutter burns away -- and gives way to another beautiful day.  Looking over my journal entries for the days through here in '04, I daily lamented the annoying and troublesome wind.  It seemed to blow constantly, right up the Gorge, so hard at times that I literally had to lean into it to make any headway at all.  Well now, the wind's still here -- It hasn't changed direction, but I have!  So comes help, finally, to bounce the old Nomad along.

Numerous songbirds and a wide variety of waterfowl are ever abundant now.  Ducks and geese in great numbers.  On April 17th 1806 and encamped at Dallesport, Ordway wrote: "a beautiful warm morning...the Small birds of different kinds are Singing around us."

Ha, I got stopped by the Oregon State Police on I-84 this morning.  Was hiking with the traffic, which I almost never do.  Walking the "I-ways" out here is okay, but only if you're going against the traffic.  Didn't know that. The officer was most kind, and very inquisitive about my trek.  She asked if I tend to run into problems with troublemakers along the road.  She also asked if I had a hiding place for my money and credit card.  I just smiled, told her about the little prayer {A Path by the Side of the Road) that I recite each and every morning -- that that took care of it!  She smiled back, acted almost apologetic for hassling me; told me to be careful -- and it was okay to keep on hiking the with-traffic side.  First chance however, I hopped the center barrier anyway, to hike against the traffic, then I wave to her when she comes back the other way an hour later.

I'm getting a fair distance ahead of the Corps now (time-wise, save being 200 years late).  From April 15th 1806 and through the 18th of that year the Corps remained at Dallesport, set to the task of trading for and procuring horses for the journey across the western high plains and back over the Bitterroots.  As they continued upriver, and through the Long Narrows, they also continued bartering for and purchasing horses -- with miserable success.  The whole ordeal, from the tone of the captain's journal entries, must have been totally frustrating.  On April 20th 1806, from just above the Long Narrows (where I recently passed), Lewis wrote: "[The Teninos] are poor, dirty, proud, haughty, inhospitable, parsimonious and faithless in every rispect, nothing but our numbers I beleive prevents their attempting to murder us at the moment.  This morning I was informed that the natives had pilfered six tommahawks and a knife from the party in the course of the last night...one horse which I had purchased and paid for yesterday and which could not be found when I ordered the horses into close confinement yesterday I was now informed had been gambled away by the rascal who had sold it to me and had been taken away by a man of another nation."  That day Clark wrote: "I could not precure a Single horse of those people, dureing this day at any price...I used every artifice decent & even false Statements to enduce those pore devils to Sell me horses."

The following day, April 21st 1806, near the Deschutes River (passed by the Nomad today), after days of effort by all, the Corps was still unable to fully shift travel from water to land.  At that point Lewis became pretty much unhinged.  His journal entry tells it all: "Notwithstanding all the precautions I had taken with rispect to the horses one of them had broken his cord of 5 strands of Elkskin and had gone off spanseled. I sent several men in surch of the horse with orders to return at 10 A.M. with or without the horse being determined to remain no longer with these villains.  they stole another tomahawk from us this morning I surched many of them but could not find it. I ordered all the spare poles, paddles and the ballance of our canoe put on the fire as the morning was cold and also that not a particle should be left for the benefit of the indians. I detected a fellow in stealing an iron socket of a canoe pole and gave him several severe blows and mad the men kick  him out of camp. I now informed the indians that I would shoot the first of them that attempted to steal an article from us.  that we were not affraid to fight them, that I had in my power at that moment to kill them all and set fire to their houses..."

Gass was apparently so surprised by Lewis' actions that he wrote: "While we were making preparations to start, an Indian stole some iron articles from among the men's hands; which so irritated Captain Lewis, that he struck him; which was the first act of the kind, that had happened during the expedition."


Sunday--April 2, 2006
Trail Day—011
Trail Mile--28.0/0238
Location--Arlington, Oregon

If you've been following my itinerary from day-to-day, you will have noticed the last two locations, for yesterday and today aren't there.  That's because I've decided to stay on the Oregon side of the Gorge.  I'll not be crossing the Columbia this journey.  There'll be plenty of time to enjoy the miles in Washington after I pass Port Kelly.

I'm out this morning to another cold, drizzly day, but again, by around eleven the day fairs up and turns warm and clear.  Off come my fleece jacket, mittens and headband.

The wind wants to come along and cause me trouble.  By noon it's blowing every which direction, trying to zero in on me.  It gives up by one and the Columbia turns completely flat.  Of all the days I've hiked beside this river I've never seen it glass over like it has today.  If the Corps ever experienced a day like this, I know they would have enjoyed it.  By three-thirty, the wind returns.  It's got me figured out this time and it comes straight at me from the east, pushing hard.  The last three miles of most any day are the tough ones, today especially so.

We're back on daylight savings time again.  Yippee!  Wish we would stay on it all year.  I really like the late evening light.  I recall a number of years ago; there was a push to keep daylight savings time year-round.  One of the excuses then, at least in Missouri, was the farmers would have to do their morning milking in the dark.  Taking a lantern into the barn was a fire hazard.  So the rationale was that the cows could give milk better in the daylight, which left the rest of us in the dark come evening.

As I climb the Gorge, the climate change is striking.  Down by Portland, and beyond, it's rain forest.  Here, there are no trees, just grass -- and rocks.  Before I leave the Gorge, it will become even more arid.  Near the Dalles, on April 17th 1806, Lewis wrote: "the plain is covered with rich virdue of grass and herbs from four to nine inches high and exibits a beautiful seen particularly pleasing after having been so long imprisoned in mountains and those almost impenetrable thick forrests of the seacoast."


Monday--April 3, 2006
Trail Day—012
Trail Mile--27.0/0265
Location--Boardman, Oregon

I'm out to another gloomy morning, cold with mist.  The sun tries burning through early morning, but not today.  The wind is back first thing.  It's got my number now; hits me straight out of the east -- blow your hat off kind of wind.  I lean into it all day, just like I did on the westbound trek.

The day remains cold, and by three the rain, mixed with sleet comes along with the wind for good measure.  It's a hard twenty-seven; I just lean into it and go.

East of John Day Dam, and in the vicinity of Rock Creek, the Corps finally shifted their travel entirely to land.  That first night, April 24th 1806, they camped near Blalock Oregon, passed by me yesterday.

"the natives had tantalized us with an exchange of horses for our canoes in the first instance, but when they found that we had made our arrangements to travel by land they would give us nothing for them  I determined to cut them in peices sooner than leave them on those terms, Drewyer struck one of the canoes and split of a small peice with his tommahawk, they discovered us determined on this subject and offered us several strands of beads for each which were accepted.  we proceeded up the river between the hills and it's Northern shore...most of the party complain of the soarness of their feer and legs this evening; it is no doubt caused by walking over the rough stones and deep sands..." [Lewis, April 24, 1806]


Tuesday--April 4, 2006
Trail Day—013
Trail Mile--30.0/0295
Location--Hat Rock SP, Oregon

This is going to be a fine hiking day, cool and cloudy, just a little wind coming at me.  No gloves, no headband, only an open jacket this morning.

Either the state police or local sheriff came to check me out first thing almost every morning.  It's the sheriff's turn today.  No ID required, just want to know what's up, why I'm out here on the interstate -- if I'm okay.  All have been kind and have shown interest in my journey.

This is a day I've been looking forward to; not a big deal, but to me, I guess it is -- I'm off the I-ways for this hike.  Three more miles this morning and I've got I-84 behind me.  Been on it, on and off (but mostly on), since Portland.  There'll be plenty more I-ways to cross over or under, or hike alongside before this trek is over, but this is the last one I'll be on.  Don't get me wrong, the interstate is not a bad place to be, safe enough, just so much commercial traffic plus long straight stretches disappearing to the horizon.  Tends to wear on a fellow.  Yup, glad to have I-84 in my rearview!

The Gorge is opening up now, the plateau much lower, so the I-way climbs up and out of it from time to time today.  I look behind me often, but it's just too cloudy, too hazy to see the seventy or so miles back to Mount Hood.  Next snowcaps I'll see will be the Rockies.

Near Irrigon, and on US730 now the plateau is covered with roundy-roundy irrigation systems.  The climate here is arid, very dry, only 8-9 inches of rainfall per year.  But the soil is loamy and good for a variety of field crops, even vineyards.  I recall wondering, while passing Irrigon in '04, where that unusual name came from.  I remember chuckling and whispering to myself, "Don't know, but without irrigation it'd sure be gone!"

In Umatilla I'm back on my planned route again.  Arrive here early; so after a short stop to get some Easter cards off, I head back out and hoof it on to Hat Rock State Park, some 5-6 miles up the road.  Unusual rock formation, shaped like a huge Quaker's hat, or the one the little fellow wears for St. Patty's Day.

"By the 27th, the party reached the country of Chief Yellept and the Wallawallas, relatives of the Nez Perce.  The chief rode up with six men and was delighted to see the white men, as they were to see him.  Yellept was chief of a village of some fifteen lodges, with perhaps 150 men, and many horses.  It was currently set up about twelve miles below the junction of the Columbia and the Snake, on the north bank.  [Stephen Ambrose, Undaunted Courage]


Wednesday--April 5, 2005
Trail Day—014
Trail Mile--22.0/0317
Location--Near Touchet, Washington

It was nearly dark when I arrived at Hat Rock SP last evening, so the nearby Good Sam Campground Store was already closed.  I hiked on over by the park water tank and pitched for the night.  Other than the freight trains running across the river, all was quiet.

This morning I beat it back to the store, which has a grill.  Here Sally, the storeowner greets me.  Oh yes, she's in early making biscuits, and coffee's brewed and ready -- and she invites me in.  Not much going on this morning, except it's darking over and the rain is setting in.  "Not much activity around here when it's raining," Sally remarks, not complaining.  She sets to fixing me a fine breakfast, complete with a freshly baked biscuit.  I try to drain her coffee.  Plenty of time to chat.  Sally tells me of her adventures, from ranching a 50-section spread in Arizona to touring Europe.  Doesn't take long to realize, deep down, she's just a wanderlust, like me.  Breakfast is Sally's treat -- and she sends me out with grub for the evening.  Thanks’ Sally!

By the time I hit the road, it's raining steady.  The wind tries, but decides to back off and let the rain do the job on me today.  And a fine job it does, indeed.  No letup till dark.

I content myself with hammering on up the Gorge.  The rains, the clouds, the fog, all combines to create an eerie beauty to the place.  At two, I put Oregon behind me.  Ten more states to go.  By four, I reach US12, and leave the Columbia Gorge behind me.  I'll follow the Touchet River, then the Walla Walla River, to Walla Walla, generally the return route followed by the Corps, and later by the Oregon Trail.

Along about here, in late April 1806, things greatly improved for the Corps, at least as to relations with the natives.  They were greeted again by Chief Yellept who, along with his villagers, had invited the Yakima to join them for an evening of festivities.

"...a little before sunset the Chymnahpos [Yakima] arrived; they were about 100 men and a few women; they joined the Wallahwollahs who were about the same number and formed a half circle around our camp where they waited very patiently to see our party dance. the fiddle was played and the men amused themselves with dancing about an hour.  we then requested the Indians to dance which they very cheerfully complied with...about 550 men women and children sung and danced at the same time."  [Lewis, April 28th 1806]


Thursday--April 6, 2006
Trail Day—015
Trail Mile--20.0/0337
Location--Walla Walla, Washington

The wind blows here.  Perhaps you've picked up on that if you're following along.  On the plateau above the Columbia River Gorge, there's nothing to stop the wind, save perhaps five or six hundred huge wind-driven turbines.  But they don't stop it either, they just turn with it.  All night last, from where I'd pitched in a dry gulch below the highway, I could hear the moan of the night wind as it passed the turbine props, kinda like the wind in the tall pine, but not really -- more low-pitched and mournful.

The day dawns clear and cold.  I'm having a time getting the old jitney cranked and haulin'.  The damp cold is partly the cause.  Mainly my feet are so much mush from the soaking yesterday.  The feet must be broken in for both dry and wet.  The dry I've got; the wet I'm workin' on.

No complaints though.  Been very fortunate this start-up.  I've suffered the usual shin splints, sore back, aching knees and joints, but not nearly as bad as the beginning of other treks.  I've been out here two weeks now, hammering 20-30 mile days.  My legs are back under me one more time.  It's a blessing, pure and simple -- it's a blessing.  Thank you, Lord!

Not much in the little berg of Touchet (rhymes with juicy -- locals say it ain't French!).  There's a Chevron with a Subway.  I go for the breakfast bun and doubles on coffee.  The klatch has taken up the far corner.  David, Manuel, and Gary.  They take me in.  Happy conversation about the old school days, that stuff.  Good fun.

Out of the Chevron, the gloves and headband come off.  Gentle breeze to my back.  I can see the western extent of the Rockies and many snowcaps to my east.  Be there soon.  I'm now taking (generally) the eighty-mile shortcut followed by Lewis and Clark, through Waitsburg (where I'll be tomorrow), Dayton and Pomeroy.  When the Corps crossed the Columbia River on April 29th 1806, aided by Yellept, they had 23 horses and a Nez Perce guide to help them onward to the Snake River, west of present day Clarkston.

"...the indians informed us that there was a good road which passed from the columbia opposite to this village to the entrance of the Kooskooske on the S. side of Lewis's river...we knew that a road in that direction if the country would permit would shorten our rout at least 80 miles..." [Lewis, April 27th 1806]


Friday--April 7, 2006
Trail Day—016
Trail Mile--21.2/0358
Location--Waitsburg, Washington

Walla Walla is a fair-sized town; hiking through takes awhile.  I'm headed for Waitsburg today, continuing on US12, up and over a portion of the western high plains.  The Corps did not pass this way.  Rather, they continued following the Touchet River, west of Walla Walla, as it curved up and around to present-day Waitsburg.

From these plains I'll descend, as did the Corps, down to the Snake River at Clarkston/Lewiston.  But generally I've been, and will continue, climbing.  Where I turned from the Columbia River Gorge at Wallula Junction, the Columbia stood at 348 feet.  By the time I reach the Snake River, day after tomorrow, the river there is at 725 feet.  Yet continuing along US12, up the valleys of the Clearwater and Lochsa, I'll climb steadily up and into the high-ranging Bitterroots.

Around Waitsburg there's more annual rainfall than for areas just west.  In these rolling high plains, wheat is king, and during the summer it's wheat, 360, to the horizon.

"I see very little difference between the apparent face of the country here and that of the plains of the Missouri only that these are not enlivened by the vast herds of buffaloe Elk &c which ornament the other." [Lewis, May 1st 1806]

Upon leaving their lands, and speaking of the Wallawallas on May 2nd 1806, Lewis noted "...that they are the most hospitable, honest, and sincere people that we have met with in our voyage."


Saturday--April 8, 2006
Trail Day—017
Trail Mile--9.8/0368
Location--Dayton, Washington

My first mail drop was in Walla Walla.  There I received cards from dear family and friends.  It's always a morale booster -- hearing from folks that are following along.  My next mail drop (scheduled) will be in Great Falls around the end of this month.  My address there will be: M. J. Eberhart,  c/o General Delivery, Great Falls, Montana 59401.  It'd be a joy to hear from y'all!  Please mark your mail "Hold for L&C NHT Hiker.”

In Waitsburg last, and as I turned by the White Stallion Restaurant and Lounge, a car pulled beside and parked.  Out came this lady -- straight to me.  "There's a purpose in what you're doing, isn't there?" she remarked with a beaming smile.  "My granddaughter and me, we saw you on our way to Walla Walla, then again on our return trip home.  We knew you didn't want a ride.  You're walking for a purpose, aren't you?" she continued.  And so, there by that fine establishment (hers), I met Gaye and granddaughter, Hillary.  I smiled back, returning her kind greeting, then told her about my return trek -- the 200th anniversary of the return of Lewis and Clark.  A broader-beaming smile then, and Hillary was beaming too!  "Did you notice the name of my place -- White Stallion?  You know what it stands for, don't you?" she asked.  Gaye continued smiling and nodding in agreement as I recalled the story of the Wallawallas and Chief Yellept, who had befriended Lewis and Clark in the fall of 1805 -- then had come again to aid and assist the Corps on their return.  During that time of renewed friendship and celebration, Chief Yellept offered the Corps a "very eligant white horse" [Lewis, April 28th 1806].  And so, Gaye's inspiration for naming her place, "White Stallion."  Gaye invited me in as her guest.  She fed me a huge cod dinner, all the while sitting and entertaining me with friendly conversation.  Also befriending me was waitress, Tammy Jo.  Thanks, Gaye, Hillary, Tammy Jo.  Your kindness and hospitality, your generosity, they'll remain in my memory.

With an hour remaining till dusk, I hoofed it on up to Lewis and Clark State Park, there to find a grassy spot back under the trees.

Ahh, this adventure is truly turning to one of fulfillment and reward.

The rain began around five this morning, driven by a cold wind out of the southwest.  I break camp in it, and then hasten the remaining distance to Dayton.  This has been a short day.  In Dayton, Shailesh offers the old Nomad a hiker trash deal at his fine Blue Mountain Motel.

I'm in!

"it rained, hailed, snowed & blowed with Great Violence the greater portion of the day.  it was fortunate for us that this storm was from the S.W. and of course on our backs." [Clark, May 3rd 1806]


Sunday--April 9, 2006
Trail Day—018
Trail Mile--26.9/0394
Location--Pomeroy, Washington

An amazing "coincidence" last evening.  I had walked downtown to see the local sights and to meet a few of the local folks.  Being late, the only place open was the bar and grill.  One seat was left at the bar, between an old gent and a younger chap.  I took it.  Struck up a conversation first thing with the old gent.  In awhile, the younger fellow joined in.  He's working the wind turbine project.  Came to find he was from Dahlonega, Georgia, the son-in-law of a dear friend there, Juddy -- who's since passed away. Bill, it was a pleasure meeting you.  When you get back home, my regards please, to Juddy's mother, Georgia Mae, his widow, Donna, his daughter (your wife), Johanna, and all the other kids.

What a blessing, the short day yesterday, with plenty of time to rest.  It was much needed. I'm out at eight to a glorious cool, clear morning.  Folks have been telling me about the Corps' camp of May 2nd 1806, located just outside of town.  I check my maps and find I can take a detour and pass by there.  So it's off to the May 2nd camp I go.

I find it to be a pretty amazing place.  The camp is set entirely with iron silhouettes of all the members of the Corps, even the Indian guides, and all the horses.  I spend much time taking pictures -- and cleaning the mess of catsup, mayo, mustard, and ice cream off all the plaques so I can photograph them.

The hike today is mostly along gravel roads, a shortcut across a big horseshoe loop in US12, up and onto the plateau, then down to Marengo, a little crossroads community, then back up to the plateau, to finally descend back down to catch US12 coming around.  Beautiful views all along, including many huge wind-driven turbines not here when I passed in '04.  Along the way I meet an old chap, name of Pepper Nelson -- runs Stirrup T Farms in a "little" place called Covello -- which, in the early 1900s boasted a population of 107.  There are only two people living there now, Pepper and his wife!

By six, I'm entering the streets of Pomeroy.  By six, the rain is also entering the streets of Pomeroy.

On May 3rd 1806, the Corps camped by Pataha Creek, near present-day Pomeroy, here in Garfield County, Washington.  Nearing the confluence of the Snake and the Clearwater, the Corps was beginning to run into the Nez Perce again.

"we met with We-ark-koomt [Nez Perce Chief]...he is the 1st Chief of a large band of the Chopunnish nation [again, Nez Perce]...[Lewis, May 3rd 1806]


Monday--April 10, 2006
Trail Day—019
Trail Mile--31.5/0426
Location--Lewiston, Idaho

This is going to be a long grind-it-out day.  Cold rain gets me started, and then slacks off from time-to-time as the morning progresses.  But by one, and as I'm working the climb up to Alpowa, which crests just shy of 3,000 feet, the wind starts kicking, driving hail along with it.  On the top of Alpowa I see a very large gray wolf.  He's grubbing around for field mice, totally oblivious to my presence.  When he finally sees me, he hightails it, literally, up and over the rise, and in a flash, he's gone.

The Corps also climbed up and over Alpowa.  While on the flat, ranging crest, and on May 4th 1806, Clark wrote: "the soil is extremely fertile...it produces great quantities of the quawmash a root of which the natives are extremely fond."

During the 200th '04 anniversary, the Corps' outbound journey, there were many folks following the Lewis and Clark National Historic Trail, in automobiles, motor homes, and on bicycles.  To my knowledge, no one else hiked the trail, although there was a lone kayaker/hiker who made the distance, by water and then by land.  His name is Norm Miller, and you can check out his amazing adventure at www.lewisandclark-2004.com. If you followed my journey during that year, you'll recall it took 124 days and over 3,100 miles.  This year, it being the 200th anniversary of the Corps' return from Fort Clatsop to St. Louis -- and there being unfinished business as to my involvement with the anniversary, I decided to return to Fort Clatsop and do the return trek.  So on March 23rd, at one o'clock, 200 years to the day (hour) I began my personal return journey. This odyssey is going to be charmed.  I can tell already.  I'm seeing so many old friends, and making new ones.

Many times during the '04 odyssey, and again this trek, folks have commented to the effect: "Well, the Corps of Discovery was a voyage by water, not a journey by land."  And indeed, both the captains referred to the journey as a voyage from time-to-time.  They did indeed struggle for great distances, up and down many great rivers, during their "voyage."  However, as through here, and for months, the Corps journeyed by horseback -- or they simply walked.  And even when they had horses, they still walked, leading their heavily laden "pack stock" along.

If you've read the journals of the members of the Corps, more specifically, those of Lewis and those of Clark, you will have come to know and understand the many individual talents and interests of these two men.  Clark was the boatman, the navigator, and the cartographer.  Lewis was the naturalist, the entomologist, and the anthropologist.  While the Corps traveled by water, Clark spent most of his time as leader of the boat crews. Lewis on the other hand, took to the lands along, traveling for the greater part on foot.  He has been credited with the discovery of many species of plants and animals.

The hunters that supplied meat, the nourishment and energy that kept the Corps going, those Kentucky boys and the greatest hunter, the half-breed, Drouillard -- the Lord only knows how many thousands of miles they walked hunting, ranging the plains, the valleys, and mountainsides in search for game.

Oh, but could I have lived 200 years ago.  Could I have been born and raised along the Ohio River.  I would have been one of those Kentucky boys chosen by Clark.  Oh, to have been a member of that remarkable history making/changing expedition, one of the most incredible adventures of all recorded time.  Oh, to have been there -- to have been one of them.  Could my dream, my wish be made true, right here, right now where I stand, pack shouldered and ready, you'd see but a puff of smoke -- and I'd be gone.  And there, in the complement of the Corps, there in their journals, those documents of time -- you'd read my name.

Descending from Alpowa, I reach the upper Hells Gate section of the Snake River by four.  At six, I put the Snake River, and Washington, behind me.

On May 4th 1806, the Corps encamped on the banks of the Snake River, a short distance below present day Clarkston/Lewiston.  In his journal for that day, Lewis wrote: "we met with Te-toh, ar sky, the youngest of the two cheifs who accompanied us last fall [to] the great falls of the Columbia...these indians recommended our passing the river [Snake] at this place and ascending the Kooskooske [Clearwater] on the N.E. side...thither they promised to conduct us..."

That day in his journal, Gass wrote: "we halted at an Indian lodge, and could get nothing to eat, except some bread made of a kind of root I was unaquainted with. We had, however, a dog, which we bought from the Indians...scanty allowance for thirty odd hungry men."


Tuesday--April 11, 2006
Trail Day—020
Trail Mile--27.6/0453
Location--Lenore, Idaho

I had somewhat dreaded this day.  Up through Clearwater River Canyon the river is squeezed hard both sides by the canyon walls, the road jammed in between the river and the bluff.  Consequently, the road has no emergency lane, either side, and the white line (road edge) is hard against the crash rails.  In '04, I passed through this section of the lower canyon in driving rain, the wind and the eighteen-wheelers being the drivers.  However, today turns out totally different.  I've got more room on the upriver side, the commercial traffic is thin -- and it's a beautiful, warm and sunny day!

The Clearwater isn't so clear this time of year.  It's roiling and boiling, brimful with snowmelt, and whatever else it can bring down with it.  The Corps crossed the Snake River below the confluence of the Clearwater (near present-day Clarkson/Lewiston), thus putting them on the north side of the Clearwater, where a number the Nez Perce villages were located.  On the third day's march up the Clearwater, the Corps "passed" the river to the south side on May 7th 1806.

By late afternoon, the day darks over and the rain begins, but I'm out of it as I've reached my destination for the day, the Nez Perce Reservation and the Thunderbird Smoke Shop.  La Verne is still here, still working evenings.  She welcomes me, and in a short while I'm again given permission to pitch behind the fireworks shed -- just like in '04.

"We proceeded up the river 4 miles to a lodge of six families...Here our guide recommended the passing of the river.  He informed us that the road was better on the south side and game more abundant...Accordingly, we unloaded our horses and prepared to pass the river, which we effected by means of one canoe in four hours." [Lewis, May 7th 1806]


Wednesday--April 12, 2006
Trail Day—021
Trail Mile--15.8/0469
Location--Orofino, Idaho

It'll be a steady climb today, up US12, which goes up by the Clearwater.  At Lewiston the river stood at 725 feet.  When I reach Orofino this evening, and at that place, the Clearwater stands at 982 feet.

The day starts iffy, drizzle but mild.  The rain soon relents and the day turns fair.  The highway continues by the bluff one side, the river the other, scant room for a road.  I hike outside the crash rail for a fair distance, but the going is a difficult off-camber and the rocks loose and unsafe.  I finally give it up to take my chances once more with the eighteen-wheelers.  On the outskirts of Orofino I stop for my picture by an old dugout canoe in front of a neat little craft shop.  Then it's on to Canoe Camp, above Canyon Creek, where in 1805 the Corps took to the water for the remainder of their voyage to the sea.

In Orofino, and at the White Pine Motel, I'm greeted again by Dave, who recognizes me immediately.  The rain soon returns -- and stays.  Sure glad I beat it in!

"At a distance of two miles, we passed a lodge of two fires...situated on a small branch which falls into Mosquito [Canyon] Creek.  Soon after we arrived at camp, two boys, with Willard, set out to the river near the place we made the canoes [Canoe Camp] for our saddles and a cannister of powder we buried there..." [Lewis, May 9th 1806]


Thursday--April 13, 2006
Trail Day—022
Trail Mile--22.1/0491
Location--Kamiah, Idaho

Looks like the rain is here for the duration; came down hard all night, and this morning it continues, as I don my poncho and head into it.

I'll be hiking new territory for the first time on this trek, staying US12 to Lolo, instead of climbing to the high plains by Weippe.  Locals have told me not to go up on the mountain trail; "If the snow isn't hip deep, then it'll be pure mud,” they tell me.  So I'll stay the highway and connect back at a place called Powell Ranger Station, just below Lolo Pass.

The Corps was unable to traverse the Bitterroots until the end of June.  On the highways, I'm content I'll make it through just fine mid April.  I'm cutting across with Lewis!  Plans are to be in Great Falls by the end of this month.

The canyon stays tight with the river.  More no-shoulder road most of the day but the ruggedness of the canyon makes for breathtaking scenery.  The rain stays all day, with clouds running the canyon.  This section between Orofino and Kamiah (cam-e-eye) is spectacular.  The rain, the veil it drapes by the canyon walls, and the clouds running low with the ridges visible above; it's just magic.  So the eighteen-wheelers that shove and push me, which totally soak me, do not dampen my joy for this day.

I'm into Kamiah by four, to the Kamiah Inn, where hiker trash is king!

I have been frustrating all day about calling my dear friends, Gene and Mollie Eastman.  They live in Weippe.  I would dearly love to see them both again, but I'm not going by way of Weippe this trek, and it's just too far for them to come down from the prairie, into the canyon, then up to Kamiah.  So better judgment prevails -- and I send them an email.

At this point, I am now one month (less 200 years) ahead of the Corps. On May 8th 1806, the Corps again met The Nez Perce Chief, Twisted Hair.  He had been the Corps' main guide down the Columbia to Celilo Falls.  He had also cared for their horses during the winter of 1805-06.  At camp near Orofino the captains told the Nez Perce about their expedition and the new government they would be subject to.  All the while, they were collecting their horses, and on May 13th 1806, they moved on to Kamiah.  The next day they "passed" the river to the east side where they encamped.  They remained here until June 10th, waiting for the snow to melt in the Bitterroots.  The Corps did not name this camp, however, historians have called it Long Camp or Camp Chopunish, the name Lewis and Clark used for the Nez Perce.  Other than at the two winter forts, the Corps remained here longer than at any other camp.  At Camp Chopunish, Lewis soon became restless.  He wanted to get moving, to return to St Louis.

"I am pleased at finding the river rise so rapidly, it no doubt is attributeable to the melting snows of the mountains; that icy barier which separates me from my friends and Country, from all which makes life esteemable, patience, patience." [Lewis, May 17th 1806]


Friday--April 14, 2006
Trail Day—023
Trail Mile--29.6/0521
Location--Lowell, Idaho

I'm out at seven to a cold, mushy morning.  No rain yet, but looks are, it'll arrive soon.  Ahh, but hey, by eleven the sun breaks through, off come the gloves and jacket -- and the remainder of the day turns perfect!

More steady climbing today, up and into the upper reaches of the Columbia River watershed.  At Kooskia, a little village I pass late this morning, the Clearwater River stands at 1,140 feet.  Just above here, the Clearwater comes together from the middle and south forks.  US12 follows the middle fork.  Further up, and by early evening I reach Lowell.  Here the Clearwater River has its beginning, at the confluence of the Selway and Lochsa Rivers.  The Lochsa is a formidable river in its own right, and the highway will follow it ever upward for over sixty miles, to just below Lolo Pass.

US12 is much more friendly now, as the traffic thins and the shoulders open up.  This gives me time to look around and enjoy the scenery and the wildlife -- large mergansers, mallards, Canadians.  I hear turkey calling all along today.  And I hear the turkey hunters practicing their calls.  Tomorrow is the beginning of spring turkey season.

On the high ridges and peaks above the canyon, which are becoming higher and more rugged around each bend, I can see much snow.  The expedition was detained almost five weeks, waiting for the snow to melt on these high ridges above Weippe Prairie.  The parallel route I've chosen will prove a much safer way, and I'll not be detained.  I am now two months ahead of the Corps -- less 200 years.

I reach the fine Three Rivers Motel and Resort in Lowell by five.  Here the owners, Marie and Mike Smith, who’ve hosted guest for over three decades, greet me.  I give Marie my little two-minute Lewis and Clark trek talk, and she takes me in -- special handling for the old Nomad!  It's been a long day.  A good soaking for my tired old bones, then up with the feet; that's the trick.  Thanks Marie and Mike for your kindness and hospitality!

"we have now been detained near five weeks in consequence of the snows; a serious loss of time at this delightfull season for traveling. I am still apprehensive that the snow and the want of food for our horses will prove a serious imbarrassment to us as at least four days journey of our rout in these mountains lies over hights and along a ledge of mountains never intirely destitute of snow.  every body seems anxious to be in motion, convinced that we have not now any time to delay if the calculation is to reach the United States this season; this I am detirmined to accomplish if within the compass of human power." [Lewis, June 14th 1806]


Saturday--April 15, 2006
Trail Day—024
Trail Mile--30.1/0545
Location--Wilderness Gateway Camp

When I tell you this trek is charmed, it truly is.  Just when I reached Three Rivers last evening, the rain came to stay, all night, steady and hard.  And oh my -- it's still getting with it this morning.  Okay, so the trek is only half charmed!

Just before reaching Lowell last evening there was this highway warning sign: "Last diesel, last gas for 64 miles."  Actually, that meant last pretty much everything for the next 64 miles.  The Bitterroots here, the Lochsa (say Locksaw) Wild and Scenic River, this vast, rugged section of the splendid Bitterroot Mountains, remains one of the most remote wilderness areas in all the lower 48.  I'll force this canyon for the better part of the next three days as I work my way up the Lochsa, from Lowell to Lochsa Lodge, just below Lolo Pass.  From where I picked up the Lochsa, at Lowell, to where I'll leave it day-after-tomorrow below Powell Ranger Station, I'll climb over 2,000 feet up the Lochsa Canyon.

I head over first thing for a few provisions at the little Lowell Store.  Then it's next door for a final hot meal at the Wilderness Cafe.

My poncho goes on -- and stays on all day.  Not much traffic, but lots of die-hard kayakers playing in the rapids of the Lochsa, an Indian word, which means, "rough water,” an understatement for sure.  This river is almost totally whitewater, roaring and crashing as it tumbles down.  The climb is steady for the whole day.  During this climb to the Bitterroot Divide at Lolo Pass I had figured on cold, hard weather, so the relentless, biting rain this day hasn't been a disappointment.  However, with the rain, clouds, and snowcaps, has come the opportunity, and I do believe I've gotten some pretty impressive photos.

The Lolo Motorway, which is a high clearance two-track road laid down pretty much over the old Indian (Nez Perce) Trail, is just above me on the ridge.  Through here in late June of 1806, joining the Corps were five young Nez Perce braves.  Two were going to visit their allies, the Salish.  The other three were headed for the Great Falls of the Missouri -- and as fate would have, they were to become a Godsend to the Corps.  For, on the 27th, Lewis wrote: "We were entirely surrounded by these mountains...it would have seemed impossible ever to have escaped; in short, without the assistance of our guides [the three braves] I doubt much whether we...could find our way."  The sight would "...damp the sperits of any except such hardy travellers as we have become."

With the aid of the three Nez Perce guides, the Corps traversed the rugged Bitterroots in only six days, where, in the autumn of 1805, the outbound traverse cost them twelve days -- and nearly their lives.

I am now two months and a few days ahead of the Corps (less 200 years), and from this point, and indeed for the remainder of this trek to Gateway Arch in St. Louis, I will have to hike hard to maintain this lead.  For, when the Corps started moving again, up, into, and across these rugged Bitterroots, they had 65 horses, enough to carry both men and baggage.  Ahh, and once over the Great Divide, the Rockies behind them, from there it was literally all downhill, by the waters of that mighty river, up which they had labored and struggled for so long and so very hard.


Easter Sunday--April 16, 2006
Trail Day—025
Trail Mile--30.0/0575
Location--Jerry Johnson Camp

Actually, I didn't quite make it to Wilderness Gateway Camp last, but chose instead to pull up just short at the old historic ranger station.  The rain had really worked me over all day.  I was pretty much soaked and could sense the early stages of hypothermia, not a good feeling.  The rain hadn't let up.  In fact, it had been steadily increasing in intensity with a mix of sleet.  Making camp in this sort of weather is a real problem; at least I've always found it to be.  I can never seem to get my pack off and open, my tent up, and me and my gear in without a thorough soaking.  The old ranger cabins have porches, the first and only sign of any kind of shelter from the storm all day -- I pulled over!

The cold rain, sleet, then snow-mix continued all night.  And this morning it's still at it.  It takes all the will I can muster just to shoulder my pack and head back out into it again.  Thankfully, my thoughts turn to the brighter side -- that this day, and perhaps tomorrow, these next two days might well be the very worst I'll have to deal with the remainder of this journey.  That thought gives me the will and determination to hit it and go.

Once out and moving, I find the old jitney very responsive, as I get right up to normal operating temperature.  It's hit the cruise button time -- I motor, looking up only long enough to dodge the eighteen-wheeler tornados.  Yes, they're running on Easter Day!

The steady climb continues as the constant roar of the grand Lochsa fades to my subconscious.  The canyon pinches tight all the day, its gray-cold walls standing hard against the river -- and the highway.  The sharp, blind curves are countless.  So too, the many harried motorists, in that instant, as they fly around to meet me hugging the rock.

By late evening I've hammered another thirty, having stopped only long enough for water, some needed relief, or a quick photo.

As I reach Jerry Johnson Camp, which is gated and closed for the winter (it's still winter up here) the day darks dramatically.  The rain, which has been continuous, turns first to rain/sleet, then to rain/sleet/wet snow, then to pure snow.

Lucky for me, the Lochsa Rangers have seen fit to leave the toilet unlocked.  Oh yes indeedy, any port in a storm!  I'm in, and happy to be out of it yet again.  The sleet and rain continue all night, but I'm warm and dry on the toilet floor -- stretched out in my Feathered Friends bag, on my comfy Therm-a-Rest pad.  What a blessing.  Thank you kind and thoughtful Lochsa Rangers.  And thank you, dear Lord!

"on an elevated point we halted by the request of the Indians a few minutes and smoked the pipe.  on this eminence the natives have raised a conic mound of stones of 6 or eight feet high and on it's summit erected a pine pole of 15 feet long [The Smoking Place]...from this place we had an extensive view of these stupendous mountains principally covered with snow like that on which we stood..." [Lewis, June 27th 1806]


Monday--April 17, 2006
Trail Day—026
Trail Mile--11.3/0586
Location--Lochsa Lodge, Idaho

I've a very short day today, the hike on up to Lochsa Lodge, which is a grand establishment in the finest tradition.  So I'm out with a bounce in my step, into the rain and snow. No matter. The cold and dampness will not dampen my spirit.

After an hour, the sun breaks through, the roadway steams, and then dries.  Off come the poncho and the gloves for the first time in days.  What a change!

In the second hour, and as I pass the spot where the Corps climbed from the Lochsa back up to the ridge, and where I turned from the highway to climb the same ridge in '04, the day darks over, it turns immediately cold again -- and the snow returns.

In a few more miles, a yellow Idaho Highway Department truck goes by.  In minutes it passes again, the other way.  Then again in just minutes it passes the third time, then stops and turns, and returns -- to pull off just ahead of me.  I'm thinking: "Oh man, now what have I done!"  As I approach the truck, comes a fellow to greet me, with a beaming smile, and a brand new blaze orange vest.  "We have some crazy drivers around here; thought you could use this." he says -- and so, I meet Ron Moss, Maintenance Supervisor at Powell.  While he's slipping the vest over my pack I get the latest on the weather.  Hey, it's going to fair up some, and I should have much better conditions once I'm over the pass tomorrow.  Thanks, Ron, for your thoughtfulness!

With less than a mile to the lodge, and as the road climbs yet higher, leaving the Lochsa, the snow returns once again, so hard and with such huge flakes it becomes difficult to see the road ahead.  Fortunately, I'm at the turnoff to Lochsa Lodge, and in moments I'm standing, dripping wet, by the lodge desk.  Gail, the hostess, and Ron, the lodge owner are there to greet me.

Pack off and aside, I'm seated, to have a piping hot cup of coffee placed in my hands!

Folks, it's sure good to be back to Lochsa Lodge!

"We continued our route along the dividing ridge over knobs and deep hollows...At 12 o'clock we arrived at an untimbered hillside of a mountain with a southern aspect just above the fishery [and just above Lochsa Lodge]...we decided to remain at this place all night, having come 13 miles only." [Clark, June 28th 1806]


Tuesday--April 18, 2006
Trail Day—027
Trail Mile--28.2/0615
Location--Beyond Lolo Hot Springs, Montana

What a grand time at Lochsa Lodge.  The place is pure class.  So too, the folks there.  Lochsa is a family business, owned and operated since 1984 by Don and Andrea Denton.  In the tavern, I met Mike, Tom and Karen who work at the lodge.  Also Ron and Lorraine, whose stalled van had left them stranded.  We spent a grand afternoon together -- much fun for the socially starved Nomad!  A fine cook there also, great food.  Dang, I forget his name.  But I do know that he's the great grandson of the famous actor, John Wayne.  Hmm, wonder if he's a Morrison!  Wasn't John Wayne's given name Marion Morrison?

I am very thankful the Dentons took me in last.  The snow continued off and on all night, and there are flurries, and it's cold this morning.  Ahh, but I was comfortable and warm.  Thanks all dear friends (one more time) at Lochsa Lodge!

Ron and Lorraine walk with me back out to US12 and I'm on my way to Lolo Pass a little after nine.  The steady climb gets the old jitney humming right off.  In just a short distance I reach the cathedral-like stand of western red cedar known as DeVoto Grove, named for author, historian and conservationist, Bernard DeVoto. Over half a century ago he often camped in the grove while editing the journals of Lewis and Clark. His ashes are scattered here among these sky-bound sentinels.  DeVoto's definitive work, his research and writing about the Corps of Discovery, especially as to the journals of Lewis and Clark, that work has been the hallmark on the subject for years.

I linger here.  It is quiet, peaceful, a spiritual place, like in a cathedral.  Western red cedar takes 300-400 years to mature to the likes of those.  If undisturbed, they can thrive for thousands of years.
It has been trying to fair up this morning and at times I can actually see passing patches of blue, but the dark skies rule and the snow returns often as I continue ascending.

By two, I've reached the pass.  The sky finally clears and the day becomes blinding-bright, as the sun bounces and reflects from the enormous drifts and mounds of snow.  I linger again, at the beautiful interpretive center.  It's still closed, but the snowplows have been around the drive.  I take many pictures.  The scenes are remarkable.

As I turn to descend into Montana, I lose an hour; it's a time change from Pacific to Mountain.  Continuing down, I reflect on the past few days spent here in these rugged Bitterroots.  I recall the mixed feelings experienced while passing by the Clearwater Bridge at Greer -- where I crossed after descending from Weippe Prairie in '04.  I had so wanted to go that way again, as did the Corps in 1806.  But I am content now, pleased that I've had the opportunity to see and experience the very best of these mountains, the rugged beauty that abounds in the Bitterroots.

I have previously passed and have seen most of the historic places along the Nez Perce Trail, those written about in the books, like Snowbank Camp, Indian Post Office, The Smoking Place, Indian Grave.  Now, having ascended the canyons of the Clearwater and the Lochsa, I know why the old Indian trail took to the high place!

I have also experienced the unexcelled beauty and grandeur, the vibrancy and mighty power, the rushing waters of those rivers that crash and tumble in pure whiteness, bound by the canyon walls.

There are many things one can experience only while walking.  Up through the canyons of the Clearwater and Lochsa, I was constantly amazed at the sheer number of tributaries, the small trickles and rivulets, the larger brooks, creeks and streams, which entered the main canyon from the side hills.  Of course, one can see them while passing swiftly by.  However, one cannot experience, let alone explain, the utter bewilderment as to the seemingly never lessened magnitude/volume of the main waters -- above each confluence.  For miles, indeed, for days, I marveled as to this phenomenon.  I actually began believing their true sources to be unseen, to be infinite, their origins some other place, from another time, far above, distant, beyond the canyon walls.

So, though a sense of sadness yet lingers, I depart Idaho with a deep feeling of appreciation and accomplishment.  Appreciation for the path the Lord chose for me, straight through the bosom of Nature's best.  Accomplishment?  It's the satisfaction of knowing that I've followed in the shadows and in the footsteps of the Corps, best I could.  Too, it is the satisfaction of knowing that I truly understand, perhaps better than anyone alive today, the hardship and sacrifice of those courageous, undaunted Americans -- of 200 years ago.

So long Idaho, good-bye to your remarkable lands, good-bye to your kind and generous people.

By late evening I arrive Lolo Hot Springs.  I had planned on stopping off here for the evening.  But even now, during the off-season, it's way too touristy for me -- eighty bucks for a cabin?  I don't think so.  The Corps managed to stay free, don't you know!

"when we descended from this ridge we bid adieu to the snow...after dining we continued our march seven miles further to the warm springs [Lolo Hot Springs]...both the men and indians amused themselves with the use of a bath this evening. I observed that the indians after remaining in the hot bath as long as they could bear it ran and plunged themselves into the creek [100 yds. or so to Lolo Creek] the water of which is now as cold as ice can make it..." [Lewis, June 29th 1806]


Wednesday--April 19, 2006
Trail Day—028
Trail Mile--27.6/0643
Location--Missoula, Montana

What a night.  I managed to keep warm, kinda.  With the clear skies this side of the Bitterroot Divide, last night the temperature plummeted to the mid 20s. I can tolerate the cold, the pain and discomfort it brings.  But, and I know I've said this many times before, the cold quickly turn my fingers to so many sticks.  It's downright frustrating.  Actually, it's scary not being able to tie my shoes, zip my zippers, pack my pack.  Somehow though, I always manage.  Thank you, Lord, for the patience you've given me!  I'm up and out, grudgingly -- wearing every stitch of clothing I've got.

I pass countless thousands of perfectly shaped evergreen today, any one of which could proudly stand as our nation's historic and traditional White House Christmas Tree.  Their stature, their perfect symmetry, their pure beauty, especially those with snow-festooned boughs, they're truly stunning.

Just above Lolo, and as I look up (in the cold, I pretty much stay hunched over), I see a horse coming at me straight up the centerline.  There's a parade of cars creeping along behind him.  Closer now, and as I gaze quizzically (and although the animal is trotting just like a horse), I realize it's not a horse.  Horses don't have antlers!  Perhaps that's because this horse is a moose, a very large moose.  "I can't believe this!" I whisper to myself.  "Nobody's going to believe this -- gotta get a picture." I continue uttering under my breath.  As I reach for my camera, and as the moose spots me -- and is coming toward me, finally do I realize it might be smart to skip the picture taking and head for the fence, which I promptly muster the gumption to do!  As I clear the ditch, the moose snorts my way, and then turns again to the highway centerline -- and I heave a sigh of relief.  As the first motorist passes, downing his passenger window, he shouts: "How's that for a moose sighting!"  Ahh yes, a moose sighting, indeed. Last I see, the parade continues around the bend, led ever on by the trotter!

Just shy of Lolo, I reach Travelers' Rest State Park.  As I head over, I'm wondering how I missed this place before.  At the temporary park building, I meet Darby, Dale and Loren -- to find out this park location didn't exist in 2004.

The actual site of Travelers' Rest wasn't discovered until just recently.  For many years the camp was thought to be some distance from here, near where Lolo Creek enters the Bitterroot River.  However, when a coat button was found nearby, it got folks looking for clues near the present park site.  Found nearby were more than just clues.  Archeologists found conclusive physical evidence!  They found a mercury-tainted latrine (medicine given members of the Corps by the captains contained mercury).  They also found a musket ball, a blue trade bead, and in the remains of a fire ring, a puddle of melted lead (determined through isotope study to have come from a mine in Kentucky, where lead for the expedition had been procured).  These and other discoveries confirm that the Corps' campsite locations truly rest -- within Travelers' Rest State Park.

Darby takes time to give me a personal tour.  On the way she shows me the site of the cook's campfire, where they bedded down, and the location of the latrine.  Darby, Dale, Loren, I thoroughly enjoyed the time spent with you.  Your enthusiasm is certainly contagious!

It's still early afternoon when I turn the corner toward Lolo, so I decide to hoof it on down to Missoula.

"Descended the mountain to Travellers rest leaving those tremendious mountanes behind us -- in passing of which we have experiensed Cold and hunger of which I shall ever remember." [Clark, June 30th 1806]

"The true legacy of the people who trod this land before us is that their story is America's story -- bold, determined, courageous.  At Travelers' Rest, that legacy continues by engaging our imaginations, our intellects, and our hearts." [Travelers' Rest Brochure]


Thursday--April 20, 2006
Trail Day—029
Trail Mile--26.4/0669
Location--West of Potomac, Montana

Descending from Lolo Pass, the Corps (and the old Nomad) followed Lolo Creek to Travelers' Rest, next to the Bitterroot River at present-day Lolo.  There the Corps rested for three days, detailing and finalizing plans made during the long winter at Fort Clatsop.  Their decision: To split the Corps at Travelers' Rest.  Lewis was to take a shortcut o'er "The Road to the Buffalo," from present-day Missoula, across to the Great Falls of the Missouri (Great Falls).  And Clark was to return to Three Forks, generally over their outbound route, and from there cross to and descend the Yellowstone River.  They were to meet again at the mouth of the Yellowstone sometime in August.

On July 3rd 1806, Lewis and his party of nine men departed for the Great Falls of the Missouri.
It is this path taken by Lewis and his party that I am now following.

From Lolo, I proceeded along and down the Bitterroot River to its confluence with Clark Fork River at Missoula.  There I bid farewell to good old US12, which I'd been trekking for many-a-day.  In Missoula, I crossed the Clark Fork, as did Lewis, to pick up the Blackfoot River -- and its canyon.  I am ascending there today, along SR200, a fine wide-shouldered highway that generally parallels Lewis' route.  I'll be following SR200 off and on across most of Montana.

A couple of diversions (from the din of traffic) today.  First, I see my first eagle this journey, gliding fixed-wing on the thermals above the canyon.  I've seen many ospreys the past number of days, but this is the first bald eagle.  And the other?  Well, seems this mutt wanted a chunk of the old Nomad.  He started growling as soon as he saw me, skidded around his fence, jumped the ditch, and shot straight at me, snarling and bearing his teeth.  I turned and deftly (been practicing) let him have it up side the head with my left hiking stick.  This immediately helped him make the right decision -- to go back home.

Lewis and his men had a devil of a time with the skeeters along the river here.  For me, dicing it up with the dog today was a better and much quicker deal!

"All arrangements being now compleated for carrying into effect the several scheemes we had planed for execution on our return, we saddled our horses and set out I took leave of my worthy friend and companion Capt. Clark and the party that accompanyed him. I could not avoid feeling much concern on this occasion although I hoped this seperation was only momentary..." [Lewis, July 3rd 1806]


Friday--April 21, 2006
Trail Day—030
Trail Mile--026.3/0695
Location--Ovando, Montana

Within six miles of my destination for the evening last, I stopped for a short time at the Potomac General Store, there to be befriended by Jess, who gave me bottled water, enough for the night and the morrow.

Another cold night.  More sticks for fingers as I fumble to break camp this morning.  Patience, patience, with the coming of spring, this cold weather will surely pass.

At the Clark Fork River, the Indian guides turned from the Corps, for fear of being confronted by their enemy, the Blackfeet.  Without the guides, and finally on a well-marked road as the guides had assured, Lewis made amazingly good time across this shortcut, often covering 25-30 miles per day. They made it to the Great Falls of the Missouri in just nine days, saving over 400 miles and many weeks, compared to journeying their outbound route of 1805.  With a little luck (and a tailwind) I hope to also make the crossing in just nine days.

By eleven this morning, I'm able to pack away my jacket and gloves as the day turns perfect, warm with the least breeze (tailwind) from the northwest -- perfect!

By four I arrive at the little village of Ovando.  First (and last) stop is the Blackfoot Commercial Company and Inn, established in 1897, and currently run by Howard Fly.  He's a Lewis (without Clark) Expedition buff.  We enjoy much good conversation.  He presents me with a very fine, full-color pin depicting Lewis, his Newfoundland dog, Seaman, and in commemoration, the date: July 6, 1806, the day Lewis passed near present-day Ovando.

The inn is an old, old frontier-style wood-frame building, but with completely renovated rooms up.  Howard puts me in #1, right in the front.

The Corps having just separated, those emotions fresh -- additionally, Lewis and his men were then faced with bidding farewell to their Indian guides, friends of long standing.  Excerpts from journal entries that day reveal the thoughts and feelings of the Corps, and of the Indian braves:

"it is but justice to say, that the whole nation [Nez Perce] to which they belong, are the most friendly, honest and ingenuous people that we have seen in the course of our voyage and travels." [Gass, July 4th 1806]

"these affectionate people our guides betrayed every emmotion of unfeigned regret at separating from us." [Lewis, July 4th 1806]


Saturday--April 22, 2006
Trail Day—031
Trail Mile--26.2/0721
Location--Lincoln, Montana

The wind came, then it turned cold the evening last.  But I remained warm and comfortable in my cozy room above the old inn.

This morning, shortly after Howard opens the store, the local klatch arrives.  Coffee's on.  Yes!  Oh, and this is when I learn that a huge muffin comes with the room.  And there are cookies from a klatch member.  Yes, yes!  Thanks, Howard, for taking me in, for your kindness, and for your hospitality.  Ovando's a neat little town -- reminds me of the little village where I was raised in the Ozark Highlands of Missouri.

Got a twenty-six to knock out today if I want to reach Lincoln, my planned destination.  So, I'm out and trekking SR200 a little after eight.  The morning presents cool and cloudy, no wind; perfect for hammering the miles.  I tuck and go.  At three per, the hike today will take nearly nine hours.  This should put me at the door to Lincoln around five.  That'll work -- just gotta keep the hammer down and the sticks clicking.  Hey, I'm a workin' man.  This is my job, what the heck!

The meadows, fields, and woods about Ovando are marked by "knobs," as described by Lewis.  He actually called the area "Prairie of the Knobs," for the rumpled landscape that's shaped by countless oddly formed hillocks, moraines left by glacial activity some 10,000 years ago.  The landscape's knobby appearance was formed as sediment deposited, dropped during the last glacial ice melt.  Ha, perhaps the "global warming" evidenced during that period was caused by an over population of Indians -- who built way too many fires!

All along, for the better part of the morning, and off to the north, stands there a horizon-framed, uninterrupted wall of massifs, rugged snowcaps, the largest continuous wilderness area in all the lower '48.  It begins just south of, and abuts, Glacier National Park.  It consists of the Bob Marshall ("The Bob"), the Scapegoat, and the Big Bear Wilderness areas.  This vast mountainous region, passed only by primitive roads, and the Continental Divide National Scenic Trail (CDT), is home to the grizzly bear, mountain goats, wolverines, elk, moose, deer, and wolves.

Last year, and beginning on June 23rd, I had the great-good fortune to come back to Montana, here to hike the CDT, through Waterton/Glacier, and the entire wilderness complex.

As I stand here now, gazing in silence and awe at the pure white escarpment, which rises to the Heavens before me, comes to mind the old familiar expression, "been there, done that."  Ahh, but those words are so inappropriate, so very trite.  For, at the same instant, am I am brought to tears with the realization -- that of God's Grace -- priceless gifts to this old man.

By late afternoon, and as forecast, a storm front presses through, bringing cold wind and a scattering of rain.  I arrive Lincoln at five, just as planned (along with the storm), here to be greeted and welcomed by Sandy, owner/manager of the Blue Sky Motel.  After listening attentively to my two-minute pitch about hiking the Lewis (less Clark) National Historic Trail, she takes pity -- and takes me in.  Oh yes, it's a hiker trash deal for the old Nomad!

"these plains I called the prarie of the knobs from a number of knobs being irregularly scattered through it...Cottonwood and pine grow intermixed in the river bottoms mosquitoes extreemely troublesome.  we expect to meet with the Minnetares [here, the Blackfeet] and are therefore much on our guard both day and night...passed several old indian encampments...passed a creek [Arrastra Creek, passed today] on the N. side 12 yds. wide shallow and clear." [Lewis, July 6th 1806]


Sunday--April 23, 2006
Trail Day—032
Trail Mile--30.5/0752
Location--By Dearborn River, Montana

I had a memorable time in Lincoln.  I recall coming down from the divide and re-supplying here during my CDT trek last year.  And I remember Lincoln for its hospitality and kind folks.  Sandy recommended Lambkin's of Lincoln for a nourishing home-style supper, so that's where I headed.  Great food, kind staff.  Thanks Rosie and Sally -- and Bobbie, you're a fine cook. Thank you too, Sandy, for your kindness to this old man!

At the Quick Stop I check with truckers coming down from the pass this morning.  Their rigs are caked and coated with ice, but all tell me the pass is being kept open.

The forecast is for an iffy day, wind and snow, especially at the higher elevations.  Tomorrow doesn't look the least bit better, so I pick up a few supplies and decide to go for it. The morning begins sun and no clouds but quickly switches to clouds and no sun -- along with southeast wind and intermittent sleet.

During the morning the wind intensifies to 20-30 mph, gusting to who knows.  It keeps coming straight at me, driving cold, cold sleet.  By the time I manage Rogers Pass, it's two.  I had planned to spend the night somewhere near the pass, but there's nothing up here but ice and wind-driven sleet.  Motorists are crawling and sliding through.  The roadway is pure ice for the last mile up and the first mile down. I push on and into it.  I had hoped for improved conditions once through the pass, but the wind and sleet hit me even harder as I descend.  By five I'm out of the worst of it, down and onto the high plains prairie.  There are no trees here, no protection anywhere for miles.

Late evening, the highway drops to the valley of the Dearborn River.  There's shelter here, cottonwood and scrub, but the land is posted, both sides.  I look on up the road, at the long hill ahead that climbs back to the prairie.  I know there'll be no place to camp up there for miles.  I've made a rule never to venture onto posted land, but I'm totally beat.  It'll be getting dark soon.  The sleet continues and it's turning very cold.  What to do?  Easy, I decide to break my rule.

Just as I'm through the gate and hooking it back, down the highway come two pickups towing stock trailers.  Both cowboys spot me.  Both keep rolling.  On the posted land now, and by the river, I'm looking for a sheltered spot where I won't be seen.  Just at dusk I settle for a small ravine choked with alder-like brush.  It's deep enough and far enough away from the rancher's two-track to conceal my little tent.  I pitch and roll in.

I'm no sooner settled than I hear this old pickup pull to the gate.  "Oh, great!"  I'm thinking.  One of the cowboys that spotted me has sure enough called the owner, and he's come to flush me out.  I settle back in my tent and wait.  In a moment I hear the old truck pass on the two-track above my camp, to continue on up the river.  In less than five minutes he returns, passing very slowly.  Back at the gate he turns off his engine.  "Oh my," I'm thinking, "if he walks the fifty yards or so to the edge of this little ravine, he'll spot me for sure."  Time seems to stand still.  I try to hold my breath, to listen.  In another moment, the truck cranks, the old fellow passes the gate, closes it behind him -- and is gone.

Whew!  What a frightening time.  I'll be up and out of this place early; that's for sure!

Lewis and his men turned from the Blackfoot River and followed Alice Creek up to near the Great Divide, a little north of Rogers Pass, then crossed at a place misnamed Lewis and Clark Pass.

"passing the dividing ridge betwen the waters of the Columbia and Missouri rivers at 1/4 of a mile.  from the gap which is low and an easy ascent on the W. side..." [Lewis, July 7th 1806]


Monday--April 24, 2006
Trail Day—033
Trail Mile--34.7/0787
Location--Near Sun River, Montana

After dark the wind finally died down.  By midnight, the sky had cleared and it was turning increasingly cold. Earlier, I'd had no problem preparing for the night.  I just kept all my clothes on from the day, every stitch I had with me.

There's frost everywhere this morning, including inside my tent and on my fly.  There was a hard freeze for sure last night.  It takes me forever to break camp.  I have to constantly stop and bury my hands under my armpits or in my groin.  I'm finally out and climbing back to the prairie by seven-thirty.  I haven't seen the rancher again. Thank you, Lord!

The sun is out, but the clouds are trying their best to return.  Looking back at the wall of mountains, their snow-covered slopes glistening pure white in the morning sun, I stop for a moment of thanks.  The Bitterroot Mountains, and the main backbone of the Rocky Mountains, they're in my rearview now.  Hiking them was a challenging and memorable time, but I'm happy and thankful to be through safely.

The day remains cold, due to the 20-30 mph wind coming straight at me from the northeast.  Here in the prairie, and at the top of each rise it is possible to see a distance of over an hour's hike ahead.  The views up here on the high plains prairie are totally unobstructed, 360, save the scattered buttes, so what one sees any given time is just more unobstructed high plains prairie.

By mid afternoon the highway drops to follow the valley of the Medicine (Sun) River, to Great Falls. Lewis and his party descended from the mountains and passed this way July 7th-9th 1806.

"The descent was easy, through hills and hollows.  The men could talk only of buffalo, but none were encountered...The next day, the party crossed the Dearborn River and closed on the Medicine River, where they camped."  [Ambrose, Undaunted Courage]


Tuesday--April 25, 2006
Trail Day—034
Trail Mile--21.6/0809
Location--Great Falls, Montana

My camp last was behind a row of round hay bales along the highway.  With dusk approaching and little traffic, I managed to cross the rancher's fence and conceal my tent without being seen -- and there were no "No Trespassing" signs!  Another frosty night, but I manage quite well in my tent, on my pad, and in my Feathered Friends bag -- with all my clothes on.

Today is going to be considerably more pleasant.  The wind has diminished and moved around to the south, and the skies are clear.  The day soon warms and I'm able to remove my poncho, my jacket, my headband, and my gloves for the first time in days.  I think by the time I'm passed Great Falls, summer will be on its way.

Descending to the Great Falls of the Missouri, and near White Bear Islands, Lewis' party saw thousands and thousands of buffalo.  Joseph Fields had killed a large one on the 9th near Simms where I passed last.  It was the first they'd dined on buffalo since the previous July.

By three, I'm in Great Falls, to meet and cross the Missouri for the first time this trek.  I pause to look, but see no buffalo around here today.  At this juncture, and in '04 I had yet nearly 1,200 miles to go to reach Fort Clatsop, Cape Disappointment, and the Pacific Ocean.  Lewis' (and my) shortcut across from Missoula to Great Falls has shortened this journey considerably.

"...when I arrived in sight of the whitebear Islands the missouri bottoms on both sides of the river were crouded with buffaloe  I sincerely belief that there were not less than 10 thousand buffaloe within a circle of 2 miles arround that place."  [Lewis, July 11, 1806]


Wednesday--April 26, 2006
Trail Day—035
Trail Mile--21.4/0830
Location--Belt, Montana

Great Falls is a fine city, as large cities go.  My mail drop worked.  Maps for the next segment were right here waiting.  Great trek support; thanks Dwinda!

Items/things I need from time-to-time but don't want to carry every day, those things I send ahead to myself, General Delivery, in what is known in hiking circles as a "bounce box."  Oh yes, my bounce box, sent ahead from Walla Walla, was also waiting right here for me at Great Falls.  And cards from friends -- thanks!

Mail drop days are always slow days, getting back out and trekking.  Today's no exception.  I finally shoulder my pack and head out of town at noon.  Been keeping my eye open for a Wendy's all the way from downtown, but no luck.  Got the craving for a frosty.  Lots of casinos though.  I probably pass 40-50 before I get out of town.

From downtown Great Falls to Belt is a little over fifteen miles, so I've a short day.  Forecast is for fair weather with 20 mph west winds.  It's dead on.  There's heavy traffic, but a full emergency lane keeps me from harm. The route I'm following around to the south of the Missouri generally follows to the portage route used by the Corps in 1805 and again in 1806.  Getting past the falls was a long, grueling ordeal, and moving all their gear took many trips.

At Great Falls, Lewis further split his crew.  To explore the Marias, he took six horses, Drouillard and the Field brothers.  The others stayed to again portage gear to Lower Portage Camp.  They were to meet again at the mouth of the Marias.

I'm in Belt by early evening to pull up at the Black Diamond Bar and Supper Club.  Lots of interest by locals in my trek.  Charlie prepares a fine steak for me.  I passed this little village by in '04, as it's a mile down, way down, from the highway.  Glad I came down this journey.  Pitched by Little Belt Creek for the night.

"When Capt. Lewis left us, he gave orders that we should wait at the mouth of Maria's river to the 1st of Sept., at which time, should he not arrive, we were to proceed on and join Capt. Clark at the mouth of the Yellow-stone river, and then to return home: but informed us, that should his life and health be preserved, he would meet us at the mouth of Maria's river on the 5th of August." [Gass, July 16th 1806]


Thursday--April 27, 2006
Trail Day—036
Trail Mile--13.8/0844
Location--Raynesford, Montana

It's another perfect day for hiking.  Cool and clear, with a 20 mph breeze at my back.  I'm in Raynesford a little after twelve, so I decide to click a few miles off the 26 scheduled tomorrow to Stanford.  Reach the little village of Geyser by early evening, where I head over to the Cabin Creek Bar for a sandwich and a couple of cold ones.
This is Charlie Russell country.  All along yesterday were to be seen the backdrop of mountains and buttes used as backdrops in Charlie's works.  Most prominent is Square Butte, which looms on the horizon for miles, and will be visible for the better part of two days.

By late evening and on a crown of the prairie, I hang a left onto a gravel two-track, which leads over and down into a coulee.  I find a spot in a little wash to pitch for the night.  It's been another great hiking day.

On July 17th 1806, Lewis reached the Teton River.  On that day he wrote: "at 5 P.M. we arrived at rose [Teton] river where I proposed remaining all night as I could not reach maria's river this evening...the Minnetares of Fort de prarie and the blackfoot indians rove through this quarter of the country and as they are a vicious lawless and reather an abandoned set of wretches I wish to avoid an interview with them if possible. I have no doubt but they would steel our horses if they have it in their power and finding us weak should they happen to be numerous wil most probably attempt to rob us of our arms and baggage; at all events I am determined to take every possible precaution to avoid them if possible."


Friday--April 28, 2006
Trail Day—037
Trail Mile--26.3/0870
Location--Stanford, Montana

The sun warms my little tent to awaken me a little after seven.  It's such a joy breaking camp without having to withstand the cold.  I'm out to another cool, clear day, with a gentle breeze to my back.  Gotta cherish and remember these great hiking days!

The prairie is rolling now.  Popping every rise, and from that vantage, it is possible to see the highway stretching before me for miles.  Cars pass and reach that pinpoint on the horizon in only minutes.  Two hours later, I'm still grinding toward that point.

Mid-morning comes -- and comes this old fellow up the shoulder on his Quad-Trak.  He stops by me, smiles, and then asks where I'm headed.  Here I meet Tom Evans, rancher/owner, Staple Bar Ranch.  I tell him about my hike.  He talks about his ranch, hunting, climbing mountains, and the hard times, from time-to-time, with his cattle.  Folks out here all seem content and happy.  No difference for Tom Evans.  Told me he could have got his Masters Degree -- could have gone to Washington.  Whew, no wonder he's happy here in Montana!  Great meeting you, Tom.  Thanks for the encouraging words.  Ahh yes -- "Where never is heard a discouraging word, and the skies are not cloudy all day."

I'm in Stanford a little past noon to check into the little Sundown Motel run by Ray and Marty Blank -- same as before.

After setting out from Great Falls, and the following day, Lewis reached the Marias River. "I keep a strict lookout every night, I take my tour of watch with the men." [Lewis, July 18th 1806]


Saturday--April 29, 2006
Trail Day—038
Trail Mile--22.8/0893
Location--Hobson, Montana

Stanford is one of the friendliest little places it was my pleasure to visit in 2004, and it certainly has maintained that fine reputation this time around too.  Kind folks all about, and the grocery, post office, library, bar and grill are right by.  Ahh, and the good folks at the Sundown Motel.  God-fearin' people, generous and kind.

I'm in the Judith Basin now, named by William Clark in honor of his sweetheart, Julia Hancock.  This section of the high plains prairie is amply watered, providing great grazing range and incredibly vast areas for grain and grass crops.

It's another perfect hiking day.  By noon I'm able to change to my short sleeve shirt for the first time this trek.  The winds at my back, the road shoulders are wide, I'm feeling great, and the traffic's tolerable.  What a life!

Got a 23 to knock out to reach Hobson.  I manage it by four.  The Black Bull Company Saloon and Steak House, which was closed the last time through, is open for business today.  Lots of pickups out front, but I'm the only one at the bar.  The local cowboys have a card game going in the side room. I have a cold one and work my email and journals.  Prime rib is the fare in the dining room tonight.  I'll be there!

When the card game breaks up, Jim Mikkelsen stops on his way out.  We talk a spell.  Saw him in the bank in Stanford yesterday.  Been in the area fifty years now.  Came here with nothing.  He raises cattle on his own spread down by Utica, where Charlie Russell started his love affair with the high plains of Montana.  Don't know how big his spread is -- out here you don't ask folks how much land they got.  Learned that the last time through.  It's nobody's business!

The dining room here at Black Bull doesn't open till five, so I saunter on over to the Elk Ridge Saloon, just across the street.  A group of locals are elbowing the bar.  I pull up and strike a conversation with Pat and Mack.  They're celebrating their anniversary.  Soon came their friends that run the Office Bar in Moore, with a lovely bouquet of flowers to help the couple celebrate.

Steve, friendly owner/bartender/CC&BW.  He and all show much interest in my journey, and there are soon two free drink tokens in front of me.  I decide to save them for souvenirs.  Steve inquires where I'll be staying tonight.  When I tell I'll probably be pitching out by the railroad tracks, he invites me to spend the night in his camper out back behind the bar.  Oh yes, my momma didn't raise no dummy!

Prime rib, a couple tall cold ones, good friends -- and a warm, dry place to rest my tired, weary bones.  Yup, been a fine day!

During his exploration of the Marias, Lewis had avoided contact with the Blackfeet, but on July 26th 1806 near present day Cut Bank Montana, the unwanted meeting occurred.

"I had scarcely ascended the hills before I discovered to my left at the distance of a mile an assembleage of about 30 horses, I halted and used my spye glass by the help of which I discovered several indians on the top of an eminence...this was a very unpleasant sight, however I resolved to make the best of our situation and to approach them in a friendly manner.  [Lewis]


Sunday--April 30, 2006
Trail Day—039
Trail Mile--23.4/0917
Location--Lewistown, Montana

A fine stay in Hobson last.  Thanks, Steve, for your kindness and generosity.  I slept soundly in your little travel trailer.

I'm out this morning to a very mild day, so am able to start without my fleece or gloves for a change. Heading from town, on my way back out to the highway, I take a shortcut along the railroad tracks for the first mile.

Just as I reach the road, pulls over this SUV.  Bright smile from Debbie and Jim -- again.  They had stopped to befriend me, and bring me a fine steak dinner near Great Falls during my outbound journey in '04.  "We thought it was you; are you hiking the trail again?"  Debbie asks with a beaming smile.  I recognize her right away.  What an amazing coincidence.  They're heading back from Lewistown to Great Falls, and our paths cross again!

It's six miles to Eddie's Corner.  By the time I arrive, the day has turned very cold and a stiff north wind is driving cold rain mixed with sleet.  I pull off to get out of it -- and to treat myself to breakfast. Eddie's Corner is a unique and very interesting place, certainly not your ordinary crossroads gas stop.  Indeed, Eddie's Corner is a classic, a truly shining example of American ingenuity, fortitude, and dedication -- it's the epitome of "The American Dream."

I remember stopping here during my outbound trek; busy place, run by kind folks, the Bauman family.  Near the entrance I take a minute to read the history of Eddie's Corner.  Here's a brief quote from an article published a few years ago in the Great Falls Tribune: "For half a century travelers have looked upon Eddie's Corner as something of an oasis.  About seventeen miles west of Lewistown...Eddie's Corner, since 1951 has catered to empty tanks, groggy drivers, and grumbling stomachs.  But what is the real key to the success of Eddie's Corner?  'People's bladder,' says Joe Ba