It's Bigger than Rhode Island!

Well, so are some Super Walmarts. 

So how big is big? The Absaroka Beartooth Wilderness  can't be bothered to reside in one state. The big chunk lives in Montana. There's a slop-over portion in Wyoming. It takes three National Forests to contain it. In the big picture, it's part of the Greater Yellowstone Ecosystem. 

This wild expanse is made up of two distinct mountain ranges. 

The Beartooths are granite based, and occupy an above tree line topography. (That's more my style!) There's not much wild life since animals can't digest rocks. 

The Absaroka's are volcanic in nature. There's lots of trees (except for where I hiked today!) They are home to heaps of mammals, including Ursus horribilis. Better known as the Grizzly Bear. I am scared poopless of animals capable of making me a kosher appetizer.

I hiked two trails in the Absaroka's. They couldn't have been any different. 

My first hike was up to Pine Creek Lake. The payoff was worth the 3,500" of uphill in the five miles to get there. No complaints here. (See the photos). 

My second hike was along the South Fork of Deep Creek up to Davis Pass. There were no trees. In 2012, a careless human started a fire on private property which spread into the National Forest. The blaze incinerated an entire four-mile long valley of mature timber. There were no survivors. Instead of stands of lodgepole pine, spruce and fir, there's stands of fireweed. There's also berries, common Mullen and runty aspens, red maples and miniature lodgepoles. 

It's sad. 

All this devastation caused by one human pyro accident. I'm OK with lightning caused fires. That's Mother Nature, but I get upset over stupidity.

Don't hike the South Fork of Deep Creek for another 100 years. 

Smokey Bear is right. "Only you can prevent wildfires." 

Don't play with matches.

Jeff

It's said History is written by...

the winners.  

At the Little Bighorn Battlefield, there were no winners. 

The battle took place in June, 1876. This deadly struggle was the culmination of broken treaties, the uncompromising advance of Manifest Destiny, the clash of cultures who shared no common traits (other than being humans) and a few charismatic leaders. 

The White Folks were led by George Armstrong Custer. He was a Civil War General who led his troops from the front. He was fearless. He had eleven horses shot out from under him. He made great copy for the press. He might have been reckless and lucky. He was totally clueless on battling Indians who didn't follow standard military procedures. 

The Lakota,  Cheyenne and Arapaho were led by Chief Sitting Bull. He was more of a spiritual leader than an X's and O's military strategist. He called the Reservation Indians fools and suck-ups. He exhorted them to join him and his followers and return to their tried and true way of life. Many did just that. When you think about it, the Indians just wanted to be free to live their nomadic lifestyle. I can relate to that. 

Let the battle begin!

Custer's Crow and Arikara Indian scouts spot a large Lakota/Cheyenne/Arapaho  encampment on the banks of the Little Bighorn River. Custer didn't want this prize to escape. He divides his command. A tactic used often in the Civil War by General Lee. 

Major Reno led a surprise attack on the sleepy campers. When the Warriors woke up, Boy! Were they mad! The Braves rallied and chased Reno and his broke down command back across the river. The retreat was anything but orderly. Forty soldiers died trying to make it to higher ground. Captain Benteen's battalion joins Reno on the ridge top. They dig in with a siege mentality mindset. The soldiers hold on for a day and a half.

Custer and his battalion move north along the bluffs to get in front of the encampment.  About this time, the fog of war rears its ugly snout. Custer has lost contact with his beleaguered battalions. He and his 225 Cavalrymen were virtually on their own. No historian knows the moment when Custer realizes that the attackers were now being attacked. Many of his soldiers panic and try to escape the trap. They are cut down. About 41 horsemen and Custer make it to Last Stand Hill. There, they shoot their steeds to serve as breastworks. For a cavalryman, this is the final act of capitulation. The one sided onslaught is over in about thirty minutes. 

Now, all is quiet on this deceptively steep battlefield. White markers indicate the approximate points where the soldiers met their unexpected demise. Red/brown markers indicate where the Native Americans fell defending their way of live. 

The victory was a short lived one. The combatants would eventually end up on Reservations. 

Sitting Bull would die at the hands of his own people in 1890 on the Standing Rock Reservation in South Dakota.

It's a place worth seeing and pondering over.

From the banks of the Yellowstone River near Livingston, Montana.

G' day!

Jeff

Forty-one years ago...

I walked into Diamond J Bar in Lovell, Wyoming, and made my way through the cigarette smoke, country music and cowboy hats to the main bar. 

I leaned toward the bartender and asked, "KenIhaveapitcherofCoors."

He looked at me funny. 

I had made my request in a rapid-heavy-handed Bronx accent. I might as well have been speaking Swahili. What we had here was a complete failure to communicate.

I tried this approach, "Can-I-have-a-pitcher-of-Coors? Please?"

"Hell! Why didn't you say so in the first place!" 

Well, I sort of did. This was my first realization that things were different in the West.  

I learned from this experience. I needed to speak Western States English. I had to change. The West was where I knew I wanted to be. 

Back to the point of the story:

The next morning, I began my first seasonal gig with the U.S. Forest Service in the Bighorn Mountains of north-central Wyoming. I was assigned to a tree marking crew. This meant we painted many cords of Engelman spruce trees in preparation for a timber sale. The unfortunate ones were painted orange. They would eventually fall to a loggers chainsaw. We were called "Timber Beasts" by our cohorts who had jobs less stressful to the forest than creating small clear cuts. I envied them. My job wasn't fun other than the times we got to spray paint a cow who wandered within our range. 

When the weekend came about, stumbling through the woods was the last thing I wished to do. I was then 21 years old, brimming with testosterone and energy. The bright lights, big city of Sheridan or Story or Lovell or Buffalo, Wyoming beckoned. I visited bars, drank beer and looked at pretty cowgirls. (I still like going to bars and looking at pretty women. Somethings never change.) 

In retrospect, I never got the chance to notice the beauty that was all around me. I was in the freaking work mode. I'm now making amends. I spent over a week and many trail miles in the Cloud Peak Wilderness. It is indeed an amazing place. 

See for yourself. 

BTW: In a round about way, my first gig as a Bighorny led to my eventual career as a firefighter. 

http://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2016/05/another-tribute-to-fallen.html

Yes, the West is still the best part of America. In the next few months, I'll prove this with words and photos.

From Garryowens, Montana

Cheers!

Jeff

PS. In case you missed my first post from Cloud Peak.

http://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2016/07/it-bad-sign.html

PPS.

Thank You,  LBJ for signing the Wilderness Act of 1964

 http://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2014/10/lbj-is-known.html