July 2018 – LopeBlog

Montana had some amazing free camping going on, but since I was heading in that direction anyway, I had to at least see Glacier National Park. I knew that it would probably be as ridiculously crowded as Yellowstone, and once again I couldn’t take the dogs on any good hikes. It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be, and the place was definitely beautiful. I was able to score the last camping spot at Fish Creek Campground for a couple of nights, and they had showers, so I call that a successful visit. I was able to take the dogs on some of the little paved trails around the campground, and I was camped basically right on the picturesque Lake McDonald. Since I was able to have a good fire at night, I even got up enough nerve to go for a chilly and brief little nakie dip in the lake, totally worth it. I attempted to go over the butt-clenching Logan pass on the Going-to-the-Sun Road (21’ maximum length vehicles allowed), but the weather turned on me as we were getting close to the top, and I got scared and turned around the first chance I got. Skippy is 21’ before the bumper addition, so I’m actually more like 22.5’, I guess I should listen to those kind of restrictions a little more seriously.

After Glacier, I was ready for some free camping where them dogs could roam free once again. So, I found a spot near Eureka, Montana, that had one good review on freecampsites.net, and decided to check it out. If it didn’t work out, there were other options nearby. This spot was AWESOME. I was camped right at the mouth of the Tobacco River, so I had a river, a lake, a mountain view, a level, graveled site, and a pit toilet within a 5-minute walk. It got warm during the day, and I had to chase the shade and take a dip in the frigid river every once in a while, so it was totally manageable. Actually a nice reprieve from all the rain and clouds I’ve been seeing lately. I even busted out the generator and ran the AC for the first time this trip, and it worked great, glad I decided that it was worth the extra cost and weight. We could have just hung out outside all day and chase the shade around the campsite, but Sierra woke up one morning walking on 3 legs, and after a close inspection, I found a nice sized hole between her paws and I had no idea how it happened. My biggest worry was that there was still a thorn stuck up there and it would get infected and have to find a vet. So, I played doctor, got out my nice first aid kit, cleaned it up as best I could with rubbing alcohol, put some antibiotic ointment on it, wrapped it up with gauze and tape, and ordered her to bed rest. That only lasted a day before she decided that she didn’t want a bandaged foot anymore. After taping it up 4 times in one day, and even resorting to taping a sock on her foot, and losing said sock, I gave up. She was getting better; I just had to keep an eye on her for a couple of days to keep her from licking it. After 3 nights at the Tobacco River and a full paw recovery, we were Canada bound.

Upon entering Canada, I needed to re-supply, so after a quick stop at one of towns near the border, I figured I needed a place to stop before we headed into Banff and unknown camping situations. The documented free camping sites are few and far between, it seems like Canada is more dependent on developed, paid camping, but I was able to scrounge up a free site on Findlay Creek that was WAY off-grid. But oh well, I’d take what I could get so off we went. The sites were hard to come by, and there were tons of back-roads to wander. I found a nice field where a bunch of trailers were already parked, so I decided to go back to the first site I saw, and it was way off by its’ lonesome, right next to the raging creek that would’ve definitely been classified as a river in the states. The site was decent, quiet, and had a plywood box to poop in, so we stayed a couple of nights since it was a pretty good drive to get to Banff. Probably the coolest feature of the site was the little piece of history tacked up to one of the trees. It was a picture of a couple of good-ole-Canada boys showing off their kills, a couple of deer carcasses hanging from the very tree sitting in the campsite. It looked like the vintage of the old truck was late 80’s, early 90’s, very cool.

I forced myself into an early start after two peaceful nights at Findlay Creek, the first time I’ve had to set an alarm in months by the way, and headed towards Banff, not knowing whether or not I’d be able to score a camp site in their developed, first-come, first-served campgrounds. I was due for some groceries, so I made a pit stop in Invermere and grabbed an obligatory cup of Tim Horton’s. I had good cell-phone reception here for the first time in a long while, so I decided to check out Canada’s campground reservation service to see what’s what. Luckily, I was able to score a spot right before getting to Banff, Redstreak Campground in Kootenay National Park that had showers and was within walking distance to some trails and a hot springs, not too shabby. Anxious to get into iconic Banff, I only stayed a single night, but had time to get a good hike and shower in.

My first nights in Banff were every bit of incredible as I could’ve hoped for. Once again getting an early start out of Kootenay, I stopped at one of the first campgrounds that I got to, not knowing how fast they fill up every day, and the weekend was approaching. It was time to hunker down for the weekend and wait out the crowds. I ended up at Protection Mountain Campground and was pleasantly surprised at how many open spots there were, so I was able to actually be picky and chose a site with nice afternoon shade. It was a wide open valley surrounded by looming giants, snowcapped peaks and severe cliff faces. It was a pleasure to sit there in my trusty camp chair and just take it all in, but I knew that I had to act fast if I wanted to avoid the hordes of people on all of the popular hikes. So, with my spot secured, I braved Johnston Creek, a popular hike with waterfalls, and plenty of options for hiking beyond the crowds. I didn’t get there early like you’re supposed to, so the flocks of tourists had already amassed, but somehow I got VIP parking with someone pulling out as I pulled in. Somehow I’ve been lucky in this regard for this whole adventure, I’ve consistently gotten the last camping spot, the only parking spot, and the very last reservations. I can’t help but think it’s not random, and some force in the Universe is looking out for me.

The easy hike up Johnston Creek to the two waterfalls was a shit show, I barely got glimpses of the falls through the sardined tourists getting their Facebook pictures in. Sierra was a handful as we were walking over narrow gangplanks suspended over the river bolted onto the Cliffside. It was barely wide enough for two people to pass each other, and there I was trying to wrangle two dogs attached to each other by a two foot lead… It was a mess, but funny now looking back at it that I was even able to coax an anxious dog over these things without any incidents. While I tried to wrestle Sierra the edge of the walkways to let people pass, she resisted, resulting in an interesting little dance of wills. Once we get past the easy parts of any hike though, the crowds dwindle, so it was only about a mile and a half of this embarrassing choreography. Beyond the falls were the Inkpots, small pools of different shades of blue and green, which for some reason I guess I didn’t get any pictures of, but there are already thousands on the Google. I think I was more impressed with the surrounding jagged peaks. This post has definitely been delayed due to the lack of any reliable internets while in the parks. There are still tons of great adventures to tell about from the parks, so stay tuned. I am now actually driving through Canada to get to upstate New York, which is a funny story that will have to wait for the next episode. This is the most driving I’ve put Skippy through, so wish me luck!

Wyoming flew by in a blink, the few free camping spots were great along the way, but Yellowstone was a bust. The dogs weren’t too impressed with Old Faithful, and I wasn’t too impressed with the crowds. It amazed me that people were in such a rush to get through such a beautiful place, tailgating poor Skippy through the mountains, but now I understand. 20 minutes within driving into the park, I was ready to leave. Between not being able to park anywhere, and the mass of tourists there on a Thursday, most of which had never seen an elk before, I was ready to be out of there myself. Fortunately, one could spend months exploring the public forests around the park without ever growing tired of it, despite the never ending rain going on at the time. Needless to say, since I could hardly find a spot to park in the park, I decided against trying to find a campsite. Then before I knew it, I was in Montana, in the little town of West Yellowstone. A seemingly cool little town, but I was ready to be in my own little secluded piece of the forest again.

After a quick stop for essentials like Coors and Benchmark (thanks for this delightful combo Grizzly), it was a short drive through forbidding mud to a little campsite along Red Creek in Montana. I’ve grown fairly impressed at the off-road capabilities of my little Skippy. I don’t think I’ve ever been as relieved to find a beautiful little valley and creek campsite to myself, despite it being sopping wet. Donning my ski gear, I proceeded to collect and saw through soggy wood to get myself a delightful campfire going. That’s when I drew some attention to myself from a visitor, we’ll call him Eli, but I can’t remember his name, just that it had a bunch of vowels. Eli was going through a hard time in his life, and I did my best to try and help him talk through it, but in the end I was just trying to shake him. He drew me in because I thought he was just your average friendly vagabond. He had lived on the road for the last 25 years, and worked every random job imaginable. I’ll always remember this quote, “I’m not gay, but I hate women”. He was currently working as a handyman at a campground just down the road from where we were camped, but didn’t know if he had quit his job or not, so he was stressing about whether or not he was going to head back that night. From what I gathered, he was at the end of his shift the day before, when his dog, Rupert (this name I do remember), was wandering the campgrounds and stirred up some trouble with the owner’s dog. Rupert was not on any length of leash that I could see, but got along well with my dogs, as much as they could get along with an adolescent 1 year old Aussie with boundless energy. One lady on a bike came by and said his dog had followed her from the highway, which was not close by.

I was having fun talking to Eli about life, until that conversation took random turns of depression and racism. It was time to try and depart, so I said I was going to eat some lunch and go for a hike, to which he replied that he would join me for the hike. So he rolled up to my campsite about a half an hour later to go for the hike up the creek. He lasted about a quarter mile, saying that he had been, “hibernating all winter and hadn’t gotten his legs working again”. So he turned around and that was the last I saw of Eli. I went to go check on him after the hike, and he was sleeping in his car, which I figured was a good thing so I let him be. In the morning he was gone, so I figured he had returned to his job as I had advised. It’s funny how abrupt the relationships you make on the road are, but still leave a lasting impression. I hope Eli works out his demons and remembers how much he loves the forest and camping in his old Suzuki station wagon.

After Red Creek, I made some headway, filled up on supplies on a cool little mining town Ennis, and found a remote little hot springs spot, Potosi Hot Springs. This was one of my favorite spots so far. The hot springs was nothing special to take pictures of, but felt amazing. I met an awesome little naked family there from somewhere in Southern Oregon that offered me a job on their farm. They were on a road trip to Michigan where they had family, and it was the first time they had left their farm to the tenders. They were rightfully stressed having no cell signal and trying to handle business on the road. They were the most well-seasoned campers I have ever met, had the process down, and obligingly fed me some fire-roasted zucchini fresh from the garden. Their 10 year-old boy had definitely done more traveling than I have in my 30 years, and I was impressed with his educated curiosity. He even accompanied them on their trip to Cuba, an adventure he was ecstatic to tell me about, and I was just as excited to hear about it. Also worth mentioning are the two girls that were going to college at Montana State University in Bozeman, I couldn’t tell you their names. One of their dads had lent her a tent for the camping trip, failing to tell them that the tent poles didn’t have any bungee cord. I spent an entertaining hour helping them set up their tent, since we didn’t know how many sections made up each pole, and figured it out through trial and error. It seemed like a top-of-the-line tent though, from 1972.

After Potosi, I was due for a shower, so I spent a night at Bozeman Hot Springs, soaking in the resort, doing some laundry, and feeling like a king with amenities like hot nacho cheese and ice cream. Well worth the $70 for an RV spot for the night, I highly recommend it. There were definitely some characters rolling through there, including some hippies on their way to The Gorge from New York, but I was too tired and had too many chores to hang out with the people much. I was just happy to relax in the pools.

After Bozeman, I wanted to get rid of my pistol since I was getting close to Canada, so I stopped by a pawn shop in Missoula to get it shipped back to Farmington. Missoula seemed like a pretty sweet little town, kind of reminded me of Durango, CO. Next time around I’ll have to stay a night or two there. Free camping spots were getting slim in this area of Montana, but I wound up finding a pretty remote spot 10 miles down a dirt road, Gold Creek Rd. When I got there, the road to all the campsites was gated up and wouldn’t open until mid-July for some forest restoration. I read that this site had been well-used, and I could see plenty of evidence of careless, littering assholes. So, I went down another dirt road, another gate. But there was a nice pull-around area, so I parked er and called it since I didn’t want to drive all the way back into town. I ended up staying two nights there, and it was surprisingly a great, peaceful spot. I hiked down the road I was on, and ended up in a beautiful meadow with giant, 500 year-old Ponderosas, Primm Meadow. It had an amazing history, including surviving a fire that burned down the entire surrounding forest, and was home to couple of homesteaders until the 70’s. “Imagine living here alone without electricity, phone, neighbors, or a passable road in winter. When a cow kicks you in the leg, the only option is to grab a cane and keep up with the chores, which is exactly what Mahala Primm did at age 74 in 1972.” I had a little picnic while Beans cooled off in the creek. I explored a good while around the behemoth Ponderosas, until I found a huge steaming pile of doodoo, which I could see nothing but a big ole grizz pooing out… and it was still warm….yep, I touched it, necessary under the circumstances. Needless to say, I didn’t linger.

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Monthly Archives: July 2018

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