Montana photo essay

Reporting on the first exciting thing I've done all summer: the backpacking trip out to the Beartooths in Montana. Some selected pictures and commentary.

Charlie:Erik:
John:
and me:
Everything started off auspiciously enough; we drove out to Billings to buy maps. Evidently, the economy of Montana's largest city is supported primarily through casinos. Pretty much every other business is a house of Kino. Also, it's a really hard town to get around. And apparently out of towners are pretty noticeable. It's either because nobody walks anywhere, and we had to walk three blocks to find a place to eat and the grocery store. Or it's because all the boys in Billings are either at the casino or locked up for DUIs. Probably a little of each.

After escaping Montana's smelliest town this side of Butt(e), we spent the night outside Red Lodge. It was time to tackle our most beastly backpacking trip yet. In the parking lot at the trailhead, the consensus was that we would "destroy" everybody. Charlie: "I'll bet not too many people do eight nights out." Yeah, maybe they're just more sane than we are. Does being stupid mean you destroy? Well, we were about to find out.

First we were confronted with some nasty weather. We reached the consensus that the afternoons were basically unusable for hiking, due to rain. The worst of the weather was exemplified by my unfortunate early morning query: "Charlie, is it cloudy out there?"/"We're in a cloud."
Yes, there was accumulated sleet on the ground too. Ick. In the middle of August. Such is life above the treeline. Fortunately, the weather did clear long enough for us to scramble up the foreboding Lonesome Mountain.
Lonesome Mountain has shear cliffs on three sides. I am petrified of heights, ergo I am sitting and not standing in the following picture.
Charlie does stands in a place where I never would. Erik put it best: "Charlie, you're really small."
Weather wasn't the only issue. We demonstrated a collective ineptitude at staying on the trail or finding the correct trail. Here, John and Charlie consult the map to determine what went oh so horribly wrong:This particular mistake led to about an hour and a half of bushwhacking replacing what should have been a simple half hour hiking on the trail. It was all worth it; it brought out the quote of the trip. Charlie: "This is bullshit. This whole place is fucking bullshit." Now there's a guy who takes his vacations seriously. It could have been a whole lot worse had we not found a miracle bridge across the creek after some dangerous scrambling. Here, the other guys get the packs over while I take a picture because my documentation duties are more important than actually doing work.After a few days marred by bad weather and navigation mistakes, we hit a stride. If you've never been to the Rockies, that's a shame. The scenery is quite nice. There were beautiful lakes:
Here's a big spire called Sky Pilot (and no, we did not climb this):
And here's one of the more picturesque campsites:
Tents are selfish picture subjects. They're always being upstaged by the people they keep dry. My tent performed admirably despite this slight:
When we got back on the beaten path and started seeing people again, Charlie proclaimed triumphantly that we were "really destroying today." That was before we lost our way again:
Now we have no problems asking for directions in a city. But asking where to go on the trail is pretty shameful. It constitutes being "destroyed." Fortunately, our educated guess turned out OK.

A further challenge was that there were rivers without bridges or even rocks suitable for dry crossings. These wet crossings are known as "fords." No oxen were harmed during this fording of the river:
Fording the river was cold. But it wasn't as cold as swimming. Damn, that was cold. After seven days and no showers, you're willing to swim in pretty cold water to get even marginally cleaner. Swimming lasted about one minute, was done in sub-sixty degree water and went undocumented because the wise non-participant (Charlie) was busy reading Catch-22.

I've never consumed more calories than on the day we hiked out of the woods. For some reason, the best part of the trip is always getting out, and this was no exception. As usual, we dicked around at the trailhead for a while, listening to the Beatles and eating what was left of the food in the car. This included Chickin in a Biskit (my personal favorite), a few Clif Bars and some Twizzlers. Then we drove to Cody for the largest reuben sandwhich I have ever consumed. I washed this down with a shake. It was clearly our lucky day for dinner. Buffet nite at Godfather's Pizza in Gillette. Six pieces of pizza and three pieces of treatza pizza, plus a serving of nachos to cap off the 10000 calorie day.

The drive home was largely uneventful, highlighted by a stop in the Bighorns, where I got the picture of me at the top and the on below:
We also made the obligatory stop at Wall Drug, so Charlie could get a picture with the broad above. I also got this picture of me and General Custer:
After much debate, we decided to skip the Mitchell Corn Palace in favor of a quicker return to Minneapolis. I think we'll regret it. The design changes every year. I'll never get an opportunity to see the '05 edition (tear).