The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly.

“Every gun makes its own tune.”

As a kid I always enjoyed the Clint Eastwood spaghetti westerns. One of my favorites was The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly (the movie title did not use the Oxford comma, but, I feel compelled to here.) As an adult (usually) I’ve found that most people, places, and experiences we encounter in our life fall into the same three categories – the good, the bad, and the ugly. Certainly, there are varying degrees and gradations of each – e.g., the exceedingly good, the horrendously bad, and the butt ugly – but, for the most part, the three categories suffice.

The Good Stuff

I am now over eight hundred miles into my journey, roughly a third of the way home. From the start, and particularly since I left off in Fort Benton, I have encountered copious amounts of the good stuff – good people, good places and good experiences.

I continue to be awed by the natural beauty of the Missouri River. The Upper Missouri River Breaks National Monument (the Missouri Breaks or, simply, the Breaks) – the 150 mile section of the river from Ft. Benton to James Kipp Recreation Area – was spectacularly good. After paddling through the Gates of the Mountains Wilderness Area, I thought that I had experienced the most scenic portion of the Missouri River in Montana. Boy was I wrong! The Breaks, though I had anticipated it would be a scenic area, far exceeded my greatest expectations.

While paddling the Breaks, I also had the pleasure of sharing nature’s bounty with some fellow paddlers – Jeff and Nancy from Colorado. It was a very nice and welcome bonus to be able to get a break from the solitude, and share the river and camp with new friends for several days. (I was rapidly growing tired of my own company at that point – “sheeze, dude, do you have to tell the same stories over and over? You desperately need some new material.”) After our time together, we exchanged contact info and went about our respective journeys. We’ve since communicated and I hope to stay in touch.

Another cool subject of exploration in the Breaks are several abandoned homesteads. While wandering about these homesteads, one can’t help but contemplate how difficult and bleak living here with no modern amenities must have been – both in the long, harsh Montana winters and the surprisingly hot summers. Conversely, it also leads one to recognize how easy we have it and how spoiled we are by modern technology. This realization is only amplified by a month on the river – when an ice cold beer or bottle of water, or pooping without having to dig a cat hole, becomes a slice of Shangri-la. (Side note: I’ve learned that it’s not advisable to squat on the uphill side of a cat hole unless one intends to partake in backward somersaults with pants around your ankles. 😹)

“Cornhusker” brand pears?
This diehard Husker fan never knew the brand even existed.

I have also visited several points of historical interest relating to the Lewis and Clark exploration. One of my favorites was to hike up to Decision Point, located at the confluence of the Missouri and Maries rivers. The L&C expedition camped here for 9 days while scout teams went out to gather information to assist in the decision as to which was the Missouri River’s continuance. Guess what? They made the right choice.

Decision Point campsite marker.

I have encountered many kind people on my journey. Some of the wonderful gifts given to me by these gracious folks include: a cold beer (or 3), cold water, a snifter of bourbon, a plate of freshly picked berries and some cheese, usually accompanied by thoughtful words of encouragement. The Kipp camp Host, Bob, was particularly helpful. He gave me advice, a ride to town for supplies, and topped off my water from his own supply. A tip of my muddy cap to Bob!

I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the River Angels that have assisted along the way. In addition to Norm Miller and Jim Emmanuel, whom I believe I referenced in a prior blog post, I have since been blessed by the EXTRAORDINARY kindness, assistance, and generosity of Josiah Knight in Great Falls, Rod Gorder and his wife Dianne in the Ft. Peck area and Peggy Hellandsaas (“River Mom”) here at Tobacco Gardens Marina.

Josiah was gracious enough to accommodate me as a last minute add on to the multi-boat portage of Annie, Ann & Julz around the Great Falls area to the Canyon Ferry put in. He was generous with his time and made several stops in town to accommodate our needs.

Rod went above and beyond, including, coming out and checking on me on the reservoir, fixing me up with accommodations at the Ft. Peck Marina (thanks Jessica!), buying me breakfast, portaging me around the dam, giving me helpful advice and continuing to check in on me until I was handed off to River Mom. Dianne provided a delicious breakfast of homemade caramel rolls on the morning of my departure from Ft. Peck. Truly fine people that I am grateful to have met.

I won’t even endeavor to provide a list of River Mom’s acts of kindness, generosity and support. I don’t know if I could do so. She certainly has earned her River Mom nickname. She has made me feel welcomed and at home since my arrival, despite the trying circumstances she has faced while doing so. (More on that later in the bad stuff section.) She certainly understands that paddlers arriving here are at a crucial, make-or-break juncture of their journey. In a nutshell, she is the perfect person to fill this critical role and provides unconditional support in any way she can. Another true blessing to me, and to all through-paddlers such as me that darken her doorstep (a spurious bit of foreshadowing there).

The Bad Stuff

My journey has not been all sunshine, rainbows and unicorns. There have been a few bumps along the way, some personal and some more widely associated with the paddling community. The gravest and most tragic event during the course of my journey is the unfortunate passing of a fellow river traveller – James Kurz. The tragedy occurred below Kipp just days before my arrival there. For more details see: https://www.ladysmithnews.com/obituaries/article_6015664c-0ed9-11ee-b8b7-7b82fab0d063.html?fbclid=IwAR0hvYi7pGCh0efrsSzwvAzFTq0YNcAhWLbgOz4YyseePfzla4LazGwSulA

https://www.facebook.com/groups/MissouriRiverPaddlers/permalink/6868449429834032/?mibextid=Nif5oz (may need to be a MoRP Facebook group member to view)

On a personal level, I’ve had several experiences that, while not tragic, probably qualify as “bad.” I’ve wallowed in mud to my knees – almost becoming inextricably mired on one occasion. With some effort and the assistance of Louie, my trusted canoe and traveling companion, I managed to extract myself from that quagmire. I’ve dropped a picnic table on my foot while trying to fashion a windbreak with it. Painful for a while, with a cut, swelling and purple toes for a while. Almost fully healed now, so no big deal. On another occasion, I lost one of my Keen sandals in the deep sand while scouting a potential campsite. Through the power of Amazon (the e-commerce behemoth, not the river), that misstep has been remediated.

On the way into Tobacco Gardens on late Saturday afternoon I encountered precipitously increasing wind gusts at my back. The waves progressed from nice assistance in my direction of travel to concerningly gnarly white caps. I rode the white caps for approximately 5-6 miles, white-knuckling it the whole way. As the wind and waves began to subside a bit, back to the “nice assistance” level or a bit more, I relaxed my grip on my double-bladed paddle and rested it in my lap. That proved to be a bad move. A sudden wind gust caught my paddle blades and sent the paddle rolling across my lap and then across the spray deck on my canoe. I instinctively dove across the front of the canoe in an effort to grab my paddle. I missed and it rolled into the water. At that point I realized that my instincts were pretty dumb and I was very lucky to not have capsized my canoe in my attempt to recover my paddle. I crawled back to the stern and contemplated my next move. I quickly grabbed my spare paddle. After getting into a lower and more stable kneeling position, I turned the canoe into the oncoming waves and paddled back and successfully recovered my double-bladed paddle. I then waited for the adrenaline rush to subside before continuing to make my way to the Tobacco Gardens marina. As I was a couple of miles out from the marina, I looked to the North and saw a rapidly approaching storm front. I raced the storm into the bay and barely made it to the marina before the storm hit. 15 minutes after my arrival, the marina was struck by a lightning bolt that did extensive damage to the office and cafe. Despite having to deal with the aftermath of the lightning damage (big, big, big & bad hassles), River Mom Peg and her wonderful staff welcomed me, provided me anything and everything that I needed, and made me feel at home. Good people triumph over bad events resulting from bad weather.

The Ugly Stuff

Okay, I have no intent or desire to dwell on the bad, but, since I included a structure for this blog post that is 66.6% (eek, mark of the devil) bad (i.e., bad & ugly), I guess I really have no choice. Prior to my departure for Montana, a certain negative Nancy dream-crusher, upon learning of my planned sojourn confidently sniped at me, “You’ll never make it. You’ll be back within a week.” Regardless of what happens going forward, I am happy to say that those ugly words and sentiment have only served as motivation. I hope that “Nancy” resolves whatever underlying issues resulted in such an ugly weltanschauung.

Two other “ugly” incidents occurred while I passed through the Fort Peck Indian Reservation. While paddling along I noticed a 5 gallon bucket along the shoreline. I paddled over thinking I was going to recover some paddlers lost gear. Upon opening the bucket it was filled with a disgusting slew of fish guts. Who does such a thing? Does anybody remember the weeping Indian commercial in an anti-littering PSA years ago?

Finally, while also paddling through the reservation, I pulled over briefly to relieve myself and refill my water in a section of the river where both banks happened to be reservation land (rare & small sections). As I was reentering my canoe I heard the report of either an air rifle or a small caliber rifle. I looked downriver and noticed a trailer sitting up on the high bank of the river. Numerous other shots were fired in my direction. I didn’t get the sense that the person was particularly trying to shoot me, but was definitely intentionally shooting in my direction. I could hear the bullets zing past me and saw several strike the river at its midpoint while I sat close to the bank. After coming to the conclusion that they appeared to be more warning shots than attempts to harm, I cautiously made my way downriver. Shortly thereafter, I paddled past the end of the reservation’s border with the river.

I’ve rambled and blathered more than enough for now. Now it’s time for me to make like a “Led” balloon and “ramble on” to my next adventure on the river. I set out tomorrow to continue my boondoggle.