The Fort Union Rendezvous, June 13 – 16th. I think I first heard of the event a few weeks ago. As the dates got closer and I made pretty quick progress down the first few hundred miles of the river, a plan soon emerged where I’d be able to paddle up to the Fort and enjoy all the Rendezvous had to offer. Now the question was, what did it have to offer?

I poked around on the event web site a week before, and got a sense it was some type of reenactment, where people dress in clothing from the period when the Fort was a bustling fur and goods trading post on the shores of the busy Missouri River. Fine, good enough, sounded like a good place to stop and relax for a bit, get some decent food and clean water, meet a few characters. I somehow made contact with a member of the MO River Paddlers group, Jeff Brown, who was going to be in attendance at the event. We played message tag leading up the event. It was Jeff who was yelling my name and calling me to shore through the willow swamp after a paddled exhaustedly up to the Fort.

I woke up Saturday morning in Jeff’s historically authentic mid-1800s tent, chocked full of authentic gear a fur trader would have. We were camped among a few dozen other very authentic tents, teepees, canoe lean-tos and other imaginative structures. The camping village was set up a few feet from the walls of the reconstructed Fort Union, a National Historic Site and very impressive place to visit in itself.

Waking up groggy and sore after an epic paddle day, Jeff laid out the clothes I had to choose from to wear that day. I couldn’t be more excited about getting into the spirit of the Rendezvous and fully participating in the fun. Once I was fully decked out, I even had to sort of pack up and hide my modern camping gear inside his tent. Wow, this was a seriously authentic event. Jeff, himself dressed as a sharp looking fur trader, told me there was to be a few runs that morning to go along with the Rendezvous, where lots of people from the general public show up to run courses of varying lengths from a half marathon all the way down to a 1 mile fun run. Each course started in North Dakota, crossed into Montana, then back into North Dakota, crossing over state lines and time zones. Most importantly, Jeff told me there was a fur trader division in the 1 mile fun run. In years past, he won that division and took home some serious hardware. I was in! Footwear could be a problem. Jeff has a pair of too-big moccasins, that while authentic, had worn holes through the bottom and would have been a chore to cover even 1 mile in. I cheated a bit and threw on my go-to running sandals I’ve worn every day on my trip.

The musketeers fired their 1800s rifles and the race began. It was me, Jeff, and about 50 little kids along with a few adults with kids who were too young to navigate the course themselves. Jeff insisted we carry knives strapped to our belts and well as normal sized canoe paddles during the run. I didn’t know whether to walk it, or to go ahead and do it serious. So I took off at a pretty good pace. I’ve learned long ago racing against kids that they go out way too fast then fade quickly. This race was no exception. About a half mile in, I started passing a bunch of overconfident tots as they started to walk. One chubby little boy started walking, I passed him, he started running again, passed me, then started walking again, and I re-passed him. This repeated several times before I finally left him in the dust. Crossing the finish line, I held up my paddle in victory formation as a photographer took photos. I really hope I made the front of some small town newspaper. Don’t worry, I didn’t beat all the kids in the race, but I probably finished in the top 10. Jeff and I claimed our medals proudly:

After the awards ceremony, I spent some time exploring the Fort, including a pretty cool museum. As a St. Louis kid born and raised, it was pretty cool to see Pierre Chouteau have a pretty strong part in building and running this fort as an extension of the American Fur Trading Company. At 2pm, a speaker was portraying William Clark’s slave, York, who accompanied the 1804 – 1806 expedition. Hassan Davis gave a masterful presentation as York, not only his experience during the expedition, but what happened with his life after it ended. What struck me, and I assume most in the audience, was how he was treated as an equal to other members of the expedition during the journey, but how badly he was treated by William Clark after, never receiving offical recognition or compensation that other members received. He was not freed after the expedition, Clark forced him to move away from his wife in Louisville to St. Louis to serve Clark in governance of the new Louisiana territory. It was an emotional experience for all of us listening to Davis as York and it’s not something I’ll ever forget.

Later in the afternoon, I listened to two guys give a fantastic guitar and banjo performance of songs from the 1800s, also very entertaining. Also among the rows of tents, there were vendors selling trinkets, clothing, knives, guns, furniture and other items that would be found at this trading post in its heyday in the mid-1800s. I wandered around looking at all the stuff and talking to all kinds of interesting folks. Finally, Jeff told me there was a communal stew dinner. A bell soon rang and everyone lined up with their metal bowl to scoop out a serving of stew from a massive pot over a fire. Grab a piece of fresh homemade bread and sit around many others enjoying the meal late in the day. I looked around and the only signs that I was still in modern times vs. the 1800s was the occasional car passing on the road and the freight trains roaring by in the distance. But it wasn’t hard to imagine this being 150 years ago, and I am pretty sure that’s why these people make the huge effort to come to these events and stick so closely to the authentic gear and experience.

The evening was filled with a gathering in the Fort, attendance prizes were raffled off, there was a fiddle player with some dancing, and I adjourned myself to the campsite of the Boatmen, three gentlemen who had paddled 3 days on the river to get there. They had authentic 1800s canoes, paddles, gear and an entire campsite they had packed in their boats. Quite a contrast to my modern, compact travelling campsite. They also introduced me to Shrub, basically 151 rum with brown sugar and lime juice that was a popular drink on sailing vessels of the 1800s. A couple of those drinks and I turned in for the night, listening as I dozed to the sounds of the fiddle, clapping and fun into the night.

The Rendezvous was an incredible experience. I learned they have these all over the country, and I think even down near St. Louis at Fort Chartres or Kaskaskia. I’d love to attend another one, maybe put on the authentic attire and maybe even whip a few kids in a foot race again. Huge thank you to Jeff Brown, who’s been attending this Rendezvous for 20+ years and has been graciously hosting paddlers at this event when dates coincide. You were a fantastic host and provided me and incredible introduction to the Rendezvous experience!

mf

After Fort Peck Lake, it was about 200 river miles left of the Missouri before it passes into North Dakota right at Fort Union. After two nights at the wonderful Fort Peck Marina, I was rested and well fed, my water was refilled and I had it in mind to make it to Fort Union in time for the Rendezvous happening June 13 – 16th (more on that in a separate post). Hunter from the Marina loaded my kayak up on a trailer early Tuesday morning, June 11th and dropped me about a mile down past Fort Peck Dam.

First things first, I was out of whiskey and had been unable to locate a re-supply in Fort Peck. Within the first half mile of my put in, there was a local cafe/bar. Seeing as it was around 11am on a Tuesday morning, I wasn’t too surprised when I found the place closed and I had to proceed on in a dry state. Life is all about dealing with challenges that are thrown your way, right? It was a good day weather-wise, I caught some good current coming out of Fort Peck Dam and made good mileage. The water was crystal clear and ice cold. I located an old shipwreck that Norm told me to keep an eye out for:

When I took a pit stop later in the day, I nearly stepped on a huge old set of elk antlers and what I was told is probably an old buffalo bone:

Would have made a spectacular hood ornament. Around 6pm I started looking for a place to camp. I located a decent spot just downstream of a humming floating water pump (I plan a separate post on this as well) . I watched a distant thunderstorm roll through as I enjoyed dinner and watched the sun go down until the cold wind forced me into my tent. I covered around 37 miles.

The next day I was out on the water early again. My goal for the day was the town of Wolf Point, about 43 river miles, where I was told about a bar that would allow me a good meal, a cold beer, possibly a TV to watch the Blues/Bruins game 7, and maybe even a re-supply on whiskey! Talk about motivated paddling!

I’ll mention that the majority of the left bank of the river in this stretch is part of the Fort Peck Indian Reservation. You have to have prior permission to camp on that side of the river and I’ve generally been recommended to just kind of avoid that side of the river in general for this part of the river. I’ve heard and read many stories of encounters with people on the reservation – usually young, bored kids looking for trouble and finding it with paddlers moving through the area. Just last year, my paddle partner from earlier in the trip experienced being shot at from the other side of the river and spent a harrowing night huddled in the trees waiting for the partiers to tire out. So that set the tone for my paranoia for the day.

Around mid-day, I spotted a pickup truck on the left bank, and when I got closer, 3 or 4 younger guys hanging out near the truck. They may have been fishing, I wasn’t for sure. But when I passed, they made a few gestures and some unintelligible comments. I kind of just waved and passed by and thought nothing more of it. Much later in the day, I came to the town of Wolf Point – the largest town on the reservation. I was advised to not stop, pass by town to further down, which is where the bar was that I was heading to. As I passed town, who else do I see but the same truck and same group of guys next to the river. Again some gestures and comments, perhaps a bit more aggressive this time? As I passed them, they got in their truck and sped off. My mind immediately went to the worst – were these guys following me? Planning to intercept me at some point? Waiting for me to stop for the night then cause some trouble? I realized I had a publicly available link to track my exact location with the web site of where to find that link printed on the side of my boat. I immediately turned off my Garmin tracker.

As I approached my stopping point for the day, I had a few challenges. There was a spot I had in mind, on the right bank of course, right where a large old bridge (no longer in use) and a newer bridge cross over the river into the town of Wolf Point. My planned camp was in the trees and tall grass on the opposite side of a public park that was usually used for late night partying. I fully expected to see that same truck at the park waiting for me to pass by. As I approached, binoculars out, I luckily didn’t see anyone at the park. I quickly pulled into the right shore, quickly unloaded my boat, threw everything into the tall concealing grass, then pulled my boat into the grass. Satisfied I wasn’t seen, I set up my tent back up in the trees pretty much out of view of the public:

Adrenaline up and satisfied with my stealth camp, I made the short walk up the hill to Harry’s Nite Club. What an amazing place this was. I enjoyed fried cheese curds, a deep fried doughy taco called a Paco and many Busch Lights. They had the Blues game on, and no one paid any attention to the game all night or the various times I shouted and pumped my fist as they scored the cup-winning goals. I talked to a few locals about my trip and about my experience that day, them laughing a little bit but not seeming too surprised. And bless the liberal liquor laws of Montana, I was able to purchase and walk out with a bottle of Pendleton whiskey!

It was still light out when I left the bar and made my careful descent back to camp. All quiet over at the park once again and I even got a spectacular sunset over the river for my efforts:

I didn’t dawdle the next morning getting out of Wolf Point. I had a generally uneventful full day of paddling, about another 40 miles, getting close to the town of Brockton. I had wanted to get to potentially within a day’s paddle to Fort Union, as the main day of the Rendevous was in 2 days. Looking at my maps that night, it seemed I was still about 65 miles from Fort Union, more than likely a two-day paddle. The beaver swimming around my camp and loudly slapping his tail on the water in defense of his territory tried to keep me awake, but I got a good night’s sleep on the sandbar and was up with the sun. I set out around 7am, thinking I’d get as close as I could to Fort Union that day, but just camp when I got tired and then get to the Rendezvous the next morning.

As the day progressed, I was making good miles. I stayed energetic and well-fed with my homemade ground beef jerky, Cliff Bars, RX Bars and some fruit leather throughout the day. Around 5pm I had already hit my personal record for miles in a day on this trip at 50. I realized I was about 15 river miles out from Fort Union. I was still feeling pretty good and had at least 3 more hours of daylight so I went for it. The long meandering bends in this part of the river seemed to go on forever. Finally, I passed under the train bridge that pretty much marked the end of Montana and the start of North Dakota:

Another mile and I was near Fort Union. I could hear the comotion from the Rendezvous coming through the trees. When Fort Union was built, it was inches from the river, easy for the steamboats to unload at the Fort. 150 years or so has really shifted the channel of the river, so the Fort is now past about 200 yards of swamp and thick willows. I listened and thought I heard a voice calling my name…listening again. Yes! My name – it must be Jeff Brown, the guy I was in touch with about coming to the Rendezvous. He was calling me in. I pulled up onto a muddy bank, and saw that there was a path cut into the willows, providing a clear but very muddy path over to the Fort. The last 50 yards of the path were in waist-deep water. As I grabbed some essential gear for the night from my boat and left it parked in the mud, I was descended upon by a massive horde of mosquitoes. I scurried through the mud and the waist deep muck as darkeness closed in. I shook the hand of Jeff, dressed in authentic 1830s fur trader attire as he pulled me up the last mud bank. He had been tracking me all day and went down to call me in as I approached.

I was utterly exhausted – I did somewhere between 62 and 65 river miles that day, paddling almost nonstop for 13 hours. And as I passed from Montana into North Dakota, I moved into central time, making it 1 hour later in the day. Still, Jeff graciously walked the half mile with me through an approaching thunderstorm to his truck where he drove me into the nearby town of Fairview for a late meal and couple cold beers. I slept soundly in my sleeping bag on the dirt floor of Jeff’s true-to-the-period 1830s tent. The Rendezvous was awaiting me on the other side of that night’s sleep, and that is an altogether different post…

What can I say about Montana – nearly 700 river miles of spectacular scenery, abundant and diverse wildlife, weather that always kept you guessing, and some of the most gracious and generous friends and river angels that you’ll find. I couldn’t imagine a more successful start to this epic journey. And while I know the scenery from here on down likley won’t hold a flame to Montana, I am utterly blessed to have experienced this wonderful state and its people. I look forward to the adventure continuing…

mf

When I passed through Fort Benton, MT a few weeks ago, I was interviewed by an aspiring reporter/summer intern, Zach Brown, from the University of Montana. Here is the article that resulted, online copy is behind a paywall. Hoping to get ahold of a hard copy at some point:

Two years ago, Mark Fingerhut was on his honeymoon driving through Yellowstone National Park when he decided he was going to kayak from Yellowstone all the way to St. Louis, Missouri.

Fast forward two years and Mark is 38 kayaking through Fort Benton on his journey. “We made it through Yellowstone and to the headwaters of Three Forks and being there I was just like I’m going to do this trip from here someday,” said Fingerhut. Then the opportunity presented itself this summer.

For the past 13 years, Fingerhut has worked for Ungerboeck Software in St. Louis. “I kind of just asked for some time off, for a sabbatical and they were very understanding with me,” said Fingerhut.

Someone else who has been very understanding about his trip is his wife. “She’s totally on board she’s happy to support me.” A good friend of Fingerhut’s runs Timber Longboard Company back in Missouri and asked if he could build his Kayak. Mark had to drive his big wooden kayak and all his equipment out to Montana. She flew out to Bozeman to put him in the river and drive the truck back home. “She’s supportive she says awesome, take your adventure and in a couple years when I decide to do the Appelachian trail you can support me doing that.”

It sounds simple right? Get a kayak, water and some food, get into the river and away you go. Unfortunately, this is not the case. “When I first started sketching out plans for the trip I thought maybe it would be ten grand for everything included… that’s probably an overshoot and I’ll be a lot less than that but who knows?” Said Mark. He does have some sponsors to subsidize that cost though.

This trip is about passion. Passion for kayaking but also, passion for the water. “My main cause is I’m raising money for Missouri River Relief. It’s an organization that’s based in Missouri and their mission is to kind of connect people to the river.” Missouri River Relief holds river clean-up events, they host educational programs and in Columbia, MO, they will take every fourth grader out on the river for a day and show them around.

…

There was no exact preconceived plan that Fingerhut had, “I was just going to go as the river and whether dictates.” Mark is planning his trip to be about three plus months. He does have some people along the way that want to see him. “I have had a lot of friends and family say we want to meet you, where are you going to be on this date. I’ve kind of tried to put together a rough plan of where I’ll be and when.” Fingerhut knows his trip is going to go fairly quickly, forcing himself to move slowly to enjoy the scenery that is coming up along the journey.

You can follow Mark’s journey by keeping up-to-date with his blog, Paddle St. Louis, A Journey From Yellowstone to the Arch in Support of Missouri River Relief: www.paddlestlouis.com

Early on in the planning for my trip, I made some decisions on how connected and how high-tech I wanted my experience to be. One of those decisions was to pack a small bluetooth speaker so I could listen to music and podcasts on the long days of paddling. I’ve been using Pandora as my music streaming service for years, but have only the free subscription. Counting on cell service to supply me with my music was not ideal. So I sprung for Spotify. With Spotify, for 10 bucks a month, I was able to download as much music as I possibly could fit on my phone. So in the months leading up to my trip, I downloaded as much music from my past as I could think of, and quite a bit of new stuff I was looking forward to listening to.

One pretty cool feature of Spotify is the ability to share and collaboratively create playlists. I think we were standing around before a hash prior to my trip and my good friend Matt mentioned we should get people to contribute to a playlist for my trip. Thus, the Boat Tunes playlist was born. The list was shared out with people who have Spotify, a Facebook thread was created with requests and the playlist began to grow. I did not look at it. I set a deadline for the night before I got on the water, the last time I’d have wifi to be able to download all the music. That night, I downloaded it all.

128 songs in all. Here are my comments and some funny anecdotes from listening to the Boat Tunes playlist off and on over the first month of my trip:

• I exclusively listen to this playlist on shuffle/random. I leave it to the river gods to determine what I am hearing at any given time.
• Someone, and I think I know who, loaded up the list with a bunch of Phish songs. I feel like every other song is a Phish song. And considering how long Phish songs are, 90% of the time I am listening to Phish. It’s not great.
• I was paddling in some pretty big waves on Fort Peck Lake listening to the playlist when a Florida Georgia Line song came on. I make it a point to not skip over tracks, but in the process of immediately getting my phone out to skip this, I almost flipped my boat. Thanks, Louis C.O.C.K.
• That same day, Surfin’ USA by the Beach Boys came out. You could hear my cackle in the nearby canyons as I surfed across the Fort Peck waves.
• As I paddled among the amazing, world class fly-fishing waters of the upper Madison, weaving in and out of driftboats full of concentrating fishermen, Boats n Hoes came on. Perfect.
• Each and every time Can’t You See by the Marshall Tucker Band comes on – and it seems to come on a lot, I smile, I rock out, and I am instantly in a Busch Light commercial. Thanks, Louis C.O.C.K.
• Some contributors stuck with the water/river/boat/paddling theme for some of their songs. Others just added some pretty damn good music. Thanks, Laura.
• Yes, Gloria by Laurie Brannigan is on the list and it has been played during and after the Blues Stanley Cup win.
• Yes, dueling banjos is on there. Hardy har har.
• Breathing Underwater by Metric? Whoa, things just got dark.
• Careless Whisperer by George Michael. If Matt Frank had invested all the money he spends pushing this song up to the front of the line in bar jukeboxes, he’d be retired.
• Colin added an amazing tune called Yes! We Have No Bananas a song by Billy Jones from the 1920s. Almost makes up for adding Cool for the Summer by Demi Lovato. Ugh, no.

This is a live and active playlist. If you have Spotify, you too can contribute glorious and awful music to my daily listening habits. Visit my link to this post on my Facebook page to get to the Spotify playlist link. I do need wifi to download the new songs, but it looks like I should have access the next couple days.

Thank you to Matt for the idea of the playlist and putting it together. And thanks (I guess) to the contributors for making my daily auditory experience a bit more interesting on my trip.

mf

Paddling out of the Upper Missouri River Break National Monument, who pretty much everyone agrees is the most beautiful part of the entire river, I was prepared for a change of pace and an increase in difficulty as I entered Fort Peck Lake. I’ve kind of lost track of the days, I am indeed on river time, I think it was last Wednesday when I made a quick stop at James Kipp campsite, successfully begged for extra water from two young outfitters who were pulling their boat out, and continued. I wanted to get as close as possible to the start of Fort Peck Lake – where the river current slows down, the valley widens and you suddenly find yourself in a wide open lake. I went about 10 miles, my maps had lots to be desired in terms of instructing me how far I could safely go. I didn’t want to encounter braided channels or even worse, running aground in nasty mud at the start of the lake very late in the day. I set up camp that night at a pretty rough spot – had to climb a mud bank to get out of the river, deal with weeds, mosquitos and a curious Bull Snake as I was setting up camp. I did enjoy listening to the Blues win Game 3 (I think) on the radio.

Fully rested, I woke up and prepared to take on the start of Fort Peck Lake. There was about 10 more miles of true MO River before the lake – I could have easily made it further the day before. Eventually, I encountered the main channel breaking up into side channels, beautiful islands of cottonwoods and willows everywhere. But still, current. I stopped mid-day to climb an amazingly perfect conical hill overlooking the start of the lake.

Later in the afternoon, I approached the start of UL Bend. This massive U-shaped bend in the river is notorious for shallow spots, dead end channels, out-of-nowhere winds and just being a challenge.

I encountered just the opposite. Oddly, the wind died down as the river widened. It was a sheet of glass for the most part. The river is higher than normal everywhere, including here, so I didn’t come close to running aground in shallow water. I even got a message from Norm later in the day asking if the river was up because according to his map, I was paddling across land. He also told me to keep paddling for 1.5 more hours to some great camping. I finally took out around 6pm at this amazing spot, close to the bottom of UL Bend:

The next morning, I was prepped for rougher conditions – wind and waves. I hear you don’t get a free perfect day on Fort Peck Lake. The first few hours were pretty amazing as well, the sun rising over a very calm lake as I paddled around the bend then turned north. Mid-morning, the winds picked up and I experienced open water waves for the first time. I started to get a feel for the boat and how it navigated rougher water. I didn’t panic, just tested how far away from shore I could go and still feel comfortable. How I adjusted my boat via the rudder or directional paddling depending on what direction the waves were coming from. I stopped for a snack mid-morning and caught my breath and stretched my legs. By around 1pm, I was spent. I pulled into Devil’s Creek campground and called it a day. Temperatures were approaching 90 degrees in the sun, so I took my hammock up the hill to a pavilion and relaxed with my journal and those of Lewis and Clark, taking in all they experienced when this massive lake was just a simple river. I talked a bit with a retired journalist and investigator Ted who was doing some fishing there, who early the next morning sent me off with a cold beer to be enjoyed later that night, as well as a promise to send me a few photos he took with his nice camera. Today’s challenge was to try three separate big water crossings:

From south side to north side, then at the big bend, from the west side to the east side, then at the next bend, from the south side back to the north side. Winds were from the south generally this day, so my south to north crossing was a wildly entertaining ride on the waves. They weren’t terribly big, maybe 1 – 2 ft, but my adrenaline was definitely elevated as I made the long crossing. Another hot day, I stopped briefly to immerse myself in the lake and hike up the hill to get a view at Bone Trail Recreation Area:

It was still early afternoon so I pressed on for about 8 more miles until the storm clouds started to approach behind me. I had heard from messages and weather updates that it was supposed to storm, so I found a sheltered cove in plenty of time to set up camp before the weather rolled in. I also installed the extra guy lines on my tent connected to 12″ stakes to ensure my tent could ride out most storms. I was treated to a spectacular display of storms rolling in just north of me, getting hit by a second round, posting up in my tent making sure it stayed put and staying dry. Even got a rainbow as I laid down for bed.

Next morning I was out early again and did the Go Pro video before the wind got strong. At one point, I had no sense of where the waves were coming from, just trying to paddle through and not tip over. I pulled off after 10 miles and decided to wait for the winds to go down. I spent the time climbing a nearby mountain where I got some much needed phone reception to post some updates. At the top of the mountain, I noticed the wind was slightly less and the whitecaps out on the water were more sparse. Back into the yak I went and covered another 14 miles into the early evening. I even tossed the fishing line in later in the day and managed to pull in a beautiful Northern Pike. I don’t portend to be a fisherman, I was shitting my pants, trying not to kill myself or the fish. He eventually set himself free back into the lake, I didn’t plan on keeping him anyway. Camp was a lovely spot around the bend out on the end of a nice coulee.

The next morning was windy, so I opted for the Graveyard Hill adventure previously posted. But instead of staying off the water all day, I had the burgers and beers of Fort Peck Marina flashing in front of my eyes so I paddled on. I wasn’t making the Marina that night, but I got to Pines Recreation Area, after crossing 5 very windy and wavy inlets – varying from 1 to 3 mile open water crossings.

I was mentally and physically exhausted after hiking all morning and surfing on bouncing waves all afternoon.

I woke up planning to finish the lake and went hard after it. There were 5 more open water crossings, the last being the most difficult – a 4 mile paddle to near the dam. Waves were big, 2 – 3 ft and some whitecaps. Winds were generally from the northwest so I managed to keep my boat positioned ideally, but there were some harrowing moments. And as I made the final turn into the cove of Fort Peck Marina, wouldn’t you know it was straight into the stiff headwind out of the northwest, the last few hundred yards of paddling had my arms and shoulders burning. The burger and beer for a late lunch never satsified me much as these did.

130 miles over 5 days. I think if had one of my other kayaks, or a canoe, I would have certainly had to take a day off here or there on the lake to wait for the wind to go down. Note that I didn’t put myself in any dangerous situations. Other than the morning I pulled off after 10 miles, I felt challenged but in control. Handling the waves in what is essentially an ocean kayak was a steep learning curve, but one I feel I navigated successfully. I’m no Peck expert, but from what I gather, the conditions I experienced were average. I hear many stories of MO River paddlers that are stuck on shore for multiple days at a time waiting for the wind to die down in order to cross safely. I have two more big lakes where I am sure to be tested further, but overall I am happy with my experience on Fort Peck Lake. I appreciate its power, unpredictability and certainly its beauty.mf

Saturday morning, I awoke in my rattling tent around 6. The wind was blowing in from the Northwest at around 15 to 20 mph. Waves were crashing onto the beach I was camped on, just at the edge of my boat pulled up on shore. I considered getting back onto the water right away, another full day on Fort Peck in the wind and the waves, confident I’d be able to paddle through it, but not really looking forward to the effort and concentration needed.

I checked my GPS map. I was camped on the very tip of a coulee – Eighth Coulee – sort of a long ridge/peninsula that juts into Fort Peck Lake. Way up at the top of the coulee – maybe a good 4 miles away as the crow flies, I see a little marker – Graveyard Hill. At that moment I decided a walk to whatever Graveyard Hill turns out to be was better than a rough day on the water. I packed a small bag with snacks and water, grabbed my hiking pole and set out.

The first mile or two of the walk, I am simply trying to solve the maze that is the ridgeline that will lead me up the coulee. After all, I was walking on top of what used to be a pretty substantial ridgeline that overlooked the Missouri River valley prior to the dam being built in the 1930s, which turned this into a floating labyrinth. You climb a hill, determine which is the best route that will get you further up the ridge, then descend and follow what your mind remembers before you climb again. I saw what I assumed was Graveyard Hill a ways in the distance, so I tried to keep that as my objective. The treeless peninsulas and ridges soon gave way to a pine forest, which showed signs of having burned in a wild fire recently. I was watching every step closely, aware of the risk of upsetting a resting rattlesnake, though not too concerned as it was a pretty chilly day, or turning an ankle on a rock or root. Consulting the GPS map, I had to correct course a few times to stay on track for the Hill.

Eventually, I started climbing over a razor thin ridgleline – looking out to on both left and right miles out into the lake inlets. Graveyard Hill was getting close. One last climb and I was there. The highest point for miles around. At first there was nothing. Then I saw a few things that nature didn’t have an explanation for – approaching them I noticed there were three Army Corps survery markers:

Interesting, perhaps, but this wasn’t the Graveyard advertised. Nevertheless, I took in the incredible view in the gusty winds for a bit, then started back down the coulee.

Taking a slightly different route going down, I looked to the next ridgeline and noticed something else not quite explained by nature. A small fenced off area – protecting a small plot of land from invading cattle that sometime use the pastures. For a moment, I didn’t think much of it and continued on my path. But the thought that’s came to me time and again on this trip – you are here in this place only once, you have unlimited time and no one is telling you what to do – I walked up to it.

4 poles stuck in the ground connected by wire, surrounding a gravestone:

I read the headstone. My mind was going 200mph. Charlie Marrs. Young guy, 32 years old. Cowboy. Struck by fricking lightning on his horse – what an awful way to go. Then 88 years later, some grandnephew gets wind that his great uncle was an ‘old time cowboy’ and decides to plant this headstone. Certainly ol’ Charlie Marrs isn’t buried here. My best guess is that young Don best approximated the spot where Great Uncle Charlie was struck down and came up here to plant this. It’s absolutely possible the exact spot is somewhere nearby, possibly 200ft under the lake that wasn’t there in 1905. But it was an amazingly beautiful spot overlooking the lake, on an extrememly remote ridge, where I doubt anyone has randomly run across this before.

When I’m back in civilization, I would love to try to track down Don Weibert, or Great-Grandnephew Jamal Weibert and get the full story on Charlie Marrs, and what’s the story behind this memorial marker. I am certain the story behind Charlie Marrs is 100x more interesting that the story of me locating his memorial stone. My long hike up to Graveyard Hill didn’t turn out to be a disappointment. If I was a singer or someone who writes songs, you bet your ass there’d be a tune coming out that lamented the unfortunate ending of one of the true old time cowboys, Charlie Marrs.

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On my 4.5 mile walk back from Fort Peck Dam to my campsite (correct, this place wasn’t built with pedestrians in mind – more on that later), I got to thinking about the single biggest human-created object I’ve ever seen. We can quickly get into a debate on definitions of ‘big’ and of ‘object’: is a city an object? The Great Wall of China? Do a lot of little objects make up something larger? Does big mean intricate, complicated?

On a restful Monday afternoon, over a few beers and a sunny, perfect day in Montana, I’ve decided this is the largest human-created object I’ve ever seen:

It’s hard to see but it’s there. The Fort Peck Dam. Lake on the right, the dam curves from the center, out to the right, then back to the left again. It’s the world’s largest hydrollically created dam, which I learned today means they dredged silt, sand and gravel from the river bottom to build it. The loaded all that slurry into a single massive pond, let all the water drain and let it dry out, rinse and repeat, layer upon layer until you have the dam. It’s 4 miles long and 1 mile wide at its base. It took 7 years to build, at its peak employed 10,000 workers making 50 cents per hour, killed 31 guys during contruction (an excellent safety record for its time), and cost what an average major league pitcher signs a contract for today: $84 million!

In my definition, this object was built to serve a single purpose, plus one big caveat is that you can see pretty much see the whole thing at once. That would disqualify the Great Wall (not counting from space – see I can qualify this however I want, this is my blog).

I’m trying to wrack my brain to think if I’ve ever seen anything bigger in my life. Have you? What would that be?

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Writing this post on Wednesday, June 3rd. Also, I may have to add the photos back to this post at a later date.

A week ago today, I put on at Carter’s Ferry and paddled 16 miles to Fort Benton, mile 0 of the 149 Upper Missouri River Breaks. This stretch of river is what most consider the most spectacular scenery on the entire Missouri River. The first half, generally from Coal Banls Landing to Judith Landing are the famous “while cliffs” – sandstone walls and natural monuments on both sides. So much to take in. Then after Judith Landing, the personalilty of the Breaks changes. It has more of a Badlands feel to it – rocky, muddy cliffs, but no less beautiful. As the Badlands is one of my favorite National Parks, I think I enjoyed the lower half the best.After camping with my friendly snake at Judith Landing, I put in a full day of paddling, stopping at a few interesting Homesteads – more on that. Around 5pm, I pulled into Gist Ranch – normally an excellent homestead to check out. But I think what happened is that the winter ice jams took out the cattle fences keeping them out of the campsite. The actual camp was a wreck with cow dung, a stench and generally just torn up ground. I paddled another mile or so to Snake Point. Still a bit torn up from cattle, but not as bad. The Breaks guide said this was the starting point for a short hike up a Badlands-type mountain, from where Meriwether Lewis spotted the Rocky Mountains for the first time. I had a relaxing dinner and evening watching the sunset over the river, and was even treated to a low-flying single engine plane right through the river valley to coincide with sunset – look to the left, it’s there:I set my alarm for 5:15 but ended up not neding at as it starts to get light this far north before 5am. I jumped up, grabbed a Cliff Bar and water and climbed the hill. 1000 ft and a pit stop to take my morning constitutional is a self-dug hole later, I was standing at the exact spot where Meriwether beheld the snow-capped mountains that would later nearly put an end to their westward exploration. No mountains were to be seen today, I was told the day before that the increased haze was due to wild fires in Alberta, Canada.I took a few photos of the scene as the sun came up over the mountains. Pretty sure I’ll be framing this panorama:Later that morning, I stopped by a Homestead that wasn’t marked on the map. If it gets published when I have reception again, I had an Instagram post that gave a short explanation of Homesteads along this part of the river. Basically, in the mid to late 1800s, the US government basically gave away tracts of lands in order to get people out west, settle the land and, ahem – move Native Americans off the land. While some stuck it out and made a life on the wide open plains through farming or raising livestock, many others weren’t able to sustain a life with the harsh Montana weather and conditions. Some of these Homestead sites can be found along the river here. Some are actually still in use as working farms, many others are just ruins of the old farm sites. You are able to stop and walk around in them. Some of the images are pretty stark. As I explored a few on my own, I had feelings of insignificance and impermanence. Here were homes and workshops of people whose lives were here or 10, 20, 30 years. And then it was done. They moved on to something better, something easier. And here were the remains of their lives and their work for that period of time. Captured in history.Another site I passed later that day was the Nez Perce Trail. While it isn’t a specific site you can stop and take a picture of, the map I was following was marked where the trail paralleled the river and eventually crossed over and headed North. As the young US was expanding westward, the Nez Perce signed a treaty to move to 7.5 million acres of land in Montana and further to the Northwest. As the 7.5 million acres became 1 million, 300 men, women and children of the Nez Perce refused to sign a revised treaty and tried to make a run for the northern border of Canada. Pursued by US troops, they were eventually tracked down, some killed and the rest forced to reservations. As I paddled by where these 300 tribespeople marched along and over the Missouri River, I reflected on the dark parts of our nation’s history, the sacrifices and horrible incidents that happened during our nation’s rapid expansion. Certainly, I’m proud to call America home. But I feel like educating oneself about the horrific things that got us to where we are today are a necessary part of being American.

When people talk about paddling the best parts of the Missouri River, many are referring to the Upper Missouri River Breaks. The incredible sights and scenery as well as the rich and plentiful wildlife along the way is matched only by the history to be found along the way. For someone who loves nature as well as history, this was a spectacular few days and I can only hope to make it back here to paddle this stretch again someday.

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Post written June 1, 2019 – not certain on when this will be able to post. Also, the photos I wanted to include in this post aren’t working so I may have to add back in later.

Currently, I am sitting at a picnic table at the campground at Judith Landing – at mile 88 of 149 in the Upper Missouri River Breaks National Monument. Just had a very satisfying dinner of dehydrated ham, beans, ramen and sauerkraut. Got a little nip of whiskey next to me, I found the Blues game 3 of the finals on the radio and just started a fire to keep the bugs away. It’s been a busy few days since Great Falls.Wednesday, my plan was to prep my gear and food for the coming weeks, then catch a ride from Great Falls to below the Falls with my shuttle at around 2:30pm. Knowing that I was going to need to bring a lot more water with me than I had during the early part of the trip, I had to pack everything as efficiently as possible, using every square inch wisely. Around 11:30 I got a call from a local Montana number and answered. It was Casey at local TV station KRTV. When I stopped into Montana River Outfitters the day before to get some advice on the trip, the owner Craig apparently called a few contacts in the media and told them about my trip.I walked around the corner to Miss Kitty’s coffee shop and met the reporter who did a pretty quick interview. I told her she was more than welcome to spice things up with any photos or video from my web site or Instagram.

At 2:30, Phyllis and Jim Meade pulled up in their small truck with a substantial boat rack. Jim has been invovled with the Medicine River Canoe Club for many years. As the popularity of canoeing has given way to kayaking and stand-up boarding in recent years, they unfortunately had to dissolve the club in the past year or so. However, Jim and Phyllis will still dutifully portage Missouri River Paddlers around Great Falls. When I signed Jim’s clipboard, I flipped back to previous pages to see the veritable who’s who of MO River paddlers. Names I’ve heard, people I’ve talked to, peoples’ who’s books I’ve read or plan on reading. I felt honored to add my name to Jim’s list. They drove me to the most easily accessible put-in below Great Falls – at Carter’s Ferry. There are a handful of these really old ferries on the upper Missouri – big metal pontoons capable of carrying a car or two – and are pulled across the river on cables, that if you aren’t paying attention when you paddle through, you might just knock your head on…

I put in at Carter’s Ferry on what was easily the warmest day of my trip so far – 80 degrees and not a cloud to be seen. The 16 miles to Fort Benton was beautiful – the river cuts a pretty deep canyon in the plains a few hundred feet above. There were many cliffs of different colors based on the types of rocks and dirt slowly being eroded by the persistent Missouri. Without paddling too much at all, I made the 16 miles in less than three hours.In Fort Benton, I pulled into the fantastic canoe camp, where I was the only one there to enjoy the ample water spiggots and even hot showers! I strolled the mile into town to grab some dinner. I ended up at the local VFW – the second night in a row at a VFW – and happened upon a hot dinner, some cold beer and the hockey game on TV. I got to talking with the bartender, told her what I was doing and then was introduced to her mother and a few friends further down the bar. At that point, I was getting notifications that my news story had hit the web, so they pulled it up on their phone and were, what can I say? Impressed. Had a good walk back to camp after the Blues won in OT.

The next morning, I visited the excellent Interpretive Center for the Upper Missour River Breaks. Fort Benton is mile 0 of the 149 miles of the National Monument. I watched a short video where I was reminded that the Missouri’s course owes its winding and circuitous nature to our last ice age. Originally, the Missouri headed due north to Canada and emptied into the Hudson Bay! After the museum, I met up with Zach, who is interning at the Fort Benton Press from the University of Montana. Norm Miller had a contact at the weekly local paper and let them know I’d be passing through on my way to St. Louis. Zach and I talked a lot about my trip, he asked some pretty darn good questions, and he sent me a link to his band on Spotify – that was off the record.

After a few more errands and lunch in town, I headed back to camp for a quick shower then packed up my boat to shove off. Just before I got in the water, I shot Zach a text. As I paddled the mile from camp back down to Fort Benton, Zach set up his camera on the bridge to grab a shot for the article. I’m eager to see what kind of article Zach is able to put together.

I can’t say enough good things about Fort Benton. It’s a very historic town, very significant in the history of Montana and the Missouri River. The places and the people were fantastic!I paddled through the afternoon, around 19 miles down to a primitive campsite at Black Bluffs rapids. All the primitive campsite means really is that there’s a sign and a small fire ring, which I didn’t use. Most importantly, there is some grass that’s not out of control where I can set up my tent and not worry about insects or snakes. I spent the evening listening to far off thunder and watching the menagerie of birds come and go along the cliffs opposite my camp.

I was up early and on the river by 7 the next morning. About a mile down from my camp was Decision Point. It was here that the Lewis & Clark party paused for 10 days to determine which was the true path to the mountains – the (to be named) Marias River or what was indeed the Missouri. Contrary to the opinions of the majority of the men, L&C eventually decided correctly to continue up the Missouri. I climbed a nearby hill to take a look at the confluence and the helpful signage noting the spot. Then from about 9am to 3pm, I was covering a lot of miles – pausing only for a few minutes in Coal Banks Landing to register as a paddler of the Breaks.

I pulled into Eagle Creek campsite at Norm’s suggestion – not only a nice spot to camp, but opportunities to explore some slot canyons and ancient petroglyphs nearby. Plus, May 31, 1805, the Lewis & Clark party camped here. That’s right – 214 years to the day – yours truly is camping on the same spot. Apparently, there is a marker that specifies their exact campsite, but I was unable to access it because, appropriately enough, two bald eagles were aggressively protecting their nearby nests, and gave me a pretty good tower buzz when I got close.

On my way to explore the slot canyons, I ran into a group of 4 people who were also camping at Eagle Creek. After checking out the spectacular sandstone passageways and towers, I talked to the crew of 4, all from Colorado. Carol, a retired science teacher, Cora, a nearly retired BLM employee, then husband and wife Chris and Steve. I told them what I was doing and they invited me to join them for venison stew for dinner, followed by cherry tart for dessert. They plyed me with whiskey as well, and we spent an evening around the fire exchanging stories. Steve even sent me off with a small bag of his own elk jerky.

I was up again early and back on the river – a few miles down was one of the major landmarks of the Breaks – Hole in the Wall. I parked and climbed the rocky trail up to the top of the ridge. Me 10 years ago probably would have climbed out onto the actual Hole in the Wall, alas not today. I spent a few minutes at the top and managed to get some good photos of another family passing by in two canoes. (And check out that hawk photobomb, straight flexin’ and struttin’.)I played with the Go Pro while paddling the rest of the day. I did take another mid-day pit stop to hike back up into a couple more spectacular canyons.As the day got later, I motored on to Judith Landing, encountering a completely emtpy campsite except for a big old snake – can anyone identify what this is? And should I be concerned about sharing a camp with him?As I mentioned, finding enough drinkable water is a challenge on this part of the river. A few campsites that would normally have water suffered damage during the abnormally cold and icy Montana winter and their water supplies are shut off. I topped of my approximately 7 gallons of cpacity at Fort Benton and have been trying to go slow. They say you should consume at least a gallon a day. Luckily, Norm put me in contact with an outfitter in Fort Benton, and she told me where I could find a secret stash of water here at Judith Landing. Sure enough, shortly after I arrived, I located the old cabin, then a really old, disconnected gas station ice machine behind the cabin, inside which I found about a dozen large casks of drinking water! Sweet relief! I wasn’t running low on my supply, but I got more confidence topping off my supply, not knowing when will be the next opportunity to re-supply.Also note that today was the first day (and probably pretty much every day after today) I immersed myself in the river after a long hot day of paddling. Sweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeet Relief!

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I had planned on taking my first few no-paddle days for the trip when I arrived in Great Falls, MT. My arms weren’t super sore when I got here, but I could feel they’d benefit from a day or two of little to no use. My main contact in Great Falls had been a local Hash House Harrier. Long story short for those that don’t know, the HHH are an international ‘drinking club with a running problem’ located in almost every medium to large sized city in the world. I’ve used it as a method to meet new people with common interests in other cities, to get intelligence on where to go, where to stay, where to get good beer, etc.

Anthony let me stay in his vintage camper out in front of his house.

Electrical was hooked up but not water so I had to get a little creative and become a frequent customer of the coffee shop around the corner. I paddled into Great Falls on Sunday morning, it was rainy and cold. Anthony picked me up and we somehow found a way to balance my 20ft kayak on the roof of the cab of his pickup truck for the short ride back to his house. Later on that day, the local Hash group was playing sloshball – a form of kickball infused with cheap beer and a lot of fun. It continued raining hard all day, stayed in the 40s, but sloshball went ahead as planned. We all had a blast splashing around on a muddy field, chasing a kickball, downing beers and generally having a great time.

We adjourned to a local brewery for post contest refreshments than back to Anthony’s house for some more great food cooked by his wife Nikki. I truly treasure the HHH community both at home in St. Louis and in other places I’ve visited throughout the world. What an incredibly fantastic luxury to have to be able to have instant friends and people who will go out of their way to help you with anything you need in almost any place you find yourself in.

The next day was Memorial Day, and the forecast was for more rain – all day and more cold. The length of my stay in Great Falls was seemingly dependent on the arrival of my first re-supply package. Mainly food and a few other small items I’d need to ensure I’d be able to continue my trip fully stocked. Through some snafu with UPS, I learned my box is not expected to arrive until this Friday – not for two more days from today! I spent Monday afternoon having a couple beers at a local brewery and trying to come up with a plan. After a few iterations, I decided I was going to wait for Tuesday, when the weather was expected to be excellent, and when all the attractions and businesses in Great Falls would be back open for business. I’d then determine if I really wanted to wait until Friday for my package, or buy the stuff I needed at the local WalMart Supercenter and get back on the river.

Yesterday was glorious! Anthony loned me a mountain bike to get around town. After my morning visit to the coffee shop, I headed to the river and the Lewis and Clark Interpretive Center. This is a fantastic museum in Great Falls that covers Lewis & Clark’s entire journey in 1804 – 1806 and beyond, with a pretty good focus on their time in and around the Great Falls of Montana, and their incredibly difficult month-long portage around the Falls. I dodged the kids on field trips at the museum and really enjoyed it. Then I biked down the hill to Giant Springs State Park – an amazingly crisp and clear spring on the banks of the muddy Missouri. The Spring forms what some consider the world’s shortest river – the Roe River at 201ft long. I spent a few more hours biking the excellent bike trail system along the river around Great Falls – some photos of the day on Instagram.

At some point in the day, I made up my mind to proceed on with my trip and not wait for my package. I contacted a few folks about getting a ride past all the dams and falls with my boat to continue on my trip and I have that arranged for this afternoon. Yesterday, I also met up with a guy from Great Falls who is considering a MO River trip in the next year or two so I talked to him for a while about planning and all kinds of stuff. I swung by an army surplus store to procure 12″ tent stakes for what Jim Emanuel promised I would encounter on the Great Plains: 80 – 100mph winds that my tent wouldn’t have a chance of standing up to without. Then I made a dreaded trip to Walmart to purchase food that would last me until my next re-supply box, along with an additional water container as this next stretch of river will be very limited in provisions and refill opportunities.

By the end of the day, the bike seat ensured my butt was in pain. Anthony invited me with his family and some friends to 50 cent wing night at his local VFW, and we had a wonderful time. Today is another fantastic day weather-wise in Great Falls. My shuttle is coming to pick me up around 2pm, then I should be on the river by 3:30 or 4. I’ll paddle for a couple hours to a campsite at Fort Benton, MT. From there on, I get into what will likely be the most scenic portion of my trip – through Missouri River Breaks National Monument. I’ll take my time, do some exploring and hiking in the canyons and cliffs along the river. From there it will be onto the first big lake – Fort Peck. Phone reception looks to be extremely limited over this stretch so I’ll likley be off grid for a couple weeks.

Spirits are good – mind and and body seem to be in good shape after R&R in Great Falls. Fingers crossed that the weather may have finally made a Spring-like turn for the better.

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