The heat was getting to me, too, and so was the driving yesterday afternoon. Once I passed Billings I could see the forecasted cold front move in, and wind blew strongly in several gusts. But the temperature didn’t drop much. At 2pm it reached 100F and an hour later it dipped to 90F only to rise again to 93F.
The Beartooth mountains, those mountains that guard the Yellowstone to the north, were now clearly close by. The interstate was following the Yellowstone River and the old Bozeman Trail as it snaked along the valley dotted with burned-out trees along the highway, collapsed barns and crowded horse corrals in the smaller communities, and patches of blue sky interspersed with dark grey.
At the 3pm news Fox Radio reported that Michael Jackson had been rushed to an LA hospital after a heart attack. He was reportedly not breathing, which did not bode well. An Hour later he was reported dead. Admittedly no fan of “The Gloved One” despite some very good songs in the 1980s, his latter years were rather freakish. But to die so suddenly at the age of 50 from a heart attacks? This was quite a shocker!
Where was I going? I had no concrete plans for tonight other than drive toward Livingston, but I hadn’t had my walk in yet. And what better opportunity than to stop in the Big Timber Forest Ranger office for some information on the Gallatin Mountains and to choose a trail and campsite nearby.
This was the Montana I wanted to see: small towns nestled in the mountains as roads meander uphill into the wilderness. I picked up several road maps of the forests ad opted for the closest one: MT298 that traveled south and stopped short of Yellowstone. I wanted to get out of the hot van and hike with Sadie in the cooler mountains.
I lucked out. We stopped first at The Natural Bridge over a cascading waterfall, a short 1-mile leg stretcher. We explored the trail but then moved on up the road until I found a perfect campsite at Big Beaver Campground, a small 5-unit site big enough for small RVs at 5300’.
There were no RVs there, though. I had the campground to myself. I claimed Site #1, with a small “beach” next to a fire pit and a table. Kevin would have loved this site, too, despite the closeness to the road. Sadie helped herself to water as she pleased.
It was close to 6pm. Five minutes later I took Sadie with me on a walk up the road, now called Old Boulder Road where private property tracts bordered the National Forest and Independence Peak, a glacial rock outcropping to the south. Other campgrounds were also along Beaver Creek, with most campers preferring the Fee Sites for some reason.
Sadie was eager for a walk, too. We walked an hour up the road and an hour back, walking passed the Clydehurst Christian Ranch and Church, Aspen Campground, an Elk Winter Range, Chippy Park Campground and the Shipping Corral Picnic Site. Several private church camps were further up the road. We turned around shortly after crossing a creek that rushed into the river. The sun had just slipped below the western peaks but the pine-studded tops of mountains were still bright green or golden. Drivers waved at me as they drove passed us.
I wish I could have had this camp site my entire time on the road. It offered solitude and beauty all in one, and convenient water for Sadie. And what a deal to get such a lovely site for free!
I was expecting it to rain overnight, but at midnight, when I had finished writing my notes about such an eventful day, it was still calm. The outside temperature read 60F.
My odometer read 3085 by the end of the day, another short day. Now that I am in the mountains I don’t want to be driving so much anymore.
Today I woke up to 53F at 7am. I was in no hurry this morning, as the overcast sky bode for rain. But I was also drawn by the peaks, and at 7:30 we left our cute little site and drove another 12 miles south on Boulder Road to the Placer Basin trailhead, a popular horse trail up a switchback with vista views of the southern peaks.
We were alone, but I walked along cautiously in case I came across a bear, cat, moose or elk. Sadie was fine, so I walked on. At first the trail followed the Main Boulder River, and then Hawley Creek as we kept going up a rocky narrow trail. I turned around at the Breakneck Plateau, a wide meadow sprinkled with wildflowers and close views of the peaks. This was almost two miles one-way, or 1:15 hours, so if we were to get rained out later, at least we got some exercise in today.
The beauty kept getting better as I continued the drive to Livingston-Bozeman via the West Boulder Road and then Swingley Road, both alpine roads with intimate vistas of the snow-capped peaks. Beautiful homes were nestles here, and wide, expansive green fields that only a happy cow could love. I wouldn’t want to be here in a snowstorm as parts of the road was getting re-graded, but for now this was beauty. This was the Montana I had envisioned.
I made it to Livington at 12:30pm but didn’t see anything exciting other than the pretty downtown and its many brown-brick turn-of-the-century buildings. Old men walked the streets not in business shoes, but in hiking boots and shorts. Everyone looked athletic, even the kids and dogs.
I took Business 90 to Bozeman, 25 miles away, across the vast valley with snow-capped peaks in every direction. I passed the Bozeman trail, drifted into town and realized that yes, this is a town worth spending some time in.
The Beartooth mountains, those mountains that guard the Yellowstone to the north, were now clearly close by. The interstate was following the Yellowstone River and the old Bozeman Trail as it snaked along the valley dotted with burned-out trees along the highway, collapsed barns and crowded horse corrals in the smaller communities, and patches of blue sky interspersed with dark grey.
At the 3pm news Fox Radio reported that Michael Jackson had been rushed to an LA hospital after a heart attack. He was reportedly not breathing, which did not bode well. An Hour later he was reported dead. Admittedly no fan of “The Gloved One” despite some very good songs in the 1980s, his latter years were rather freakish. But to die so suddenly at the age of 50 from a heart attacks? This was quite a shocker!
Where was I going? I had no concrete plans for tonight other than drive toward Livingston, but I hadn’t had my walk in yet. And what better opportunity than to stop in the Big Timber Forest Ranger office for some information on the Gallatin Mountains and to choose a trail and campsite nearby.
This was the Montana I wanted to see: small towns nestled in the mountains as roads meander uphill into the wilderness. I picked up several road maps of the forests ad opted for the closest one: MT298 that traveled south and stopped short of Yellowstone. I wanted to get out of the hot van and hike with Sadie in the cooler mountains.
I lucked out. We stopped first at The Natural Bridge over a cascading waterfall, a short 1-mile leg stretcher. We explored the trail but then moved on up the road until I found a perfect campsite at Big Beaver Campground, a small 5-unit site big enough for small RVs at 5300’.
There were no RVs there, though. I had the campground to myself. I claimed Site #1, with a small “beach” next to a fire pit and a table. Kevin would have loved this site, too, despite the closeness to the road. Sadie helped herself to water as she pleased.
It was close to 6pm. Five minutes later I took Sadie with me on a walk up the road, now called Old Boulder Road where private property tracts bordered the National Forest and Independence Peak, a glacial rock outcropping to the south. Other campgrounds were also along Beaver Creek, with most campers preferring the Fee Sites for some reason.
Sadie was eager for a walk, too. We walked an hour up the road and an hour back, walking passed the Clydehurst Christian Ranch and Church, Aspen Campground, an Elk Winter Range, Chippy Park Campground and the Shipping Corral Picnic Site. Several private church camps were further up the road. We turned around shortly after crossing a creek that rushed into the river. The sun had just slipped below the western peaks but the pine-studded tops of mountains were still bright green or golden. Drivers waved at me as they drove passed us.
I wish I could have had this camp site my entire time on the road. It offered solitude and beauty all in one, and convenient water for Sadie. And what a deal to get such a lovely site for free!
I was expecting it to rain overnight, but at midnight, when I had finished writing my notes about such an eventful day, it was still calm. The outside temperature read 60F.
My odometer read 3085 by the end of the day, another short day. Now that I am in the mountains I don’t want to be driving so much anymore.
Today I woke up to 53F at 7am. I was in no hurry this morning, as the overcast sky bode for rain. But I was also drawn by the peaks, and at 7:30 we left our cute little site and drove another 12 miles south on Boulder Road to the Placer Basin trailhead, a popular horse trail up a switchback with vista views of the southern peaks.
We were alone, but I walked along cautiously in case I came across a bear, cat, moose or elk. Sadie was fine, so I walked on. At first the trail followed the Main Boulder River, and then Hawley Creek as we kept going up a rocky narrow trail. I turned around at the Breakneck Plateau, a wide meadow sprinkled with wildflowers and close views of the peaks. This was almost two miles one-way, or 1:15 hours, so if we were to get rained out later, at least we got some exercise in today.
The beauty kept getting better as I continued the drive to Livingston-Bozeman via the West Boulder Road and then Swingley Road, both alpine roads with intimate vistas of the snow-capped peaks. Beautiful homes were nestles here, and wide, expansive green fields that only a happy cow could love. I wouldn’t want to be here in a snowstorm as parts of the road was getting re-graded, but for now this was beauty. This was the Montana I had envisioned.
I made it to Livington at 12:30pm but didn’t see anything exciting other than the pretty downtown and its many brown-brick turn-of-the-century buildings. Old men walked the streets not in business shoes, but in hiking boots and shorts. Everyone looked athletic, even the kids and dogs.
I took Business 90 to Bozeman, 25 miles away, across the vast valley with snow-capped peaks in every direction. I passed the Bozeman trail, drifted into town and realized that yes, this is a town worth spending some time in.
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