Part Thirteen

     June 12 - 14             Bob Marshall Wilderness, Montana             (Go to Pt 1)
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Set at the edge of an open and tidy forest, not 30 yards from the riverbank, was a huge Spruce tree whose lower limbs were a high reach off the ground and fanned out to umbrella a large area of clean, thick pine needles, more than enough room for our tent and a small but spacious front yard for cooking.

We pitched the tent and made a half-assed attempt at cooking dinner but settled for overheated, undercooked, glop because we were just too tired and hungry to wait. I dozed off while eating this crud, that’s how tasty the food was and how ready I was to call it quits on the day.

​The next morning I was so sore and stiff it was all I could do just to get out of the tent and take a leak.  The sun was out and it was another sparkling day, so we sprawled out in our enchanting, little front yard to make the usual, workday oatmeal for breakfast.  After the oatmeal was finished we decided to fix some pancakes because Craig had found extra pancake mix in his food bag and nobody wanted to see that to go to waste.

This was not a scheduled layover day and, being as we were lost and all, you’d think there would’ve been at least a little urgency to get moving; yet, neither one of us had made any effort at all toward packing the bags or breaking down camp.  

​As we languished over our second breakfast, I finally confessed “I don’t think I can go today.”  Craig nodded his head in agreement and conceded “Yeah, I don’t think I can do it today either.”  And with that formality out of the way, I relaxed back against my packrest to enjoy the splendid morning sun and the rest of a very placid day, lost in our happy, little piece of Montana wilderness somewhere along the Landers Fork River.

Click on Map to enlarge

The glen where we camped was bursting with wildflowers and all along the cobbled riverbank Columbine, vibrant Paintbrush and Wild Iris thrived in dense clusters and Beargrass fuzz intermingled with Fireweed to carpet the open meadow bordering up to the forest.  From riverbank to forest, the Edenesque gardens created a stunning kaleidoscope of color and texture, shimmering as they reflected the sunlight and swaying in the slightest hint of breeze.

The river ran full, not raucously so but coursed with a powerful, low-rumbling current that included the occasional, muffled sound of rocks, rolling along the river bottom.  Sun filtered down through the overhead boughs and sparkled across the water to spotlight flowers and landscape arrangements of every design. 

As I was taking all this in from the ease of my packrest, I started to look at a short, thick stick, lying on the ground at the edge of our camp and began to see the head of a bird, an eagle’s beak, actually, in the way the broken end had splintered apart. So I went over, picked it up, sat back down, pulled out my trusty, twelve-tool Swiss Army knife and started to whittle. 

While Craig was in the thick of reading James Cavell’s ‘Shogun’, I happily whittled away the afternoon, hewing my branch into a bird, and by sundown I had a pretty decent carving which I later sent to my brother, Dave, for his birthday. 

​The next morning dawned just as clear and serene as the previous one had and the desire to just blow-off another day was tempting; camping in such idyllic spots was not just one of the highlights of being on the Divide, it was part and parcel of why we were even out here, which invariably made packing-up slow and leaving an attitude gear-grinder getting back into hiking mode.

Craig Dunn on the last piece of Landers Fork (click on image to enlarge)

On this particular morning it seemed more difficult than usual to motivate, which, for one thing, I attributed to the fact that we didn’t really know where we were or where our day would end up.  Until we got ourselves back to a place shown on one of the maps we were carrying, we were basically boxed into the only option of heading south.  ​

​As we progressed down valley after lunch, I started to grow uneasy and 

disappointed.  The trail had become a 4W track and then dirt, unimproved road with all the impending signs of civilization.

​The road finally turned to gravel where it emptied out into an expansive, arid valley and by early afternoon we found ourselves standing along the pavement of route 200, considerably west of the Divide.  That much we’d figured out. 

As we stood contemplating our next move, a Forest Service vehicle came ambling down the road, so we waved the guy over to ask where we were.  “About a mile up the road is the junction with 279 and Willow Creek. Willow Creek will take you back up to the Divide” he told us, pointing back over his shoulder.  “How far is that?” I asked.  “Oh, it’s maybe seven or so miles up to Flesher Pass, that’s where you’ll pick-up the Divide” he replied.

​We thanked the Ranger then looked over the maps we were carrying and saw that we did have a map covering the upper Willow Creek/Flesher Pass 

Click on map to enlarge

area, so this would put us back on route. Unfortunately, this also meant finishing out the day with six, mind-numbing miles of road-warrior walking to reach camp along Willow Creek at the base of Flesher Pass.

Camp on Willow Creek below Flesher Pass

There was a bit of sporting orienteering on the front end of the day but most of our miles were spent under a hot, washed-out sky on a mining road that made for dull, monotonous hiking.

​We made Stemple Pass late in the day and pushed on another 3 miles into Marsh Creek where we made camp under the umbrella of another, huge pine tree standing out in the open, 

The following day was hot right from the start and we made sure our water bottles were full before leaving Willow Creek because the map didn’t show any, easily accessible water along the route until our next camp near Stemple Pass.  We climbed up to Flesher Pass and then up again, heading south along the Divide.  

Craig Dunn at Stemple Pass (I don’t know what the rock cairn and yellow flagging is about)

Click on map to enlarge

chaparral countryside.  For dinner that night we pulled out whatever food was left in our packs, eating what we wanted and leaving the rest for the critters; tomorrow night we planned on chowing in Helena.

​On our last day, the twentieth since Kalispell, we came out onto Highway 12 via Dog Creek and the creek’s name pretty much described our day; we dogged it for mile on top of extra miles, down Marsh Creek, up Lost Horse Creek and out via Dog Creek. We reached the highway late in the afternoon and started the hitch to town; 45 minutes later we were in Helena.

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Go to Part 14​

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The CDTC was founded in 2012 by volunteers and recreationists hoping to provide a unified voice for the CDT. Working hand-in-hand with the U.S. Forest Service and other federal land management agencies, the CDTC is a non-profit partner supporting stewardship of the CDT. The mission of the CDTC is to complete, promote and protect the Continental Divide National Scenic Trail, a world-class national resource. For more information, please visit continentaldividetrail.org.

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