Travel log: Chronicals of a busy week in Montana

From July 5-11, I had the pleasure of taking a trip to Helena, Mont., with my friend Harold Mitchell and staying at the home of his brother, Sam, and sister-in-law, Robin.

To say the least, there were many, many memorable moments. Here’s a chronological recap that pretty much scratches the surface of the epic experience.

Wednesday, July 5: Our flights from Springfield to Denver and Denver to Helena were OK. Both segments took about 1 1/2 hours and the rides in the smallish Bombardier CRJ-200s was a bit snug, but adequate.

Once on the ground, we immediately got into the groove with a stop at Papa Ray’s Pizzeria in Montana City, just outside Helena. The place had good food and there was good company. I made a discovery, too: A local craft beer called Cold Smoke (named after the way powder snow flies around you when you ski through it – a favorite pastime in the Montana mountains).

We went to Sam and Robin’s home and were greeted by their three big, friendly dogs: Moose (a huge Labrador/mastiff mix who proved to be about as gentle a giant as imaginable), Walter (a lab mix who was always in fun mode) and Moxie (a pit bull/husky mix who loves people and is literally always in a good mood). Moose went to the water bowl and showed how much water he could drink. Highly impressive.

After going to bed at about 11 p.m., I was awakened at about 12:30 a.m. by – of all things – a 5.8 earthquake! It about shook me out of my upstairs bed, and not surprisingly, was the talk of the town for the next couple of days. The 4.5 “aftershock” was like a whole second quake!

Nothing like that had happened in the area for more than 60 years, and this is the first night of our stay. What are the odds?

Thursday, July 6: The four of us embarked on a day trip to the relatively nearby Elkhorn Mountains, close to Boulder, about 25 miles south of Helena.

On the beautiful drive from the highway to the Elkhorn Peak trailhead, I got my first look at a mule deer as it stood on a steep slope next to the roadway. Several miles into the wilderness on the well maintained dirt road, we passed through the ghost town of Elkhorn, which (at an elevation of about 6,400 feet) features several historic buildings left over from the late 1800s when it was a bustling silver mining hub with a population of more than 2,500 people. When we couldn’t drive any further, we hiked up Elkhorn Peak to about the 8,500-foot level, enjoying incredible views, taking in the smells of native pines and spruces, marveling at numerous mountain wildflowers and observing various forms of old mining equipment and other signs of the area’s past.

I sensed a strong Montana flavor to the surroundings. It was just what I had hoped for.

In the evening, the Mitchells hosted the first of two gatherings on back-to-back nights in honor of Sam’s 50^th birthday. We hung out with about 20 great local residents, and Robin’s pulled pork enchiladas were fantastic. A man who was a friend of the hosts sang and played guitar as everyone sat near the fire pit made of an oil drum with large cut-outs shaped like Montana, arrowheads and a buffalo head.

Sleeping that night felt good, as my body was a bit taxed from spending several hours rambling up and down the mountain and breathing the noticeably thin air.

Friday, July 7: The four of us went for a ride on the Last Chance Tour Train, a tram-like vehicle that takes passengers on a wonderful trip around Helena. The driver was extremely knowledgeable about the city’s history, which began with the gold rush in the 1860s.

After that, we stopped in at Papa Ray’s again partook in some of the place’s famous breadsticks (that were more like a thin crust pizza) and pizza made with sauerkraut as one of the toppings. I’m a fan of sauerkraut, but I had never heard of it as a pizza ingredient.

It was awesome. Along with the meat, cheese sauce and perfectly prepared crust, the sauerkraut made for a phenomenal result!

After chilling out at the Mitchell place for a while, we geared back up for the “Sammypalooza” at Chubby’s in Clancy, where another fine cross-section of individuals gathered to share and enjoy Sam’s big milestone.

The place had two regulation horseshoe pits, and Harold and I played for hours with a few different opponents. Chubby’s also served an gorgeous 10-ounce burger, and I even got up in front of the crowd and sang the Eagles’ “Peaceful Easy Feeling” with the night’s talented one man act, John Montoya, who bills himself as “Late Night Radio,” has a pure, exacting voice and plays both a mean acoustic and electric guitar.

Saturday, July 8:  The temperature peaked at a record high of 104. But get this: The humidity was about 12-percent, and the “feels like” temperature was only 102 (when I looked at weather.com and saw that, I just had to laugh).

We all took a wonderful site-seeing drive around Canyon Ferry Lake, a 35,000-acre reservoir west of Helena behind a dam on the Missouri River. We saw antelope (a.k.a. “speed goats”), sheep (a.k.a. “pasture maggots,” because “they look like maggots from the air”) and pretty Russian olive trees. We toured several very nice lakefront campgrounds, some operated by the Department of the Interior Bureau of Reclamation and others by the U.S. Forest Service. To the east of the lake, sprawling fields of hay, alfalfa and sagebrush backed up by a long range of mountains formed a classic Montana scene.

Heading back toward Helena, we stopped at the Big Bull Bar and Grill and had a scrumptious 1/2-pound cheeseburger.

That night, it was dinner at the Montana City Grill and Saloon. I really like big, juicy cheeseburgers and consumed another delectable 1/2-pounder. Let me tell you, Montanans know how to treat their beef.

Oh, and both places had Cold Smoke (pretty much everywhere did, and I can understand why).

Sunday, July 9: This day was all about something I had looked forward to big-time: A float trip on the upper Missouri River. I wasn’t disappointed; in fact the real thing surpassed my expectations by a long shot.

We used big tandem tubes that Sam and Robin had, with them in one and Harold and I in the other. We connected them with a rope so we could stay together, and plopped in at Mid Canon access, near Dearborn. After an entirely hassle-free float, we took out at Prewett Creek about four hours later.

This was the epitome of a great float. At this point in its cross-continent run, the Missouri is about two to three feet deep in most places, and about 100 yards wide or so. The water temperature was ideal, and it flowed incredibly consistently, with a current perfect for keeping a steady momentum.

And the scenery is just breathtaking, with Rocky Mountain peaks and crags of dark volcanic basalt rising above the river, sometimes framed by huge mountains in the distance. We passed by dozens of fishermen angling for rainbow, brown and cutthroat trout with both fly rods and conventional gear, and saw a young man pull what had to be a 20-incher into the raft he and three other people were in.

Every time we went around a bend, Harold and I would look at each other and say, “man, that’s beautiful.” On several occasions, we were like, “I can’t believe we’re doing this.” We even saw a golden eagle standing by the shore working over a fish it had caught.

On the way back to town, we toured Holter Lake, a Missouri River reservoir where Sam and Robin like to go ice fishing in the cold months. They said the regularly haul in dozens of yellow perch (a fish similar to a walleye, and every bit as good to eat).

At one end of the lake, we went up a road that entered the Montana Fish, Wildlife and Parks Department’s Beartooth Wildlife Management Area. The views were spectacular, once again with that classic Montana look, with a huge expanse of grassy land flanked by high mountains. In one spot, you could turn around where you stood and see that view in one direction and a giant portion of Holter Lake in the other (of course, with Rocky Mountain peaks in the background).

Monday, July 10: Sam and Robin went back to work, but allowed Harold and I to use a vehicle for the day. Subsequently, our last day in Montana turned out to be like the rest: Amazing.

We basically took a road trip loop of about 120 miles that began with a stop at the Continental Divide in MacDonald Pass west of Helena. Not surprisingly, the views were magnificent; the kind that photos don’t really do justice to.

We continued on and went north into the mountains, and ended up alongside the pristine Blackfoot River (the stream where Brad Pitt’s fly fishing scenes were shot in the movie, “A River runs Through It”). We stopped in the small mountain town of Lincoln, which so happens to be where the epicenter of the earthquake was located. It was an attractive, charming place, surrounded by mountains and evergreen forests, and we agreed it seemed like the kind of town where we wouldn’t mind having a cabin close by.

We turned back toward the east and headed once again for the Missouri River, this time to take a boat tour at Gates of the Mountains.

The place is yet another incredible natural wonder, with the river (another dammed portion above Hauser Lake) flowing between high cliffs of gray granite (some like 1,500-feet high) that form a deep canyon unlike any other I had ever seen. Its name was coined by Captain Meriwether Lewis, of Lewis and Clark fame, who navigated the upper Missouri while his partner, Second Lt. William Clark, took a more southerly route on the Yellowstone River.

Lewis wrote that the spot where the river entered the canyon looked like “a gateway to the mountains,” as a large formation jutting out from the left side obscures the waterway (as if it ended right there) and then appears to “open” as a boat passes by. I can’t begin to adequately describe how beautiful this place is.

Suffice it to say that there’s nothing like it, and I was in awe the whole time as we motored along inside the Canyon Voyager, a high-tech twin-diesel engine vessel specially designed for its mission. And the boat’s captain was highly knowledgeable about the area’s past, and told many interesting stories about the early residents who settled the canyon and men who began the boat tour many decades ago.

That night, Miss Robin took us to a few more eating and drinking establishments, but by then Harold and I were a couple of pretty worn out men.

Tuesday, July 11: I was ready to go home. I missed my wife, Wendy, and was well spent after we packed about three weeks worth of fun into six days.

Unfortunately, the day wasn’t without its adventure. Our flight from Denver to Springfield was canceled, and somehow I was re-booked onto another flight that left at about the same time as the original one, but poor Harold was booked onto a flight that didn’t depart until seven hours later.

The United Airlines customer service woman tried to explain, but what she said didn’t really make sense.

Despite the squirrelly ending, we both felt we had been through a week to remember. Montana has several nicknames, including the Treasure State and Big Sky Country. But there’s one I find most appropriate for this immense chunk of North America that supports barely over a million people and is as fine a showcase of God’s creation as you’ll find: “The Last Best Place.”