4th Of July In Montana, Part 1. O And The Bikers.

Three day weekend? Time to get out of our tiny apartment and hit the road. After assessing our options, we decided that the most fun for least money spent was to visit O's sister Josie in Pablo, Montana, a mere nine hours from Boise through some of the Northwest's most spectacular scenery.

The rivers were in full flood as we headed north into the mountains. 

Since we had such a late, wet spring, everything was intensely green and lush.

We followed the Lewis and Clark trail for a while. Traffic was surprisingly sparse.

We came to a stretch of river where dozens of people were watching rafters and kayakers
negotiate a particularly gnarly set of rapids.

The rafters made it.

So did the kayakers.

Though some rolled over a couple of times first.
Standing on the bank, I could feel the incredible force of the water, as well as its chill.

Sadly, we heard from one of the spectators that a kayaker had died at that spot

just the week before. He had not been wearing a wet suit and rolled over 

into the almost freezing water.

He died in less than three minutes.

Later on, O befriended a gang of hulking bikers.

Almost everything was lush, but there were large areas of the forest 

that had been clearcut and not replanted.

I know Californians love to surf, but bringing your board to Montana shows that you're either
geographically-challenged or an incorrigible optimist.

 

Pablo is a small town on the Flathead Indian Reservation about six miles south 

of Flathead Lake, which is the largest freshwater lake in the western U.S.

It sits at the base of the snow-capped Mission Mountains and is surrounded
by gently rolling hills and vividly green fields. Josie had made dinner 

 for us, and we sat on her front lawn drinking beer and laughing until 

the last of the light finally faded from the sky around 11:15.

A lovely end to a beautiful day.

P.