Half a Trip in Montana (Oct 2023)

Since my first fateful trip with "the guys" from TacomaWorld in 2017, we've tried our best to get together every summer for an adventure. That's not to say that things haven't changed as some of the young guns - once carefree as school let out for the summer - have grown into jobs and families, our two-week jaunts shifting to five days of paid time off, our summer outings shifting into fall. Still, our friendships have persisted - and grown - and this year we are heading back to where (for me) The De-Tour started it all: Montana.

As always, trip preparation was tackled differently for each of us. Mike @Digiratus was ready to go several days before blast off. Zane @Speedytech7 and I took care of a few small tasks each day but were never anxious that we might not be ready to go. And of course, Monte @Blackdawg waited until 24 hours before departure to even glance at his truck.

Still, as Monte looked over Igor and swapped out the various bits and pieces that needed attention, everything was going smoothly - too smoothly we'd all reflect as we look back now - as evening fell and we readied ourselves for adventure.

Even the weather was looking good, the weather guessers predicting that a solid week of wetness would end just as we were crossing the state line.

Then, four hours before my departure - and eight hours after Mike had blasted off to meet up with Zane - everything changed.

​

 

OK fellas, post up the pics (if ya want). I'm still a few weeks or so from getting the story ready to go.

 

It was truly one for the books, half the book, well really more like a third... okay so we did like a quarter of the things... alright you got me, we all met up... well 3/4 ain't bad at least.

I have pictures but it feels weird to post mine before the story has been established unless we are doing an M. Night Shamlamadingdong plot thing here.

 

Ehh, whatever, post when ya want to. Waiting is fine too. Just figured you guys might not want to wait, and I didn't want to hold you up.

And, did we really get through a quarter? More like an eighth. If that.

 

It's deinietly not that good.


Well, I mean I don't really know that.

Plus will do even more next go around. Hopefully.

 

I haven't even looked at mine yet.

 

It's crazy how busy life can be when you don't have to go to work.

 

It's not so much that, I just haven't made it a priority. And I am in the middle of house project. Building a new front porch/deck.

 

I'll post up a couple from the first day since it was very uneventful.

 

Monte's Out | Montana #1
Part of the Half a Trip in Montana (Oct 2023) trip.

Since my first fateful trip with "the guys" from TacomaWorld in 2017, we've tried our best to get together every summer for an adventure. That's not to say that things haven't changed as some of the young guns - once carefree as school let out for the summer - have grown into jobs and families, our two-week jaunts shifting to five days of paid time off, our summer outings shifting into fall. Still, our friendships have persisted - and grown - and this year we are heading back to where (for me) The De-Tour started it all: Montana.

As always, trip preparation was tackled differently for each of us. Mike @Digiratus was ready to go several days before blast off. Zane @Speedytech7 and I took care of a few small tasks each day but were never anxious that we might not be ready to go. And of course, Monte @Blackdawg waited until 24 hours before departure to even glance at his truck.

Still, as Monte looked over Igor and swapped out the various bits and pieces that needed attention, everything was going smoothly - too smoothly we'd all reflect as we look back now - as evening fell and we readied ourselves for adventure.

Even the weather was looking good, the weather guessers predicting that a solid week of wetness would end just as we were crossing the state line.

Then, three hours before my departure - and eight hours after Mike had blasted off to meet up with Zane - everything changed.

There's the wrench we're used to! ​

I’d already gone to bed by the time Monte shared that little tidbit with the group, so I didn't discover it until 3:00am, as I headed east towards Zane and Mike in Spokane. At that point, there was nothing to do but drive through the night - decisions impossible to make now - hoping that the trip was still on.

It was just before 8:00am when Zane let me know that they were only a few minutes behind me. Pulling off the highway so they could catch up, I poured a quick bowl of cereal and enjoyed the brisk sunny morning.

After warm hellos and only a couple minutes of catching up, discussion turned to the inevitable. It seemed strange to explore Monte's home state without him, so ideas were floated that would take us to warmer weather - south to the red rock of Moab, the Owyhee of Oregon, or even somewhere in Idaho.

Of these, only Moab would have nicer weather than our current plan, but a 20-hour drive to get there put a bit of a damper on the idea. And so - at least for the first few days of nice weather - we decided we'd continue with our original plan.

Heading east, I took up my favorite position. One where I don't have to worry that I'm slowing anyone else down.​

It was near noon as we rolled into Missoula. After a quick lunch of liquid dinosaur for the Tacoma's, it seemed only reasonable that we eat as well. Luckily, we'd mapped a route just out of town to the top of Blue Mountain, where a fire lookout an observatory would surely provide spectacular views as we downed our first trail meal of the trip.

Still fully aired up, we hit the dirt.​

Fall was in the air, larches still clinging to the last of their summer green.​

Turns out that the final mile - and 1000 vertical feet - of road to the lookout is closed to vehicular traffic, and while it seemed like there could be other roads that might allow us to bypass the locked gate, we opted for a quick lunch on the side of the road, allowing us to continue on towards a small ghost town outside of Philipsburg - our destination for the evening.

We made good time along the Skalkaho Highway, each end of it paved, the middle consisting of well-graded gravel.​

Admiring Skalkaho Falls.​

Dual cascade.​

I think it was Zane who spotted the ghost town of Granite and suggested it as the spot those of us coming from the west could meet up with the one of us coming from the east. And, though there was no longer such a location needed, we figured that it might make for a nice camp area for the first night.

Up we went, quickly climbing from 5000-feet to 7000-feet. Still fully aired up, the roads here were a good bit rougher than those we'd encountered earlier in the day, and airing down would have been the right call. So, we didn't.

Just below the old Granite townsite, a tower from the Bi-Metalic Aerial Tramway was slowly deteriorating. Built in 1889 to carry ore from the Blaine shaft in Granite to the Bi-Metallic Mill near Philipsburg, the tramway was the longest in the United States - dropping 1225 feet over a distance of 9750 feet - at the time of construction.

Information Sign​

One of the wooden towers, still sporting the rollers that once supported a large cable that the tram cars were attached to.​

Shortly after passing the tram tower, a plaque welcomed us to Granite.​

Granite was often called the "town without night." Its round-the-clock mining activities created prospective customers at all hours. Many businesses operated 24 hours a day. For over a decade this town of 3,000 reigned as one of the richest and busiest sites in the West. It was Montana's "Silver Queen."

Both the Granite Mountain Mining Company and later the Bi-Metallic Mining Company operated side by side beneath the town. At the height of the operations, output from the mines ran between $250,000 and $275,000 per month. In the years between 1885 and 1892, more than $30 million in gold and silver was taken out through the Granite portals.

Charles McLure, a seasoned mining man and foreman of Philipsburg's Hope Mill is credited with taking turning the early, modest, mining successes on Granite mountain into the enormously profitable venture. With the help of his brother-in-law Charles Clark and risk capital from St. Louis business interests, McLure built the Granite operations to legendary status. Initial investors were paid back their investments within a year. They later split more than $11 million in dividends. It is estimated that McLure and Clark each made more than a million dollars from the claim.

The collapse of the silver market brought on by the repeal of the Sherman Act sealed Granite's fate. On August 1, 1893, the mines' shutdown forced a frantic mass exodus of most of the town. Word has it that a mining foreman tied down the chain of the mine's whistle, and its mournful, one-note dirge accompanied the now unemployed down the mountainside and away from Granite forever.

After the collapse, Granite Mountain Mining Corporation combined with the Bi-Metallic Mining Company as a smaller scale operation for the next three decades, but try as they might, the mines never achieved the successes seen before the crash. In 1934, the combined company ceased all operations and dissolved, leaving nature to quietly reclaim the mountain peak.

Information Sign​

In the distance, the hillside was covered with tailings from what I'd later discover to be the upper aerial tramway terminal of the Ruby Shaft. This tramway extended east rather than west, and was 8750 feet long.​

Finding a spot for our trucks along Main Street, the question wasn't so much if we were going to explore Granite, but rather for how long. Unfortunately, Mike's leg was acting up a bit, so as Zane and I headed up the hill towards the Ruby Shaft, Mike hung out along the main drag.

We got the best parking spots.​

Several buildings still stood along main street, but none was more grand than the Miner's Union Hall. Built in 1890, this three story building cost $23,000 and was the social center of town. The first floor was constructed primarily of granite quarried locally, while the upper stories were brick.

The second floor housed union offices, a library, and a large hall with an 18 ft. ceiling, wallpaper and a special maple "spring floor" for dancing. At the back was a stage. 500 folding chairs provides seating for concerts, operas, and theatricals. The first floor was a recreation hall for the miners, with billiards and card tables. On the third floor was a meeting room used by clubs and secret orders.

Information Sign​

The multi-material construction seemed strange, but certainly added a unique flare to the hall.​

Accented window headers.​

The tin roof on a nearby building, similar to that which once covered the Union Hall.​

Leaving Mike, Zane and I headed uphill towards the mine itself, following a small footpath we found through the woods. We'd later discover that a larger, Tacoma path, would have delivered us - with Mike - to the same spot with less exertion, but after a day of driving, it was nice to wander under our own power, noting the numerous stone foundations of long-collapsed homes, churches, and storefronts that once clung to the hillside.

And then, through the trees, we caught sight of a building that looked much too new. With similar stone-and-brick construction as the Miner's Union Hall, this was the Superintendent's House. Recently renovated by those who maintain this place - preserving what they can and rebuilding what can't be saved - it sported a new roof and cupolas, the new wood still bright in the early evening sun.

The super's place.​

By 1889, this house stood at the head of Magnolia Avenue, or "Silk Stocking Row, " where the elite of Granite lived. The first floor housed living quarters for the Superintendent of the Granite Mountain Mining Co. The second floor may have originally housed the mine office, accessed through a door at the back reached by a plank bridgeway from the hillside. No inside connection has ever existed between the two floors.

From 1889 to 1893, Superintendent Thomas Weir lived in this house. A capable manager, Weir did much to improve living and working conditions for the miners. Sweat soaked miners would emerge from the 1,000 ft. shaft into winter's bitter cold, prime candidates for pneumonia. Without antibiotics, the death rate was high. Weir built a "drying house" and a hospital, had bunkhouses cleaned and fumigated, and gave the men one day off a week and good wages... $3.50 a day.

Information Sign​

From there, we wandered a bit further, hoping to see the upper tramway terminal that we'd seen from the other side of the ravine, but soon realizing that it was several hundred feet higher up the hill - atop a tall pile of tailings - an endeavor that would have required more time and effort than we were ready to expend.

And so, it was back down to Main Street where we met up with Mike and set off in search of camp for the night.

Zane had noted a couple places from the satellite view, but with limited depth perception from outer space, it was no surprise that what we'd considered to be the prime location was anything but. A washed-out-road, on a 30-degree slope, with no view to speak of, was not our idea of an ideal camp site, and so after a quick radio exchange, we decided to split in order to speed up the search for an alternate location.

Selfishly, I volunteered to search further up the hill - along the road that Zane and I had discovered on our way back from the Superintendent's House - to see if there was something up at the mine site worth considering. Perhaps a tailings or waste pile that would afford spectacular views of the hills to the west, or a sheltered granite cove with an explorable adit. At the very least, I hoped to see that tramway terminal that'd eluded me so far…

Heading up to the top, I passed the remains of Mills A and B.​

The Granite Mountain Mining Company constructed two mills adjoining the mining operation known as the Ruby Shaft. These structures, Mill A and Mill B, housed a total of 70 stamp mills which processed ore. Crushing ore to be separated by amalgamation with mercury, the mines and mills all operated six days a week.

When the production of the Ruby Shaft exceeded the capacity of Mills A and B in 1889, the Granite Mountain Mining Company built a mill in Rumsey to handle the additional ore.

They named this new operation Mill C.

Information Sign​

What little wood was left was likely the supporting structure for a handful of the 70 stamp mills that once echoed across the mine.​

Proceeding past the mills, I finally reached the enormous ore chute at the top of the Ruby Shaft.​

At this point, I have to admit that I was both looking for a camp site but also doing a bit of sight seeing. The later was semi-rushed however, for two reasons: first, I knew Zane and Mike were waiting for me, and second, there were a couple guys with a semi-automatic-rifley-gun hanging out, looking at their phones, and enjoying the sunset. It was enough for me to hear one of them say, "I should probably turn the barrel around so it's not pointing at you," for me to decide that this might not be the safest place for us to setup camp for the night.

A small workshop below the ore chute was still in pretty good shape.​

The amount of wood that went into this ore chute-tram terminal was impressive, but it's not going to be here forever!​

A commanding view.​

After a quick look around for somewhere that was a little more protected from errant ammunition, I called back to Mike on the Ham and reported my lack of success in finding a place for us to call home for the evening.

He and Zane hadn't had much more luck, and the route they'd taken had been rough. Mike suggested that - rather than following their track - I should head back down to Philipsburg the way we'd come up, where we'd meet up and then head to a camp site about an hour north. It was a site that Mike, Monte, Devin, @mrs.turbodb and I had camped at on the last night of our spring trip to Montana some six years earlier, and one that I'd marked on our maps as "great camp site: on a ridge, with views of the Crazies."

And then, just as I was at the fork - where I could go back the way we'd come or follow the fun route that Zane and Mike had explored - Mike came over the radio to let me know that Zane had found a site that he thought "would work."

It was the understatement of the day. Or maybe the trip.

Heading down to rendevous, I arrived to find both of my buddies with their tents deployed, chairs arranged, and a fire ring in the process of being rebuilt. Around us, a cluster of buildings - in various states of disrepair - nestled into the trees. I found a flat spot and knew that this was going to be something special.

A bright yellow aspen behind an ore chute that I was sure to investigate before we broke camp!​

With the light waning, I wasted no time in looking around a bit before setting up my own digs for the night. Directly behind camp, an enormous hole in the ground - a collapsed vertical shaft - was strewn with beams more than 18" square. A little further on, a machine shop and bunkhouse - nestled spookily into the trees - were going to be on my short list for morning exploration.

I headed back towards camp. And on arriving, I couldn't help but gather up the small puck lights that Mike @mk5 had introduced me to, so I could get my first Halloween photos of the year.

Haunted bunkhouse.​

Brimstone Boiler.​

Darkness setting in, I gathered up my ominous lighting and made a beeline for the safety of the camp fire - now crackling away next to what would become my dinner: a big bowl of Mike's famous salsa.

Spectacularly spicy, I scooped chip after chip into my mouth. Conversation meandered from one topic to the next, log after log sustaining the warm glow that kept the chill of the night air at bay.

It was a little after midnight when we - or at least, I - finally called it quits. It'd been a strange first day, but it was only the first of a series of days that can only be described as strange.







.

 

Guess I fell behind on the thread... but dude, the photos are awesome!


The night stuff is obviously the most epic. (Obviously.) But damn, even just the trees. In fact, especially the trees... just regular-ass trees in regular-ass daylight, and you always make them look perfect. Really enjoying the photos.


And what could be better than trees? Oh yeah, railroad tunnels... and ooh, wow, that's quite the railroad tunnel! Don't recognize it, don't have time to scour the maps, don't even remember what the state you said this was (it was Montana, right?) So my default guess is... Milwaukee Road? Probably not, I think that's mostly all rail-trail or gone forever at this point, but I don't know what else to guess for no-track no-trail train tunnel in Montana. Right or wrong, I definitely want to go there. And I hope you can drive through the tunnel... and that you did!


Some damn nice bridges and tunnels on the Milwaukee and other old railroads out there... if I recall, countless spindly trestles throughout the whole region. That's my favorite kind of railroad trestle--the sketchier, the better! The only place I recall on the CMSPP by name is called Eagles Nest, I think, which may or may not actually exist, but if it doesn't, that's only because I remembered the name wrong. Photogenic bridge/tunnel combo. Wonder if you went there too.


I went to an Eagles Nest in the Alps once, definitely some noteworthy architecture there, and even a tunnel. But, there was no bridge, and also, the tunnel was built for Nazis instead of for trains. Trains are a much better reason to build tunnels, at least in comparison to Nazis.


Have yet to make it to Montana as an adult.


Here's my best-yet sketchy railroad tunnel, this one in CO:



Better bring a wet suit next time... that water was COLD! And no, you can't drive through this one

 

Spoiler: DO NOT CLICK UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES

​

 

We did drive through it and it was scary as shit at first because it was impossible to know how deep the water was and what debris was hidden beneath it. Fortunately, it wasn't too deep. A totally unique experience.

The surprising part for me was that none of the comms work inside of a mountain. In hindsight that shouldn't have been a surprise, but it was at the time.

 

Excellent work! And follow up question... did you manage to keep your shoes dry?

I tracked this spot down online, hope to make it there up someday. Not too far off the Milwaukee line either. That whole region looks epic.

Sounds awesome!

But... I believe your truck came factory-equipped with a high-tech communication device specifically for use in tunnels. Should be wired to a button in the steering wheel...

 

Tunnel was definitely a hi light of the trip, gave me strong urges to let the truck idle in low range while ride on the bumper taking pics. But I stayed responsible.

 

Nice report. Been a few years since I've seen that area, good to see those buildings are still standing.

 

Dan's Stuck | Montana #2
Part of the Half a Trip in Montana (Oct 2023) trip.

Having only gotten a few hours of shuteye before setting off on this adventure, the cool night air of western Montana - somewhere in the low 30s °F - made my cozy down comforters the perfect place to snuggle in for one of the best nights of sleep I've had in a long time. I'm not sure if I woke up at all through the night, only realizing when the sky was beginning to brighten that a thin layer of frost covered not only the exterior my tent, but also the top of my bedding.

Knowing that I still had a couple hours before my compatriots - Zane @Speedytech7 and Mike @Digiratus - would be making their way down to ground level, I did a little reading of the Jason Bourne series on my Kindle Paperwhite, and copied photos from the previous day from my camera to the laptop - so as to avoid losing them as I had a few months earlier (Curse of the Pahranagat).

Camp was looking nice with a couple bright aspen and a pastel sky.​

Frosty tents and lots to explore in the morning light.​

Hearing feet on the ground a few minutes after the sun crested the tree line, I wrapped up whatever chapter I was reading and began the defrosting process by moving the tent into a patch of sunlight. It's amazing how quickly a little sun can dry things out, and after following my lead, Zane and I headed off to explore the nearby buildings.

On our way out of camp, we noticed this really cool old wire-wrapped wooden water pipe that'd been exposed as a vertical shaft collapsed.​

Turns out that the mine we'd camped at along Contract Mill Rd was the Huffman Copper Mine. There's not much - or any if you're me - information about this old place to be found on the internets, but I'm all ears if anyone has better search-fu than I do!

Wandering from ruin to ruin, the two most interesting were the spooky old bunkhouse I'd photographed the previous evening, and a fantastic machine shop that rivaled some museums. That's where Zane and I spent most of our time, completely unaware that a little further up the hill were the ruins of a rather large mill!

With corrugated metal walls, the machine shop was reasonably well preserved.​

Quite the motor for these two beastly winches that once pulled ore from the nearby vertical shaft.​

Cable was in good shape; bearings were still as smooth as ever!​

Two-piston steam engine turned a generator that powered the place.​

I think Ingersoll-Rand powered almost every mine in the west.​

It was 11:00am by the time we got back to camp, broke everything down, and got on the trail. Our plan for the day was to drive from Granite - on the western flank of the Flint Creek Range - to Caruthers Lake on the eastern side. Our route - or at least the one that'd been mapped out on our GPS - suggested heading back down to Philipsburg before making our way through the mountains, but I had a "better" ideal.

You see, while searching for a camp site the previous evening, I'd noticed that the road from the Ruby Shaft at the top of Granite appeared to - eventually - meet up with our mapped route, so I suggested that we could save a bunch of miles by giving it a try. Those are - we all know - famous last words, but Mike and Zane were game, and we were out to explore, so up the mountain we climbed, my companions getting their first taste of the even-better-in-morning-light views.

Up we go.​

We could have camped here with a view, but I think the spot we found was actually better.​

Looking out over the Ruby Shaft Aerial Tram Station / Ore Chute towards Philipsburg.​

Silver (with-a-touch-of-gold) mining. "Low impact" on the surroundings.​

Soaking it all in.​

It was 11:30am when we started out County Road 169 in search of an intersecting route that would - hopefully - usher us through the Flint Creek Range. This wasn't just any county road, however; from the get-go this road promised fun and excitement!

Unsafe you say? Yes, please!​

Having aired down before leaving camp, we immediately put our soft tires to use, bumping our way over basketball-size-and-larger rocks, climbing from 6,000 feet to 8,300 in a matter of a few miles. It was here that we stopped at some point - for photos and perhaps a short bathroom break - that Mike and I got to talking, and he mentioned that we were on a route that could take all day given our current speeds.

"It's only another mile or two to the road that Monte mapped," I replied, smiling.

Turns out I must have had the scale on my map zoomed out more than I thought - a couple miles turned into three, and then five, until 8.5 miles later, we finally reached the intersection with County Road 1592. It was lunch time, but I surely wasn't going to mention that to my buddies, because it doesn't take "until lunch" to travel just a mile or two.

There wasn't anything overly technical, but it was still slow going.​

Zane's truck was performing flawlessly.​

We spent most of those eight-and-a-half miles picking our way through the trees - no ridges, overlooks, or even reasonably open areas presenting themselves for photo stops - so when we happened on a cabin in the woods, there was no way we were just going to pass it by without stopping.

Dueling chimney's.​

Initially I thought this was just a hunting cabin - and that we'd find it mostly empty - the owner carting their gear in and out each year as they set out to fill their tags. But, on opening the door, the entire thing was stuffed to the brim with furniture and supplies, all of it covered in several inches of rat feces. I shut the door quickly, and we didn't linger.

As we continued through the property, we quickly realized this was an old mine, its owner once planning to return. (image: Google Earth)​

Having reached the summit of the trail just before the cabin, we continued on a mostly downhill trajectory, Mike calling out over the CB radio that my "one mile" estimate was woefully short - a detail that couldn't be argued (though I surely tried), despite the fact that there was nothing we could do about it.

The real question now was whether the trail we were going to intersect would be faster or slower than the one we currently found ourselves plodding along. Mike was pretty sure that it'd be a nice, graded, four-lane county road; I thought it looked an awful lot like that which we were already traveling. Only time would tell whose map tiles were more accurate. Until then, we picked our way down long-forgotten rocky roads, wondering if - at any point - we'd be forced to turn around entirely.

It really was a lot of fun working our way through the forest.​

Zane dove headfirst into this mud bath, a higher-than-it-looked five-foot drop.​

We considered lunch at Racetrack Lake but opted to push on to "the next one."
(Which we would never reach )​

A bit after 1:00pm when we turned east onto County Road 1592, our hopes for a high-speed thoroughfare were quickly trounced. The road here was similarly rough to the one we'd just completed, our only hope that it would improve as we got closer to Deer Lodge and civilization. Still, we held out hope for a lunch at Fisher Lake.

For the mile-and-a-half - or what I would later call a "quarter mile or so," we made slow but steady progress. Rocky and muddy, the trail wasn't anything that caused us any concern, our spongy tires and suspension absorbing the bumps in stride.

Certainly, we weren't running into the kind of trouble that this guy did. Hard to run a trail like this with no wheels or engine.​

It was only as I approached a particularly steep section of trail that things really got interesting. Here, the trail was steep enough to get washed out by seasonal rains, and a narrow chute had developed at the top of the slope. The washout continued further down, but there a reasonably safe line - downhill at least - seemed more obvious, or at least, less off-camber.

Radioing back that I wanted to take a look, I - soon followed by Mike and Zane - hopped out of the truck to pick the best line through the initial obstacle, mentioning as I did, that, "if we make it down this, I sure hope we can make it through - with all the loose dirt, it'll be even harder coming back up!"

Hoping to catch the action as we each navigated the trickiest section of trail we'd encountered, I setup the camera to snap a photo every second and headed back to give it a go.​

A line agreed upon - and with Zane spotting - I climbed back in the Tacoma and inched my way forward. The plan - should everything go as we expected - was to keep the driver side high on the chute and drop the passenger side down into the bottom, using the slider to keep from hitting the vertical wall of granite that would otherwise chew up our passenger side panels.

Initially, things went as planned. The driver side stayed high, the passenger side dropped down, and soon I was three-wheeling my way down the mountain.

Always a "fun" feeling to feel the truck tip forward and right as it nearly rolls into a granite wall.​

Assured that the paneling on the passenger side didn't appear to be in any real danger, I pressed on, my slider grinding away on the granite for several feet before getting captured by a divot in the stone. No worries I figured - this is why I have an ARB front locker - I'd just pop on the front locker and pull myself through.

Except no.

Even with the front locked, the amount of weight pushing the slider into the granite was just too great, the Tacoma wouldn't budge. It was then that Zane noticed something else. The driver rear tire was back on the ground, but it wasn't happy.

Be it the skinny tires, or a line just slightly too far to the right, I was about to lose my bead.
​

With the rear still unlocked, I tried backing up. It was a big nope on that as well., the front tires unable to find purchase in the loose dirt at the bottom of the notch.

Stuck.​

As someone who generally travels solo, I was very glad to have a couple buddies along at this point. Not that I would have gotten myself into this situation as a single vehicle - I know enough to generally avoid situations like this when I'm alone - and, I probably could have winched myself forward - even if it meant losing a bead or a bit of body damage - but it was reassuring to be able to work through the problem with some friends and know that we'd be able to pull me back out the way I'd come.

And so, naturally, that's what we did - Zane pulling his truck into position and winching me back out of the notch.

This first pull didn't actually work, the slider was just too wedged into the rock. We ended up using a snatch block and a nearby tree to pull the rear end to the left, freeing the slider.​

Extraction complete, it was time to evaluate our options. Ultimately, not knowing what else was in store for the remaining 15 miles of the route, we decided that the smart move - even with three vehicles - was to head back the way we'd come, stopping for lunch at a nearby opening in the trees, before making our way towards Georgetown, where a paved route would take us to Deer Lodge and the remainder of our adventure.

And so, after a leisurely meal of sandwiches and chocolate chip cookies, we headed west, eventually passing the intersection that'd delivered us from Granite, once again hoping that the road would get better as we made our way toward civilization; knowing that if it didn't, we'd be retracing our route from the morning, all the way to where we'd begun our day.

And that's when we found a really nice camp site.

It was only 3:00pm when the forest gave way to a broad meadow, a couple fire rings already nestled into the trees. Always on the lookout, Mike admitted that it was even a bit early for him, but that, "It's never too early to find camp." So, we did!

Mike and Zane opted for the shelter of the trees, I for the open skies above.​

Finding camp early turned out to be fortuitous. To this point, we hadn't really figured out what our overall plan for the trip was going to be, but we knew that with Monte @Blackdog unable to join in his home state, and rain forecast in a couple of days, we probably needed to figure out (a) exactly what we wanted to do, (b) what we wanted to save until Monte could join, and (c) whether we wanted to suffer through the rain or run south - or home - for cover.

Camp was looking nice in the warm afternoon sun.​

And so, after procuring a nearby standing dead tree for our campfire using Mike's extremely convenient battery-operated Milwaukee chainsaw, we sat down to figure out our plan, and to check out the area around camp with the flying camera.

It was as we stared down at the little screen on the DJI remote control that we realized that we could have used this new contraption earlier in the day - to scout the trail to the east - perhaps allowing us to continue on our way if no other obstacles presented themselves for the remainder of the route.

The yellow larches on the hillside were on fire as the sun raced towards the horizon.​

A mile away - and barely visible from camp - a radio installation was perched high on the ridge line.​

Camp was closer to Fred Burr Lake than we realized, the water glassy on this clear evening.​

Even as we were nestled into the trees, it was fun gain a little elevation with the flying camera, affording us a nice view of the layered horizon.​

Our plan for the remainder of the trip sorted, we dug into a big bowl of Mike's guacamole as the campfire got started. Having eaten a reasonably late lunch - and having decided that we'd do a big group breakfast in the morning - guac, chips, and chocolate chip cookies would be our dinner of champions.

Not that such a dinner would ever be anything else.

The fires we had on this trip were never starved for fuel.​

We hung out around the fire - toasty warm - until it consumed the entire tree we'd harvested. After a strange day on the trail, it was nice to fall back into our routine and a sense of normalcy. Not that the next day - or remainder of the trip - would be normal; this one had surprises around every bend.

 

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